The night wind in Big Sur is tricky this time of year, I've come to learn. Reminds me of autumn's winds back home, up along the mesas. Riding up there during the mistrals is best approached with one objective: getting alive to the desert floor. Can't lose your focus; reading those gusts and gales takes luck and instinct.

When I was in my 20s, I learned the dangers of the fall's bluster that whipped and whirled among the Chiricahua Mountains in southern Arizona. That was when I was hooked up with a gang led by Red Smitty for maybe a year or two. Spring and summer before, we'd been based in Missouri. Returning to Arizona hadn't been the best idea but it'd been the one Red had chosen.

While visiting St. Louis, Red got recruited by some bankers to take his gang back to Arizona to become a raider group along the border. For a while, we ended up helping to scare homesteaders off property under dispute with ranchers backed by the bankers. Miserable way to live but there was worse back then. Still, a young man doesn't always know such. Swore it'd be the last time I was ever down low enough to follow another man. Learned since then never to assume where you'd be willing to sink to just to survive.

Once, we got stuck high in the Chiricahua along some mesa ridges when a fall storm blew over us. We were hiding out from the law after a few raids. When the gale came, the horses got spooked; didn't need Red or any other man to tell me something was coming with the winds. Just the look in my horse's eyes - the wild edginess was enough.

By the time the tempest really got into the nooks and crevices of the highlands, we'd found a few caves to hunker in, horses and all. Before long, the shifts and swirls turned the sandy soil into a bronze curtain that blotted out the sun. If the day had been bad, the night was worse. We thought the wind had laid down; it was just laying in wait. We'd no sooner gotten on the horses and ridden off than it began its tricks again. You'd think you were heading into the wind only to have it nearly lift you off the saddle from behind. With no stars to guide by, judging your route became nearly impossible. Had to go on instinct. Only way I made it down was reading my horse. He'd step tenderly, testing the ground. We lost three men the first hour - all just riding off the trail and over the side. We heard nothing but long screams from their horses with each fall.

The winds in Big Sur remind me of nights in that part of Arizona. It's the way they shift and move as if they're alive. They test you, tempt you to go one way then tease you into going a different way.

Maximus says they're only coastal winds here so I would guess by the time they shoot up the sides of the Santa Lucia Mountains, they've been tamed.

Tonight, they're particularly tough to judge. I'm standing, alone, at the overlook that's part of the Phoenix's area of the compound, experiencing the gusts while I wait. I've got a foot up on the top of the rock fence that keeps customers from going too far and falling right off this tiny peninsula jutting out to face the Pacific Ocean. Below, if it were daytime, I would be able to see the jagged, deadly rocks and unstable, gnashing currents of the ocean itself as it rams into those rocks.

Fog has gathered. It's not as thick as it is in the spring, mainly due to those winds this time of year. But it's enough to blot out the stars. Must be why I'm staring blindly into the haze of my youth.

I turn and lounge against the rock. From this vantage point, I can see the Phoenix's orange light. Music gets a bit louder each time someone opens the door to leave. Not too many people are still inside; closing time's coming soon.

Been a good night for me, considering my winnings at the poker game. I plan on it getting better.

Right now, focus is on the remnants of Uma. Want to be sure she's alone when she leaves. To be sure she's feeling both guilt and loss. For her to pull her pride around her like a cloak - with the false belief she's strong enough to deal with what she's learned about herself tonight. For her to believe this has been the worst it will get for her.

She played into my hands tonight more conveniently than I might have hoped. Enabled me to do more than I'd planned: take his money and his plans to save the little lady from the bad husband. So she thought she could double cross me, outsmart me, defy me? I used it all against her. Made her look bad before the others, cut her off from Skinner. Poor Uma. She's only got one friend left now. But not for long. Where there's two women and one man, friendships never last.

Glancing to my right, I look to the second story of the Library of Congress. Ann's lights are still on. So far, her brother hasn't been up there. She's got to be alone. That she left when she did tells me she's at the least annoyed with me. Figure she's gone back to thinking of me as the enemy.

Inconveniently, I've reacted over the last two days to an increasing and distinct annoyance at Ann. Her attitude's not helpful to my plans. But to let emotion of any sort creep into dealing with her was wrong. Can't afford to be slowed down by a woman. Why then did I seek to humble her after the poker game? Just when I had her giving in to the temptation of lowering her guard with me, I brushed her off - and I let her see me kiss Uma. That kiss wasn't just meant for Skinner. It was also meant to retaliate on Ann for her sass the night before when I'd been trying to become their champion against Skinner.

For some reason, a sigh escapes me. These modern women - there're times I wonder when I lost my touch. I need Ann on my side when Uma realizes she needs her help - now I'll need to recover the ground I lost tonight. What have I learned from Franki and the other girls that'll help me out here with Ann?

The door to the Phoenix opens, drawing my attention. Max Skinner walks out, turning his collar up against the night's cold and twisty wind. His gait is stiff, his shoulders back. He obviously wanted the people he left behind to believe he's unbothered by what's happened tonight. But by the time he reaches his car, he's looking at his feet walk along the pavement, his shoulders now hunched in against the night. A soft ping tells me he's released his car's locks. The door apparently doesn't open as swiftly as he likes. He pounds a hand on it, then stomps on the surface of the parking lot.

Without warning, he kicks at the door several times, vicious if ineffective in getting the door to actually open.

The fog softens the sounds from him but I still catch the sharpness of the emotion in his words: "Thank you, God, so very, very much. Was it too much to ask that she might just have liked me for me? Thank you, God!"

Finally, he manhandles the door open. Before he gets in, he stops to gaze back at his restaurant. Then slides in the car and drives off with barely a noise.

A complicated man. Skills I could probably manipulate to benefit me. But now he's an enemy. He's too smart to dismiss or to keep down for long. Wouldn't have done for him and Uma to form a team.

Looking back toward the Phoenix, I see lights on the second floor that are Uma's rooms. Seconds later, lights in one of her rooms go out; then she draws back the curtains and stands, gazing out to sea. There's nothing of any form for her to see out there. Whatever she seeks, it's oblivion she'll find tonight.

A brave woman, intelligent and capable of more than she wants others to know. An adversary difficult to counter without an ally. If I'm to take what I want, she must not be in position to fight me.

Staying deep in the shadows, I skirt the perimeter of the overlook area until I reach the rear of the building that holds the Library of Congress. I climb the stairs to the second floor. At Ann's door, I knock only twice and then listen to the sound of her footsteps approaching. She's barefoot. I imagine her in her own space, relaxed, comfortable, shoes gone, hair down - it stirs something in me I don't recognize at first. And then I realize what it is: there's no place in this new world I have ever relaxed except one - in her arms in a hotel room in San Francisco.

When she opens the door, I tip an imaginary hat to her. She tries to close the door but I put a hand out to keep it open. She flushes with anger. What an interesting response. I seem to call that up in her a lot; it's her mask. Was I expecting anything else - like a welcome from her?

"Figure I shouldn't waste time before coming to check on the condition of my investment." I keep my voice soft, amused.

"Investment?" Her eyes narrow. Then her mouth drops into a beautiful soft pout I get the urge to kiss but won't. "You don't mean..."

"You look so sweet, Ann." I say this to her as I sweep inside her apartment, putting a hand on her arm to lead her away from the door, which I close behind us.

She jerks away from me. Confusion chases fury from her eyes. She notices now, and accepts, that I'm really looking her over. It's the first time I've seen her like this - face scrubbed clean and pink, hair down and tousled, short shirt stopping an inch or two above her navel, visible above checked fleece pants I've heard Franki call pajamas. No woman in my time dressed like this. I'm always aroused by what women wear to bed, even if it's nothing but me.

My eyes drop down her body; her feet are bare as I suspected. It makes me smile when I look up.

"Get out of my home." She goes to edge around me to grab her door.

I cut her off by stepping in front of her. "Your home? Really?"

"What are you doing here, Wade? The show's over, boy. We're not taking it on the road." Her mouth must get her in trouble a lot. I flash back to that moment she stood up to me after I took her from the bank.

"Didn't think it worth driving all the way back to the inn when I've got a bed here." It'll piss her off more if I ignore her.

"Any woman's bed you were sleeping in tonight isn't here. Figured it'd be at Uma's."

I glance at her over my shoulder as I move into her living room area to look around. "Temper, temper, honey. Is that jealousy? Or are you upset I'm here on business rather than pleasure?"

"We've got no further business, Wade. The game was a mistake but I did it for Uma's sake. It's over now. There's nothing else between us."

To my right is a hallway. It can only lead one place. I head down it. I'm halfway down when I hear her quick footsteps behind me. By the time she catches up, I'm entering her bedroom.

"Are you mad? Get the hell out of my..."

"What a pretty little room, Ann. But a bit feminine for my tastes. We'll make some changes here, won't we?"

"Changes? What are you...?"

In her voice, I hear her beginning to get what tonight is about. I turn and plop backwards until I'm sprawled out atop the softness of her mattress. Her mouth drops open again. Wish she'd stop that; it's too appealing. "Great mattress, Annie. Think I'm gonna like sleeping here just fine."

I cross my legs and put my arms behind my head. I let out a loud, satisfied sigh and settle in as I smile up at her shocked face. 

"I don't believe it. I figured you for a low down, mean bastard, Ben Wade, but this is beyond anything. What makes you think you can just waltz in here and act like you own the place?"

"Because I do, honey. Won it fair and square tonight. In fact, Mr. Skinner was kind enough to get the codicil from his safe and sign it over to me before he left."

"He what?" Her eyes lock on mine. They're green fire right now. "You have it? On you?"

I slide a hand into my jacket's inner pocket and tug the codicil's envelope out just enough for her to see it. Then I put it back in place. "Right next to my heart, Ann. Where it belongs."

"Wade, quit playing around. It's just not funny. I'm tired and I'm not in the mood for more of your games. You won the codicil for me so just hand it over, okay? We had a deal."

"The only deal we had was for me to win the codicil from Skinner in a poker game. I've done just that. If you'd wanted me to give the codicil to you once I won it, you should have been clear about that, Ann. But don't worry. I'm not going to interfere with you and Ralph running your little store. And we can negotiate your rights to staying on here in this apartment. Can't get fairer than that."

"Negotiate? With you? I rather think I knew better than that before this whole thing with the poker game started. If you remember, that was Uma's idea."

"Was it? From where I watched, looked like you planted the idea in her brain. Oh, don't get so high and mighty with me, Ann. You've been enjoying my attentions tonight. Enjoying them quite a bit. A man'd have to be blind not to know what you were really hoping would happen after I won that game..."

"The only reason I did it was the codicil. It was so I could be sure the bookstore and this building stayed in the hands of people who would protect it. You can't play me this way, Wade. I'm not some silly girl. I'm not Franki, your little friend. And I'm not Uma, who's stumbled just because she's had her life messed over by Cullen. And now by you. And I'm not one of your other girlie friends. If you don't leave now..."

"What will you do if I don't leave? You're too smart to think you can threaten me and I'll back down." I change my tone, make my voice husky, suggestive. "What would it hurt you to take the easy way with me tonight? Not like we haven't known each other in the Biblical sense already..."

"How dare you!"

I'm off the bed before she can react. When I'm right in front of her, she takes a step back but then she raises her chin, steps forward. A show of her faith I can't intimidate her.

"I dare because you want me to, honey." My voice is soft, an aural caress. I see it hit its mark in the arch of her neck as she looks up into my eyes. "I am not going to let you torment me anymore."

My hand glides along the skin she shows between her top and pajama bottom. She's not expecting it. I see her eyes widen; her breathing goes shallow. She tries to back away but now I've got my hand on the small of her spine; the lightest pressure keeps her here, where she stares into my eyes and must see I'll fulfill any desire she has.

I brush my cheek against hers; smell the scent of her hair and know it's going to linger in my memory for a long time. I feel her head drop onto my shoulder. Put my lips against her ear to whisper, a hoarser sound than I knew would come out of me. "You know I can't stop thinking about you? Just because of your sassy mouth and those slinky hips and those ripe breasts that taste like honey..."

She shivers when I reach around to slip my hands down under the fleece. We may both be remembering the same sensation: the first time she came into my arms, wearing nothing but her own desire to be with me. I grab her flesh with both hands; she opens her mouth as mine covers her bottom lip.

Will she ever cooperate? Not tonight. Not now.

She shoves away with a gasp. I groan. She slaps me with a tear in her eyes, now alive with desire she's denying. "You think I'm for sale, Wade? And that my cost is the codicil?"

"You remember San Francisco? Ann... It doesn't have to be this way..."

I've still got my hands on her; I'm holding onto her arms. She's too delicate; her bones feel tiny - and I'm struck again by how fragile she feels. So I let her go.

"You don't want to leave my apartment, Wade? You think it belongs to you?" She sounds shocked she got her voice back. And then more firmly, "Well, have a good night's sleep up here -- alone. I'll sleep in my office. And don't even try getting in there -- I'll lock all the doors. I'm not dealing with you tonight. Enough's gone on and I'm really sick of seeing your face."

She walks out of the bedroom without even a glance back at me. Takes me a moment to make the switch, to hide my disappointment where she won't look. By the time I'm out of the room, she's pulling a pillow and blanket from a closet. When she sees me, she turns on her heel and walks down the hall until she opens the door that must lead downstairs to her office. I get there in time to slam it shut.

When she looks up at me, I say, "You had your chance to get me to make it easy for you. You just won't give an inch. As it says in Hebrew 12, 'Let us run with patience the race that is set before us.' How long will my patience last?"

She takes in a sharp breath. "What inch should I give you, Wade? Stop playing this game. You're not interested in me, remember? You told me that. Fine. The feeling's very mutual."

For a long moment, we're on a precipice. But I've never been a man to force a woman. Even one who defies me.

The time will come. She will see; perhaps she'll even look hard enough to see me.

So, it's easy to step back, to let her go through that door and pull it closed behind her. To let her turn the key in its lock to bar me.

After, I return to her bedroom. The anger seeps away before I finish a cool shower and then settle in, naked, between her sheets. Her scent surrounds me.

In the dark, I gaze around at what she sees every night from this position. I raise up on my elbows to study the vanity with its circular mirror and bottles lined up on its surface. Putting my head back on the pillow, I turn to look at a painting on her wall. From what I can see in the dim light, it's an old house with a wide porch around the front and sides. At the top, a widow's walk. In my time, there were such houses in the big cities like St. Louis, New Orleans, Boston. It wouldn't seem to fit in a place like Big Sur.

The bed's soft, inviting. I feel myself relaxing. I reach out to stroke the sheets, the blanket, the pillows - all the things her hands touch each night. I bet she picked them out with real care. Have other men slept here with her?

My hand is on her pillow. It reminds me of looking down on her, her neck arched. I wanted to ask her about the tears I saw in her open eyes. But nothing smart comes out of a man's mouth when he's that close to coming.

My other hand, I realize, is on my penis, now hardening in response to memories. Her bed creaks with my movements; the noise jolts me from my reverie. I open my eyes and watch the ceiling for long minutes, until I stop trying to figure out how I could open the lock on the door to downstairs.

Sometime that night, I wake from a dream of Claire. Of her prim, big house in the fine city of St. Louis. Of her tiny hands, like porcelain, a stark contrast to the tan of my chest. Of my hands, rope-rough and dark, gripping into the whitest, softest skin I'd ever played with. Of drawing pictures of her in the soft light of the dawn, blonde hair tumbled over white shoulders and strewn among tangled sheets.

Of the look on her face when she'd read to me at night from one of her big leather-clad books, explaining it all to me in a voice that could have been an angel's but for the exotic laugh that caught in her throat when I'd play with her breasts and tell her to keep reading.

Of the look on my face in the mornings, standing before the little mirror, rinsing my razor out in the fine marble basin in her bedroom. Of my eyes watching her brushing her hair.

Of standing on the street later, a wicked man, too rough to enter the front door of her fine home. Of her banker husband's return from back East, a black carriage discharging him and his ascent to the front porch where she waited for him as if she'd not just sent me away out the back door.

Of seeing her a day later, in a store where her soft hands touched at lace she wanted to make into curtains. Of the blush of shame on those high perfect cheeks when my hand covered hers.

When the dream leaves me, I wake with the ache to touch the woman who should be in this bed with me. I'll have to make do instead with someone else to chase that feeling away from me.

I rise and roam her bedroom, quietly looking for clues. And find the photographic trail of this woman, whom I can still taste from one kiss the night before. Later, I stand in her bathroom, washing my face, looking into my eyes to find again the man I need to be to survive in this world.

Even when the cards I'm dealt are winners, I am finding they may not be the good hand. Yet, these are temporary obstacles for me to overcome, surely. To overcome obstacles, this is the measure of a man. As we learn in Romans 5: "We glory in tribulations also; knowing that tribulation worketh patience; and patience, experience; and experience, hope."

The nature of a man will determine what choices he will make to get what he wants. A weak man never chooses for himself; the strong man sets his own course for survival.