The trees were flush with autumn colors.

An array of color had spilled onto the lawns, some the wind had scattered into the ditches.

It was pretty in Hallow Oaks this time of year. It was still relatively warm, but that was to be expected throughout Texas regardless of the season.

Malan's 35 mm Nykon camera, which was their camera -- or at least it should be, after all they'd been married almost two years -- sat on top of her spiral notebook beside her purse on the passenger seat next to her.

Covering the opening of the race track and casino in Hudson had gone smoothly. Her editor had been there and he told her he didn't need her story until the next day.

That meant she could go home and spend time with Malan. Especially today. It was his birthday, and she had a surprise for him. She'd made his favorite -- her pumpkin bars. She'd hidden them in the back of the refrigerator.

She planned to present him with the surprise when she came home that afternoon. She smiled.

After the romantic interlude he'd instigated that morning, Malan had been on her mind all day. Actually, her medium height, muscular build, brown haired, brown eyed husband occupied her thoughts quite often.

Malan Hamel was not only a talented actor but he was the most romantic man she'd known. She couldn't imagine her life without him. She'd loved him since she was 14 years old.

She was only a few blocks from home. That's when it happened.

A new, bright red pickup traveled south bound on Houston, a two-way street. Suddenly the pickup crossed over the broken, yellow divider line, swerving into her lane.

Quickly reacting, Lathal sharply turned the wheel in an attempt to avoid a collision.

They say accidents can be avoided. A good driver, Lathal executed several deft maneuvers to steer clear of harm's way.

But the driver of the pickup wasn't paying attention. The vehicle continued to drift, moving like it was caught in a tractor beam, closer and closer to her small compact car.

Tires screeched as the pickup driver slammed on the brakes at the last moment. Metal crunched and plastic shattered; her passive restraints locked, holding her firmly against the cushioned seat as the pickup plowed into Lathal's car.

It all happened so fast. Her life flashed before her eyes.

The impact caused Lathal's body to jerk abruptly forward, her forehead forcibly slapped the center of the steering wheel.

She blacked out.

A spattering of unfamiliar voices broke through her momentary loss of consciousness.

Lathal slowly opened her eyes, finding herself by paramedics. On impulse she reached for their camera, but it wasn't on the seat beside her. It, along with her spiral notebook and purse, had been thrown onto the floor as a result of the crash.

"Don't move," the paramedic shouted at her. "We'll get you out of there."

Sharp pain shot through her right leg. She grimaced. She knew what that meant. It was probably broken.

She wondered what other damage there was -- other than her car, which was totaled.

Paramedics fought to open the driver's side door, stubbornly stuck in place. They traded places with firefighters who worked on the door with the jaws of life.

Falling into a crumbled heap on the concrete, paramedics gently reached for her.

"I can't move my right leg," she told them. "I think it's broken."

The concern in the paramedics' eyes sent worry through her. Obviously she had more problems than just a broken leg as one of the paramedics put a neck brace on her.

"I don't need a neck brace," she said.

"It's just a precaution, ma'am," the paramedic informed her before lifting her out the car.

It was the first -- and only -- time she had a chance to survey the damage. Car parts were messily strewn all over the road. Police were directing traffic around the debris and collecting information from witnesses. Paramedics loaded a gurney with the driver of the pickup into an ambulance. Apparently, he was no better off than she was.

This was bad. Tears sprung to her eyes. "Malan."

She wanted her husband. She wanted to believe everything would be OK but she wouldn't feel it until she heard it from him.

Overhearing her, a paramedic said bewildered. "Malan?"

"Her husband. He's an actor with the Falls Theater company," a seasoned paramedic contributed. "Will you ask one of the officers to notify him?"

The younger paramedic nodded.

After gently laying her on the gurney, the paramedics strapped her down. They carefully lifted the gurney into the ambulance.

As the ambulance sped toward St. Francis Hospital, the paramedics put an IV in her. They bandaged her forehead; he alcohol on the gauze pads used to clean her cuts stung.

Despair swept over her. Her features were going to be permanently marred.

Tears welled up in her eyes. "Malan," she wailed softly.

"Everything's going to be OK, Mrs. Hamel," the seasoned paramedic said soothingly.

The drugs in the IV were beginning to take effect because she felt woozy and light headed; the pain in her leg had begun to numb. Her eyelids drooped like heavy boulders. "Lathal," she murmured, finally succumbing to the hazy sleep coming over her.