"Damn! Damn! Double damn!" Melony Shepherd leaned on the intercom buzzer once again. Where was the Nelson file? And where in the hell was her secretary?

No answer came from the silent intercom or her racing thoughts. Swearing again, she pushed her half-eaten pastrami over the edge of her desk and into the wastebasket. After scrubbing at the orange coagulated grease spot with a paper napkin, she tossed that into the can too.

Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly through gritted teeth. Rearranging the mess on her desk from one side to the other and back again still didn't turn up the elusive file.

Melony held a fist to her stomach and grimaced as boiling lava shot up from her intestines and into her esophagus. Reaching for her roll of antacids, she popped two, chewed, and washed the gruesome, mint-flavored chalk down with the remains of her cold coffee.

"The girl can't even make a decent cup of coffee," she grumbled, adding the styrofoam cup to the small but ever-growing mountain of garbage at her side, unobservant of the fact that California pushed a strong Save-the-Earth campaign.

Maybe Brenda could give her some clue as to where her secretary was, or perhaps, help her locate the missing file.

"Brenda!" Melony stalked into her best friend and partner's office, barging right through the door, oblivious to the fact that the other woman was on the phone and probably would appreciate some privacy.

Brenda placed a flat palm over the mouthpiece on the phone after asking the person on the other end to hold. "You bellowed?"

"Where in the effing hell is that goodfornothing secretary of mine?" She flailed a hand through the air. "What was her name?" She snapped her fingers as the woman's name came back to her. "Lisa!"

"Have you forgotten, O Volcanic One, that you fired her," Brenda tipped her head back to view the clock on the wall, "two hours and fifteen minutes ago?"

Melony slumped against the doorjamb, removed her reading glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose with a thumb and forefinger. She closed her eyes tightly as she felt her anger slipping away, threatening to turn into that all-too-familiar feeling of weakness that she despised so much. "I fired her?"

"Uhhuh," Brenda confirmed. She directed her attention to the person waiting on the line, saying she would call them back later, and hung up. "That makes twenty-three in the past year, Mel." Melony’s best friend of seven years, and law partner of three, leaned back in her red leather chair, chewing on the end of her pen. "What did this one do? Forget to water your plants?" Her tone was dry and teasing, yet held an air of truth to it. Melony often fired employees for the smallest reason or provocation.

Dropping her arm to her side, she cast Brenda an indignant look. "I've never fired anyone over something that trivial."

"Oh, no?" Brenda challenged her friend's memory. "What about Howard Burns?"

"Who?"

"He was approximately twenty, short black hair, brown eyes, wire rim glasses and always wore screaming Hawaiian print shirts to the office."

"He sounds vaguely familiar." Melony strove to hold on to her patience, pulling her baby-fine blond hair back into a tight ponytail and securing it with an elastic band she fished out of her pocket. She had no idea why they were having this conversation, she needed to find a missing file, not reminisce over some guy she had let go.

"You remember the coffee incident?" Brenda raised her dark brows in inquisition. "About six months ago?"

"Oh, him?" She gave a dismissing little snort. "That was different."

"How so?"

Melony let out an impatient breath and stood in the doorway with her hands planted on her slim hips, her black pleated slacks doing nothing to hide her slight figure. "He spilled coffee on my best silk blouse, for shit’s sake!"

Brenda gave a little shake of her head. "That's only because you bumped into him since you felt he was taking too long to bring you your coffee and went storming out of the office door looking for him," she quietly reminded.

"Well--well this is different!" she sputtered, going to stand in back of one of the chrome and leather chairs provided for Brenda's clients.

Her partner gave up the old argument. “For seven years now I’ve been trying to get you to relax and not be so high strung all of the time. And, as always, my friendly counseling goes in one ear and out the other.”

“Oh stuff it. I know I have a type-A personality, I know it’s a problem, I know I need help ... but not right now!”

Brenda sighed and got to her feet. Tossing the pen into a drawer, she asked, "What do you need? Maybe I can help you find it."

"We can try." She started for her office that sat across the short hall. "I don't think we'll find it, though."

"What?" Brenda stood at the threshold of Melony’s office, her eyes taking in the battlefield of papers, empty coffee cups and open law books before her. "You probably can't find anything in this place. When was the last time you cleaned off your desk?" She walked over to the chaos in question. "Or anything in here, for that matter?"

"You know me." Melony was looking in the one file drawer that didn't look as foreboding as the others. "I'm working on a few cases, and...”

"That's just your trouble, Mel." Brenda turned around and leaned against the desk, arms folded over her ample chest as she watched Melony's futile attempt to come up with the missing file. "You're always pushing yourself to the limit and way past. I go home around six and you're still here burning the oil until one, sometimes two, in the morning."

Melony closed the drawer after squeezing the folders back inside. "Let's not start that again. I need to work."

"Why? You've already made a name for yourself, got more money than most people know what to do with. There's no reason for you to still be working around the clock like we did back when we were starting out."

Melony had met Brenda while they attended and ultimately graduated from the same university and had hit it off right away. When they found this office for rent on one of the busiest streets in Los Angeles, they had jumped at the chance to become business partners. They'd had big dreams of becoming successful lady lawyers. Brenda felt they had achieved that success a year ago and had settled into a comfortable niche. Melony still wasn't satisfied, though. She worked longer and harder, taking on several cases at once. And, as much as she hated to admit it, it was taking its toll on her.

She rummaged around her cluttered desk for the fifth time, sending a few papers fluttering to the floor. "Maybe you're happy with where you're at," she picked the papers up and tossed them back on her desk, "but I have bigger and better plans for myself." Her tone was caustic, but she knew Brenda had learned long ago to deflect ninetenths of what she said. Only within the walls of Shepherd and Zimmerman was she an angry, raving tyrant such as now.

"Mel," Brenda's tone was consoling as she placed a hand over her partner’s to stop her harried movements. "When are you going to stop beating yourself against a brick wall? Your dad died nearly a year ago. He saw what you made of yourself."

Melony slumped into her wingback chair and bit on her bottom lip, staring at the pen and ink sketch on the wall across the room. "Yeah," she gave a short laugh, "and it was never good enough."

"When are you going to start living for yourself and stop living for your father's ludicrous idea of what he thought you should have been all along: A man?"

Melony cringed upon hearing those words. Yes, nothing she did was ever good enough for Simon Shepherd, only because she was never good enough. He had wanted a boy thirty years ago. And though Melony had tried to mold herself into the image of what Simon Shepherd perceived to be as the ideal offspring, she was born without a dick, therefore she simply wasn't good enough.

Raised by her father singlehandedly since her mother had died during labor with her, she was always trying to live up to his high expectations. But the only thing she had managed to do was become feared within her own office building, and an emotional and social cripple once she passed through the front door and went home.

"Is this what you were looking for?"

Melony snapped out of her somber musings, grateful to have her mind diverted from those depressing thoughts. "Where did you find it?" She snatched the folder away and clutched it to her breast as if it were a long-lost lover.

"In the trash can." She pointed a peachtipped nail in the direction stated.

"I need these notes for the Nelson case tomorrow." She sifted through the neatly typed pages, printed out by some secretary of hers she had long forgotten the name of, brows bent in concentration.

After a few minutes of intense absorption in her notes, Brenda pulled the file away from Melony.

"When are you going to stop? Look at you. You must have lost twenty pounds in the past year. Twenty pounds your body can’t spare."

"Thin is in," Melony quipped. Pursing her lips, she made a grab for the file. Brenda kept it just out of her reach.

"Maybe, although I wouldn't know," she patted one full hip with her free hand, "but you have to watch your health. When was the last time you've had a decent night’s sleep, or even a hot meal? And not one of those pullitoutofthefreezerandnukeitinthemicrowave deals, either."

Melony frowned. "I don't know." One corner of her mouth twitched and she didn't know whether she was going to break out in a case of hysterical giggles or bodywracking sobs. Things were definitely starting to get to her.

"You're going over the edge, my dear friend. Fast. You have an ulcer, not to mention migraines, sinusitis and insomnia. You won't be happy until you've killed yourself just like...”

Melony held up a hand to stop her words. "Just like my father did," she finished for her. Simon Shepherd had died of a massive heart attack right in the middle of a Los Angeles courtroom. Instead of feeling mournful that her father had passed away, or even relieved that she wouldn't be at the brunt of his overbearing dominance any longer, Melony had been more determined than ever to try harder. Now that he was dead, she felt as if her father was an ominous, invisible entity who watched over her night and day, disapproving of everything she did.

"Yes. And you're traveling down the same fatal path, though at a much younger age. And do you know what's causing it?"

Melony sighed. “You know I hate lectures.”

Brenda went on anyway. "Not smoking, not obesity, but stress and all of that greasy junk food you pick on all day. You're underweight and if you didn’t go to kickboxing classes every other day you’d be weak as the proverbial kitten. The only reason you go to those classes at all is because you have some weird obsession with wanting to able to kick ass, not for the health benefits. You’re one extreme or the other, and it’s going to kill you."

Melony sat there, silently glaring up at Brenda. "Are you finished?”

“For now.”

“Don't you think you're carrying this mother hen role a little too far? Maybe you need to have another baby to use up some of the over abundance of maternal hormones you seem to have stored up. You're only five years my senior, I can take care...” Any remaining words were abandoned as she reached for her roll of antacids once more when a tremendous wave of fiery indigestion rolled over her.

"Mel, somebody has to take care of you." Brenda's voice was soft and filled with concern, as were her dark eyes. "Are you looking forward to having a heart attack at the age of thirty, or at the very least, a nervous breakdown?"

Melony leaned back in her chair and forced herself to take a deep, cleansing breath while rubbing her throbbing temples. Lord, she hoped a migraine wasn't coming on. That's all she needed. Those suckers could knock her out for two days at a time. She'd really have a mountain of work to face then. Briefly, she wondered if she had filled her prescription. "Have I been that bad?"

Brenda shrugged. "You want me to fib and say that the reason you've lost twenty-three employees in such a short amount of time is because they felt you were paying too well and, out of the kindness of their hearts, didn't want to take advantage of you?"

Melony snorted, the puff of breath causing her bangs to disarrange themselves over her forehead.

"And we both know it's strictly a suit of armor you wear once you walk through the front door each and every morning. I've been to dinner and the movies with you before. You're quiet as can be out there." Brenda pointed to the window behind Melony where the city bustled on the other side of the glass. "It's like you're two different women: Melony the Titan and Melony the Timid."

Leaning forward, Melony rested her forehead on her crossed arms. "What do you suggest?" She looked up, casting a doleful glance to the woman who was standing in front of her with compassion in her eyes. Melony was desperate; she knew she had been walking a thin line for a very long time. Her doctor said she wouldn't live to see thirtyfive if she kept up this pace. The only problem was, she didn't know how to stop. "If you say a padded cell is where I belong, I just might run you out of here, too." Brenda held up a hand and laughed softly. "Nothing as severe as that." She thought for a moment as if pondering her next words then slid a small pamphlet from the pocket of her slimfitting skirt that hugged her full hips. "Have a look at this."

Taking the item from her, Melony looked it over and frowned once more. "What’s this all about?"

"Hunter McFadden's oneonone survival course," she said by way of explanation. "Charlie took it a few weeks ago. Said it changed him for life."

Melony lifted a wheatcolored eyebrow. "Shy, timid, virginonhisweddingnight Charlie took a wilderness survival course?"

Brenda giggled at Melony's description of her husband of five years. "The one and only. Now he's a raging tiger--when it's appropriate." She waggled her eyebrows.

"Now I'm really confused." She laid the pamphlet on her desk, knowing that once it left her hands she'd probably never see it again. Her desk was California's own Bermuda Triangle. "You're telling me that a wilderness survival course has made Charlie a better lover? And, if so, what does it have to do with me? I haven't had a man in my life for ages, nor do I want one. My vibrator keeps me plenty satisfied."

Brenda rolled her eyes, resting a hip on the side of the desk again. "It wasn't the fact that taking the course made him a better lover. The course made him feel better about himself. It brought out the machismo in him, roughing it for those two weeks. He's much more selfassured in all areas of his life now. And ... he finally got that promotion he'd been after for such a long time."

Melony was nonplused. "All of that because of a survival course?"

Brenda nodded her head of brown corkscrew curls. "You haven't had a vacation since we've opened. And not once when we were in school together, either. Now, I'm not saying that this Hunter McFadden will be able to change your life as drastically as he did Charlie’s, but it's worth a try. Although you’re thin as can be, you’re in pretty good shape. Besides, the great outdoors will, if nothing else, give you a chance to put your life into perspective and breathe some fresh air for a change instead of brown, hazy smog."

Melony hated to admit it, but the idea was rather intriguing. Perhaps roughing it for a few weeks would help to put her life into perspective. At the moment, her brain felt as chaotic as the desk before her. She needed some balance in her life. At the office she was a drill sergeant, but outside the office she felt as helpless as Bambi did when he'd lost his mother.

Adjusting one of her thick shoulder pads, Melony cast her friend a cautious glance. "If I were to take this course, which I'm not saying I am, how would I go about contacting this Hunter McFadden?" She picked up the pamphlet, searching for a phone number.

"You have to write to him." Brenda opened the trifolded paper and pointed to an address inside. "There are no phones for fifty miles, no cell reception. Can't even get there by plane--a helicopter flew Charlie in."

"Alaska?" Melony looked up at the other woman as if she were insane. "Why in the world would anyone want to freeze their ass off in Alaska?" Her mind conjured up Eskimos, dog sleds, polar bears and mile upon mile of barren, snowladen nothingness.

Brenda laughed. "Alaska is beautiful this time of year. Only farther up north is there snow year-round. Charlie brought back some pictures of the scenery--lush, green, gorgeous. Try it. You won't be sorry." The ringing of a phone in the distance prompted Brenda to stand up, smooth down her skirt and head for the doorway. "That's probably Charlie." Melony didn't miss the little sigh in her friend's voice. Brenda was acting as if she was in the throes of her first love affair. And Melony found herself feeling jealous. No man had ever turned her on as much as Charlie seemed to affect Brenda. "Think about it, will you, Mel?" she said before disappearing through the doorway.

* * * *

Melony did think about it.

On the drive home at around midnight and the freeway relatively empty, she thought about it.

While she stuck a frozen dinner into her microwave and sat down at the small dinette table in her kitchen five minutes later, picking at the stroganoff noodles that tasted like rubber, she thought about it.

And much later, when she was in bed staring up at the ceiling as sleep refused to cloud her mind and capture her alwaysonthego senses, she thought about it.

At four in the morning she gave up on sleep, got out of bed, slipped on her satin robe and went to the roll-top desk in the living room. Sitting in the padded tapestry chair, she turned on the small lamp sitting there and looked over the pamphlet Brenda had given her once again.

The advertisement was plain, done in stark black and white. It wasn't full of much information and Melony figured that this Hunter McFadden must rely heavily on word-of-mouth if he was to make a business of this. Though she could only imagine how he could make a business of dragging people through mile upon mile of barren wilderness, living like some primitive from eons ago.

Still, she found herself reaching into the top drawer, extracting some stationery, an envelope and a pen then sat down to write a letter to the man.

Ten minutes later she had her request to sign up for the excursion. She included a check for quite a bit more than the already hefty asking price, hoping it would get her in as quickly as possible. She signed Mel Shepherd at the bottom of the crisp, beige paper. Before she had a chance to change her mind, she folded it, slipped it into the matching envelope and stuck a stamp on it.

Melony stared at the sealed letter, knowing that this was the most spontaneous, and certainly the most adventurous, thing she had ever pursued. She only hoped she wasn't making a mistake, or setting herself up for a situation she wouldn't be able to handle.

On her way to the office the following morning, she dropped the letter in the corner mailbox, her heart beating a strange rhythm of anticipation. She put down her eagerness to the thought that this trip just might change her life forever. No, she knew it would. Anything as shocking to one's system as trekking the Alaskan wilds for two weeks would have to change a person in some way. Also, she had to admit that she did crave some sort of interruption in her hectic lifestyle.

She drove the rest of the way to work with a small smile on her lips--the first one that had claimed her face in quite some time--oblivious to the traffic packed around her and the intense heat that shrouded the city even at this early hour.