He had invited himself over and plunked himself down on her couch. His easy familiarity both annoyed her and made her smile. Then he reached over to the side table and picked up the book there. It was a hardback that she had recently acquired because it was a vampire story. Too late to hide it, she heard his snort of disbelief as he read the jacket, then began paging through it. Apart from his casual greeting of, "Hi Trace. Thought I'd hang out here for a while," he'd hardly said two words.

In retaliation, she played one of her more melancholic CD's by Silly Wizard. A Celtic group, they specialized in songs that told of lost loves and made the soul cry in empathy. He'd blinked at the start of the music, but that was it. Only occasional snickers and sarcastic "yeah, right's" came from the dark haired vampire reading at the end of her couch, as she opened up her own book.

However, she had found it hard to concentrate on her own paperback and found herself watching Vachon instead. The only indication she'd had that he heard the music was when he'd cocked his head slightly at the start of one song. Then the book had fallen to his lap, his eyes had closed, and that look had dropped over his features.

Tracy finally picked up a small couch pillow and threw it at him. His eyes snapped open, and he glanced at her startled.

"What?"

"What are you thinking about?" Tracy asked, mock sweetness dripping from her voice.

Vachon looked at her warily. "Nothing."

"Nope, not buying it, Vachon. I've seen that look before, and this time I'm not letting you get away with the 'nothing' response. So ... what was it? The best meal you've ever had?" she asked with a sly grin.

Vachon snorted with laughter at her boldness and shook his head.

"Then it was... a woman wasn't it?" Tracy said positively.

He looked at her consideringly a moment before nodding his head.

"Well, tell me about her," Tracy demanded again.

He gazed at his fingernails, turning them this way and that, reflecting. Then he looked up at Tracy and nodded again.

"Okay. Her name was Rosa, and it was when I was still mortal...."

Then for a brief moment, there was shade. There was a garden, with trees, fronting a small house along the edge of the village. He tipped his visor back for a moment, and he saw her. She was standing in the bower, amidst a riot of flowers, but what he saw most was her hair. It was a blazing and beautiful deep red. Unusual for this part of the country, it framed a fairer face than he normally saw, and her eyes were a bright blue. For a moment, he stumbled in his cadence, then picked it up again. Left, right. Left, right. She was watching him as he passed by. He grinned at her and was delighted by her shy smile in return. Then he was past her, and the merciless sun was upon him again.

They marched another quarter mile before the Sargento called, "Reverse!". The men turned in their tracks and tromped back along the way they had come. Left, right. Left, right. This time Javier's steps were a little lighter as he anticipated the shady garden. Would she still be there? He could only hope.

She was there. He could see the red of her hair even through the shade of the green trees. She stood just off the road, clutching a bouquet of flowers, and watched their return. Just as they entered the shade, the Sargento called out, "Halt!" and ordered a water break. Just five feet from the vision of loveliness, Javier grabbed his bota, and watching her, tipped it's contents down his parched throat. Gulping greedily at the tepid water, he felt twin trickles of it spill down the corners of his mouth. With a loud contented sigh, he recorked the bota and grinned at the fair maid. He was met by a disapproving stare as she covered her mouth with her hand and pantomimed wiping it. Sheepishly, Vachon wiped the sleeve of his homespun shirt across his mouth. She sniffed delicately and abruptly he realized that he should have used a handkerchief or something. But it was deep inside the metal chest plate of his armor, and he wasn't about to fetch for it.

"What's your name?" he asked her. "Mine's Javier."

She giggled girlishly and answered softly, "Rosa." With her red hair, the name suited her, and he was about to tell her that when the Sargento shouted for the men to ready themselves. Javier sighed and looked helplessly at the girl. She giggled again, then blew him a quick kiss, and retreated to her house with her flowers. His heart singing, he stepped out briskly at the order to march.

That evening, after his release from the marching, and after he had cared for his armor and equipment, Javier and several of his friends headed down to the beach. Stripping down to their underclothes, they plunged into the warm water and washed away the day's sweat and dust. The late afternoon sun glinted off the water, turning it a brilliant gold.

Jose and Frederico began a splashing game, whooping and laughing in their zest to soak the other. Javier leisurely swam further out, then dove straight down to the sandy bottom. With his eyes open, he stared in fascination at the world revealed under the water. A particularly beautiful shell caught his eye, and he grabbed it before shooting back to the surface to breathe. He spent a few more minutes searching the ocean floor for the prettiest shells he could find, before starting a lazy back-stroke that paralleled the beach.

He had drifted north, until the shouts of his friends were distant sounds, when he saw her. She was running along the beach, dancing in and out with the incoming waves, laughing with the delight of her game. The setting sun, reflecting off the water, made fire from her hair, and his breath caught with an aching need. He pushed himself more upright in the water and shouted to her. Startled, she froze and began searching the beach and sea around her. He waved, and her answering wave when she caught sight of him sent him racing in to the beach with a powerful stroke.

Reaching the shore, he jogged over to her, but stopped when she backed away from him. "What's the matter, Rosa?" he asked, puzzled.

"You're all wet, Javier." she replied, primly. "And I do not wish to be wet also.

"Javier grinned at her and, throwing his arms wide, stepped forward as if to embrace her. She screamed in mock fear and stumbled back from him. Then he moved over to a sand dune, high above the water line, and sat down. When he patted the spot next to him, she cautiously moved over and sat next to him. He reached out and captured her hand in his. Turning the hand palm up, he deposited the sea shells. She gazed in wonder at them and shyly thanked him.

"Have you lived here all your life?" he asked her, indicating the town behind them.

"No," she replied. "My family moved here when I was very small. My father is from here, but my mother is from another country far away. My father met her there, when he was a sailor, and they fell in love. After my brother was born, he decided he wanted to return, and my mother agreed.

"Javier listened to her story, absorbed in the way the water reflected in her eyes, making them the deepest blue he had ever seen. If her mother was from one of the English countries, that would explain the red hair and fair skin. He reached out and softly caressed her cheek. She held very still as his hand drifted slowly down to her throat, then back up to cup her chin. He turned her face towards him and bent forward. Her lips were full, red, and parted slightly, as he leaned closer.... She pulled away abruptly and got quickly to her feet. "Senor," she said, formally, "it is not proper that I am out here, alone with you. I must return to my home immediately. Good night.

"Javier sat on the ground and watched her walk briskly away, stealing his heart with her. When she had traveled perhaps fifty paces, she paused and turned back to him. "Thank you for the shells, Javier," she called to him. "See you tomorrow." Then she turned and skipped away towards home. He grinned widely as he got to his feet and headed back to camp. Tomorrow she had said....

Every day for the next week Javier and his fellow hopeful conquistadors marched in the hot sun. Luckily, the Sargento didn't think much of variety, and every day their route took them through the shady bower. Rosa was there also, every day, waiting for him as he marched past. Several of his friends had attempted to gain her favor but gave up when it became clear that she only had eyes for Javier. They had teased him that first night, asking him how many kisses he had taken from her and anything else he might have done, but they'd stopped when Javier had simply gotten angry with them, shouting, "She is not that kind of girl," and stormed off.

Each afternoon, as the sun made it's slow drop to the horizon, Javier would walk along the beach and wait for her to join him. She always did, although she was never alone like that first day. The first time her escort had been her father, come to see the young upstart who would dare to court his daughter. Javier had been polite, and once her father had realized that Javier intended to seek his fortune in the New World, had relented and allowed the meetings to continue. Javier knew why. Not every soldier who went to the New World returned, and there was no danger of him doing anything with Rosa before he left. Her father considered him harmless.

After that, it was usually Rosa's mother, trailing along behind them, with one or two of her younger children in tow. Always within sight and shouting range but far enough away that Javier and Rosa could speak privately. Javier told her all about his life, growing up in the north of Spain, and how his older brother would inherit their father's land. Rather than work for his brother, and refusing to consider the priesthood, he had instead chosen to seek his fortune in the New World. His father had arranged for Javier's entry into Pizarro's expedition, and here he was. But he missed his home.

Rosa told him what it was like being the oldest, with four younger siblings to take care of, and what she could remember of her life in that other country. She surprised him by speaking to him, teasingly, in another language. She explained that it was English, and it was her mother's native tongue. She spoke Spanish fluently as well, and Javier demanded that she teach him this new tongue. She began pointing out objects along their walks and telling him the English name for them. He was a quick study and soon could name everything along the shore in this new tongue.

He surprised her one day by bringing along his guitar. That, his clothes, and his crucifix had been the only things he had taken from home. They sat down by the water, and he played ballads for her until it got too dark, and her mother kept making noises about returning home. He had given her a quick kiss, there in the twilight darkness, before she had hurried to catch up with her mother.

The time passed too quickly for Javier. The recruitment was almost complete. The ships were being outfitted, the livestock for the journey selected, and the men were ready. Except he was starting to wonder what it would be like to stay in this small village instead of seeking his fortune in the New World. He shook his head at the thought. He had no money of his own, no prospects, nothing to offer Rosa in marriage. No, the gold he could acquire over the ocean would make him a rich man and allow him to return home to Spain in style. He could marry Rosa, start his own business, and be far more successful than his brother.

The order to sail had come. Jose had told him that they would ship out in the morning to join the main expedition. Sorrowfully, he told Rosa when they met for their evening walk. She hugged him then, despite the sounds of protest from her mother, and he held her tightly against him. After a few moments, they settled onto their favorite sand dune and watched as the last of the sinking sun disappeared into the water. They didn't speak, merely sat, holding hands, until the last of the light faded from the sky. For once, Rosa's mother made no sounds from her perch nearby, and for that Javier was grateful.

When he heard Rosa make a sound, he reached over, caressing her cheek, and found it wet with tears. He pulled her against him them, cradling her against his chest, making soothing sounds.

"I will never see you again. I know it," came her muffled declaration.

"No, that is not true," he replied with surety. "I'll make my fortune, return, and we can be married. You simply have to wait for me.

"How long?"

"Two years?" Javier ventured. He wasn't really sure exactly how long it would take for him to earn the kind of wealth he had in mind. Plus, there were always the vagaries of the sea voyage to contend with. One could never be positive how long any voyage would take.

"Then I will wait for you," she said. "I will refuse all men until you return to me.

"He kissed her then, knowing that the darkness hid them from her mother's sight. When he heard a throat clearing, he broke off the kiss and pulled Rosa to her feet. She pressed a cloth into his hand.

"Take this," she said. "I want you to have something to remember me by, when you are in the New World. I-- I love you, Javier.

He didn't know what to say. His emotions were so jumbled at that moment, he chose instead to simply kiss her again, rather than respond. Then he realized he had nothing to give her. She reached her hand up, tangling it in his hair, returning his kiss with a passion, and he felt a slight tug at his throat. Comprehension dawned, and when she stepped back from him, breathless, he reached up and removed his crucifix.

"Here," he said, roughly. "I want you to have this. So you will have something to remember me by. You'll need it with all the men who will come to court you." He summoned a roguish grin that was swallowed up by the darkness. She held the crucifix, fingering its gold length. "But won't you need this on your journeys?" she asked.

"No, I don't think so. What could happen to me over there? Besides, we will have God on our side already," he reasoned. "I will have my guitar, and I will make new songs to sing for you when I return.

"He caressed her face one more time, even as the vague shape of Rosa's mother presented herself beside them. Rosa clutched the crucifix and turned silently away with her mother.

"Good-bye, Rosa," Javier called softly after them.

The next morning, with the brilliant glimmers of daylight just beginning, Javier helped haul the ropes that bound the ship to the land. Hand over hand, the wet rope coiled at his feet, freeing the sailing vessel. He heard someone shout his name and looked up to see Rosa running along the shore. He waved when he saw her, and she threw something to him. It was a rose, and it landed in the water of the bay, short of the ship. He saw it floating there, a beautiful red just like her hair, and waved again at her.

"Good-bye, Rosa. Wait for me, I will be back for you." He saw her nodding her head, even as the rays of the sun glinted on the crucifix she now wore around her neck. She continued to stand there as the shore receded from his view, the ship carrying him away to adventure.

"Well, what happened?" she demanded. "Did you see her again?"

"Of course not, Trace," he answered reasonably.

"Why not?" The romantic in her had apparently surfaced, and she seemed to want a happy ending for his story.

He shook his head slightly. "Well, Trace, it's like this: I guess I needed that crucifix in the New World after all. Although," he added thoughtfully, "if I had had it, I guess I wouldn't be standing here talking to you now, would I?"

"No, I guess not," Tracy agreed somewhat sadly. "What do you suppose happened to Rosa?"

"I have no idea," Vachon responded, indifferently. "Probably got married and had eight or nine kids or something."

"Or died of a broken heart," Tracy countered.

"Yep, maybe," he agreed. "Either way, she died a long time ago, Trace. I haven't even thought of her in centuries. She was a case of puppy love that ended a long time ago. Besides, eventually I discovered blondes." He grinned wickedly to see the blush creeping up her cheeks.

"Yeah, okay," Tracy said, dispelling her romantic illusions. "In any case, the sun will be up pretty soon. Are you planning to stay the day here?" she asked pointedly.

"Ah, no, I'll be going. Thanks for the company, though." In a flash he was beside her, dropping a kiss on her cheek, before vanishing into the night sky.

Back home at the church, he carefully sorted through his belongings until he found the old, worn leather pouch. It held the few chosen momentos he carried everywhere with him. Small and light by necessity, it held the memories of his centuries.

Reaching inside, he withdrew a small, square handkerchief and unfolded it carefully. A heart was stitched into the fabric, framing the word "amante", and he pressed it against his cheek. He closed his eyes and again briefly recalled a mane of glorious flowing red hair. Then he tucked the cloth back in the pouch and safely stowed it away again. Dawn had just peeked over the horizon when he blew out the candles and settled down to sleep the day away.