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"You don't have to do this."

"Yes I do."

"Mike said he'd do it when he got back."

"He's said that for three weeks. The goldfish can't wait any longer."

"Do you even know HOW to clean the pond filter?"

"Mike does it. How hard can it be? Our dear brother can't dress himself without help." Maddie surveyed the pond in the front yard. "Mike's been promising to do it for weeks. The waterfall stopped running two days ago - that filter must be totally clogged. And I don't want to be knee deep in dead goldfish."

Kelly shrugged. "Well, it's your choice. But don't ask me to help, I'm not going to end up covered in pond slime. I'm going out tonight."

Maddie growled and flicked the switch to turn the filter pump off, then advanced on the pond. Sharing a house with her younger brother and sister had seemed like a good idea at the time - when you live in a small country town you'll agree to anything to get the chance at life in the big city. Kelly was studying Fine Arts at university, and their brother Mike was enthusiastically pursuing a career as an assistant to the assistant to a sidekick to an under-something-or-other on the outer fringes of the music industry. He mostly seemed to get coffee and take messages, but they were very important messages for people further up the ladder.

And Maddie worked full time in the public library, and part time waiting tables in a nearby restaurant, and kept the house running. "Maddie is our little mother hen," her parents would tell everyone proudly, "always looking after the younger ones."

Maddie sometimes wondered why nobody ever thought she needed looking after, too. But somebody had to keep things going, and Kelly needed time and energy for study, and Mike was trying to break into the music industry... and Maddie worked two jobs, did all the housework, and cleaned the pond filter because Mike was too busy and she didn't like dead goldfish.

"And that's enough whining," she muttered to herself, "Nobody's listening to that. And the Cinderella routine got old a long time ago. Besides, fairy godmothers are pretty thin on the ground around here."

She uncovered the filter, small and barrel-shaped, buried in the ground behind the pond. Sitting on a convenient rock, she wrestled the fastenings open. "No no NO!" Two nails broken, and she'd barely started. Her nails were her one little luxury - and now they were ruined. She'd have to put up with it for a week until her next infill - she couldn't afford an extra visit. "Wave your wand and fix that one, Fairy Godmother." She carefully removed the lid. "Phew! Oh lovely, I'm going to smell like muck after this." A solid mass of stinking green algae oozed around her hands as she took the first spongy ring out of the filter. It was clogged solid.

The coach rocked wildly from side to side as it hit a particularly deep hole in the road. Della crawled back onto the seat and glared at her cousin. "Maggie, I told you this was a mistake. Father said we must take the coast road."

Maggie laughed as she bounced on the seat. "But this inland road is much shorter. We'll be home in time to get our hair done extra nicely for tonight's ball. It was your idea to go to the shrine."

Della blushed. "Well 'tis supposed to be good luck for brides to visit."

"As if you need luck! You've got the kindest, sweetest, most handsome man in the district making cow-eyes at you, and you want more?"

"Oh Maggie, he is wonderful, isn't he? I just hope you meet someone as nice."

"I'll be on the lookout tonight. I promise I'll meet someone special before the ball's over."

Della glanced out the window. "If we get there in time. 'Tis getting dark."

"Well, you were the one who wanted to pick all those flowers." Maggie grimaced as another large pothole almost bounced her onto the floor.

"I wanted an offering."

"I think the offering's supposed to be smaller than the shrine - oooff!" This time the coach came to a dead stop, the two girls falling to the floor together in a tangle of skirts and petticoats.

Della's father was Lord Malcolm Kincannon, one of the most powerful lairds in the region. He'd named his beloved daughter after his mother, a woman of great charm and wisdom called Magdelena. A few years later his sister and her husband died of the fever, and his young niece came to live at Kincannon Castle. She had also been named for Magdelena. Two cousins, two little Magdelenas. Lord Malcolm's daughter became Della, his niece became Maggie. Della was like moonlight with ash-blonde hair, soft blue eyes and a gentle nature that nevertheless hid a stubborn streak. Maggie was sunlight, with her bright golden hair, steady green eyes, quick laugh and explosive temper. The two girls were closer than most sisters, and had spent years getting each other into - and out of - trouble.

And then Bryan, youngest son of another local lord, came home after five years adventuring at sea. Maggie swore she heard the sound of bells when Della and Bryan met for the first time. Both fathers were delighted to ally two such noble families, and the wedding festivities began. Tonight was a ball for all the local notables, then there were three days of relative peace before the wedding itself.

Maggie grabbed for the door and half fell onto the road. "Donal, what's the matter now? Please don't say we've broken a wheel." She looked down as she righted herself. The wheels on this side showed no problems. As she looked up she realised they weren't alone.

Two men on horseback flanked them, each holding to Donal's throat a sword gleaming in the dying light.

Christmas in Australia - baking heat, cicada's shrill songs in the trees, and Christmas dinner round the barbeque, or a cold seafood platter with heaps of huge prawns and juicy oysters. And then January is perfect beach time - school holidays are on, with tribes of children loose everywhere you look; hot days interspersed with even hotter days; and everyone wants to recover from the pressure of Christmas fun. The beach. The perfect way to relax. And what could be more relaxing than a holiday house on the beach, with all the family having fun...

"Just what is that?"

"The coffee maker."

"You're packing the coffee maker?"

"Well, of course. You like coffee, don't you?"

"Becka, we're going on holidays to get away from it all. But we seem to be taking most of it with us."

"Just the things we really need."

"We really need the portable TV, the VCR, the laptop, the coffee maker...?"

Becka stopped wrapping the egg poacher in bubble wrap and looked at the love of her life, "Greg, for the next three weeks we're sharing a holiday house with your parents, your brother, his charming fiancee and her two interesting children. I NEED those things. For sanity. Ok?"

Greg frowned at her, his dark eyes serious. "For the next three weeks you'll behave perfectly, no matter what, ok?"

Becka tossed her long ponytail over one shoulder. "Sure. I'll behave. So long as I have coffee and my laptop."

Greg took her by the shoulders, turned her around towards the doorway and swatted the seat of her shorts gently. "Go. Pack. Get all the bags ready. And remember we have a car, not a truck."

Becka giggled at him and hurried off to finish the packing. She loved the beach, and three precious weeks to laze around were going to be wonderful. And she'd always got on well with Greg's parents, Molly and Frank. And with his brother Nick.

But Nick was engaged. To Melissa. The sister-in-law-to-be from hell. With two spoilt brat demon spawn in tow.

And three weeks of Melissa and her offspring were going to be a real strain.

Melissa was tall and slender. Becka was short and rounded. ("Full-figured" as the shop assistants said tactfully. "Built like a real woman" as Greg called it. "I need another diet" was how Becka saw it.)

Melissa had thick, wavy hair, black as midnight, with deep blue eyes and fine, fair skin. (She was probably an alien.) Becka had long, straight, fine, hair in an indeterminate mousy brown, and hazel eyes that couldn't seem to decide what colour they were meant to be. And skin that, according to Becka, went from sallow to muddy olive depending on the state of her tan.

Melissa was a model, most of her work consisted of waving at the latest product and looking suitably attractive and impressed while some hyperactive photographer tried for an even more flattering shot than the last one.

The Life and Times of Rachel Kent
Rachel Kent's bottom was a little stiff after sitting on the stagecoach seat for most of the day and she was about ready for any excuse just to stand. It had been three days since she had left Albuquerque and she was getting altogether very tired of the damn coach.

She shared the coach with two companions, neither she had met before coming aboard. One was a travelling salesman and the other, a schoolteacher heading out to her first position in a small town on the Colorado and New Mexico border. In the beginning, there had been some conversation, but the trials of the journey and the nature of the talk had soon discouraged further discourse.

"You have folks out here?" the woman had asked days before.

"In a manner of speaking. A distant cousin of my mother's and her family," Rachel had replied.

"It's a long way to travel for one so young, you'll be from the East I take it?" the woman suggested.

"I am near 21 and mother is dead," Rachel snapped. "I am to settle with kin out here somewhere."

"Oh my, a snippy one aren't we?" The woman pursed her lips in disapproval. "You'll find things very different out here."

"I am quite sure of that."

"My folks were from Virginia originally. I am all alone now myself. I know how it feels."

"Oh have you been forced upon distant cousins you hardly know also?" Rachel said, letting some surliness show.

"My we are sorry for ourselves aren't we?"

"Oh are you feeling sorry for yourself as well?" Rachel said sarcastically.

"If I had spoken to my elders and betters like that when I was your age, my mother would have taken a switch to my bare behind," the schoolteacher responded.

The salesman who had been pretending to sleep choked back his laughter causing his hat to fall off his face. He quickly doffed it to the women, took a swig from his flask and went back to dozing.

"Is that barbaric custom a southern practice or did your mother acquire it here in the West?" Rachel sniffed, turning back to address the schoolteacher.

"It's a tried and trusted custom in many places," the woman continued. "As the young ladies of my class will no doubt find when I take charge of them. A custom you would do well to keep in mind because if you speak so of my Mother again, I will stop the coach to demonstrate on your tender bottom for the edification of this gentleman and the men above."

The salesman began another coughing fit and after yet another swig settled down to sleep.

That had been some days before and neither had spoken much since.

At last the stage arrived at Benson, the small town nestled in sight of the San Juan Mountains, which was near the ranch that was to be her new home.

As she stood next to her trunk on the unpaved street opposite the small hotel, she suddenly felt more alone than she ever had in her life.

Beth lay curled up on the bed, flicking the pages of the book. She scanned the introduction.

"Is your love life getting stale? Is it the same old routine? Well it's time to spice things up before it's too late!"

Yes, she could definitely do with some spice. Same old routine was EXACTLY what she had - there used to be wild monkey sex in every room of the house just after they married, then all too soon it became 'Don't wake the baby', then years with toddlers sharing their bed after almost nightly bad dreams (How on earth did they manage to conceive the second and third kids? Osmosis?) Then a long, calmer time when all they had was a quick snuggle on Friday night.

"Did things just seem to slip away from you? Has the interest gone?"

And now the kids were grown and gone. Three months ago they waved their youngest off to college, and finally the house was their own again. And now that they had time, and enough places, and more than enough privacy (and sturdy furniture)... somehow they just didn't have the urge any more. What happened to the wild games, the inventive fun, the wonderful shivery Dom voice, the lovely hot spankings, and above all the totally intense sex? A few light smacks to her well-padded rear, a quick bonk and then he was snoring.

"It's time to take control! Get the interest back!"

Beth nodded. Interest, spice, fun - that's what they needed. She turned to Chapter 1 - "Find your lost passion - rekindle the flames."

Saturday, a great day for fun - and Mark was playing golf. Why wasn't he playing with HER?

She read on, carefully, then made a list:

Red nail polish Map Binoculars (might need to track him on the course) Perfume Legs waxed...

Fine. Passion. Rekindling. Beth was going to rekindle.

---oOo---
Mark frowned as the ball rose in the air, then moved in a graceful curve towards the greenery at the side of the fairway. He sighed as he trudged towards the spot where the ball disappeared. Now that the kids were off their hands he'd have time to work on his slice, and his handicap. Might knock off a few strokes by Christmas. It was good to have an interest, especially as you entered the more settled part of your life.

He pushed through the bushes, peering around, and then he saw it.

The foot.

A woman's foot, bare, with red toenail polish.

He froze, sick at the thought of a dead body being hidden on his favourite golf course.

The toes wiggled. His eyes tracked up the leg, to the very female form that lay half-turned away from him. The bare female form. He took a step back, "I'm sorry miss... madam... I ... er... I'll just play through."

"Can't you play with me?"

He froze. He knew that voice. "Beth? What are you doing here? You're not a member!"