After just under a week at the Sands farm, life has fallen into a relatively nice routine. Unfortunately part of that routine was me missing classes, but I agreed with Nathan and Katrina that I couldn't take the risk. Not with Peter out and actively looking for us. That was highlighted the first night after Peter's men broke into my apartment, tearing the hell out of it in an attempt to find information about where I was before torching it. The story barely made the papers, since the whole thing was written off as a simple ”electrical short” that gutted just the apartment itself. The article I read didn't list me by name, but said authorities had determined the tenant was off somewhere, and they were looking to make contact. Yeah, fat chance of that happening. I guess I'm lucky. I always bring my computer and phone with me, which they could have really used to hurt us.

With extra free time on my hands, I've used the hours to forge and re-forge family bonds and relationships. From about six thirty to nine, I get to spend time with BA, short for Baby Andrea. We're all using the name because Nathan keeps getting confused when Katrina, Jackson and I discuss things with him. I'd tried calling her 2.0 as a nod to Katrina and I both being into computers. However, while Kat and I didn't have a problem with the moniker, the men couldn't get used to calling someone a number, so BA it is. Jackson's made a few 'I pity the fool' jokes, but nothing too bad after Katrina jabbed him in the ribs when he asked if she'd look good with a mohawk.

While I'm playing with and taking care of BA, her parents are enjoying the opportunity to spend quality time together, something that I know both of them appreciate. I keep telling Jackson it isn't a problem for me, that I'm getting to know my niece, but he's still geeked about the chance to work out with his wife again, not to mention any intimacy. Considering the stiffies he's popping during their sessions, I'm pretty sure I know why. Katrina's a beautiful woman, and Jackson's head over heels for her, it's totally obvious. For him, the workouts are as much foreplay as exercise, and to be honest I'm a little jealous. I know they're disappearing to remote parts of the farm during BA's naps, and I can only imagine what they're getting up to in private.

After watching BA through breakfast, I spend the morning doing my own exercise, or just hanging out with someone else. Normally it's Jackson, who I'm enjoying bonding with as a sibling. He's actually funny, and I'm finding him as much a friend as a brother, which I never expected to happen before.

“So you look more chilled out than I remember,” Jackson says this morning as he's helping me with my own workout. It's not that hard for him to spot me since most of the movements are from stuff Katrina sent to me. “Well, except when Carson's around.”

“Watch it, oniichan,” I half-growl, straining as I pull on the rope that hangs from the rafter. I'm no superwoman like Katrina though, and I end up wrapping my feet around the rope to help me climb all the way up. “I can still drop feet first onto your head from here. That might even get through your thick skull.”

“Doubt it,” Jackson teases, then smiles. “Come on Andi, we all can see it. You two are diggin' on each other. Hardcore.”

“You're picking up Katrina's lower Ninth Ward talk,” I reply as I lower myself down the rope. When I'm low enough, Jackson smacks me. It's supposed to be my leg, but he catches me in the butt, and I'm up the rope again. “Hey! That's sexual harassment! And pervy on your sister!” I grumble.

“Only if I meant something behind it,” he says, not apologizing in the least. “Seriously though, why get bitchy about it? He's not deformed or anything.”

“He's kind of our brother, remember?” I hiss, touching the overhead beam and lowering down again. Jackson lets me off the rope, which is good because my hands are burning. “Or did you forget that part?”

Jackson shakes his head, unconcerned. “Nope. What you apparently forget is that Carson Sands shares exactly zero DNA with you or me. Hell, Peter never even acknowledged Melissa as his. Now, if you had a thing for Melissa I'd be concerned, not because she's a woman, but because of the DNA thing. But Carson is family only through an emotional bond with 'Lissa.”

“And she's got issues of her own, so I don't need to be fucking with her head any more than it's been fucked with,” I add, going over and starting a set of jumping lunges. Seriously, where did Katrina come up with some of this shit? It's good torture though, I gotta give her that. “I don't want to hurt her. You like her too, admit it.”

“We all do,” Jackson agrees, bringing over the log that I'm supposed to use for my next walk across the barn. “One more of these, and we start the Spiderman Walks.”

“You wife loves pain,” I grunt as I try my best to actually get off the ground with each step while I try to balance the log in my arms. “If I check out your dojo in Baton Rouge, would I find other implements lying around?”

“Hey, the handcuffs and whips are just for training purposes only,” Jackson shoots back, making me laugh. Still, his remark is too close for comfort, and I shut up, forcing myself to focus on my workout. “Seriously though, I've got no problems with it, Andi. Katrina either, we talked about it this morning. Think about it, okay?”

Jackson leaves while I go through the solo portion of my exercise, my mind spinning with what he talked about. Think about it? Thinking about Carson is about all I do in my spare time, and for the past few days I've had a shit-ton of it. Melissa isn't the only one who's having trouble sleeping through the night. Like her, my solution involves Carson joining me in bed, but unlike her, my motives aren't innocent.

I drop into the dust for my yoga moves and meditation, and I'm mostly done when the door to the barn opens again. “Jackson, I said I'd... oh, sorry 'Lissa.”

“It's okay,” Melissa says, coming in. She's dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, although I see she's got her untied work boots on, which means she wants to work on her sculpture in the other half of the barn. Fair enough, I've been hogging her workspace for far too long.

“I'm almost done, sorry 'Lissa. Thanks for letting me use your barn again,” I say, getting up and grabbing my t-shirt. I've started taking after Katrina, stripping down to just a sports bra during my workout sessions, since the barn is too hot otherwise.

“No, please... stay?” Melissa says shyly. “I mean, you don't have to go. With Carson gone, and Nathan not around either, I feel best when you're hanging out with me. It helps with my work, too.”

I nod, and use my towel to wipe off. I've already gotten used to Melissa's total lack of shyness when it comes to her body around the house. All of us have gotten partially flashed at least once. Actually, Katrina got a full moon two days ago, all of it totally by accident. So when Melissa drops her jeans before pulling her coveralls off their hook, I barely flinch, and instead just pull my t-shirt on while she gets dressed. “Okay. Mind if we hit the exhaust fans though? I could use some air.”

“Sure!” Melissa says, perking up now that she knows I'm going to hang around. I can't say I love her, not yet, but I do like her a lot. The past week has also shown me that Carson has the devotion and patience of a saint to be able to have dealt with 'Lissa's challenges for so long. It's good to see, and comforting as well, since it reinforces the other feelings that I have about him. “Actually, would you like to help?”

“Me?” I ask, surprised. “You must have the wrong half-sister. I've got absolutely no artistic talent.”

Melissa laughs and goes over to her workbench, pulling out a giant sponge sanding pad. “Actually, all I had planned today was some sanding and polishing work on the copper parts. I'm not so crazy that I need to do all of it myself. And I'll do the power tool part, so you get to come behind with this sponge and the cleaning compound. Nobody can screw that part up.”

“Oh, I don't know, I'm pretty sure Jackson could,” I joke while we get started. As we go to work, I'm amazed at how focused Melissa is as she works. Watching her face open up, the peace that comes to her and the strength, it's like looking at a whole different person. Outside the barn she's usually so timid and insecure, but in here she's completely confident. It's nice to see her like this, and I wish she could be like this all of the time.

Melissa goes over the whole portion she's working on with a big buffing wheel attached to a power drill while I watch. The piece looks like it'll eventually be an angel. The noise is too loud for us to say anything, so we don't talk while she's working for the next half hour, although I'm perfectly fine just watching.

Finally, Melissa sits back, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “There we go. Now, time for the buffing compound. You still up for it?”

“Wax on, wax off, Mr. Miyagi,” I crack, and Melissa's smile dims a little. “Sorry. Yes, I'm ready.”

As we work, Melissa's smile reappears, and she gives me some glances. “You know, getting to know Jackson, Katrina and BA is nice, but I've really appreciated getting to know you this past week, Andrea. You seem to understand me better.”

“Maybe, but remember, we're not totally the same. I can barely remember my mother at all. You at least have some good memories, right?”

“I know,” Melissa says, scrubbing with her pad right next to me. “I don't know which is better though. I wish I could get through a week without disturbing Carson with my nightmares.”

“I wish I could get through a week without wondering if my mother really did jump, or if she was thrown off that roof,” I reply without thinking. Melissa's pad slows, then stops, as she looks at me in shock. I take a deep breath, and nod. “There's evidence that I dug up that my mother was murdered, not that she committed suicide. I can't prove it, but I believe it.”

“Murdered? Was... was Peter involved?” Melissa asks, her eyes wide with disbelief.

She doesn't know how many times I've wrestled with that same question, all the sleepless nights with only that question keeping me company, and never finding an answer. I eventually decided to try not to dwell on it any further, but to still try and take down Peter. Regardless of whether he had my mother murdered or if he just pushed her to suicide, he killed her either way.

I can't say that though, so instead I bear down with my scrubbing pad, huffing. “I'd be a pretty cold-hearted bitch to have stayed in his house for eighteen years without trying to stab him at least once, if I knew for sure.”

Melissa blinks, going silent before going back to work. When she talks again, I can hear that she's trying to force being cheery, but I'm still raw over her last question. “So you guys all seem to be really into fitness.”

“Handles the stress. You poured all your pain into becoming one hell of an artist. Jackson, until he met Katrina again, poured it all into being an asshole with a penchant for bodybuilding. Katrina became a goddamn ninja. Me? I poured it into hitting the books. I mean, I'm half-Asian, I'm supposed to be good at school, right?”

Melissa doesn't say anything else, and I feel bad as I realize that she wasn't trying to rub me the wrong way, she was just trying to find out more about me and to share about herself. We finish the polishing in near silence, and when we stop, she takes the sponges and tosses them toward the workbench. I watch her miserable face for a moment, then go over, putting my hand on her shoulder. “Melissa, I'm sorry. I know you didn't mean to touch a nerve.”

She shakes her head, shy and insecure again, which is even more painful than knowing I hurt her. This barn, her artwork, has been her refuge for her entire life, and I pretty much went and pissed in the middle of it. Great job, Andrea. Real fucking smooth. “It's okay.”

“It's not, but maybe we can talk later about it?” I say, trying to be cheery. “I mean it, I'd like to share more.”

Melissa looks up, hope in her eyes, and gives me a hesitant smile. “Really?”

“Really. Just let me go calm down, and maybe after dinner, the two of us can have a girls' pow-wow. If you want, we can even invite Katrina, she's got stories that'll make your hair curl.”

Melissa shakes her head, then takes my hand. “No, that's okay. I like Katrina, but I'd like to get to know you more first. Besides, I heard her and Jackson talking while I was getting ready, I think they're planning on... a date?”

I chuckle, nodding. “They're still head over heels for each other. I guess with a baby, they have to plan romantic time now. Maybe they roped Carson into babysitting? If not, I guess you and I will be on BA duty tonight. How's that sound?”

“I'd like that. Okay, I'll see you later then. I've got some welding to do first before I wrap up here.” Melissa smiles, more confident again, and points toward the pile of steel and copper plates, along with the welding rig. “I'm putting the wings on soon.”

“Sounds good.”

* * *

The arrow flies straight, but I'm still getting the hang of this bow. There's too many fucking bells and whistles for my taste. I learned on a stick bow, just a piece of fiberglass and plastic, and this thing that Carson found for me to use has gadgets, sights, and every other thing under the sun hanging off of the aluminum handle. Never mind that the limbs are made of carbon fiber, and the string is actually made of Kevlar. Also, despite his best efforts, the lowest weight bow Carson could find me has a forty-eight pound draw.

All of this throws off my aim, and another arrow goes high, hitting only the upper edge of the target. Thankfully, I haven't put any arrows so high as to totally miss the safety backstop, although I have no fucking clue how I'm going to get that one down from the wooden beam at the top.

“Your pull is good, but your aim point is way off,” I hear behind me, and I turn to see Carson standing in the field behind me, his own bow in hand, dressed as I've never seen him before. Normally, he dresses like you'd expect an art dealer to dress, not quite prissy, but certainly cultured. I've seen him in jeans once or twice this week, but normally it's twill and tweed for Carson. Not that it makes him look weak. He still makes my knees go watery when he looks at me with those silvery eyes of his. The contained power, the self-assured glances, the contemplative questions hidden in his face and his eyes, like he's trying to decide if he can truly share himself with me the way I think he wants to. It's heady.

But now, in the golden red twilight, he's not the cultured art dealer. Instead he's wearing heavy BDU pants and jungle boots, along with a long sleeved t-shirt that hugs his slim, but still muscled torso. He's got a forearm guard on his left arm, and his right hand is partially covered with a three finger shooting glove. “I said that you're shooting high.”

“No shit, Robin Hood,” I reply, taking another arrow out of the quiver I've staked to the ground. “Takes a while to adjust to new stuff, you know. Especially when you've got more accessories than a pimped out Lincoln on this thing.”

“You know you can take them off,” Carson says, coming next to me. He holds out his hand and I hand him the bow, and he examines it. “What's screwing you up?”

“Loaded question,” I reply, grinning, but at the look in his eyes my grin falters. “Okay, fine. I learned bare bow. All this extra stuff is a giant fucking mess.”

“Okay,” Carson says, reaching into the quiver he's got strapped to his right leg. He pulls out a tiny Allen wrench and starts taking off the sight before simply unscrewing the other pieces. It takes him about three minutes before he hands it back to me, mostly stripped. “I can't take off the arrow rest, that's held on with adhesive. Besides, I'd recommend that you shoot off it anyway, otherwise it can fuck with the arrows.”

“Thanks,” I say, taking the bow back before setting it against my quiver stand. “Help me retrieve what I shot?”

“Sure. Then five and fives? I wanted to get a little work in, too.”

“Deal.” I head toward the target area, and with a little difficulty pull out the eight of the nine arrows I can reach, pointing toward the tenth high above me. “Sorry about that one.”

“I'll get it tomorrow,” Carson says. I struggle with the last of the arrows, and he takes a little rubber gripper out of his quiver and grabs the shaft, pulling it out easily. “Nice accessory, I got it as a throw in last time I bought arrows.”

“Didn't think you had any problems with grip on your shaft,” I tease, and Carson's face goes dark. “What? Just giving you shit.”

“That's exactly why I came out here, actually,” Carson says, handing me the one arrow I missed. His face is solemn, and I see the protective side of him flaring up in the sunset light. “Melissa told me about your little work session in the barn.”

“Yeah... I feel bad about that,” I admit, walking with him toward the shooting line. “I keep forgetting that she doesn't have the same sense of sarcasm I do.”

“She doesn’t do sarcasm,” Carson counters, his voice intense. He steps to the shooting line and takes out his first arrow and brings up his bow, nocking the arrow before drawing. He holds his draw for two seconds then lets fly, his arrow thwocking home dead center of the target. “And she's letting you into her life more than anyone, other than me. Faster, too. She's vulnerable right now, Andrea. I don't want to see her hurt.”

“You think I want that?” I ask hotly. “I like her, too! I've felt like crap since I let my mouth get away from me in the barn.”

“I know,” Carson says, drawing his next arrow. He shoots, and again smacks the middle of the target. “Which is why I'm asking you to please try and control that wiseass inside you. I can take it, and I understand why you do it. But with 'Lissa, just be honest. She can understand and appreciate honesty.”

“And why do I do it, Dr. Phil?” I ask. Carson fires his remaining three arrows before answering. When he does, there's no desire in his voice, none of the dark attraction that I've been feeling. Instead there's an intelligence, a wisdom that sounds more suited to someone older than his twenty-five years, and it's just as attractive and sexy as the other feelings I get from him.

“You do it to protect yourself. We've all got our compensation methods. I spend way too much time and money on target shooting skills that have very little real world application. Well, my pistols might actually get used, I hope not though. But I shouldn't need to spend nearly fifty thousand dollars on pistols and about half that on archery and crossbows just to get decent enough to protect my sister. Your shots.”

I take my place on the firing line, nocking my first arrow, and try to use what I can recall from the mess that was my last ten, taking my half-breath and holding it before letting fly. Not too bad, my horizontal drift is fine, but I'm still high, though not as bad. I adjust, and over the next four arrows I walk my shots down, the last one burying in between two of his arrows in the X ring. “That's more like it.”

A pattern emerges as we keep trading groups of arrows back and forth. With his familiarity with the gadgets, his groups are tighter, but I'm not far behind. After letting one arrow go that hits with a distinct sound on impact that tells me I actually hit one of his tightly grouped arrows, he whistles softly. “You've got talent.”

“All sorts of it,” I agree, smirking. “What? My sarcasm extends that direction, too. Maybe I'm still trying to cover some feelings.”

“Maybe. Maybe I am, too,” Carson says, the two of us walking toward the target. We see the X-ring first, and Carson shakes his head. “Shit. One of my carbon fiber shafts, too.”

“You've got the cash,” I reply, pulling my arrow. I look at the tip, which is unblemished. “So what are you covering up?”

“Hmm?” he asks, pulling his arrows. I follow suit, but one of them is deeper, driven through the foam padding of the target and punching into the plywood backer. I tug, but my hand starts to slip, and Carson's there, his hand over mine. As soon as our skin makes contact, we stop, looking at each other in the sunset. His eyes gleam, and he unconsciously licks his upper lip. Letting go, he steps back, shaking his head. “All right, fine. Fuck it. Andrea, I'm having problems dealing with the fact that I'm so attracted to you that I feel like I'm barely in control of myself whenever we're in the same room. Hell, I was wondering if I could even come out here to say something to you about Melissa. Don't tell me you don't feel the same way, I see it in those amazing eyes of yours.”

“Eyes? You're the one who's got a set of silver-grays that leaves me feeling asthmatic, and you're talking about my eyes?” I ask, glad to at least let it into the air. “You know, in case you were wondering.”

Carson sighs and looks at the arrow shaft in his hand, then whips it down, the point burying into the ground at his feet. “So what the hell do we do? Because the one thing I want to do about this is the one thing that I feel is the wrong damn thing to do!”

“And what is that?” I ask. I'm feeling a bit better, I'm used to having men off balance, but I'm still not totally back to normal. At least this isn't one-sided, I can be happy about that.

“What I want to do is see if those lips of yours are as soft as they look, and to find out if that olive tan of yours is natural or sun-enhanced, and if it is, how far it goes,” Carson says, eyes burning with desire. Immediately I'm breathless again, my heart thudding in my chest and a knot twisting deep in my guts. I want him too, but I know what he's going to say. “But I can't!”

“Why?” I ask, and he shakes his head. “Jackson told me today, we don't share any DNA.”

“Yeah, but you and Melissa do. And 'Lissa is as much my sister as anyone could ever be, regardless of what a DNA test would say. We've forged our bond through the tears we've shed together, and the nights I hold her as she goes through what she goes through. We've shed blood too, both me defending her, and her defending me. I've protected her, and I will protect her with every drop of my blood if need be. Before you stepped out of that van and started searing my dreams every night for the past week, I was totally ready to spend the rest of my life doing just that. I'd take care of my sexual needs some other way.”

I'm knocked on my ass by his honesty, and I can only watch as he yanks the arrow out of the ground, sighing. “But a week ago, you did step out of that van. If you'd been just some girl at the grocery store, or some customer at the art gallery, I'd be able to move past it. You'd have the number one spot in the spank bank, so to speak. But you're not just some chance meeting, disappearing in a few minutes or hours. Melissa doesn't want you to leave, and neither do I. So I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place. No lack of irony there, is there?”

I shake my head and smirk. “No, there isn't. Because I feel the same way. I like 'Lissa a lot. She's a special woman, and every time I hang out with her I want to learn more about her. I don't want to hurt her either. So I will watch my sarcasm around her, and try to just be honest with her. As for you...”

“What?” Carson says, and I smile, not sarcastically but really smile, and I can see how it affects him. He's maybe as caught up as I am, and I know I'm playing with fire, but I can't help it.

“Everything you just said about Melissa, about being there for her, protecting her, sacrificing your own needs for hers... forget your eyes, forget your face or your body, all of which are sexy. Forget that watching you shoot archery is like watching a man in total control of himself and the entire world. I've always found control attractive. But what you just said, that heart that beats inside you... that's the sexiest thing I've heard a man ever say. Ever. I'm fine with holding off for a while, letting Melissa have time to adjust, but I'll tell you Carson, I don't know if I can hold off forever.”

I turn to walk away, when Carson calls out, stopping me. “We can't hurt 'Lissa, Andrea. I won't let that happen.”

I look back, and see the uncertainty in his eyes, and nod. “I agree. I won't ever hurt her, Carson.”

* * *

After talking with Melissa for hours, it becomes pretty obvious that she and BA are probably the only two people in the house who aren't aware of the unresolved sexual tension between Carson and me. We've been having sort of a girls' night in, sitting around in our pajamas and gossiping. But as we get ready to go upstairs for bed, I'm even more confused. Still, that's about the only drawback of spending time with Melissa.

It's like Carson said when he was talking about her artwork. When I talk with Melissa, it's like being able to see the world the way it should be. It's not always super perky and happy, and there's a lot of darkness in it, but when I talk with her, I always feel like in the end good things happen to the right people.

Carson's out at the gallery helping to set up the event scheduled for a few days from now, but Nathan's on duty again, his quiet presence on the couch reassuring Melissa when we head upstairs. “I'm glad Nathan's here,” she admits shyly as we climb to the second floor. “He and Maverick help me feel very safe.”

“I'm glad,” I tell her sincerely. “Also, if you do have any nightmares, until Carson gets back... would you mind if I helped you out?”

Melissa stops and looks me in the eye, smiling gently. We're just outside her room. “I'd like that very much, Andrea. I hope though that you can sleep peacefully.”

She reaches out, and before I know it she wraps her arms around me, giving me a hug. I'm so surprised I don't do anything at first, but then I return it, and it feels nice. I imagine it's like what a hug from your sister should feel like.

“I love you, Andrea,” Melissa says in her soft voice, and I can hear a hint of the insecurity still there. We let go, and I look at her again, and I know it took her a lot of courage to say what she just said. She's still scared I'll reject her since the only person in her life who hasn't rejected her is Carson.

I know the truth about my feelings for her as I smile and give her another hug. “I love you too, 'Lissa. Sleep well, I'll be here for you if you need it.”

Melissa goes into her room, closing the door quietly, and I watch it for a minute, torn. I do love her, she completes a part of my spirit that even Jackson and Katrina don't, but at the same time, I can't get Carson out of my mind. The way he looked as we shot together, his muscles tight as he held the bowstring back, the control he showed...

“Mmm, it's been a while since you did that.”

I realize I've wandered down the hallway, and I'm standing outside of Jackson and Katrina's room. Their date must have gone well, because the desire in Katrina's voice is hot enough to melt steel. Their door is slightly open, and I reach for the knob to close it and prevent them any embarrassment. At this distance though, I can't help but overhear more of what they're saying.

“You better be glad that Andrea's sleeping in her basket,” Katrina purrs. “Because if she wasn't, you'd be getting…”

I get to my room and go inside, lying down on the bed. A deep moan comes through the wall, and I'm tempted to knock on the wall, telling my brother and his wife to shut the fuck up, but I can't. It's not their fault I'm horny as hell and can't scratch this itch.

I look around and realize I'm hearing things so clearly because our rooms are connected via air conditioning duct. I can't help but listen, my hands moving to cup my breasts, teasing my nipples. I know it's voyeuristic and a little weird, but I’m in my own world now. I’m imagining that I'm the one moaning in delight, Carson giving me exactly what I need.

“Yes... harder... mmm, yeah... yeah baby...”

A little whimper escapes my lips as I reach down, cupping my pussy and rubbing it through my pajama pants. I want to feel Carson's body pushing me into the mattress underneath me, his cock spreading me open, driving into me and lighting my nerves on fire. Imagining myself begging him to fuck me harder is just so fucking hot I can't help it.

“Mmm... yes...” I whisper as I slide my right hand inside my panties. I'm already soaking wet, and sliding two fingers deep inside is easy, my back arching from how good it feels.

I pump my fingers in and out imagining Carson above me. I picture his aristocratic face, cultured voice, and gleaming eyes, his powerful but still controlled motions. I fantasize about him making me his, his hips thrusting his cock over and over into me.

In my mind, Carson sits back, changing the angle of his cock. He's hitting just the right spot with every stroke, pinching my right nipple, electricity shooting from my pussy to my nipple and back, building with every amazing thrust inside me.

“Carson...”

I'm moaning his name aloud, but I don't care who hears me.. My fingers rapidly thrust in and out, and I pinch my nipples one after another. I'm almost overwhelmed by the hot sparks of pleasure that leave me biting my lips and mewling, writhing, wanting the real thing. I'm caught on the edge, fantasy and reality working together, when the thought of Carson coming inside of me pushes me over the edge. I tease my clit one more time, grinding the heel of my hand into the hard nub, and I push myself over, my hips lifting, breath catching. It's good, so good, and I can't hold it back anymore. I cry out as my own climax washes through me, and I feel wet slickness coat my fingers.

I sag back, at least temporarily satiated, but still frustrated. I've wanted to touch myself for days, but this release is only temporary. Every time I hang out with Carson I want to touch myself. Like he said, caught between a rock and a hard place.

But maybe there's a way out of it. I need to think, but before I can, I need to change shorts. I get out of bed and pull on fresh panties and shorts, putting my now soaked ones in my laundry basket. We'll need to go on a supply run soon. I doubt Carson was prepared for this as well.

Just as I close my basket, I hear a scream from Melissa's room, and I'm out the door, running the few steps down the hall. Jackson opens his door, but I push him back without breaking stride. I know he means well, but she doesn't need to see a still sex-sweat-soaked brother right now.

There's a thump on the stairs and I see Nathan, his Colt pistol up and ready, and I shake my head. “I've got it.”

I open the door to find Melissa sitting up in bed, shuddering breaths torturing her poor, thin shoulders, her blonde hair hanging over her face as she buries her head between her knees, trying to do something to hide from the terror inside her. I go over, taking her in my arms and holding her, whispering in her ear. “Shh... 'Lissa. I'm here. I'm here. Remember, it's me, Andrea. Shh...”

“Andrea... it was worse than normal,” Melissa sobs, hugging me. “So terrible.”

“I know, 'Lissa. I know,” I say softly, just comforting her. “But it's okay now, you want to know why?”

“Why?” she asks, turning her pretty gray eyes to me. Where Carson is strong she's vulnerable, but she's still so amazing and loving, I can't help but love her back.

“Because you've got a sister now who's going to help you fight away all your fears,” I reassure her, stroking the hair out of her face. “And you have a new brother who loves you too, his wife loves you, and on the whole this family just happens to be some of the best asskickers in the entire world.”

Melissa absorbs my tough talk and blinks, then smiles, an angelic smile that makes my heart sing with happiness. “Thank you, Andrea.”

“Now close your eyes. Tomorrow, if you're feeling up to it, I was thinking maybe we could make a little trip to Paradis,” I say, helping her readjust to her bed. I don't move though, and instead lie down behind her, gathering her in my arms. She's taller than me but still feels tiny with her knees pulled up and her arms in a semi-fetal position.

“Why?” she asks, and I chuckle, kissing the back of her head.

“Because we've got laundry to do. And I thought you and I could talk some more.”

“Okay. Wal-Mart okay?” Melissa asks, her voice already sleepy.

“Wal-Mart's fine, 'Lissa. We'll take the van, and maybe Nathan. He's strong, he can haul all our stuff for us.”

“That'd be nice. Goodnight, Andrea.”

I wait until she's breathing deeply, once again sleeping peacefully, before I kiss her hair one more time and shift my arm to a slightly more comfortable place. “Goodnight, 'Lissa.”