Discl.: I don't own anything
A/N: Thank you so much to my fabulous beta team loracj2 and roseintexas, they bring sense and grammar to my stories.

Observations

The poltergeist had been hiding behind the antique drawer all along, just waiting for Dean to make his approach. Seconds later the young hunter flew through the air like a stuffed teddy, crashing into the back wall and landing face down on the cellar floor with a sick thud.

"Dean!"

Objects were flying across the room and shattering into pieces as they randomly hit shelves, walls or the floor, but John's booming voice carried over them. The poltergeist was really stepping up his game. There was no response from Dean, and John noticed with concern that his 17-year-old son was oblivious to the debris landing on him.

Seeking cover behind an old closet, John gathered the salt, accelerant and a box of matches from the duffel bag and stuffed it into his jacket. Closing his eyes, he sent a quick prayer to Odin, the Norse god of hunting. Taking a deep breath, he carefully peeked out from behind the wooden furniture to evaluate the best way to cross the room and approach the south wall, where Dean had already dug a hole in the muddy ground. Even from where he kneeled, he could see most of the skeleton bones, indicating the final resting place of George Benz.

John once more checked his supplies, then rose and threw a quickly prepared distraction into the opposite corner of the cellar, hoping the poltergeist would take the bait. Sprinting through the dark and messy room, he reached the open grave, poured salt and accelerator over the remains, and lit the match with one successful spark.

The fire caught quickly, and almost immediately the poltergeist started screaming in horror and anger. John watched as it vanished into the afterlife with an angry hiss – for good this time.

The hunter let out an angry huff to relieve the pressure that had built up inside him fighting the poltergeist, then hurried over to the prone form of Dean. The teenager lay buried beneath various shards, pots and wooden plates. Quickly but carefully, John removed all obstacles covering Dean's body. Blood was spilling out of several wounds and Dean's breathing came shallow and raspy.

John called for Dean to wake up, softly shaking him, trying to get him back to consciousness with increasing urgency. When he finally stopped and accepted that Dean wasn't coming around, his jaw was set tightly and his eyes flashed dark with concern.

"Son of a bitch!"

Lifting his son's body off the floor, he carried him up the stairs and, struggling with the weight, opened the front door of the old house and stomped his way through the wet grass to where the Impala was parked, all while muttering, "this is one hunt gone fucking wrong."

------

Bridgette was fascinated. For a brief second she considered that this was kind of sick; to be mesmerized by a strange kid. But for some weird reason she couldn't take her eyes off the boy in her living room.

Samuel Winchester, Sam, was one special 12-year-old, she had come to understand.

The first thing she had noticed as slightly off was the way the boys kept running around the house. Phillip was clumsy, often tripping and falling when he was playing, always oblivious to his surroundings. Sam, on the other hand, seemed to predict Phillip's every step, protecting the other boy from falling over at least twice, by reaching out at exactly the right moment to keep Phillip on his feet.

Taking another sip of her coffee, Bridgette leaned back into her chair, her eyes glued to her son's new playmate.

A few hours ago, he had turned up at her door accompanied by his older brother, polite and quiet. The moment her gaze had connected with his big, hazel eyes, all her mother's instincts had been called to attention.

"Mrs. Benoit, I'm Dean Winchester. We talked on the phone? This is Sam. Thank you for letting him stay with you for a while. I promise I'll be back in a few hours to pick him up."

Bridgette noted the twinkle in the teenager's eyes and the cocky grin on his handsome face. Was he flirting with her? She had squelched the thought as quickly as it had entered her mind. She had flushed and unconsciously smoothed out her clothes but returned the smile. The deep green eyes of the older boy held an amused sparkle, along with a maturity she had never noticed in a teenager before.

"Yeah, sure, of course. Please come in, Sam."

Sam had given her a shy smile but hadn't moved. Patiently holding the door open, Bridgette had waited, wondering if there was anything she had missed. Sliding her eyes to Dean, she noticed that he had moved his hand to Sam's back, giving the younger boy a reassuring pat.

"I'll be back soon, kiddo. Be nice, OK?"

Sam had looked up at his older brother and for a moment Bridgette was sure she had seen fear flickering in his hazel eyes. Dean must have seen it as well, as he had crunched down and placed his hand on Sam's shoulder, squeezing gently.

"It will be all right, Sammy, I promise. We talked about this. Next time he'll let you go with us, but not today."

The uncertainty in his little brother's eyes didn't subside, so for reassurance, Dean had pulled out his cell phone and put it into Sam's hand.

"Here. It has Dad's number, in case anything happens."

Sullenly nodding his head, Sam had sighed softly and turned towards Bridgette, reluctantly accepting the invitation into the house. She had smiled uncomfortably and pointed towards her son's bedroom door.

"Phillip's in his room, if you want to join him."

She had watched Sam shuffling over, then had turned back to Dean.

"When do you think you'll be back?"

Dean's eyes had followed his little brother until he had disappeared into the bedroom before he had shifted his attention back to Bridgette, seemingly considering her question.

"I'm guessing it won't take longer than three hours, ma'am."

"Fine, Sam will be here for dinner, then."

"Thank you again for doing this."

"No problem, Dean. See you later?"

"Yes, see you later. Bye, Mrs. Benoit."

This time, Bridgette was sure she had seen him winking at her, and her cheeks had colored deep red. Watching the teenager return to the black muscle car, she had scolded herself for being flattered by the flirting of a school boy.

He hadn't looked at her again, but had climbed into the Chevrolet and had driven off.

That had been four hours ago. But Bridgette was so busy with watching the playing children that she hadn't paid any attention to the minutes ticking by.

She knew that Phillip had trouble making friends. He was famous for tantrums and even for lashing out at other children, so not many kids came around the house anymore to play with him. Bridgette had to admit that when Dean had called, she had been kind of surprised, but also glad that the new boy in town had made a connection to her son. Phillip had already told her about the awesome car that Sam's brother drove, and that he wanted a car just like that when he was older.

Bridgette had made it her habit to observe Phillip when other children were around, at least in the beginning when the kids where still getting to know each other. Too many trips to the ER had taught her as much. But with Sam it seemed entirely different. Not only had Sam's calm and apparent thoughtfulness quieted Phillip, but his air of intensity and safety made her forget all about the previous bad experiences.

Sam had been reserved in the beginning, observantly following Phillip's lead. After the first hour, however, the dynamics had changed and Sam had come up with games they could play. First she had wanted to intercept when they boys had taken up a game of hide and seek, with the obligation for the loser to do 5 sit-ups. Surprisingly enough, Phillip had enjoyed the challenge and had not once tried to bail out.

At half past five, Bridgette started preparing dinner. While Phillip buzzed around her, she caught sight of Sam from the corner of her eye, silently studying the family pictures from when her husband had still been alive; the look on his face a mixture of curiosity and sadness. When she called out to him to join them in the kitchen, guilt had raced through his eyes, like she had caught him stealing candies.

They set the table together, with Sam watching her every move with wide open eyes; displaying vulnerability as only children can. She didn't need to say much; he already knew what was supposed to be on the table and where to put everything. The dinner itself was less hectic than usual, with Sam telling them about camping adventures with his big brother and Phillip actually listening to the calm voice of the other boy.

Not once did Sam mention his mother and Bridgette wondered for a brief moment whether she should ask where she was, but then decided that she didn't want to appear nosy.

After dinner she allowed the kids to turn on the TV, with Phillip once more deciding on the program. As she tried to catch up her test marking and correcting, she let the giggling and chattering from the living room subside into oblivion. Jumping when the phone rang, she glanced at the clock, and for the first time noticed that Dean was already one hour late.

The ringing came from Sam's cell phone and he quickly fumbled it out of his pocket and answered.

"Hello?"

Bridgette couldn't hear the voice of the caller, but she noticed Sam's trembling hands and how the boy swallowed thickly, his shoulders tense.

"What happened? Is Dean all right? ….. But I wanna be with Dean! …."

A sudden loud voice barked through the speakers at Sam's pleading request. The boy blanched and straightened before answering, "Yes, sir."

Bridgette watched him getting up from the floor and walking over to her. The open fear in his innocent eyes stole her breath.

"It's my dad."

Pushing the phone towards her without further explanation, Sam glanced up, his eyes begging for her to take the call and make whatever had happened all right again. Bridgette reached for the phone with a bad feeling in her gut.

"This is Bridgette Benoit."

"Mrs. Benoit, this is John Winchester. There has been an… accident. I need to stay with my son. We're at the Crisp Regional. Could Sam sleep at your place?"

"Oh my God, I hope Dean's going to be OK?"

The sharp intake of air next to her came from Sam and she looked down at him with what she hoped to be a reassuring nod. Placing her hand on the boy's shoulder she concentrated on keeping her voice even.

"Would it be possible?" John insisted, avoiding her question entirely.

Bridgette swallowed, the tightness of the man's voice indicating the worst.

"Of course, Mr. Winchester. Is there anything else I can do?"

"Thank you. I will call tomorrow before I come to pick up Sam."

She didn't have time to say goodbye before the line went dead. Reluctant to look at Sam, she stared at the phone in her hand, her head swimming. She would have to prepare the guestroom bed for Sam. Phillip's pajamas should fit the boy; they were about the same height. Was he accustomed to sleeping at unfamiliar places?

"Mrs. Benoit?"

Sam's voice, thick with emotions, brought her back to reality. Loosening her grip on the cell phone, she looked down and forced a small smile to curl her lips. Putting away the phone, she squatted down to level with Sam and his questioning eyes.

"You'll stay here tonight, Sam. Your dad has to stay with your brother."

"I'm going to the hospital."

Bridgette winced at the force and determination in the boy's voice when stating the line as a fact.

"I'm sure you will be able to visit Dean tomorrow, Sam. He needs rest to get well."

The hazel eyes which met her gaze now were screaming for help, pain and fear so apparent that Bridgette flinched. She reached out and gently placed her hands on the shoulders of the boy, her palms comfortingly rubbing down Sam's arms.

"It will be all right, Sam."

"You don't know! You're not Dean!" Sam spat. He swirled around and grabbed for the cell phone she had put down on the table. Scrolling down he frantically searched for a number in the internal phone book.

"Sam, please, calm down. There is nothing you can do and your dad made it pretty clear that he wants you to stay here," Bridgette tried to reason with the upset boy.

Turning around to face the teacher, Sam's stature was determined.

"Either you drive me to the hospital or I'm gonna call my uncle Caleb. He will pick me up for sure."

"Sam, your dad wants you to stay here."

Even to her own ears the reasoning sounded hollow, but there wasn't anything more she could tell him. She had no idea how to reassure the boy as John Winchester had left her pretty much in the dark about the seriousness of Dean's condition.

"He didn't tell you that you can't drive me to the hospital. All he said was that he wouldn't pick me up."

Dammit, this kid was smart.

"Sam, I can't just take you and Phillip, get into the car and turn up at the hospital. If you go to bed now it'll be morning quickly and your dad will come and pick you up."

Gritting his teeth, Sam returned to the cell phone. A sigh that was closer to a sob rushed out of his throat when he finally found the number he was looking for and he pushed down on the button.

Bridgette watched Sam dialling, unsure what to do or how to deal with the unsettled boy.

"This is Caleb. I'm away on important business, please leave a message."

"Caleb, it's me, Sam. Dad just called, Dean got hurt on a job. He won't let me see him. Can you pick me up at 31st Rounddrive, at Mrs. Benoit's; we're still in Vienna, Georgia. Please, Caleb."

Bridgette's heart ached while listening to the intensity with which Sam delivered the message to his uncle's voicemail. He seemed to jump back and forth from absolutely terrified to hopeful and confident that his uncle would listen to his plea. When Sam was finished, he wiped his sleeve over his face, erasing all traces of the hot tears that burned in his eyes.

"Sam?"

Phillip's question startled Bridgette and she turned to see him standing in the door frame, watching them with a serious frown on his face. She had completely forgotten about him.

"I'm going to the hospital, I can walk, I know the way," Sam stated firmly.

"Sam…"

"No! He's my brother."

She caught the glint of desperation in his hazel eyes and all of a sudden there was no question anymore. Bridgette knew that he would leave, no matter what she did or said.

"Fine. Get your jackets, we'll take the car."

Swallowing when utter relief flashed up on Sam's face, she turned around and went to get her own coat. Biting her lips nervously, she wondered whether she was making the wrong decision. John Winchester wouldn't be happy to see Sam turn up at the hospital, and to judge by his voice, he wasn't one to kid around with.

What if Dean's condition was too serious and John had wanted to shield his younger son from the consequences for another night?

Herding the two boys outside, she locked the door and walked over to the car, the cold night air giving her a chill. The drive to the hospital took only 15 minutes and Bridgette felt her nerves sparking up, butterflies dancing in her stomach.

The moment she had parked the car, the back door opened and Sam jumped outside and sprinted towards the entrance, with Phillip closely behind. Bridgette cursed under her breath, killed the engine and followed quickly. Entering the huge building, the bright hospital lights blinded her and it took a few seconds until she could orient herself and locate the two boys in the middle of the room, looking completely lost.

"Sam!" a voice suddenly barked from the left corner.

The boy tensed visibly, but nevertheless ripped his head around, his eyes searching for the origin of the caller.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Bridgette watched Sam gulping. Still, he didn't lower his gaze when he walked over to the origin of the voice, a tall, rugged man who appeared as if he'd had a run in with a bear. There were scratches on his face and his shirt was blood stained and torn; his eyes dark and slightly narrowed as he watched Sam approach. Bridgette was sure she caught the signs of relief on his face; however, the expression was immediately replaced by a deep frown when the boy hurried closer.

"Sam, I gave you an order," the man continued, his voice lower now but sharp never the less.

Sam didn't hear him, wasn't listening, his eyes glued to the bloody shirt. The boy gave the unfamiliar but apparently tired looking man a quick once over and his eyes widened when realisation dawned on him.

"That's Dean's blood," he finally whispered, his voice breaking and his eyes filling with tears.

Bridgette noticed how the older man – John Winchester, apparently – swallowed and she felt the urge to kick herself for putting the boy in this situation.

"It'll be all right, kiddo."

John's voice was suddenly hoarse when he pulled Sam close, hugging his youngest son to his body and comfortingly caressing his back. Ruffling Sam's hair he whispered,

"Your brother's a fighter."

Giving the reunited family a few minutes, Bridgette reached out and put a hand on Phillip's shoulder to keep him from invading the personal moment. Then she guided her son towards the cafeteria and where she got two strong coffees and a sandwich.

John was sitting on one of those uncomfortable waiting area chairs when she returned, his arms resting on his knees and his gaze fixed on a spot on the ground. Sam sat quietly beside him, cheeks flushed and eyes puffy.

"Mr. Winchester?"

Bridgette's heart stopped beating for a second when his gaze met hers. The pain and fear swimming in his eyes were so intense that she wanted to scream. Sobs started bubbling inside of her when she recognized the utter sense of panic parents radiate when their child is in danger. But then he blinked and it was gone, previous emotions replaced by an unreadable expression.

Bridgette nearly choked on the urge to cry but then swallowed and explained,

"I'm Bridgette Benoit. I brought Sam?"

"Mrs. Benoit," John nodded with a neutral expression. Still, Bridgette was sure she could detect a hint of scolding.

"I'm sorry… I… Sam wanted to see his brother and… he's quite stubborn… I know you told me to… but I just couldn't…"

The words toppled over when she tried to justify her presence. His appearance and those piercing eyes made her nervous. There was this dangerous and powerful vibe all over him and she felt like a little girl in front of the parent, knowing she had done something wrong.

Shifting his eyes over to Sam, a small smile cracked John's lips.

"He's one pig-headed Winchester. I think he's got that from me, his Mom…" John stopped and cleared his throat before slowly lowering his eyes. At the same time his hand reached out and patted Sam's leg.

"I brought you coffee and a sandwich?" Bridgette offered, unsure f it was appropriate for her to stay.

John glanced up again and this time she recognized the quick flash of exhaustion and gratitude.

"Thank you."

"I figured you didn't eat anything and I… Sam has already eaten, so… and coffee is always good to lift the spirit," Bridgette rambled. She hated this streak of hers, the urge to babble on when she was nervous and felt out of charge.

She was still considering sitting down when John suddenly jumped from his chair. Her hand jerked and sent her coffee spilling to the ground. Bridgette swirled around and watched John rush over to a white-clad figure who tiredly approached their small group. Sam followed instantly and positioned himself to the left of his father while casting pleading eyes to the doctor.

"Dr. Armado? Any news?"

Bridgette had crunched down and was mopping up coffee with a few tissues from her purse, but her attention was set to the conversation between the Winchesters and the doctor.

"Surgery went very well. We stopped the bleeding, but we had to remove the spleen entirely."

Bridgette noticed how Sam was clenching his fists tighter, nails cutting into his palms. His right hand twitched and she was sure he was itching to take his father's hand, to gain some kind of security. She could see the open anxiety in his stature and the need for physical attachment to the only person he had left. But she also noticed the doubt, the inner conflict playing on Sam's face when he was torn between needing his father and being a big boy.

Her breathing hitched when John reached out and put his arm around Sam's shoulder, pulling him closer to his side. She relaxed and let out a breath she hadn't been aware of holding. John must've sensed his son's turmoil as well.

Dr. Armado smiled at the little boy, then glanced back to John and added,

"I need you to fill out some paperwork, Mr. Winchester, but you are free to see your son afterwards. He's on the ICU, the 2nd floor, just ask for nurse Mathilda."

"Dad?"

Again Bridgette's heart ached at the sound of Sam's voice. She had hardly ever heard so much affection, panic and utter desperation wrapped into one single word before.

John turned around and looked directly at Bridgette.

"Mrs. Benoit, would you…"

"Yes, sure, of course," Bridgette answered, before he could even finish the question.

Practically jumping to her feet she motioned for Phillip to follow her and walked up to where Sam stood. Lightly touching his shoulder she ushered the boys to the elevator. John sent her a short nod before following the doctor towards the reception desk.

Although she had sympathy for Sam, Bridgette had to remind him twice to slow down, that this was a hospital with sick people and running was not an option. Finally they arrived at the IC unit, where they ran into the next problem.

Nurse Mathilda was a huge, bulky woman with a frown on her face that made Jack Nicholson look like an angel. She blocked their way efficiently and fixed the boys with a cold stare, icily asking.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"My brother's here, Dean Winchester, I need to see him."

"Your brother, huh? How old are you?"

"I'm 12… but soon 13," Sam added when she knit her eyebrows angrily. Bridgette was sure Mathilda was about to lash out at the boy. How that ice block of a woman could resist those hazel eyes of Sam was beyond her.

"Mr. Winchester sent us up. Sam would like to see his brother."

Suddenly the eyes of doom were on her and Bridgette swallowed.

"Not more than two visitors at the time" Mathilda hissed, her lips thin and her eyes cold.

"But I can't leave my son alone and I can't possibly let Sam go and see his inj… brother all by himself," Bridgette stressed, hoping to touch some kind of soft spot with the nurse.

"I didn't make the rules; I only enforce them" Mathilda blared.

"I can wait by myself, Mom, I need to go to the bathroom anyway, I'll just go back downstairs to the waiting area," Phillip peeped up.

"Are you sure?"

Phillip nodded hastily and she could see that he urgently needed to go to the bathroom. Sighing, and since she didn't see any other option, she agreed and watched her son run off towards the elevator.

Mathilda huffed, satisfied, and motioned them to follow her, guiding them all the way to Dean's bed.

The teenager looked pale, even ghostlike against the all white sheets. Several bruises covered his face, varying from purple to black and standing in stark contrast to his pallor. His lip was split and one of his eyes slightly swollen. Bridgette couldn't help but wonder what had happened during a simple mechanical job to leave Dean with a ruptured spleen and a body covered in bruises. He looked like he had been smashed into a gigantic brick wall.

Bridgette swallowed thickly but moved closer to place a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam was surprisingly composed. It seemed as if simply seeing his brother had taken away the desperation she had sensed so deeply mere seconds ago. His breathing returned to normal, compared to the fast inhaling and exhaling he had favored since the phone call of his father.

She stepped back slightly when Sam moved forward and reluctantly reached out to put his small hand over Dean's. Upon the touch Sam's posture relaxed, tension rippled off his body and his eyes turned soft and misty. Bridgette sensed that Sam needed a moment for himself, so she retreated from the bed and settled in an uncomfortable plastic chair.

She observed quietly how Sam leaned in closer to Dean, his free hand carefully and gently touching his brother's swollen face as if to make sure it was real. Jerking back when the eyelids of the older boy fluttered open, Sam collected himself quickly and withdrew his hand.

"Dean?"

Sam's voice was hopeful and sounded smaller than his age, vulnerable.

"Sammy?"

The sound from Dean's throat was hoarse and raspy. Nevertheless, Bridgette involuntarily swallowed at the underlying relief in Dean's voice. Blinking against the dim lights of the IC unit, Dean's head came up and he quickly glanced around the room with dark and panicked eyes.

"Where's Dad? Is he OK"

Sam frowned slightly, but answered Dean's question without delay.

"He's fine, filling out the paperwork."

Dean sighed and nodded weakly, then let his head fall back against the pillow and closed his eyes.

Sam's hand still hovered near his brother's fingers, desperate to touch. Bridgette inspected the boy closely and identified the signs of exhaustion. Sam looked positively worn down. Sighing sympathetically, she glanced at her watch and noticed that it was past midnight.

She hated to interrupt the comfortable silence, the familiarity that bloomed between the two brothers, but she could see that Sam would not be able to hold himself upright for much longer.

"Sam, maybe you want to come home with us soon; you could sleep at our house."

Both boys turned their heads simultaneously and glanced at her with surprise written over their faces.

"Thank you, ma'am, but I'm fine," Sam answered softly.

"Well, I think that's actually a good idea, runt."

The unfamiliar, deep tone belonged to a tall, dark haired man who was leaning against the nurse's counter a few feet away. Bridgette unconsciously gripped the hand rest of her chair, her fingers digging into the plastic. Boy, was he handsome.

"Caleb!" Sam smiled relieved.

Ah. So this was Uncle Caleb. A hot wave ran through her body when he pushed himself forward and strolled over to Dean's bed, moving with a sensuality that rattled her. The Winchesters definitely grew them pretty, she remarked to herself.

"How did you get past Mathilda and her only two visitors at a time rule?" Bridgette blurted out.

Sending her a quick glance, Caleb raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

"She's a woman, isn't she?"

Bridgette caught herself blushing. Embarrassed over the lack of self-control, she simply muttered under her breath: "Could've fooled me…"

Caleb smirked and turned to Sam, ruffling the boy's hair lightly with a wide grin plastering his handsome face. But when he locked eyes with the patient, Bridgette noticed how relief blew over his face for a quick second. Like with John, the expression vanished instantly and was replaced with the same cocky grin she had seen on Dean.

"Looking good, Deuce."

Dean's lips cracked into a small smile and he gave his uncle a quick once-over.

"Beats your I've just got laid look anytime, Damien."

"I wish, but an emergency call from little Einstein here kinda ruined that for tonight."

Dean turned to his brother with a sour expression on his face, his eyes sparkling with moroseness.

"You called him?"

Sam twitched beneath his uncle's grip. Sending Caleb a glare, he moved away and reached up to smooth his shaggy hair back in place. Glancing to his brother with shielded eyes he was just about to answer when Caleb smirked at Dean.

"Sure he did, even gave me the address where to pick him up. I nearly ripped that house apart," winking at Bridgette, who was still intently watching the scene; he squeezed Sam's shoulder, "when I couldn't find a trace of him."

"I'm sorry, I forgot to call you back…" Remorse and embarrassment dripped from Sam's voice.

"It's OK, runt. I was in the area anyway."

Patting the boy's back, Caleb winked at him before turning around. His brown eyes twinkled with amusement and cockiness as he smiled at Bridgette.

"Ms Benoit, I take it."

"Mrs. Benoit."

'Shut up, shut up, shut up!' the voice in her head screamed. It was the voice that belonged to that special part of her brain that had been fantasizing about several not g-rated activities when she had laid eyes on the gorgeous man. The other side of her brain had instantly reacted by flashing up a picture of her son and her deceased husband, effectively silencing the annoying voice.

"Mrs. Benoit. Johnny instructed me to take you and your son home; it's late already. We're sorry for keeping you here this long."

"But Sam is exhausted, he could sleep…"

"Sam will be fine. Don't worry."

Caleb's voice was gentle and polite but the words were spoken with finality. And she got it. She had seen the change of demeanor in Sam, the way his eyes had softened and his stature had relaxed the moment he had touched Dean, had made sure that he was breathing, was all right, was still there. She sensed a bond so strong between the two brothers; it ached in her heart to know that Phillip would never experience anything like it, wouldn't learn to care.

But maybe, there was a solution

Turning to Dean and Sam, she breathed a quick goodbye before facing the waiting Caleb and smiling sweetly at him. Her eyes, however, never fooled him for a second.

Maybe it was time to put the widow aside.

And those genes definitely had their perks.