Twilight was easing over the land by the time the judge pulled the wagon to a halt in front of a large brick house. It stood two stories tall, larger than anything Gaara had ever seen. A huge porch supported by white columns welcomed visitors.

A man with the hair the color of muddy river sat on the porch. He slowly came to his feet as everyone climbed out of the wagon.

Gaara's feet hit the dirt path, sending up a plume of dust. For a moment he stood mesmerized, watching as the judge helped his son. Naruto placed his delicate hands on his father's shoulder's while his father wrapped his around Naruto's waist. He lifted him down as though he weighed no more than a wispy cloud.

Gaara had caught Naruto watching him several times during the journey. Every time he'd given him a hard glare, expecting him to look away. Instead he'd defiantly held his gaze, tilting up that cute chin of his until he'd finally looked away, embarrassed that he knew where he'd spent the last five years of his life.

The man who'd been sitting on the porch approached. "Judge."

The judge gave him a curt nod before turning to Gaara. "Gaara, this is Zabuza."

The wind and sun had practically turned Zabuza's face into leather, but his brown eyes held kindness. He stuck out his hand. "Welcome to the Lazy J, but you'll discover soon enough that we're anything but lazy around here."

Gaara wasn't exactly sure what to do. He'd seen the gesture a thousand times as he'd ridden through towns, whenever a man on the boardwalk stopped to talk to those they knew. But he'd never placed his hand in another's.

He could feel Naruto watching him, studying him, as the seconds touched by and his unease with the situation grew.

"The custom of shaking a hand in greeting was started during the medieval period," Naruto said softly, as though understanding his hesitation. "A knight extended his hand to show that he wasn't holding a weapon."

Gaara jerked his attention to him. "I don't have a gun."

"Of course you don't. I didn't mean that you did. I was just explaining-"

"An old wives' tale," Gai interrupted. "Just shake Zabuza's hand."

With reluctance, Gaara wiped his sweating palm on his britches before taking Zabuza's hand. Zabuza gave Gaara's hand a quick shake and released his hold. Gaara didn't understand how that little action told a man that the other wasn't carrying a weapon. After all, a man had two hands.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Naruto asked.

Before Gaara could answer, the judge said, "I think we've done all the talking out here that we need to do. Let's get up to the house."

Gaara was hoping that order didn't include him, but everyone else started up the steps, leaving him rooted in the dust, he had a feeling it did. He was torn between going inside and staying where he was.

He'd never been inside a house that looked like this one. Oh, for a while when he was small he'd lived with a widow who'd kept her house as clean as she'd kept him, scrubbing his body with the same brush she'd used for the floors.

But he'd never been inside a building that housed a family.

As uncomfortable as he felt about following them, he was equally curious and desperate to know what other people possessed.

"Gaara?"

Gaara jumped at the judge's insistent voice. The man waited in the doorway.

Gaara trudged up the steps and entered the house. The scent of flowers greeted him. He'd never been in a place that smelled like a field of wildflowers in spring. For the most part, when he'd stayed indoors before prison, he'd usually stayed in storage rooms or barns.

"We'll talk in my library," the judge said, indicating a room off to the side.

Gaara followed him inside and came to an abrupt halt. He'd never seen so many books in his entire life. They lined the shelves on two walls, from the floor to the ceiling. He wondered if the judge had read them all. He wondered even more how so many different stories could exist.

He shifted his attention to the judge's son. With his hands folded on his lap, he sat elegantly in a chair off to the side. His gaze roamed over him in a leisurely fashion that caused the heat of embarrassment to build within him.

He'd never cared much about his appearance, but right now he felt as though every aspect of his person were sorely lacking. He watched Naruto watching him, wondering if he would find anything about him that pleased him. Wondering more why he cared whether he did or not.

He seemed completely at ease here, as though he knew he was safe, knew he would always be so. He'd probably never had a day of sadness in his life. Strangely, he didn't envy him that fact. Rather he was glad.

He wouldn't wish his life on his worst enemy.

The judge cleared his throat, and Gaara snapped his attention around to the man wearing a scowl of disapproval. Obviously showing any interest at all in the judge's youngest son was not a good idea.

The judge sat in a large leather chair behind a massive mahogany desk, presiding over the room as he no doubt did his courtroom. His son's propped themselves on either corner of the desk, like sentinels who thought it was their job to protect their father. With his arms crossed over his chest, Zabuza stood behind the judge and off to the side, close to the fireplace.

To the right of Zabuza, nestled in a corner, was a large safe. Gaara had opened a half dozen like it in his time. It was too large and heavy to be moved-probably the reason Judge Jiraiya didn't bother to hide it. Its contents were well protected unless a man had dynamite or sensitive fingertips and sharp hearing. Gaara possessed the latter.

"I may own this land," Judge Jiraiya began, once again capturing Gaara's attention, "but Zabuza runs things for me. You'll take your orders from him. He's not going to cut you any slack. You disobey him once, and you'll find yourself back at prison. Understand?"

So much for Gaara's hope that life here would be different from life in prison.

Still he answered, "Yes, sir."

"If my sons give you an order, you follow without question. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're to stay away from my son Naruto." Judge Jiraiya practically sliced Gaara in two with his gaze. "Understand?"

Gaara fought not to shift his gaze over to Naruto. "Yes, sir."

Judge Jiraiya sighed and leaned back in his chair. "You're free to move about the ranch as long as you let Zabuza or my sons know where you're going. You don't tell them, and you're at prison. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Try to escape and you're back at prison. You'll notice I said 'try,' because I give you my word that my sons are fine trackers. Understand?"

Gaara was beginning to sound like an echo. "Yes, sir."

"No drinking no gambling, no fighting, no cussing. Those are my rules. Break one of them, and you're back at prison. Understand?"

He decided he'd be lucky to last through the night. Still, he nodded. "Yes, sir."

"All right, then, Zabuza will take you to the bunk house and introduce you to the men. I have no tolerance for lawbreakers. I'm giving you a chance here to prove that Judge Sarutobi's judgment regarding you was wrong. Don't squander this opportunity to better your life."

"Yes. Sir."

Zabuza uncrossed his arms, stepped away from his exalted position behind the judge, and rounded the desk. "Let's go"

Gaara wondered if he should say something to Judge Jiraiya before leaving, but he couldn't think of anything that might be appropriate. The man's good intentions were welcome...even if they came with a lot of rules. But he couldn't quite bring himself to thank the man. As far as Gaara was concerned, one judge wasn't that much different from any other.

So Gaara simply nodded and fell into step behind the foreman as he walked out of the room. He was eager to get away from the judge's sons, who'd been boring their gazes into him as though they'd wanted to drill clear into his soul.

And he definitely wanted to get away from the judge's other son, because not looking at him was about the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life.

As they stepped onto the porch, Gaara took comfort in the dimming twilight. It signaled one less day he had to serve for his crimes.

He followed Zabuza as he headed toward a wood-framed building in the distance, past the barn. Gaara cast a longing glance at the horses prancing within the nearby corral. With one of them beneath him, he could hightail it—

"You know any other words beside 'yes, sir'?" Zabuza asked, interrupting Gaara's thoughts of escape.

Gaara tore his gaze off the corral and focused it on the man walking beside him, walking as though he wasn't in any hurry to be anywhere.

"Yes, sir," he responded dryly

Prison had taught him to say as little as possible in order to survive. Never tell a man more than he needed to know. Never reveal what the world couldn't see on its own.

Zabuza didn't break his stride while he looked at Gaara as though measuring him. "I know Judge Jiraiya seems like a hard man, but he's risking a lot bringing you here. His reputation, his business, his family. He has a right to set down rules. Perhaps even an obligation to do so."

Gaara was growing weary of the reminders that his freedom was only an illusion. They all worried about what it was costing the judge. No one seemed concerned with what it was costing him-to see all the things he'd never possessed. And never would.

He wasn't thinking about the fancy knickknacks that decorated the tables or the pretty pictures hanging on the walls. He was thinking about the solidarity and familiarity that emanated from the folks in the room

Everyone seemed secure in their place, knew where they belonged. Gaara couldn't imagine the satisfaction that might come from filling up the empty places in his soul with those emotions.

Zabuza stopped short of the bunkhouse door. "I'll be honest with you, Gaara. A lot of the men aren't comfortable with the idea of having you around. You just stay clear of them, and I don't think we'll have any problems."

Gaara narrowed his eyes. One more rule to follow.

"Me, I think every man deserves a second chance, but I'll be watching you closely," Zabuza continued. "As Judge Jiraiya said, disobey one of his rules and you'll find yourself back at the prison."

Gaara heard a cacophony of sounds emanating from inside the bunkhouse: deep voices, laughter, the scraping of chairs over a floor, and footsteps. He didn't much welcome the prospect of facing a new bunch of strangers, but his whole life had been filled with nothing but strangers. He should have been accustomed to it by now, but his stomach knotted up, his mouth grew dry, and his palms got sweaty.

He swallowed hard and fought not to show his apprehension. "You gonna jaw all night or get on with this?"

A corner of Zabuza's mouth tilted up. "Reckon I'll get on with it. If you have any problems, though, you come see me."

Right. Gaara was certain that somewhere in both the judge's and Zabuza's words resided the unspoken warning that if he complained he'd be sent back to prison. He understood that fact without its being said directly.

Zabuza opened the door and stepped inside. Gaara followed. A hush fell over the room. The fellas who were playing poker at a table no longer looked at the cards they held in their hands. Instead, they narrowed their eyes and stared at Gaara.

Men who'd been lying in bunks slowly sat up as though to challenge him.

"This here's Gaara, the new hand Judge Jiraiya spoke to you about," Zabuza announced, his voice booming to the distant corners, "I don't want any trouble, Gaara doesn't want any trouble, and I guarantee the judge doesn't want any. If you've got any problems with this situation you come see me."

Zabuza jerked his head to the side. "That'll be your bed. Far corner, upper bunk."

Gaara gave a curt nod before wending his way among tables, chairs, and outstretched legs. He met the gaze of every man who dared him to look away. He'd learned in prison never to show fear even if he was quaking in his boots. Survival depended on being the first one to set up defenses.

The fella sitting on the lower bed below Gaara's slowly stood, his fists bunched at his sides, his eyes never straying from Gaara.

Ignoring him, Gaara planted his foot on the bottom bed and hoisted himself onto the bed up top. Stretching out, he folded his arms beneath his head and stared at the knotholes in the ceiling.

He'd done a quick tally and counted ten double bunks, so he figured the ranch probably had close to twenty workers. He felt distrust and hatred emanating from each one of them. The hard truth hit him painfully.

Living here wasn't going to be much different from being in prison after all.