Frederick wound between the trucks, fences, and a few haphazardly stored supplies with Lucy trailing a chaste distance after him. When they reached the open path, they walked side by side. He was careful not to touch her. That stolen kiss had done nothing to soothe the inferno raging within his traitorous body. He'd always considered the image of the burly man hoisting a woman over his shoulder and dragging her back to his cave to be an old-fashioned contrivance showing men at their worst. In the last few minutes, he'd decided that he thought it sounded like a really good plan.

They reached the food tent and made their way to the table holding several tall, silver cylinders that promised caffeine-laden drinks. Without thinking, Frederick put his hand at the small of Lucy's back to guide her to the table ahead of him. Even that small contact was a mistake, he realized, when a vivid image of Lucy wriggling on his shoulder as he stomped back to his trailer to have his way with her flared through his mind. He pulled his hand back so quickly that if anyone had been watching, he'd drawn more attention to himself than if he'd left his hand where it was.

Drinks in hand, Lucy and Frederick were strolling towards a table at the far corner of the tent when another red shirt caught his eye. Stanley, the chief medic, was sitting at a table halfway to the one Frederick was aiming for. Stanley looked up when he spotted Lucy, then did a double take when he saw that Frederick was with her.

"Mr. Asherton, Lucy, hello. Trouble with your knee today?" Stanley asked, all professional courtesy.

"Stanley, hello. My knee is fine, thanks to some excellent first aid, and some excellent physiotherapy," said Frederick, his eyes sliding to Lucy, who was suddenly bristling with agitation. "We were just going to go and discuss an ongoing exercise program. Good day," Frederick said, in a hurry to get Lucy away from this man seemed to be distressing her.

"Was it? Excellent first aid, I mean?" Lucy asked, once they were seated out of earshot. They sat at opposite sides of the table.

Frederick considered the question. "Excellent may have been overstating it. Adequate is a better word. On a set, especially on location, you're surrounded by the same group of people all day every day for weeks, even months at a time. Small courtesies can make the difference between a good day and wanting to kill each other before lunch. A happy crew that works well together works fast. Going over schedule can cost millions, easily," he explained.

"Gotcha."

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I don't think I like Stanley very much."

"I've worked with him before. He's old-fashioned and can be brusque, but he's not a bad man, and he's more than qualified for the job."

"But he hurt you when you injured yourself."

"A little. Some of what you did hurt, too. Of course, when a gorgeous woman is touching you, nothing hurts much."

Lucy glanced down at the ground, but smiled radiantly. He needed to remember to compliment her more often.

"Mr. Asherton?" asked a timid voice behind Frederick's back. Frederick turned to see the second (or was it third?) assistant director. "You're wanted on set, Mr. Asherton."

Frederick said a polite goodbye to Lucy and left.

* * * * *

Lucy sat at the table, sipping her drink. She considered going to find the book that she'd put in her bag. If she didn't find something else to do other than sit and wait for the accidents she hoped wouldn't happen, she'd end up drinking so much coffee that she'd never sleep again.

A gray-haired zombie approached her table. "Excuse me," he said, his voice deep and British, though not as sonorous as Frederick's, and the accent was a bit different. "I couldn't help but overhear you talking to Stanley earlier. You're the physiotherapist who worked on Frederick Asherton recently?"

"I am. Is there something I can do for you?" she asked, happy at the possibility of talking shop for a while.

"Yes, if you have a moment," he said. "I'm Jim, pleased to meet you," he said, holding out a nasty green hand.

"Lucy," she said, taking his hand without flinching. Even through his makeup, Lucy could tell that he was generation or two older than her, as many of her clients were.

Jim talked to Lucy about some trouble he'd been having with his shoulder for a few months, and after having him describe the trouble and raise his arms as far as they would go, she suggested some exercises that she thought could help him, if not improve his range of motion, at least maintain what he had.

Jim spoke with a calm poise that made Lucy both want to sit up straighter and put her completely at ease. He seemed slightly familiar. She wondered if he'd had a bit role in a movie that she'd seen.

After their impromptu therapy session, Jim thanked Lucy warmly and headed back to the set.

He had barely left Lucy's corner of the tent when two young women in pristine historical reproduction gowns came swooping over to Lucy.

"Oh my goodness!" the one in the pale yellow dress said. "James Holden Wilms never talks to anyone!"

"What about James Holden Wilms?"

"He was just talking to you?" said the one in the white dress and elaborately feathered hat as though Lucy were a bit soft in the head.

"What? No. Really, that was him?" Lucy asked.

"Well, yeah," said Yellow Dress. "He plays Elizabeth Bennet's father, who gets turned into a zombie in the first act."

"James Holden Wilms. Holy crap," said Lucy. He was one of the most celebrated actor of his—or any— generation. He'd been in dozens of critically acclaimed movies over the years, had won a shelf full of academy awards, and, if Lucy remembered correctly, was some sort of ambassador with the United Nations.

Once word got around that James Holden Wilms had personally sought out the new medic for physiotherapy, Lucy was kept busy with a steady stream of requests for help with strained muscles and nagging complaints. She was more than happy to comply, and by mid-morning on the Sunday of Lucy's first weekend as a medic, she had set up an exam table in a curtained off area near the pharmacy supplies.

* * * * *

Lucy had just finished up with an enthusiastic young stuntman who wanted her take on improving lower upper body strength without sacrificing flexibility when a black top hat appeared around the curtain.

"Ms MacKinley?" asked a familiar baritone.

"Frederick!" she said with a broad smile as he edged around the curtain. "You've been keeping busy today."

"Not nearly busy enough," he said, storming towards her with that smolder in his eyes that made her stomach flop deliciously.

"Down, boy!" she said, holding her hands palm out. "There's only one piece of fabric separating us from thirty people."

"There's only two pieces of fabric separating you from me," he said, easing his way into her no-fly zone, his eyes raking up and down her body.

"Four, thank you very much, unless you're going commando."

"I'm entirely dressed for historical accuracy, thank you very much."

Lucy's eyes dropped to the double row of buttons running up the front of his pants.

"You mean on the other side of those buttons..."

"Accuracy is vital when playing a character from another time period."

Her mouth went dry. Several tantalizing scenarios related to those buttons flashed through her mind for a pleasant few seconds. She took a deep breath to fortify herself, reached down deep and mustered her professional persona.

"Mr. Asherton, I don't believe you need any additional treatment. Please continue with the exercises you've been doing."

"Tease," he complained.

"Me? You're the one who came in here with those eyes and those buttons just—"

Lucy stopped abruptly when someone 'hallooed' from the other side of the curtain. A coiffed blonde head appeared. Hard blue eyes sized up Lucy, Frederick, and the small distance between them.

"Frederick! What a surprise to find you here. You're alright, I hope?" the woman said, ignoring the tension she'd walked into.

"Fine, Neva, thank you. Have you met Lucy, our new medic and physiotherapist?" asked Frederick, his smolder instantly smothered.

"Not yet, but I've heard such good things about her." The blonde woman turned to Lucy and held out a dainty hand. "Neva Straughter, pleased to meet you."

"Lucy. Likewise," she said, taking Neva's hand. Neva pulled her hand away after making the smallest possible contact with Lucy's hand that could still be called a handshake.

"Well, aren't you just adorable! I can see why our Frederick is so taken with you," she simpered. Lucy was fairly certain that this was not a compliment, since she was being spoken to as though she were a fuzzy puppy rather than a desirable, professional woman, but she remembered Frederick's words about keeping the peace on set.

"Thank you. You were wonderful in 'Summer Frost'," Lucy said. It was true enough, she admitted to herself.

"That's sweet of you to mention it. The Academy seemed to like it, too," Neva said, her eyes swinging to Frederick at the mention of The Academy. Lucy didn't think it would impress him, though. Neva had been nominated, but she hadn't won. Neither had Frederick, but he'd been nominated twice now and had half the number of leading roles to his name. Ha ha, Neva.

"So, Frederick, what brings you to see Little Lucy? Your knee isn't acting up, I hope?" Neva asked, putting her hand on Frederick's elbow in a gesture of anxiety that made Lucy's blood boil.

"I'm fine, Neva. Thanks for your concern," said Frederick. Lucy could have kissed him for brushing Neva off so neatly. No lies, no awkward explanations, just 'shut up, Neva.' Inspired by his dismissal, Lucy took it one step further.

"Actually, Miss Straughter, I need one more minute with Mr. Asherton. Could you excuse us, please?"

Lucy could tell that Neva was dying to know what Lucy needed Frederick for, but she had no excuse to linger, and left after saying a quick farewell.

Lucy and Frederick stood still and silent until they no longer heard footsteps, then turned towards each other again. Frederick snickered like a schoolboy who had narrowly missed being caught shooting a spitball, but laughter was the furthest thing from Lucy's mind.

She ran both hands backwards through her hair. "What are we going to do? You, me, dozens of other people? It's only a matter of time until we're caught unless we never talk to each other at all." She turned her back to Frederick. "Maybe I should just quit."

"Everyone has nothing but praise for you," he said. "You told me you like the work you're doing here on set, right?"

Lucy nodded.

"Then don't you dare quit because of me," he said, his voice close behind her left shoulder. She inhaled deeply to savor the clean smell of him.

Lucy sighed. "Why do you have to be right about everything?"

"If only that were true."

Lucy turned to face him.

"I have a plan," said Frederick, creeping towards her like she was a deer about to run into the forest if he startled her.

"Yes?"

"I have to make you sick of me."

Lucy suspected that his plan was impossible. "How are we going to do that?" she asked, one hand on her hip.

"We need to spend so much time in bed together that we're sexually glutted and can't stand the thought of touching each other for a few hours."

"And if we spend all those hours in bed and your plan doesn't work?"

"It's a win-win either way, by my calculations." He was now standing toe to toe with Lucy, and reached for her hands.

"So now the only question is, your place?" he asked, kissing the palm of one hand, "Or mine?" He kissed the palm of her other hand.

Lucy was melting inside, becoming nothing but Lucy-shaped goo. She was amazed she was still upright. The phrase 'putty in his hands' came to mind because she now understood what it meant. Frederick ran a thumb back and forth across his last kiss as he waited for her to reply. That tiny bit of heat and friction shot straight to her womanly bits, which came to life and begged for more. Lucy took a moment to consider the particular appeal of his hotel room versus her apartment, getting lost for a moment in the memory of the previous appeal.

"Oh!" she cried.

"Is that a good 'oh'?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

"No," she said.

"Damn."

"I'm going to Violet's for dinner tonight. She's leaving tomorrow and I won't see her again until after the baby comes. We've been planning this for weeks."

"Double damn."

"Took the words out of my mouth," Lucy agreed. "Tomorrow? I'll be finished work at the clinic by about five. Call me, and we'll decide then?" she suggested.

"Yes, fine," said Frederick with a hint of a pout. "But you'll owe me two night's worth."

"Sold," Lucy agreed.

* * * * *

Lucy sat on a folding chair, yawning over the last chapter of her paperback. When she heard someone approaching her curtained alcove, she hoped that it was someone with news that shooting had finished for the day and that she was free to go. Instead, Neva Straughter came gliding past the tied-back curtain, looking fresh and chic in day makeup and a stylish outfit.

"Lucy, dear, I was hoping to catch you before you left for the day."

"You caught me," Lucy said. What on earth was Neva doing back? She walked with such grace, Lucy checked to see if she were on ice skates rather than peep-toe sandals. If she was injured, she was hiding it well.

"What brings you by, Miss Straughter?" Lucy asked.

"Neva, please," the woman said, pushing the 'we're all girls here' vibe so hard Lucy had a dreadful urge to wave her hand in the air and swat it away. "I wanted to have a little chat, get to know you better."

"There's not much to know, but sure," said Lucy, her wariness increasing with every word.

"I noticed you and Frederick looking awfully cosy in here earlier," Neva said, leaning forward as she waited for Lucy to reply.

Lucy sensed a trap. Taking a page from Frederick's book, she held Neva's gaze calmly but said nothing at all.

"It's all right, you're not in trouble, Lucy. It's no secret that Frederick has an appetite for the local ladies."

"He does?" Lucy asked, losing her resolve not to be drawn into an incriminating conversation.

"Of course he does. A man like that, rich, famous, drop-dead gorgeous, he's got women crawling all over him everywhere he goes."

Lucy felt like she'd been kicked in the chest. It was suddenly very hard to breathe.

"Everywhere?" she asked.

"Every country, every city, every set. He loves it. Laps up the attention. Men and their egos," Neva sighed. "But don't worry about it. Have your little dalliance, tell your friends, they'll tell their friends, and then the whole gang of you will buy tickets for his next movie. It's only good business, really."

"Good business," Lucy repeated.

Neva pulled a phone out of her bag and glanced at the screen.

"Well, Lucy, dear, it's been a pleasure, but I'm expected elsewhere. I'll see you around!" Neva waved cheerily as she sauntered away.

* * * * *

Lucy drummed the steering wheel of her car with both hands, considering her options. One, she could get out, walk up Violet's driveway and do her darnedest to carry on like everything was fine. Two, she could spill her heart out to Violet and ruin the evening for everyone. Three, she could make a one-eighty, speed home, call Violet and cancel, feigning illness.

Option one sounded more difficult than she could handle tonight. In her current agitated state, she wasn't sure she could pull of the role of the good friend.

Option two was tempting. She'd love to get Violet's opinion on the whole mess and hear whether she thought Lucy was just nuts. Everything had gone from good to bad so fast that Lucy's head was still spinning and she knew that Violet could help orient her. But Lucy didn't want to dump all her problems on Violet right when Violet was also in the midst of a big transition, albeit a happy one.

Option three was looking the most appealing when the green-painted door of Violet's adorable one-and-a-half story white house opened. Violet herself appeared in the doorway and watched as a small gray cat darted out into the evening. Spotting Lucy's car, Violet waved and stood in the doorway waiting for Lucy to come in.

Lucy sighed. Plan one it was. She smiled and waved at Violet as she exited the car, bottle of sparkling grape juice in hand.

Lucy sat through appetizers and forced herself to make teasing remarks to Colton about living on his own for a time while Violet lived in hospital, awaiting her baby. Violet was five days from her due date and was scared of trying to get to the hospital in time while in labor so, like many women living in remote areas, she made arrangements to go to the hospital before labor started.

Lucy remembered to praise Violet's cooking during dinner. Colton made jokes about making it to the hospital on time himself. Violet swore several times to call him the second she felt the least bit of anything. Fortunately for Lucy, Violet and Colton were focused much more on each other than on their visitor.

After dinner, Lucy and Violet settled in the living room to drink sparkling grape juice out of wine glasses.

"Colton, honey?" asked Violet. "Do we have any of the good ice cream left?"

The freezer door creaked open then slammed shut. "Sorry, Vi. Just Neapolitan," hollered Colton from the kitchen.

"Oh, I was really hoping for one last bowl of the good kind before eating nothing but hospital food for days and days," said Violet in a voice that bordered on whining.

"Do you want me to drive to The Restaurant and get you a bowl to go?"

"Would you? That would be so great of you, honey."

Colton gave Violet a smooch on the cheek, then grabbed his keys and ball cap, and walked out the door.

As soon as Violet heard the car start up, she rounded on Lucy.

"He'll be gone fifteen minutes, tops. Spill."

"Excuse me?"

"We don't have time for you to pretend everything's fine now that we're alone. I've known you a long time, Lucy, and you are definitely not fine tonight."

"Did you seriously fake an ice cream craving so we could talk alone?" Lucy asked, her eyes welling up a little.

"Partly. I'm always craving ice cream. Now come on. Tell me what's wrong."

Touched by Violet's concern, Lucy decided to give her the abbreviated version of the day's events. But once she started talking, every pathetic detail of the story came tumbling out until she found herself sobbing on Violet's shoulder.

"Aw, hon," said Violet, patting Lucy's back. "No wonder you're feeling terrible. That woman sounds like a real piece of work."

"And Frederick? Do you think what she said was true?"

"No idea," said Violet. "I've never met Frederick. All I know is what you tell me. And you, my girl, are a tad biased where he's concerned."

"So what do I do?"

"Did you and Frederick ever talk about whether you were seeing anyone else?"

"Kind of. He asked if I had a boyfriend the day we met."

"But you never asked him?"

"Not in so many words, no," Lucy said, sitting up again.

"So he never said there was no-one else, never promised to be monogamous?"

Lucy was starting to feel foolish, but better at the same time. She'd never thought that this relationship, more like fling, would amount to anything. It had to end sometime. And yet, something inside her told her that Frederick wasn't seeing anyone else.

"So what are you upset about? That he's been with other women before? That this might not be serious? Or that he might consider you good publicity?"

"The last one. About the publicity," Lucy sniffled. "And the way I found out. Neva Straughter took so much joy in making me feel bad, I can see that now."

"So what you have to do is ask him. No more, no less. You tell him what Nasty Neva said and ask him if any of it is true."

"And then?"

"You go from there."

Lucy nodded, then ducked into the bathroom for a tissue and dried her face. She sat back down with a sigh.

"I'm sorry to spring this on you, tonight of all nights, Violet. I'm sure you've got much better things to think about than my dignity."

"Are you kidding me? I'm on my way to live in a hospital, hours away from home and husband until I expel a human being from my body. I'm scared spitless. I can't tell you how grateful I am for a distraction right now."

"Good," said Lucy, pulling Violet in for a hug, "Because I'm scared spitless, too."