Slowly and exceedingly reluctantly, consciousness began to return to Trey. Something deep inside told him that he was uncomfortable and had to wake up, but the part of his brain starting to come around was also protesting, telling it to go away, it felt so good to just sleeeep . . . he slowly became aware of strange but familiar music playing softly in the background of his awareness . . . Justin must have left the TV on again . . . something didn't seem right, didn't quite make sense. Slowly, he became aware of the fact that his bladder ached, his bones and joints ached, too . . . have to deal with that, then maybe he could sleep some more . . . on the bare edge of consciousness, he fumbled back the cover . . . something still wasn't right, but he had no idea what it was and didn't care . . .

The music stopped. "Ah," he heard a familiar voice say, "My hero has decided to rejoin the ranks of the living."

Awareness hit him like a baseball bat. That's Dr. Harris! I'm in her apartment . . . the memories of the last few days came back in a rush, the tension, the anger, the frustration, the exhaustion, the triumph, that scene at the airport, somehow driving here, knocking on her door . . . and here he still was, however long it had been. Willing his bleary eyes to open, he saw her sitting in the overstuffed armchair across the room, Blue Beauty resting in her lap. The sight warmed him. By God, he'd really done it!

With hands and arms fumbling, aching, and not working well, he struggled to sit upright. "How . . . how long have I been here?" he struggled to say.

"I confess I was beginning to develop a degree of concern, since you have been motionless upon my sofa for over fourteen hours," Dr. Harris said in a bright, cheerful voice. "But, I dared not waken you, for I knew that my hero needed rest from his mysterious Augean labors."

"Dr. Harris," he said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have fallen asleep on you."

"Nonsense," she smiled. "In my boundless relief and gratitude I'm perfectly willing to grant you any degree of solicitude that you desire. I merely hope that my desire to actually rest my fingers upon Blue Beauty's strings once again did not disturb you from your slumbers."

Trey thought that over for a minute. "Whatever," he said finally. "Look, do me a favor, would you?"

"Anything that is in my power to deliver to you, my hero. What is your desire?"

"Knock off the fancy language until I've had a chance to at least smell some coffee," he said. "I'm not awake enough right now to figure out what you're saying."

"I'll get some going right away," she promised. "But please, tell me how you managed to find Blue Beauty."

"Let me use your bathroom," he said. "Then let me go over to the dorm, take a shower, and change my clothes. I can't even stand myself. I don't know how you put up with me this long."

"I don't want to let you out of here until you tell me how you performed this miracle," she replied. "Please, feel free to shower here. I'll get started on washing your clothes, and I have a robe you can wear until they're done."

Trey started to protest, but she wouldn't hear of it. "I'll get something for you to eat," she said. "Would you prefer breakfast, lunch, or dinner?"

"Food would be good," he conceded, giving up on his protest and trying to get up. His whole body ached, stiff from so many hours on the couch, but somehow he managed to get to his feet and follow Dr. Harris to the bathroom.

"My hero, just throw your clothes out the door," she said, scrabbling in the medicine cabinet, and pulling out a toothbrush, fresh in the package, toothpaste, a pink disposable razor, and shaving cream. "I'll take care of them," she promised. "The robe is behind the door. Take your time."

"Thank you, Dr. Harris," he mumbled.

"No. Thank you, Trey," she said, heading out of the room, but she turned at the door and added, "Thank you for everything."

The toilet came first, before everything else, then with the pressure off Trey peeled out of his clothes, opened the door just enough to drop them outside, and headed for the shower. Mind running in neutral, some of the scenes from the last few days started running back through it as the hot water battered at his body. Mostly the triumph -- Dr. Harris had been right, it had been a miracle, but by God, he'd pulled it off! Just in time, too . . . another few hours would have been too late.

Finally feeling clean, he stepped out of the shower, toweled off, and headed for the sink. A familiar but welcome smell hit his nostrils -- there was a large cup of fresh coffee sitting on the edge of the counter by the door; she must have slipped it in while he was in the shower. It didn't matter; it smelled good, and what's more, it tasted good. He took a big gulp, then another, then started hacking away at several days' worth of beard stubble. A lot of guys, and girls these days, apparently thought that kind of stubble was sexy or something, but it offended him. How much better it was to get rid of it, to feel clean shaven!

In a few more minutes, he was heading back out into the living room, wearing a fuzzy terry-cloth robe, carrying what remained of his coffee, which wasn't much. "Ah, my hero!" she said from the kitchen as soon as she saw him. "I take it you're awake now."

"Well, I feel almost human," he said, going out to join her. He did feel a lot better than he had twenty minutes before.

"Very good," she smiled from the stove, where she was dishing something up. "Perhaps some small breakfast may assist you in returning you to your normal status, which now ranks in my mind as that of a demigod."

"Dr. Harris . . ."

"Trey, my hero, demigods do not address we mere mortals by honorifics."

"What . . . Oh, I get it." he grinned. "Myleigh, I only walk on water when there's a surfboard involved. You do, too. I'll quit calling you 'Dr. Harris' if you'll quit calling me a demigod."

"As you wish, my hero," she smiled. "Please be seated, for I have prepared some small sustenance of ambrosia for you."

"That's still pushing it," he laughed as he sat down. In an instant, she set a huge plate of eggs, fried potatoes, and bacon in front of him.

"Bacon?" he said. "I thought you were a vegetarian."

"Not by principle, only by taste," she grinned. "Besides, it remains within limits, for this bacon started its current existence as soybeans without a pig being any step in the process."

"Well, I proved one thing," he laughed as she poured him another big cup of coffee.

"What, pray tell, my hero?"

"You can talk like a real person if you have to."

"Yes," she sighed, taking the coffeepot back to the counter and dishing up a much smaller plate for herself. "But only if I think about it, as most people would have to approach a foreign language. I fear the habit is deeply ingrained. Now, my hero, please relate to me the details of this miracle you have performed for me."

"No miracle," he said. Since she obviously planned on eating too, he held off until she joined him. "Just hard work, and good luck."

'"Perhaps," she said, sitting down across from him. "But to me it is a miracle, and I shall be ever grateful. I've been worried sick nearly unto death! When you told me Tuesday that you thought there was a chance of finding Blue Beauty I was greatly relieved. But then, when I didn't hear from you for days I became increasingly worried. I was quite beside myself when you came knocking on my door last night at last, with an exhausted look on your face and Blue Beauty in your hand. You mumbled something about Montgomery, Alabama, and driving straight through. Trey, what happened?"

"I really thought it would be simple," he said around forkfuls of food. The first bite told him just how hungry he really was. Soybeans or not, the bacon actually tasted good. "Just run out to the airport and go through the unclaimed baggage room. The harp case is really distinctive, and I figured it would only take minutes. I figured maybe the tag had come off or something."

"Obviously, that was not the case," she said.

"Right," he said. "I checked the unclaimed baggage room, the carts, everywhere. No sign of it. So, I figured that it had to be somewhere else in the system, and the most likely thing was that it didn't get shipped out of Orlando. Well, I called down there, got to talk to a real baggage handler, not some typical minimum wage illiterate they put on the phones, and he was able to go through the place and tell me she wasn't there either. It was a little harder in Denver . . ."

"Denver?"

"That was the next best bet, that it wasn't taken off the plane here, and that was the next stop. Anyway, it was harder but no joy there, either. But the flight terminated there, and everything would have been taken off the plane. Look, I won't go through all the ins and outs, but I spent hours on the phone, on the computer terminal, and I came up dry. I was heading back here to tell you I couldn't find it, and I really didn't want to do that, because I knew you'd break down in tears."

"That must not have been difficult to surmise, for I was in tears when I told you," she said sadly.

"Right," he said. "I wasn't looking forward to it in the slightest, because, Myleigh, I really hate to see you cry. As I drove off the airport I was thinking that there had to be something else to try." He took a sip of coffee, and picked up a forkful of potatoes. "Then I realized there was one possibility I hadn't looked at. The system would have had to have screwed up for it to happen, but I'd realized by then it'd screwed up, so it was a possibility."

"What's that?" she said, as he took the bite off the fork.

"Look, I'm going to simplify this a bit since you don't need to know about the forms and reports and stuff. Believe it or not, the airline does try to not lose your luggage. There are fail-safes, most of which obviously failed in this case. If a piece of unclaimed or unmarked baggage shows up, we're supposed to hold it for a while so a local search can be easily carried out, then open it up to see if there's anything to identify the owner. If it can't be identified, it's marked with a new ID tag and sent to this big warehouse down in Montgomery where they're supposed to hold it for a while, just in case a search request does come through the system. There was nothing here in the records that met the description of Blue Beauty's case, but I got to thinking: what if some part-time seasonal temp, some college student, maybe, who didn't know what he was doing, put it on the cart for Montgomery without tagging it, without knowing that it was supposed to be held here, or Denver, or Orlando, or whatever."

"So you went to Montgomery."

"Let's just say that when I got down to 70 the Cougar wanted to turn that direction, and I wasn't complaining," he smiled. "I drove all night, got there in the morning, talked my way into the place, and explained what I was after. Realistically, I didn't have much of a chance, without that new ID to track it, but I told the guy that the harp had a pretty distinctive case, and he said I was welcome to go through the place piece by piece."

"So, you did."

"Myleigh, that place is huge!" Trey said, shaking his head. "Acres and acres of shipping cages, all six feet or so on a side, just stacked high with unclaimed baggage. It turns out that a lot of airlines use the facility. One of the guys there said that after the tags expire, the baggage is opened up, sorted, and auctioned off in huge lots. Most of it gets shipped to Africa, where it winds up in street bazaars and like that."

"Oh dear!" There was an alarmed look on her face.

"Oh dear, right," Trey nodded. "The system is set up so that the stuff is in cages organized by its expiration date, so I started with the most recent arrivals. I didn't find Blue Beauty in stuff that had arrived after your trip, so I had to go through everything. A couple times, I crapped out for an hour or two behind a row of cages, but I didn't want to leave since I might not be able to get in again. I, uh, bullshitted my way through security, and I didn't know if I could get away with it again."

"But you found her."

"Just before dawn, yesterday morning," he said. "In a stack of cages that goes to auction Monday."

"Oh, dear," she said, almost crying before she brightened. "But, my hero, you found her, that's what counts. Why did you not call me with the good news?"

"I tried," Trey sighed. "I didn't have much hope. I don't have your number here, you're unlisted, and I couldn't get hold of anyone who would give it to me. I didn't even try your office, since I didn't think you'd be there on Saturday. Myleigh, I was exhausted, I wasn't thinking too well, but I figured the best way to get the news to you was to get back as quick as I could." He sighed. "Now that I think about it, I guess I could have called my roommate or somebody to come over here, but I was just too wasted to think of it. So, I got in the car and drove, just making pit stops for food or gas."

"Trey, you should have stopped to rest, at least a little."

"I didn't want to," he said. "Besides, I kept thinking about the whole thing, and the more I thought about it, the more pissed . . . er . . ."

"'Pissed' sounds fine to me, my hero. Lest you doubt, I have had occasion to use the word myself. I, upon occasion, find it quite expressive."

". . . the more angry I got," he persisted. "Some . . . er, jerk, must have really screwed up. More than one, at least one in Montgomery, because of the lack of an expiration date on the unclaimed tag, but one here, too. Myleigh, the regular baggage tags are still on Blue Beauty's case, your own address tag, just like it's supposed to be. And, once I saw them, I knew that the big mistake had to have been made here, and in Montgomery, they should have shipped her right back here. Well, the more I drove, the more angry I got, and wanted a piece of someone's hide. I guess I don't have a job at the airport any longer."

"Trey, are you in trouble with the police over this?"

"Not the cops, but . . . Myleigh, have you ever heard the phrase, 'swear like a trooper'?"

"Of course."

"I was a trooper for four years. I know how to do that. I went straight to the South Central baggage terminal out at the airport, chewed a strip off the shift supervisor so good that my drill sergeant back in basic training would have been proud of me. Then, for good measure, I tore an even bigger strip off the baggage supervisor, and finished up with the station manager. My anger was all that had kept me going all the way from Montgomery to Kansas City, and I'm not real sure how I made it here."

"But you did, my hero, and you brought my Blue Beauty back to me," she said, getting up and coming around to stand beside him. "As I said, I shall be ever grateful."

All of a sudden, Trey felt her hand on his shoulder, saw her face in front of him, felt her lips on his. Trey had been around the block once or twice in his life and thought he knew what a hot kiss was, but nothing he'd ever experienced in his life could match the intensity of the power of her lips, her mouth, her tongue. Unable to help himself, he put his arms up to encircle her, and as he did, he felt her free hand slip between the folds of his robe and reach its now-tumescent target. The touch of her fingers grasping it felt good beyond belief . . . but brought doubts to his mind. Doubts so strong that he took one hand from around her back, reached down, took her wrist, and gently disengaged it from the touch that was building so much excitement.

She pulled her head back and whispered in a questioning voice, "Trey?"

His head was still swirling, and somehow he forced the words out, "Myleigh, you don't have to be that grateful."

"Oh, but I must," she said with a huge smile. "My hero deserves his reward."

"Uh, maybe you'd like to think about this a minute," he protested.

"I dare say I have thought about it all I . . . oh, dear," she replied, breaking off in mid-thought. "I'm sorry. Trey, I hadn't considered the possibility that you might be gay."

"I'm not gay," he assured her, as the feelings coursing through him, especially in one particular part of him, brought on a wave of confusion. "But I just want to be sure I'm doing the right thing, and I want you to be sure, too."

"Are you saying you don't want me?" she said, almost shocked at the thought.

"No," he smiled. "In fact, I'm having a lot of difficulty remembering the trouble that guys get into when they let their dicks think for them, and I'd just like to be sure your brain is thinking for you, not something else. I realize that you're very grateful to me for finding Blue Beauty, but I'm not sure gratitude is the right reason to do this."

"But Trey," she protested, swinging herself around to sit on his lap, even though her face stayed close to his. "Why should it not be? I'm exceedingly pleased at the service you've performed for me, and I want to show you my thanks in any way I can."

Confusion continued to swirl through Trey's head. Damn it, she was a good-looking woman, and she'd just hit on him the hardest he'd ever been hit on -- so why didn't it feel like the right thing to do? He struggled to find the words, "Myleigh, I'll gladly accept your thanks, but I'm not sure that going to bed is the right way to do it."

"But, my hero," she purred, still holding on to him, "I fear I fail to understand what you're trying to say."

"I don't know that I know either," he frowned. "There's something that doesn't feel right. Look, let me put it this way. If I were to offer you a lot of money to go to bed with me, you'd feel offended, right?"

"Of course," she frowned at the thought.

"Then why should it be any different if I perform a favor for you?"

"But returning Blue Beauty was more than just a favor. Trey, you gave my life back to me when you walked in the door with her in your hand." She let out a big sigh and said, "But nevertheless, trying to see it from your viewpoint, I can see how an honorable man like you would think it dishonorable to take advantage of me in such a way. But, my hero, I do not see it as taking advantage of me."

"I do," he said, thoughts still trying to form behind the screen of disbelief that he was saying these things at all. "What's worse, I think in time, when you've had the chance to put things in perspective, you would, too. Myleigh, I don't want that to happen. You're much too good for that."

"Why do you think that?" she said in a quizzical voice.

"Because you are," he said slowly, reaching for words. "I see it in the things that you say and the things that you do. Myleigh, you are the most intelligent, most talented, most awesome woman I've ever had the privilege to meet. You show it in everything. I can't bring myself to do something that you might eventually be sorry for."

"My hero," she said with a smile. "You think far too highly of me."

"Then think about this," he said as another angle to the question hit him. "You're still the professor around here, and I'm still the student. Randy and I talked about this a little down at Buddha and Giselle's. Myleigh, I spent four years in the Army and it affects how I think. There's officers, and there's troops, and they're supposed to stay a little separate from each other. Around here, you're an officer and I'm one of the troops. I wouldn't want you to get in trouble."

"I see," she smiled. "And, in that you might have a point. However, you are not a student of mine, and as I understand it, do not intend to be again."

"Doesn't matter," he said. "You don't know what's going to happen. I was headed up to your office Tuesday to see if you had any openings in classes that I might be able to transfer into."

"I didn't know that," she said.

"Never got the chance to tell you," he smiled. "I got more out of last semester than I thought, and I thought I might as well take at least one class from a professor who I like."

"Why thank you, Trey," she smiled, and moved her lips close to his. "You are correct, it might make things rather sticky, and I can see how a decent, honorable, gallant man like you would wish to preserve what little of my virtue remains. Gallantry is hard to find in this day and age, and one must take it where one can find it."

She kissed him again -- not quite the hot, hard kiss of before, but close, very close, and it went on for a while. It was a memorable kiss, and most of his attention went toward it, the feel of her lips on his, of each of their tongues on the others. He was aware of her full breasts pushing against his chest, and his arms helplessly drew her closer to him. But at least part of his mind was working. He'd had classes with her since last fall, they'd been at least a little bit friends for a month, and probably a little more than that after their week at Buddha and Giselle's -- but, still, just friends. Really he hardly knew her. The prospect that they could become lovers still lay in his hands despite what he'd just said, but could they ever really become friends? After all, she was obviously a classy woman, a much better person than he was, from a better background. He had difficulty believing that anything could ever work out between her and a guy who came from a shabby house by the railroad yard in Bumfuck, Indiana. If they became lovers it could obviously lead to trouble, to places he didn't want to go. Despite the warmth of this woman in his arms perhaps it was just as well, but damn it was hard.

Finally, she pulled her lips from his, then smiled and said, "With strong reservations, I shall accept your protest for the moment and hold the matter in abeyance. However, should you change your mind, you need but inform me."

"Thanks, Myleigh," he nodded. "I'm not saying 'no' forever. I'm just saying let's both be sure we're doing the right thing."

She pulled back from him a little. "Certainly, my gallant hero," she smiled. "But surely, there must be some small favor I can do to show my vast gratitude."

"Well actually, there is one thing," he smiled. "I blew off several classes to look for Blue Beauty. I just kind of dropped things and ran. It wouldn't hurt my feelings if you were to put in a word or two with my professors."

"My hero, your wish is my command," she smiled. "You need but to give me a list of those involved."

"Can do," he grinned. "Now, I think I better get my clothes on and get out of here before I change my mind."

"Must you leave?" she said, getting up. "Absent the fact that I have yet to put your clothes in the dryer, I should like to share something with you, and there is no man alive with whom I should rather share it. I shall attempt to not let my affections be odious."

"Sure," he said. "Despite what I just said, I do enjoy being around you."

"Thank you," she smiled. "Would you desire a refill of your coffee? I, myself, should like some tea."

"Actually, I'm a little coffeed out right now," he said, "But a cup of tea sounds nice."

"Then I shall prepare some," she said. "Do you often drink tea?"

"Oh, half and half with coffee, maybe," he replied, relieved that the conversation had turned back to more mundane things. "I like coffee in the mornings but I burn out on it after a while."

"My, my," she grinned as she gathered the dishes from the table. "Not only honorable and gallant, but not an uncultured barbarian, either."

"Next to you, I am an uncultured barbarian," he grinned.

"Methinks my hero doth protest too much," she laughed, turning to fill a teapot on the stove. "Trey, though it may be difficult for you to believe, you are far above the common lot yourself. I fear you are just loathe to admit it. I tell you truly, you are a man among men, and I am but worthy to wipe the dust from your shoes."

He shook his head. "Did anybody ever tell you that you read too many old novels?"

"All the time," she laughed. "Believe me, Trey, all the time. Let me get your clothes in the dryer, and I'll come join you on the couch."

In a minute, she walked into the living room of the tiny apartment, set two cups of tea on the table, and turned to a CD player sitting on a bookcase across the room. "My hero," she said taking a CD jewel case from the shelf, "Earlier this week I received this from Jennifer and Blake, but I was unable to bring myself to listen to it what with my sorrow about possibly losing Blue Beauty forever. Now that you have returned her to me, there could be no greater honor than to have you hear it for the first time with me."

"Harp Strings?" He'd heard a great deal about the project down at Buddha and Giselle's, of course.

"A proof copy, made from Jennifer and Blake's master," she said, handing him the jewel case.

There was a picture of her on it, in the red gown she'd worn the night of the concert, obviously playing hard on Blue Beauty. "This is the photo from the Marenthalian, right?"

"Correct," she said. "I'm afraid it is but a sample that Blake made from a copy of the paper," he said. "He is endeavoring to get the original for the actual album."

"Dynamite photo," he said, as she pushed "Play" on the CD player, then walked over to the couch and sat down beside him -- actually, under his outstretched arm -- and snuggled up against him as he heard Blue Beauty's recorded voice in a dynamic intro to a strange piece of music. "I haven't heard this before," he said quietly, straining to feel the music.

"It's called Inland Sea," she said. "I didn't play it at the concert. It's one of the older ones."

It was a heckuva piece of music, older or not, a wonderful showcase of the harp and of her precise alto voice. It was dynamic, fast, but still seemed smooth and sensual . . . as was the woman next to him laying her head on his shoulder. He could smell her hair, feel it lay softly on him, feel the warmth of her body . . . at any other time it would have been tempting, but not after the discussion of a few minutes before. Still, it was a nice sensation to feel. It was a long time since he'd had a woman cuddled up next to him, and to have a woman who awed him as much as she did made it extra special. He was glad that she'd chosen to share this moment with him.

The second track was Lore of the Loom, which he also hadn't heard before, but the instrumental virtuosity was obvious, a powerful, yet delicate piece of music that was astounding; it was hard to believe that this woman with her harp, could achieve such a display . . . well, there was a little backup, but it was unobtrusive and just helped to showcase the harp on lead. A good, delicate, sensitive job of mixing, he thought professionally as he listened to it. Then came the third cut, and this he had heard: Black Haired Rebel Girl. It was this piece of music that had first really impressed him with both the harp and its player . . . yet it wasn't quite the same. It was even more powerful, more sensitive, with a backdrop that added to the piece but didn't overwhelm it. "Nice job," he whispered as it came to an end.

"I think so," she agreed quietly as the next track began. "I shall tell you a story later."

It took most of an hour to get through the album. Trey liked all of it, some pieces better than others, of course, but Dark Haired Rebel Girl was probably his favorite. There was just something special about it . . . after the last track ended, they sat there in silence, just letting the experience wash over them. "Very, very nice," he breathed quietly to break the silence.

"Do you think it's any good?"

"I think it's wonderful," he said. "I don't know enough about the market, so I can't say that it'll sell very well, but the people who do hear it are in for an experience. I hope it does well for you."

"I do hope so," she said. "Rather more for Jennifer and Blake than I."

"How's that?"

She went on to explain how the album was their first venture into producing music that wasn't solely Jenny Easton, Boreal String Band or not, and how she thought they had a lot of pride wrapped up into it. From there, she went on to tell the story of how Blake was prepared to send a dogsled out for Steam Train John to get the rights to the music. That led to more stories about Jennifer and Blake, about the Boreal String Band and Spearfish Lake, and somehow, there on the couch the afternoon got away from them. By the time they finally got up, the light was fading fast in the front window, and streetlights were coming on outside.

Myleigh offered to make dinner, and Trey wasn't about to turn her down. While she got started, he got his clothes back on, nice and clean, and went out and helped her with cooking. The talk turned to him a little, and he told her some things about the Army, about being in Kosovo, and a story or two about growing up in Indiana. He thought about telling her about Carolyn getting him mad back before Christmas, how she'd driven him out of the house and down to Florida, but he decided not to -- there was no point in polluting a pleasant evening like he was having with a story like that. So, they talked about Buddha and Giselle, and about surfing. She told him some stories about Crystal, about spending last Christmas with her and her reconstituted family out in Flagstaff, and somewhere in the process dinner was eaten, the dishes were washed and put away, and it grew late. It was perhaps the most pleasant afternoon and evening with a woman that he could remember.

Finally it was far past the time that Trey should have been heading back to the dorm, but it was hard to tear away. Finally there was no denying it: he had to go.

"Just a minute before you leave," she said. "I have something for you."

She took the jewel case for the Harp Strings proof CD, eased the cover out of it, took a felt pen, and wrote across her picture, "To My Hero, Trey -- Myleigh." She put the case back together, and handed it to him. "I want you to have this, Trey, as a token of my gratitude to you."

"Myleigh, you didn't have to do that," he said. "But it's thanks enough for what I did for you."

"No, it's not," she told him. "There can never be enough thanks for what you did. It was so important to me in so many ways that you shall probably never know them all, but it's about all I can offer that you will accept. Unless, of course, you should wish to accept my original offer, which remains intact."

"Myleigh," he said. "Let's not go there again, at least not now."

"As you wish," she replied. "But Trey, I shall not forget it. Should you change your mind, all you need do is let me know."

He let out a sigh. "I'll tell you what," he replied. "Let's just try to be friends for now. I'll be graduating in less than a year, and then the professor-student part of it will be in the past. If you still feel you need to do it then, I'll do my best to be sure that you're not sorry." Never do today what you can put off until tomorrow, he thought. That might be the best answer. Once she's had some time to get some perspective, things might seem a little different to her.

"All right," she said. "I should like to have you for a friend as much as for a lover, though we shall have to be circumspect around campus. But Trey, I shall be counting the days. And Trey, there is something else I must give you before you go."

"What's that?" he wondered.

"This," she said, taking him in her arms and laying another long, hot kiss on him. This one ranked somewhere on the high end of the Richter Scale, enough to give him second thoughts, which he suppressed as well as he could.

It went on and on, and finally she pulled away. "Must you go?" she asked sadly.

"Afraid so," he said. "And I really don't want to say this, because I'd really rather stay here, but good night, Myleigh."

"Good night, Trey," she said; he could hear the sorrow in her voice.

Trey went out the door with the Harp Strings CD in his hand, and he could see her standing in the doorway watching him go. He gave her a final wave as he descended the stairs, and she was out of his sight.

The parking lot of the apartment building was as full as it had been last night when he'd had to leave the Cougar sitting across the street. He went over to it, pulled out his keys to unlock it, and glanced back up at the light in her apartment. It wouldn't take much, he thought. I could go back up there, knock on her door, tell her I've changed my mind, and be in bed with her in five minutes. It would probably be a hell of a ride; as intense as she was about everything else she probably had to be pretty intense about that, too. But, no. It still wouldn't be the right thing to do. Maybe someday, most likely not, but not now for sure. She was still the most awesome woman he'd ever known, talented, quirky -- oh, God, how quirky -- intelligent and fascinating. But, most likely not for him. She was still way out of his league, and he'd known that from the beginning. She may have called him a demigod, but she was a demigoddess to him, and a guy like him from the bad part of town had no business messing with a lady like her. An opportunity lost, perhaps, but probably best that way. But still . . .

He opened the door of the Cougar and stared up at the light in her apartment for a moment, his mind churning. It was tempting, but not a good idea. He shook his head, and again whispered to himself, "Good night, Dr. Harris."

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