*Tuesday, July 7, 1998*

"Wow, now theses are some sexy boots." Richie picked up the knee high black leather boots.

"I just got them," Rylan said pulling her new clothes out of the shopping bags. "This way I won't have to barrow Jen's when we go ridding."


"My roommate, you know, the girl I've lived with nine months out of the year for the past three years."

"Oh, Jen, gottcha. . . Ridding? As in. . ."

"Horses. You know what a horse is, don't you?"

"Since when do you ride horses?"

"Since about three and a half years ago."

"Three and a half. . . how did I miss that one?"

"I think you were somewhere in Europe at the time." She started hanging shirts in the closet.

"I really don't pay attention, do I?"

Rylan laughed, "I've been telling you that for years."

Richie rolled his eyes and started looking through the other bags. "So horses, huh? Isn't that a little scary?"

"It was the first time, but as Jen pointed out, it's probably the safest thing I'll ever have between my legs."

Richie smiled, "Ry, that's just wrong. . . Funny, but wrong."

. . . . . .

*April 13, 2106*

'Rylan Fisher

February 24, 1976- November 5, 1998'

Richie traced the words with his fingers. The morning he had left for Scotland had been the last time he had seen her. He was back in Seacouver for the first time since her funeral. He looked at the words carved at the bottom of the marker.

'Leaving nothing but love behind, and receiving nothing but love in return. . .'

"Half a soul here, with the other half there, to be joined again when the time comes," He whispered to himself, finishing the quote from the letter she had written him over a hundred years ago. "Safest thing you'll ever have between your legs, huh?" He asked the grave. "Until they buck you off." He put the fresh daisies in front of the stone. "I miss you, Ry. Say hi to Tessa for me. And I know 'What you're head'." A soft breeze blew as he left the graveyard, he could almost swear he smelled apples.

. . . . . .

Richie closed the door behind him and didn't bother to turn on the lights. This way he wouldn't have to look at the mess he would be cleaning up in the morning. Nobody had been in the store for over fifty years; the relater cut Richie a great deal on the property when he explained his grandfather had grown up there. If he closed his eyes he could still hear bagpipes coming from the office. . .

Duncan had nearly choked on his fish when Richie told him he was moving back to Seacouver and he had bought the Antique store.

"Hey, you moved back to Scotland, why shouldn't I go back to Washington?" Richie had defended.

And there was something about the Antique store. . . the loft above it had been home for two years, he had lived a lot of places before and even more places since, but this was the first 'home' he had had. The memories there were so strong; it felt like just yesterday he had been there claiming to have been abducted by aliens to get Randi McFalren to leave them alone, just yesterday that he had sung to Duncan and Tessa for the first time, just yesterday that he had broken a two thousand year old vase while fencing with Rylan in the store.

He smiled to himself and walked over to the second window on the right and placed his palm on the bottom pane.

"Check it out," he breathed. "One night only, everything must go."

His memory transported him back 114 years. He could see his seventeen-year-old self putting antique goblets into a duffel bag. He was about to leave when something caught his eye, a sword displayed in a glass case. His gut told him to leave, but something called him to the sword. He couldn't resist taking it out. The boy grinned to himself and held the blade up to a statue.

"En garde, you fool."

"I am Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod."

Seventeen year old Richie whirled around with the sword still in his hands and faced Duncan. "Whoa, dude chill, I rip of a couple bowls and a cup, I'm sorry all right? It's over."

"It's not over until I cut off your head."

Shaking his head and laughing to himself Richie headed up the stairs. . . if only he had know how prophetic Duncan had been the night they first met. Maybe he would have stayed away; maybe he would have avoided trouble, maybe. . . But all in all what he had gotten from Duncan and Tessa had been exactly what he had needed: a home, a job, a second chance, a good life, and most importantly. . . parents.