The morning broke overcast and stormy. All plans to head out and explore the small, interior villages in search of local artisans were scrapped. Brenna had to admit she was relieved that at least for one day she wouldn't be the party pooper.

Using a stool to prop her foot and Mac as her willing runner she was still able to make pancakes with homemade papaya syrup. The gang was in the process of polishing them off and sipping coffee when the storm broke sending great sheets of rain down in a torrential downpour.

They turned on all the lights to dispel the gloom created inside by the lack of sun outside. The wind battered and shook the large house. Brenna made her way to the library in search of a good book. The crutches were uncomfortable and chaffing but she assumed she'd get used to it. Just about the time she was healed up.

The library was open and cozy with overstuffed armchairs and ottomans tucked into the corners or placed in front of the fireplace. Brenna scanned the shelves for a while before finally settling on a classic Jane Austen and one of the chairs in front of the fireplace.

She was several chapters in when Reego entered and padded to her side. His master entered close on his heels.

"Hope you don't mind, this is a good spot for the day." He sat in the chair across from her with a woodworking magazine.

"It is a good spot," she agreed. "What are you going to make?" She pointed at the magazine.

"I am thinking about trying to take on a hope chest. The kind with all the interior compartments that move in and out." He motioned with his arms to illustrate.

"That sounds difficult."

"Do you ever turn down a recipe because it sounds difficult or does the difficulty attract you to it more?" His face mirrored the curiosity in his tone.

"Touche." She smiled wide. She was surprised but apparently he'd figured her out on such a short acquaintance.

"So you speak German, love dogs, and are a skilled woodworker as well as a veteran and a law enforcement officer, which both of the latter are special callings all in themselves. What else should I know about you Mac Tullman?"

"I can't cook. I'm a terrible speller. My handwriting is completely illegible and I absolutely refuse to wear anything wool because it's itchy." He delivered his list with a completely deadpan face which only added to the absurdity of it all and sent Brenna into a fit of giggles. Having achieved his goal he broke into a broad smile.

"I'm really pretty boring. When I got out of the Marines I wanted nothing but peace and quiet. I tried running my own landscaping business but the peace didn't agree with me." He looked down at his hands and his voice dropped lower. "The faces in my dreams wouldn't let me be. I still owed them. So I joined the sheriff's office so I could stay busy and utilize the skills Uncle Sam paid for."

"I can understand that." Her voice was almost imperceptible under the sound of the rain pounding on the roof.

"You saved the kid. You put yourself between a madman and a child. I don't see how you can feel at all responsible for anything bad about that?"

"Derek yelled to me. He told me they guy was dead and I was so relieved." She let out an explosive breath. "Then the explosion happened. I heard it but I didn't care because they were picking me up and it hurt so bad but I knew I was going to go to the hospital and get help." Her voice hitched. "He was gone and I didn't care; I was completely wrapped up in me."

"You didn't know that then. Derek said you were practically unconscious and on the brink of death. You didn't know about the bombs." She remained silent and he knew that the truth didn't matter to her. No one could reason away the guilt she carried until she was ready.

"I know a lot about punishing one's self and I've learned that those that are gone receive no pleasure from your suffering. Everything I've ever heard said about Greg points toward him having been a smart, good hearted man who loved you with all his soul. I can't imagine a guy like that wanting to watch or enjoying seeing you hurt." He raised his hand against her look of protest. "No rebuttal. Just think about it."

He raised his magazine signaling the end of the conversation. Fighting back the tightness in her chest she raised her book and tried to read through the tears blurring her vision.

*********************

The storm held out for another day and left the vacationers stir crazy and grateful for the sun that broke through with only 2 days remaining of their trip.

Brenna prepared for another day on the couch or in the library while the others prepared for a bike ride to the interior of the island to search out the small villages renowned for hand crafted local art. She loaded a backpack full of pita sandwiches, fruit, dip and crackers for one of the guys to carry while the others pulled the bicycles out of the garage. Pete and Mac had gone into town to rent the additional bikes they would need.

She had slung the pack over her shoulders and situated her crutches for her trip to the door when she heard a cry of excitement outside.

"Perfect! That is awesome!" Tammi's voice carried through the hallway.

Brenna reached the front door and saw everyone crowded around a small cart that looked like a rickshaw attached to the back of one of the bikes.

Becca looked up and saw her in the doorway. "You get to go!" she exclaimed with a clap.

The group parted except for Mac who bowed at the waist. "Your chariot awaits malady."

"Seriously? No way, I'll end up broken in some other way with one of you guys pulling me in that thing!" she was laughing as she made her concerns known.

"I promise to take the utmost care. I swear." Mac crossed himself with a grave look of seriousness.

"Fine! I've got to make another pita now so wait just one minute. She balanced on her good foot and swung the crutches around to make an about face and ran straight into Isabelle.

The other woman looked like an Italian model in a short flowered dress that showed off her long tan legs. Her dark hair was curled in perfect loose ringlets and her red sandals matched her red nail mani/pedi to a T.

"Still learning how to get about I see? Well I'm sure it's a hand and eye coordination type of thing and it'll come eventually." She brushed past Brenna and stepped outside.

Not willing to give her the attention she demanded, Brenna returned to the kitchen and took the backpack off and placed it on the counter. The fridge opened behind her and all the supplies for the pita were placed on the counter beside her.

"I'm just excited to get a move on," Mac did a playful squeeze of her shoulders. "Hey, do we have a thermos or a big bottle? Something to put that lemonade in? That would be awesome."

She pointed toward the pantry. "Check in there."

He returned with a large thermos and set it on the counter to fill. She completed the additional food and they loaded it and the thermos into the backpack. Mac grabbed the bag and motioned for her to lead the way.

The ride was a lot better than she'd anticipated. Mac took great pains to avoid the bumps and keep the ride smooth. The countryside was beautiful in its wildness. A thick jungle of greenery lined the roadway but every once in a while it would open up and show them a deep cave of tropical paradise. Reego kept pace alongside her cart and ran with a joyous lolling of his tongue.

The villages were densely populated with short distances between them. Each one had a sort of main drag that would be lined on both sides by artisans. Brenna saw hand blown glass, pottery, woven baskets, candles, jewelry, wall art, hanging chairs, hammocks and so much more. Her little cart became crowded with all the finds the group purchased that were too large for their backpacks.

She didn't mind sharing her space; she was having a great day.

Brenna entered a small jewelry shop in the last town on their trek. The walls were lined with handmade wooden cases and displayed hundreds of pieces ranging from leather and semi precious stones to gold and precious gems.

Isabelle had arrived ahead of her and stood leaning heavily over one of the counters. The male attendant was focused in on the ample decolletage she displayed in that position.

"So tell me about these lovely dark orange stones?"

The male started to tell her about the stones and their origin in heavily accented and stilted English.

Brenna couldn't help rolling her eyes as she shuffled on her crutches. She couldn't believe Isabelle was so starved for attention that she'd even resort to flirting with the locals for attention. Either that or she was trying to connive and flirt her way into a better price. Neither painted a nice picture of the other woman.

Just then she noticed the woman standing in the corner staring daggers of hate at Isabelle. Her whole posture was one of barely repressed animosity. Brenna assumed she must be the wife of the man and co-owner of the shop.

She felt pity for the woman. She couldn't imagine having to watch another woman fawn and drape herself over her husband while having to control herself because the woman might provide much needed revenue for the business.

Another covert glance told Brenna the powder keg was about to blow. She casually browsed the shelves as she made her way of the store. Although seeing Isabelle put in her place by the angry Mexican woman would be exciting and satisfying, she didn't want to be pulled into the fray by association.

Mac met her at the door.

"You don't want to go in there," she told him.

She was surprised when he didn't question her and just pivoted on his feet to follow her back to the cart.

Brenna was balancing on her good leg and hoisting herself into the cart when all hell broke loose. A torrent of angry Mexican spewed from the door of the shop. She didn't know Spanish Brenna couldn't imagine anything good being said in that tone. The words got closer and burst forth from the door the same time as Isabelle was pushed out forcefully but the Mexican woman Brenna had seen in the shop.

The woman made angry shooing motions and continued to speak angrily.

"I think we should get going," Tammi murmured with a worried look toward the scene and the gathering crowd of locals.

"Isabelle get on your bike. We are leaving." Pete told her loudly in a measured tone.

"She put her hands on me! She grabbed me by my hair and she shoved me! She can't do that. Someone has to do something." Her voice continued to rise to a shriek and she pointed angrily at the shop.

"Isabelle, we do not have the advantage here. Look around you. Get on your bike and let's go!" Derek grabbed her arm and pulled her to her bike. "Get on and ride."

The group started peddling out of the village back the way they had come. Brenna felt better once they were on the other side of a couple other villages and only a couple miles from the beach house. No one spoke and Isabelle's sniffling sobs had died down to the occasional heavy sigh.