Apache summer

by

Author unknown

Chapter One.

Western Texas, 1870 ~ ~ Look, Lieutenant! Fire, rising high to our

left!" Jamie Slater reined in his roan stallion. With penetrating

silver-gray eyes he stared east, where Sergeant Monahah was pointing.

Across the sand and the sagebrush and the dry dunes, smoke could indeed

be seen, billowing up in black and gray bursts. Tendrils of flame, like

undulating red ribbons, waved through the growing wall of smoke.

"Injuns!" Monahan breathed.

To Jamie's fight, Jon Red Feather stiffened. Jamie turned toward him.

The half-breed Blackfoot was a long way from home, but he was still one

of the best Indian scouts around. He was a tall, striking man with

green-gold eyes and strong, arresting features. Thanks to a wealthy

white grandfather, Jon Red Feather had received a remarkable education,

going as far as Oxford in England.

Jamie knew that Jon resented the ready assumption that trouble meant

Indians, even though he admitted readily to Jamie that trouble was

coming, big trouble. The Apache hated the white man, the Comanche

despised him, and Jamie was convinced that the great Sioux Nation was

destined to fight in a big way for all the land that had been grabbed by

the hungry settlers.

Through Jon, Jamie had come to know the Comanche well. He didn't make

the mistake of considering the Comanche to be docile, but, on the other

hand, he'd never known a Comanche to lie or to give him any double-talk.

"Let's see what's going on," Jamie said quietly. He rose high in his

saddle and looked over the line of forty-two men presently under his

command.

"Forward, Sergeant. We ride east. And by the look of things, we'd best

hurry."

Sergeant Monahah repeated his order, calling out harshly and demanding

haste.

Jamie flicked his reins against the roan's shoulders, and the animal

took flight with grace and ease. His name was Lucifer, and it fitted the

animal well. He was wild--and remarkable.

That was one thing about the U. S. Cavalry, Jamie reckoned as they raced

toward the slope of the dune that led to the rise of smoke. They offered

a man good horses. He hadn't had that pleasure in the Confederate

cavalry.

When the Confederacy had been slowly beaten into her grave, there hadn't

been many mounts left. But the war had been over for almost five years

now.

Jamie was wearing a blue uniform, the same type he'd spent years of his

life shooting at. No one, least of all his brothers, had believed he

would last a day in the U. S. Cavalry, not after the war.

But they had been wrong. Many of the men he was serving with hadn't even

been in the war, and frankly, he understood soldiers a whole lot better

than he did politicians and carpetbaggers.

And he had liked the life in the saddle on the plains, dealing with the

Indians, far better than he had liked to see what had become of the

South.

This was western Texas, and the reprisals from the war weren't what they

were in the eastern Deep South. Everywhere in the cities and towns were

the men in tattered gray, many missing limbs, hobbling along on

crutches. Homeless and beaten, they had been forced to surrender on the

fields, then they had been forced to surrender to things that they

hadn't even understood.

Taxes forced upon them. Yankee puppets in place where local sheriffs had

ruled. The war was horrible--even after it was over.

There were good Yanks, and Jamie had always known it. He didn't blame

good men for the things that were happening in the South--he blamed the

riffraff, the carpetbag- gets. He liked his job because he honestly

liked a number of the Comanche and the other Indians he dealt with--they

still behaved with some sense of honor. He couldn't say that for the

carpetbaggers.

Still, he never deceived himself. The Indians were savage fighters; in

their attacks, they were often merc'fless.

But as Jamie felt the power of the handsome roan surge beneath him as he

raced the animal toward the rise of fire and smoke, he knew that his

days with the cavalry were nearing an end. For a while, he had needed

the time to get over the war. Maybe he'd needed to keep fighting for a

while just to learn how not to fight. But he'd been a rancher before the

war had begun.

And he was beginning to feel the need for land again. Good land, rich

land.

A place where a man could raise cattle in wide open spaces, where he

could ride his own property for acres and acres and not see any fences.

He imagined a house, a two-story house, with a great big parlor and a

good-sized kitchen with huge fireplaces in each to warm away the

winter's chill. Maybe it was just time for his wandering days to be

over.

"Sweet Jesus!" Sergeant Monahah gasped, reining in beside Jamie as they

came to the top of the rise of land.

Jamie silently echoed the thought as he looked down upon the carnage.

The remnants of a wagon train remained below them. Men had attempted to

pull the wagons into a defensive circle, but apparently the attack had

come too swiftly. Bodies lay strewn around on the ground. The canvas and

wood of the wagons still smoldered and smoked, and where the canvas

covers had not burned, several leathered arrows still mmained.

Comanche, Jamie thought. He'd heard that things were heating up.

Seemed like little disputes would eventually cause a whole-scale war.

Monahah had told him he'd heard a rumor about some whites tearing up a

small Indian village.

Maybe this was done in revenge. "Damnation!" Sergeant Monahah breathed.

"Let's go," Jamie said.

He started down the cliff and rocks toward the plain on which the wagon

train had been attacked. It was dry as tinder, sagebrush blowing around,

an occasional cactus protruding from the dirt. He hoped there was no

powder or ammunition in the wagons to explode, then he wondered what it

would matter once he and his men looked for survivors.

The Indians had struck sure and fast, then disappeared somewhere into

the plain, up the cliffs and rock. L'like the fog wisping away, they had

disappeared, and they had left the death and bloodshed behind them.

"Cimle carefully!" he advised his men.

"A half-dead Comanche is a mean one, remember?"

Riding behind him, Jon Red Feather was silent. Their horses snorted and

heaved as they slowly came down the last of the slope, trying to dig in

for solid footing. Then they hit the plain, and Jamie spurred his horse

to race around and encircle the wagons. There were only five of them.

Poor bastards never had a chance, he thought. He reckoned that someone

had been bringing some cattle north, since there was at least a score of

dead calves lying glass-eyed and bloody along with the human corpses.

There was definitely no one around. And there was not a single Indian

left behind, not a dead one, or a half-dead one, or any other kind of a

one.

He dismounted before the corpse of an old man. There was an arrow shaft

protruding from his back.

Jamie touched the man's shoulder, turning him over. He swallowed hard.

The man had been scalped, and a sloppy job had been done of it. Blood

poured down his forehead, still sticky, still warm.

It hadn't happened more than a half hour ago. If they had headed back

just a lousy thirty minutes earlier, they might have stopped this

carnage.

His men had dismounted too, he realized. At a command from Sergeant

Monahan, they were doing the same as he, searching through the downed

men for any survivors. Jamie shook his head, standing. Hell. He had just

been to see the local Comanche chief. Running River was the peace chief,

not the war chief, of the village, but the white men and Running River's

people had been doing just fine together for years now.

Jamie liked Running River. And though he had never kidded himself that

any Comanche couldn't be warlike when provoked, he couldn't begin to

imagine what in hell would have provoked an attack like this one. If the

Indians were hungry, they would have stolen the calves, not slaughtered

them.

Jon Red Feather was next to him, investigating the body. "No Comanche

did this," he said.

Jamie frowned at him.

"Then what do you think? A band of Cheyenne?

Maybe a wandering tribe of Minutes. We're too far south for it to be the

Sioux"--" I promise you, Lieutenant, no self-respecting Sioux would ever

do such a careless job. And the Comanche are warriors, too. They learn

from an early age how to lift the hair."

"Then what?" Jamie demanded impatiently. His blood run cold as he

realized that Jon was insinuating that it hadn't been Indians who had

made this heinous attack. It wasn't possible, he told himself. No white

man could have killed and mutilated his own kind so savagely.

"Hey, Lieutenant!" Charlie Forbes called to him. Jamie swung around.

Forbes was on the ground beside one of the dead men, an old-timer with

silver-gray whiskers. "What is it, Charlie?"

"Looks like this one was hit by an arrow, tried to rise and got shot

with a bullet, right in the heart."

He could feel Jon standing behind him. Jamie adjusted his plumed hat and

twisted his jaw.

"Don't try to tell me the Comanche don't have rifles."

"Hell, I'm not going to tell you that. They get them from the

Comancberos--the Comancheros will sell rifles to anyone.

Of course, you've got to bear in mind that the Comancheros do buy them

from your people."

Jamie didn't say anything. He stepped past Jon and stared at the one

wagon that seemed to have had little damage done to it. He thought he

heard something.

He had to be imagining things. The job here had been very thorough.

Still, he watched the wagon as he straightened his back, trying to get

out all the little cricks and pains. He felt queasy about this thing.

And he hadn't felt queasy about anything in quite some time.

He'd grown up on bloodshed. Before he had been twenty, his sister-in-law

had been slain by Kansas jay hawkers Then war had been declared, and

though he had fought in a decent regiment under the command of John Hunt

Morgan, he had never been able to escape the horror of the border war.

From his brother Cole he had learned that the Missouri bushwhackers

could behave every bit as monstrously as the jay hawkers

And a Southern boy called Little Archie Clements had gone around doing a

fair bit of scalping in his day. He and his men had stripped down men in

blue and shot them without thought, and when they'd finished with the

killing they'd gone on to scalping.

He had no right to think that the Indians were any more vicious than the

white men. No right at all.

He exhaled slowly. Knowing that the Southern bushwhackers had been every

bit as bad as the Northern jay hawkers was one of the reasons he was

able to wear this uniform now. A blue cavalry uniform, decorated in blue

trim, with a cavalry officer's sword at his side. He didn't carry a

military-issue rifle, though. Through four years of civil conflict he

had worn his Colts, and he wore them to this day.

His eyes narrowed suddenly. He could have sworn that something in the

wagon had moved.

He glanced over his shoulder. Jon was behind him. Jon nodded, aware

instantly of Jamie's suspicions. He circled around while Jamie headed

straight for the opening at the rear.

He looked in. For a second he could see only shadows in the dim light.

Then things took form. There were two bunks in the wagon. Ironically,

they were neat and all made up-- with the sheets tucked in, the blankets

folded back at an inviting angle and the pillows plumped up. Beyond the

bunks were trunks and boxes. ~Everything seemed to be in perfect order.

But it wasn't. He felt just a flicker of movement again. He didn't know

if he really saw it or if he felt it, but all his senses were on edge.

He hadn't worked in Indian country and spent all this time with Jon Red

Feather not to have learned something of his senses. There was someone

near. He could feel it in his gut, and he could feel it at the nape of

his neck, and he could feel it all the way down his spine. Someone was

very near.

"Come on out of there," he said softly.

"Come on, now. We don't want to hurt anyone here, we just want you to

come on ont."

The movement had ceased.

Jon was moving up toward the front of the wagon. The horses, still

smelling smoke, whinnied and nickered nervously.

Jamie leaped to the floor of the wagon.

His eyes flickered to the left bunk. There was a long, soft white gown

lain out by the side. It was sleeveless, lowbodiced and lacy, a woman's

nightgown, he thought. And a pretty piece for the dustiness of the road.

It did belong with the perfectly made and inviting beds, but it didn't

really belong on a wagon train. Was she alive? Had she been some young

man's bride? He hadn't seen a woman's corpse, not yet, but then his men

were still moving among the bodies.

"Is anyone in here?" he said, moving past the bunks. There were boxes

and trunks everywhere. There was a coffeepot, cast down as if someone

had been about to use it. There was a frying pan in the middle of the

floor, too. He paused, crouching on the balls of his feet, looking at

the floor.

Coffee was spilled everywhere.

"Come on out now," he said softly.

"It's all right, come on out."

He kept moving inward. The shadows in the wagon made it difficult to

see.

There seemed to be a swirl of soft mauve taffeta, fringed in black lace,

set in a heap before him. He reached down carefully, hoping he hadn't

come upon another corpse.

He touched a body. He touched warmth. He moved his hand, and it was

filled with fullness and living warmth.

Instinctively his fingers curled over the full, firm ripeness of a

woman's breast. He could feel the shape and weight and the tautness of

the nipple with his palm right through the taffeta.

She was warm, but very still. Sweet Jesus, let her be alive, he thought,

still stunned by the contact his fingers had made.

She was alive. Beyond a doubt, she was alive. She burst from her hiding

place with a wicked scream of terror and fury. Startled, he moved back.

He had been prepared for danger, for a wounded Comanche, but when he had

touched the softness and striking femininity of her form, he had relaxed

his guard.

Foolish move.

He backed away, but she screamed again, high and shrill and desperate, a

sound like that of a wounded animal. He started to reach for his Colt,

but his hand fell quickly as he reminded himself that it was just a

woman. A small, delicate woman.

"Ma'am" -- She cast herself upon him with a vengeance, pitting her body

against his with a startling ferocity and strength.

"Hey" -- he began, but she didn't heed him. She slammed her foot against

his leg and brought a fist flailing down upon his shoulder, trying to

throw him off balance. He braced himself as she slammed against him, but

still she brought them both down~ upon the floor.

"Hey! Damn, stop!" he yelled, aware of her fragile size, her wild mane

of honey-colored hair. Nor could he forget the full feel of her breast

within his hand. She was exquisite. He had to be gentle.

Her foot slammed against his shin again. She thrashed with the fury of

ten Comanche. Her flailing fist caught his jaw so hard that his teeth

rattled.

Gentle. hell!

She was a monster. There was no way in hell a man could possibly be

gentle and survive. Gritting his teeth harshly he caught her wrists,

trying not to hold them in a painful vise. She screamed again

incoherently, freeing her hands to grope on the bunk. He should have

held her in a vise! There was just no being nice here. She was like

wildfire atop him, raging out of control. He saw a smile of triumph

light her features as her fingers curved around something, and she

lifted it high.

"Whoa, wait a minute, ma'am" -- he began, seeing that she held a

long-bladed and lethally sharp bowie knife.

Damn! She was going from fists to steel.

"Lady, I'm warning you, stop?"

She didn't pay the least bit of attention to him. Rather, she fought on

with desperation, drawing up her arm again, preparing to slash the blade

across his throat. Jamie swung out, catching her by the middle, his

hands resting beneath the swell of her breasts. He cast her far away

from him and struggled to his feet.

"I'm the cavalry!" he snapped out.

"Damn it, I'm the good guy."

She didn't seem to hear him, or really even see him. Her huge,

violet-blue eyes were glazed, he saw, and she barely blinked at his

words. She certainly didn't seem to understand them.

She screamed again and flew at him. The blade slashed the air

uncomfortably close to his windpipe. He clamped down grimly on his jaw

and caught her arm with a stunning blow, sending the blade flying out of

the wagon. She gasped, but when he lunged for her, she was ready to

fight again, her nails gouging for his eyes. He swore again, capturing

her wrists and falling down hard with her upon the floor of the wagon.

Struggling to hold her still, he looked up to see that Jon Red Feather

was looking in from the driver's seat of the wagon.

"I could have used some help here, you know!" he thundered.

Red Feather grinned.

"You--against one little honey- haired girl?

Honestly, Lieutenant."

She was no little girl. Lying atop her, Jamie was very aware of that.

She was small and slight, but the sweet, provocative fullness of her

breasts was now crushed lushly against his cavalry jacket, reminding him

that it had been some time since he'd last been to Maybelle's House of

Gentlemanly Leisure Pursuits. She fought him still, writhing like a

wildcat, and with every twist and turn of her body, he realized more

fully just how grown up the woman was, how evocatively mature. She

stared at him with death- defying hatred, and as he gazed at her, she

lunged against him again, trying to bite his shoulder.

"For the love of God!" he snapped, rolling with her to retain his hold

without bringing bodily injury to her or losing a hunk of flesh himself.

She freed one wrist from his grasp and began tearing at him again. Their

momentum was taking them closer and closer to the rear of the wagon, and

then suddenly they were outside it, plunging down to the dirt together.

She shrieked, and he realized then that she was fighting to free herself

from his hold rather than fighting to harm him. But he wasn't about to

let her go. She was too unpredictable.

Their limbs entangled, and her petticoats rode around them. He could

feel the slender length of her legs, warm and alive, scantily clad in

pantalets, against his own.

She reached up to strike him again, and he caught her hand with a

serious fury as his patience snapped.

"Enough!"

He drew her hands high over her head and straddled her hips, pinning her

down at last. Her hair lay spread out over the dirt in a majestic fan

while the Texas sand smudged her beautiful features. She gasped

desperately for breath, her breasts rising and falling with her effort.

She was down, subdued at last. He released her wrists, remaining

straddled upon her, careful to maintain his own weight. "It's all right"

-- he tried to tell her, but to no avail. She tried to twist, lashing

out, clawing for his face.

She caught his chin and drew blood.

"Woman, no morel" he shouted. His hand raised high and with

determination, and he caught himself fight before he could slap her in

return. He saw her eyes close tightly in expectation of the blow, but it

did not fall. He held her tight, trying to check his temper, staring at

her hard. Then he caught her arms and dragged them high above her head,

leaning close and hard against her. His anger faded at. last as he saw

her eyes go damp with tears she fought to control.

She was hysterical, he realized, and yet she had really come at him with

an attempt to kill.

She shuddered and gasped, and a trembling rippled through the entire

length of her body. Still, he could not trust her to release her.

"We're the damned cavalry!" he repeated.

"Listen to me! No one is going to hurt you. The Indians are gone. We're

the cavalry. We want to help you. You do speak English, don't you?"

"Yes!" she snapped furiously, and the trembling ceased. "Yes, yes, I

understand you!" Her eyes beheld him, then glazed over again.

"Bastard!" she hissed to him, "Murdering, despicable bastard."

"Murdering bastard? I'm trying to help you."

"I don't believe you!"

Startled by her words, Jamie fell silent. Her eyes remained locked with

his, the tears she would not shed highlighting the deep blue color. Her

hair fell in tangled streams around them both, like a pool of sunlight

just before twilight fell. Watching her, he nearly forgot why he

straddled her.

She didn't believe him. He had come to rescue her from the Comanche, and

she didn't believe him.

"Listen, now, lady, I am with the cavalry--these men, all of us, we're

with the United States Cavalry" -- "Your uniform doesn't mean anything!"

"Lady, you are crazy!" That was it, she had lost her mind. She had

watched the savage attack and she had retreated into some fantasy world

of fear.

"You're all right now, or you will be if you quit trying to hurt me."

"Hurt you! Oh!"

"The Indians are gone" -- "There never were any Indians!"

"No Indians?"

"They dressed like Indians, but they weren't Indians. And you were

probably in on it! The law is corrupt, why not the cavalry?"

"Lady, I don't know what you're talking about. I'm Lieutenant Slater out

of Fort Vickers, and we've just stumbled upon your present difficulty."

She blinked, and her gaze went guarded. He still held her locked beneath

him. His men were coming near, alerted by the commotion.

She gazed around her, past his head, and it seemed that she slowly

realized that they really were a cavalry company.

Everyone was staring at her with silence, with sympathy. She looked at

Jamie, and a slow flush spread into her features. They were now both

painfully aware of the way their bodies came together. Her legs and hips

burned against his, bare beneath the thin cotton shield of her

pantalets.

She wore no corset, he knew that very well, and her breasts seemed to

swell, as if with realization of their intimate contact against his

chest. She touched her dry lips with the tip of her tongue, and even

that seemed an intimate gesture. She squirmed beneath him, but he wasn't

about to give her any quarter. He had tried to be as gentle as possible

and he was bleeding as if he had been gouged by a mountain cat because

of it. A drop of blood from his chin fell upon her bodice even as he

thought that he should show her some mercy.

"Lieutenant, let me" -- "What's your name?"

"If you would just" -- "What's your name?"

Her eyes flashed with a silver-blue annoyance as she realized that he

was going to hold her until he chose to let her go.

"Tess," she snapped.

"It's Tess."

"Tess what?"

Her eyes narrowed.

"Tess Stuart."

"Where were you going and where were you headed f~om?"

"Wiltshire. We were bringing some cattle and a printing press. We were

heading home from a small town called Dunedin, nearly a ghost town now.

That's why we bought the printing press. They didn't need it anymore."

"You said we. Who were you riding with?"

"My" -- She hesitated just a moment, her lashes rising and falling

swiftly.

Tears burned behind her eyelids. She must know that everyone was dead.

She wasn't going to shed those tears. Not in front of him. "My uncle and

I. We were heading home to Wiltshire."

He eased himself up a little. He saw her swallow as his thighs tightened

against her hip, then she lifted her chin, determined to ignore him,

determined to be as cool as if they were discussing the matter over tea

in a handsome parlor.

She had inestimable courage. No matter how she was beaten, she would

never surrender but would fight it out until the very end. It was there

in her eyes. All the silver-blue fire a man could imagine. She was

either a complete fool or one of the most extraordinary women he had

ever met.

Despite her warm honey spill of hair, her large, luminous eyes and her

perfect fragile features, she had a spine of steel.

Courage could kill out here in the West. That, he told himself, was why

he held to her so tightly. She needed to learn that she could be beaten.

"You're lucky as hell that the Indians didn't see you, you know," he

told her hoarsely.

She lifted her chin.

"I told you--they weren't Indians."

"Who were they?"

"Von Heusen's men."

"And who the hell is yon Heusen?" He was startled when he heard a

curious rumble in someone's throat behind him.

Still holding her, he whirled around. He looked at the faces of the

young men in his company.

"Well? Does someone want to answer me?"

It was Jon Red Feather who drawled out a reply. "Richard von Heusen.

Calls himself a rancher sometimes, an entrepreneur at others. You never

heard of him, Lieutenant?"

"No, I never heard of him."

"You spend all your time on Indian affairs, Lieutenant," Jon said.

"You've been missing out on the shape of things down here."

It was true, Jamie thought. He hadn't wanted to know a lot about the

ranchers. He didn't want to se~ the carpetbaggers, or talk to them.

"You're telling me a guy named von Heusen did this?" he said to Jon.

Jon shrugged.

"I can't tell you that."

"I can tell you that he owns a hell of a lot of Texas," Monaban said

softly.

"It's a good thing it's a big state, else he might own a good half of

it."

Jamie looked curiously at the girl. Tess. Her eyes were upon him as she

watched him in silence, scathingly. Then she hissed with all the venom

of a snake.

"He's a carpet- bag get Yank. You ever heard tell about the

carpetbaggers down here? They're vultures. They came down upon a

defeated and struggling South, and they just kicked the hell out of us.

Bought up land the Southern boys couldn't pay their taxes on 'cause the

Union didn't want any Confederate currency. Well, Lieutenant, von Heusen

bought up Wiltshire."

"You're trying to tell me that a Yankee named von Heusen came out here

and shot your wagon train full of arrows?

In broad daylight, just like that?"

" No, not just like that," she retorted.

"And I doubt that he came out here himself. He had his men all greased

down and painted up like Comanche, just in case someone didn't die."

"So you did see Comanche attack the wagon."

"No. That's not what I'm telling you at all. I'm no fool, Lieutenant.

I was born and bred out here and I know a Comanche when I see one. And I

know a fraud when I see it, too."

"You're saying a group of white men came out here and did this to theft

own kind?"

"Yes, Lieutenant, how wonderfully perceptive of you. Why, you must have

studied at West Point! That's exactly what I'm telling you." Her lashes

flicked again.

"Von Heusen masterminded this whole thing. You need to arrest him,

Lieutenant. Arrest him for murder." "You said yourself, yon Heusen

himself probably wasn't even here."

Her eyes widened, her fury seemed to deepen, but she kept her voice low

and controlled.

"You're not going to arrest him?"

"I'm not a sheriff to begin with, Miss. Stuart. And if I were, I'd have

to have some kind of proof."

"I'm your proof!"

"It would be your word against his!"

"He wanted our land!"

"Lots of men try to buy land. It doesn't make them murderers I ' She

looked as if she wanted to scream, or at least gouge out another pound

of his flesh.

"You're a fool!"

"Thank you kindly, ma'am," he retorted.

She gritted her teeth. Tears stung her eyes again.

"Get the hell off me."

He realized he was still lying against her, still holding her down.

She wasn't trying to kill him anymore. She just looked as if she wanted

to escape him, the touch of him, the sight of him.

"I can't go bringing in a man for something without some kind of proof!"

he told her furiously.

"And not at the word of a half-crazed girl."

"Oh!" She raked out at him again. He caught her hand, then he rose to

his feet, dragging her up with him. His jaw twisted hard against the

loathing he saw in her eyes. "Lady" -- "Lieutenant!" Charlie called to

him, walking around from the field of corpses.

"Shall I start a burial detail?"

She was staring past Charlie, staring at the white-haired man who had

been hit by the arrow then shot through the heart.

"Oh, God!" she gasped. She stumbled forward, trying to reach the corpse.

The blood fled from her face, and her beautiful features became as ashen

as the smoke-charred sky. She paused suddenly, unable to go any farther.

"Oh, no, oh, God. Uncle Joe," she whispered, reaching out a hand.

She did not take another step. Even as she reached out, she was falling.

Her lashes fluttered over her beautiful eyes, and she began to sink

toward the ground. Instinctively, Jamie rushed forward. He caught her as

she fell, sweeping her into his arms. She was as cold as death itself,

and remained every bit as pale as he stared down at her.

There was silence all around him. His men looked on. "Charlie, yes!

For God's sake, yes! Get a damned burial detail going, and get it going

quickly!" The men turned around, hustling into action.

And Jamie stared at the girl, wondering just what in hell he was going

to do with her. He needed to set her down, to let her lie somewhere. She

was a slight burden, weighing practically nothing, or so it seemed.

Yet she was a burden. A definite burden.

He hurried toward her wagon, maneuvered up to the floor of it and laid

her on the bed. He meant to turn around and leave her and call for the

company surgeon, but for some reason he paused and found himself

smoothing out her sun and-honey hair and brushing her cheek with his

knuckles. He felt a sensation down his back and looked up quickly.

Jon Red Feather was just below him, looking into the wagon.

"She's still out cold."

I'll call Captain Peters. He doesn't have much hope, but he's still

checking to see if there is any breath remaining in any of the bodies."

"Maybe she's better off being out for a while anyway," Jamie said

softly.

"Yeah, maybe." Jon hesitated.

"What are we going to do with her?"

"Take her back to the fort. Then someone can escort her on home."

Jon nodded. He smiled suddenly.

"Someone, fight?"

"Yeah, that's fight. Someone."

"She's your responsibility," Jon said.

"Your burden-- she fell into your arms."

"What? She's a burden I've just set down, Jon." Jon shook his head.

"I don't think so. I don't think so at all. I think that you've taken

something upon yourself, Jamie, and I don't think that you can ever

really let it go."

Jamie arched a brow.

"Yeah? Well, I don't believe you, Jon, and I don't believe her. This yon

Heusen may be a carpetbagging monster, but I don't believe he can be

guilty of this."

"You're just going to have to find out, aren't you?"

"That's not my job, Jon."

"That's not going to matter, is it?

"Cause you see, if the girl is right, then she's in danger. You're going

to have out the truth--or you'll be signing her death warrant."

"That's ridiculous, Jon."

"No, it's not. You really can't let her go."

"The hell I can't."

"Oh?" Jon arched a raven-dark brow.

"Is that so?" He inclined his head toward Jamie.

"Your fingers are still all tied up in her hair, Lieutenant. All tied

up.

Silken webs maybe, but seems to me that you're all tied up."

Jamie gazed at his hand. His fingers were still hovering over her hair.

It was truly the color of honey just kissed by the sun. Much deeper than

blond.

Too touched by light to be brunette.

Golden red.

He pulled his hand away and turned toward Jori with a denial. But Jon,

smiling serenely, had already turned away.

"Doe Peters should be free by now," he said quietly, then he was gone.

Jamie stared at the girl. Silken webs. He clenched down hard on his jaw

because Jori was right about one thing. Someone would have to discover

the truth about her accusations. He didn't believe them. He couldn't

believe them.

And yet. If they were true, to leave her alone in the town of Wiltshire

might very well be to sign her death warrant.

He swore softly and leaped from the wagon. His leg still hurt from where

she had kicked him, and his chin still ached. He could feel it bleeding.

Damn her. She was as quick as a sidewinder, as ornery as a mean bear. He

could still remember her fury. He paused, for he could remember more.

The alluring fullness of her breast beneath his fingers, the softness of

her hair, the warmth of her legs entangled with his. He clenched his

fists at his sides and unclenched them, knowing Jon was right, that he

was going to have to somehow stick beside her until he could find the

truth. She was a hostile little witch. And he already wanted her. Craved

her. Ached to touch her, feel more of her.

He swore softly, determined to behave like an officer and a Southern

gentleman and solve this dilemma with no more thought for his unwilling

companion.

Then he heard her. weeping, crying very, very softly as if she were

muffling the sound in her pillow. She had come back to consciousness,

and it seemed to be a bitter awakening. She cried and cried. He felt her

agony, felt it rip and tear into him, and it was terrible. The horror

of, it reached inside him and touched his heart as it had not been

touched in years.

He had thought his emotions were stripped away by war.

The girl's wrenching sobs brought them back. He started to turn, to go

to her. He stopped himself.

No. She would not want him.

He stiffened his shoulders and walked on.

Chapter Two.

By dusk, all the graves had been dug. By the light of lanterns and camp

fires, Reverend Thorne Dryer of Company B read services over the graves.

Tess Stuart stood near the reverend'. Her eyes were dry now, and she was

silent. Something about her very quietness touched Jamie deeply; she was

small, but so very straight, her shoulders square, her lustrous hair

hidden beneath a black hat and sweeping V 'll, her fornl encompassed in

a handsome black dress with gray pearl buttons on the sleeves and at the

throat. Dust to dust, earth to earth, ashes to ashes. The reverend

called on God to claim His own, to show mercy upon their souls, to give

solace to those who remained behind.

Tess stepped forward to drop a single flower on her cle's grave. She was

still silent, and not a tear marred the perfect and tragic beauty of her

face.

Then she swung around and headed for her wagon. Jamie didn't mean to

follow her, he just discovered that he was doing so. She sensed him just

before she reached the wagon and swung around.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Lieutenant, miss. Lieutenant Slater." "Whatever," she said coolly.

"What do you want?"

Hostile! he thought. More hostile than any full tribe of Indians he had

come across. She made him itch to set a hard hand against her behind,

but she had experienced great pain today. He was a fool to have followed

her.

He should let her be. He didn't want her as a burden, and she didn't

want him as her protector. If she needed a protector. "Miss. Stuart, I

just came by to offer my condolences. To see if you were all right, if

you might need anything for the night."

"I'm just fine, Lieutenant." She hesitated.

"Thank you." She whirled around in her black skirt, then crawled into

the wagon. Jamie clenched his hands tight at his sides and returned to

the group. The funeral was just about over. Jon and Monahen and a few of

the others were stamping down the last of the dirt and erecting wooden

crosses over the graves.

The crosses wouldn't stay long. The wind would take them, the dust would

wear them away, and in time animals then men would tramp upon them. The

West was like that. A man lived and died, and little but bones could be

left behind.

Bones and dreams.

"I ordered the men to set up camp, Lieutenant, just like you said,"

Monahan told him.

"Thank you, Sergeant."

"Is that all, Lieutenant?"

"No. Split them even, Monahan. Half can sleep while the second half stay

on guard. Just in cas~."

"In case the Injuns come back," Monahah said. "In case of anything.

This is the cavalry, Sergeant!"

"Yes, sir!"

Monahan saluted sharply. He shouted orders, his voice loud in the night.

The men at the graves hurried after Monahan as he started toward the

fires where the others were already setting up camp. As Jamie watched,

he saw his men melt into the rocks and crevices around them. They were a

crack troop.

They had campaigned through the most rugged Indian territory in the West

and they had all learned 27 their lessons well. They could walk as

silently as any brave, shoot with the same deadly accuracy and engage in

lethal knife play with ease.

It hadn't been easy for Jamie, not at first. Some of the men had

resented the Rebel who had won his promotions so easily. Some hadn't

thought a Reb ought to be given a gun, and many had had their doubts

about Jamie in Indian country. He had been forced to prove his way at

every step, in battle or in negotiations. They'd met up with a tribe of

warring Apache once near the border, and he had shown them something of

his mettle with his Colts as the battle had begun. Later he found out

there had been some whispering about all the Slater brothers, and how

deadly he and Cole and Malachi had been during the war. Overnight, it

seemed, his reputation had become legendary.

He smiled in the darkness. It had been worth it. He had gained a loyal

following, and good men. Nothing would come slipping through his lines

tonight. He could rest with If he could rest at all.

Despite himself he felt his eyes drawn toward the wagon that stood just

outside the circle of small cavalry-issue Aframe tents.

"What a burden," Jon said quietly from behind. Jamie swung around,

arching a brow. Jori wasn't the usual subordinate, nor did Jamie expect

him to be.

"Why don't you quit making the comments and start telling me something

about this von Heusen fellow."

"You really interested?" Jon asked.

"Try me. Come on. We'll get some coffee and take a walk up by the

ridge."

Monahan gave them coffee from a tin pot at the fire, then the two men

wandered up the ridge. Jamie found a seat on a flat rock and rested his

boots on another. Jon stood, watching the expanse of the prairie. By the

soft light of the moon, it was a beautiful place, the mountains rising

like shadows in the distance, the sage rolling in ghostly fashion and

the camp fires and stars just lighting up the darkness around them.

"She's telling the truth," Jon said.

"How can you know?" Jamie demanded.

Jon shrugged, scuffed his boots against the earth and turned to hunker

down near Jamie.

"I know because I've heard of this man before. He wanted land further

north during the war. He was a cattle baron up there then, and he was

ordered by the government to provide members of the Oglala Sioux on

reservation land with meat. He gave them maggot-fiddled beef that he

wouldn't have fed to his own sows. The Indians formed a delegation to

speak with the man. He called it an Indian uprising and soon every

rancher in the area was at war with the Sioux. Hundreds, red and white,

died. Uselessly, senselessly. And von Heusen was never punished."

Jamie was quiet for a moment. He stared toward the remnants of the wagon

train.

"So he's got property now in Wiltshire. And he wants more. And he likes

to rile up the Indians. I still can't do anything, Jon. Even if I

believed Miss. Stuart, there wouldn't be anything I could do."

"Because you can't prove anything."

"Exactly. And no sane white man is going to believe it."

"That's too bad," Jori said after a moment.

"That's really too bad. I don't think Miss. Stuart can survive very

long."

"Come on, Jon, stop it! No matter how powerful this von Heusen is, he

can't just out-and-out murder the woman!

The whole town would be up in arms. He can't own the whole damned town!"

Jon shrugged.

"He owns the sheriff. And we both know that he doesn't have to

out-and-out murder the girl. There are ways."

"Damn!" Jamie stood up, dusting the dirt off the rump of his breeches

with his hat.

"So what are you going to do?"

"I told you. We're riding back to the fort" -- "And then?"

"Let's get there, eh?"

Jon stood.

"I just wanted you to know, Jamie, that if you decide to take some of

that time the government owes you, I'll go with you."

"I'm not taking any time."

"Yeah. Sure. Whatever you say, Slater." Jamie paused, grinning.

"Thanks, Red Feather. I appreciate it. But believe me, I'm sure I'm not

the escort Miss. Stuart has in mind."

Jon pulled his hat low over his eyes, grinning.

"Well, Jamie, me lad, we don't always know just exactly what it is that

we need, now, do we? Good night." Without waiting for a reply he walked

down the ridge.

Jamie stayed on the ridge a while longer, looking at the camp fires.

He'd stay up with the first group on watch; Monahan would stay up with

the second.

But even when he saw the guard change and the sergeant take his place

silently upon a high ridge, he discovered he couldn't sleep. The cot

didn't bother him--he had slept on much less comfortable beds--nor did

the night sounds, or even the nightmare memories of the day.

She bothered him. Knowing that she slept not far away. Or lay awake as

he did. Perhaps, in private, the tears streamed down her face.

Or perhaps she was silent still, done with the past, determined to think

of the future. She believed what she was saying to him. She believed

that the wagon train had been attacked by white men dressed up like

Indians. She wouldn't let it rest.

He groaned and pulled his pillow over his head. It wasn't exactly as if

she was asking for his help. She'd made it clear she didn't even want to

hear his voice. He owed her nothing, he owed the situation nothing.

Yes, he did.

He owed the people who had died here today, and he owed the Comanche,

who were going to be blamed for this.

And he owed all the people who would die in the bloody wars to follow if

something wasn't proven one way or the other.

Still, he didn't sleep. He lay awake and he wondered about the woman

with the sun-honey hair who lay not a hundred yards away in the

canvas-covered wagon.

Sometime during the night Tess slept, but long before dawn she was wide

awake again, reliving every moment of what had happened. Her grief and

rage were so deep that she wanted to scream aloud, but screaming again

would do no good, and she had already cried until she felt that her

tears were a river that had run as dry as the plain with its sagebrush

and dust.

She cast her feet to the floor and stared across the darkened wagon to

the bunk where her Uncle Joseph should have been sleeping, where he

would sleep no more. Joe would lie out here in the plain for eternity,

and his body would become bone, and in the decades to come, no one would

really know that a brave and courageous man had died here fighting, even

if he'd barely had a chance to raise a weapon. Joe had never given in,

not once. He couldn't be intimidated. He had printed the truth in the

Wiltshire Sun, and he had held fast to everything that was his.

And he had died for it.

Tess pulled on her shoes and laced them high up her ankles, then

silently slipped from the wagon. The cavalry camp fires were burning

very low. Dawn couldn't be far away. Soldiers were sleeping in the

A-frame tents, she knew, and more soldiers were awake, on guard, one

with the rocks and cliffs that rose around the edge of the plain.

They were on guard--against Indians!

She clenched her jaw hard, glad of the anger, for it helped to temper

the grief. What kind of a fool did they think she was? Not they--him!

That Yank lieutenant with the deep, soft drawl.

The one she'd like to see staked out for the ants. Walking silently

through the night, she came upon the graves at last. She closed her eyes

and she meant to pray, but it wasn't prayers that came to her lips.

Goodbye, Joe, I loved you! I loved you so very much! I won't be able to

come back here, I'm sure, but you're the one who taught me how special

the soul was, and how little it had to do with the body.

Uncle Joe, you were really beautiful. For all that grizzled face of

yours and your broken nose, you were the most beautiful person I ever

knew. I won't let you have died for nothing, I swear it. I won't lose.

I'll keep the paper going, and I'll hold onto the land. I don't know how

I'll do it, but I will, I swear it, I promise. I promise, with all my

heart. Her thoughts trailed off and she turned around, uncannily aware

that she wasn't alone.

She wasn't.

The tall lieutenant with the wicked force to his arms was standing not

far behind her, silent in the night. In the haze of the coming morning,

he seemed to be a towering, implacable form. He wasn't a heavy man, but

she had discovered in her wild fight with him that his shoulders were

broad, that his arms and chest were well and tautly muscled, that he was

as lean and sleek and powerful as a puma, agile and quick. His eyes were

a most interesting shade of gray, remote, enigmatic, and yet she felt

their acuteness each time they fell upon her. She realized, in the late

shadows of night, that he was an arresting man. Handsome. but not

because of perfect features or any gentleness about him. His face was

ruggedly hewn, but with clean, strong lines. His jaw was firm and

square, his cheekbones were high, his eyes done, but he hadn't promised

her a lick of help in righting things. He didn't care.

The only people who cared were the citizens of Wiltshire, and there

weren't really all that many left. Even the sheriff was one of von

Hcusen's men, put into office during one of the shadiest elections

imaginable.

It was light, Tess realized. The daylight had come as they had stood

there, staring at one another. Against the pink of the sky, Lieutenant

Slater suddenly seemed a towering menace. A pulse beat at the base of

his throat as he watched her. His jaw seemed cast into a slight twist,

then locked as if it held back his temper. There was a good ten feet

between them, and still she felt his heat, body heat. Her heart was

beating too quickly, and something warm churned deep within her abdomen

while little touches of mercury seemed to dance along her back. She

needed to break away from him.

She despised his attitude; she couldn't help but spise him for the blue

uniform that reminded her so completely of the war.

He wore it well, his dark, plumed hat pulled low over his eyes, his

shoulders broad in the navy blue cavalry shirt, his legs long, his hips

trim. She had to walk past him. She swallowed hard and forced herself to

smile.

"If you'll excuse me, Lieutenant, I'm sure that you're anxious to ride

as quickly as possible." She started to walk. The closer she came to him

the harder her heart beat. She was almost past him.

Then his arm snaked out and he caught her elbow. Her heart slammed

against her chest as she looked into his smok~-gray eyes, s'zzzling into

hers beneath the sun. His eyes were still shadowed by the brim of his

hat.

"I am sorry, Miss. Stuart. I'm very sorry."

She wanted to speak. Her throat was dry. She felt his fingers upon her

as if they burned. She was acutely aware of the warmth and strength of

his body.

She stared at his hand upon her and pulled from his grasp. "Thank you,

Lieutenant," she managed to say, then she forgot her dignity and fled.

In an hour they were ready to start out. Lieutenant Slater ordered the

downed and useless wagons burned. He almost ordered her new printing

press burned, but Tess forgot all about a low-toned and well-modulated

voice and dignified behavior and came bursting from her wagon to demand

that the press be carried into something that was still capable of

rolling.

"What in hell is it?" the lieutenant demanded impatiently.

"A press! A printing press! I need it for the Wiltshire Sun!"

"Your uncle's newspaper? But he's--dead, Miss. Stuart."

"The Wiltshire Sun is not dead, Lieutenant, nor do I intend to let it

die.

I will not take a step without that printing press."

A spark of silver touched his eyes as they narrowed upon her.

"Don't threaten me, Miss. Stuart."

"I'm not threatening! I'm telling you what will and will not happen."

He took a step toward her and spoke very quietly.

"Miss. Stuart, you will move when I say so, ma'am, because I'll set you

upon your pretty little--er--rump within the wagon, and one of my men

will drive."

"You wouldn't dare! I'll tell your superiors" -- "You tell them anything

you want. Want to test me?"

She gritted her teeth and stared into his eyes.

"I need that press, Lieutenant."

He stood still, hard, cold, immobile. "Lieutenant, please! I need that

printing press! It would only take your men a few minutes. Please!"

For a moment he continued to stare at her. Then he turned around,

calling to Sergeant Monahan. The men were ordered to move the press into

one of the wagons that could still roll." Private Harper!" Slater

called.

"Hitch your horse to the rear and drive the extra wagon."

"Yes, sir!"

Tess exhaled slowly. Lieutenant Slater east her a hard glare, then

turned around. He strode away, calling for his men to see to the last of

the fires, then mount up. When he had gone, Tess realized that the

handsome Indian with the striking eyes was silently watching her. He

saluted with a smile, as if she had managed very well. Then he, too,

turned away.

Tess was certain it was a long day for the cavalry. The men were

accustomed. to moving quickly--now they were burdened down by the

wagons. The landscape was beautiful-- and monotonous. The land was a

constant pale, dusty brown, the little bit of color against it the dull

green of sage and cactus.

She was determined not to complain, but the dust soon covered her, and

after endless hours of driving the six mules that pulled her wagon, she

was exhausted. Her arms hurt in places where she hadn't realized she had

muscles. She could have said something, she was certain. The majority of

the young cavalry men were kind and solicitous, riding by her whenever

they could, asking her if she needed anything. But each time a man drove

by, she saw Lieutenant Slater in the distance beyond him, and so she

smiled sweetly and said that she was doing very well.

He had to stop. He had to stop sometime.

He finally called a halt when the sun began to fall into the horizon and

the whole world went pink again. He stayed away from her, but she knew

he was watching her. Was he judging her?

Trying to decide if she was crazy or if she was having female whimsies?

She had to keep a tight lid on her temper. No matter what he did or

said, she had to keep quiet. When she reached his fort she would speak

calmly and rationally with the commander, and she would make him

understand.

"Miss. Stuart!" Sergeant Monahah rode over to her, then dismounted from

his horse.

"Let me help me you down, miss. I'll see to your mules and the wagon."

"Thank you, Sergeant. I can really" -- She broke off, nearly falling as

he helped her from the wagon. He held her steady as her feet touched the

ground, and she smiled for him.

"Thank you again. I guess I do need some help."

"At your service."

She felt she was being watched. She looked over Monahan's shoulder and

there was Slater, still mounted on his huge horse, overseeing his men as

they broke their formation to make camp. He tipped his hat to her, and

she felt something run hot and liquid inside her. He was watching her in

Monahan's arms, and very likely acknowledging a feminine ability to draw

others to handle her own responsibilities.

Her temper started to soar.

Monahah stepped back, and his wide baby blue eyes were full of

gentleness and kindness and maybe just a bit of adoration.

He was a wonderful man, just like a great big shaggy bear. The devil to

Lieutenant Slater. If his men wanted to behave like gentlemen, she had

no intention of stopping them.

"Miss. Stuart, Lieutenant Slater rode this far because we know this

place. If you go just past that ridge yonder, there's the prettiest

little brook. It's mostly surrounded by dry rock, but the water runs

pure and clean. There's an area up there far from where we'll water the

horses. You can take a walk up there and find all the privacy you might

desire." "Thank you again, Sergeant," Tess said.

"I would dearly love a bath.

I'll take you up on your suggestion." She hurried to the back of the

wagon and found clean clothing, a bar of soap and a towel. When she

emerged again, Sergeant Monahah was unharnessing the mules. He pointed

toward the ridge.

She could see that some of the soldiers were headed in the other

direction.

She smiled again and hurried toward the ridge. She was puffing slightly

when she walked over it, but then she gasped with delight.

The brook was surrounded by boulders and high rocks, but there were

little tufts of grass growing between the rocks, and a few wildflowers

had managed to eke out an existence there. The evening was pink and gold

and very beautiful, and she could hear the sound of the water as it ran.

It looked so cool and delicious after the dry dust of the day.

She clambered down the rocks to a broad ledge, dropped her towel and

soap and clothing and sat down, hurriedly untying her shoes. Staring at

the clean, fresh water, she pulled her blouse from her skirt and quickly

shed it, then her skirt and shift and pantalcts and hose. She stepped

down the rock, so entranced by the water that she never once realized

she wasn't alone.

Barefoot and bare-chested, his cavalry trousers rolled above his ankles,

Jamie Slater sat in the shadow of a rock, swearing softly. His own bath

had just gone straight downhill. And he didn't mean to be a voyeur, but

she had stripped so damned quickly, and he'd been so darned surprised

that he had just stayed there.

Watching.

She was like a nymph, an angel cast out from the evils of the heat and

the plain. Her skin was alabaster, her breasts perfect. Her waist was

very trim, her derriere rich and lush and flaring out from that narrow

waist, and her legs were so long and shapely that they suggested the

most decadent dreams, the most sensual imaginings. Angel . vixen . her

hair streamed around her like the sunset, thick and cascading, falling

over her bare shoulders, curling around her breasts, haunting, teasing,

evocative.

He fell back, groaning slightly.

Tess didn't see him. She plunged into the water, amazed that she could

still draw such simple pleasure when the pain of. Joe's loss was still

so strongly with her. But she was still alive, and the water was so cool

and clean after the dust and filth of the plains. It came just to her

ankles at first, and there were little rocks and pebbles beneath her

feet, so she had to be careful walking. Then the water became deeper,

and she sank into it, stretching out, soaking her hair, floating,

shivering, delighted. The sun was still warm, the water almost cold, and

together they were marvelous. She swam around in the shallows, careful

not to hit her arms and legs on the pebbles, then found a smooth shelf

to stand on and scrubbed herself thoroughly with the soap, rising to

form rich suds, sinking beneath the surface again to rinse them away.

She scrubbed her hair, fee ring wonderful as she removed the dirt and

grime from her scalp. Finally she rose from the water. She paused,

ringing out her hair, then hut- fled to where she had left her things.

She picked up her towel and studiously rubbed herself dry, then sat upon

the ledge to dry her hair before donning her clean clothing.

She stretched, elosing her eyes and leaning against the rock, which was

still warm from the sun. The last of the dying rays touched her body,

and she elosed her eyes for a moment.

When she opened them, she nearly screamed, Lieutenant Slater was

standing above her. His shirt hung open over his chest, and he was

barefoot and grim.

She opened her mouth to protest. She was stark naked, and he was staring

down at her without the least apology. But when she opened her mouth, he

suddenly drew his gun and fired off several shots.

She'd never seen a gun move so fast or heard anything like the way the

Colt spit and fired in fury.

She didn't gasp; she didn't scream. She thought he had lost his mind,

but when she twisted to grasp her towel, she paused, stunned, staring at

the carcass of the dead moccasin that had been barely a foot away from

her.

She looked up at the lieutenant, unable to speak, unable to move. He had

saved her life, she realized. She had been completely unaware of the

snake that she had so carelessly disturbed.

He didn't say anything, just looked at her, his gray eyes sliding over

her body, and everywhere they touched her, she felt fire coursing

through her.

She felt her nipples harden, and she was horrified that they did so, but

still she didn't manage to say a word.

He slid his Colt into his hip holster and spoke at last. "You need to be

more careful about the rocks you choose, Miss. Stuart," he said.

She heard running footsteps. He quickly reached for her towel and handed

it to her. She clutched it to her breasts as a young private suddenly

appeared.

"Lieutenant! I heard the shots!"

"It's all right, Hardy. It was me. A snake. Nothing that could shoot

back."

The private was ~taring at them, wide-eyed. "That's all, Hardy."

"Yes, sir, Lieutenant."

The private saluted. Slater saluted in return. Then he tipped his hat to

her and turned around. Tess reddened to a dark crimson and watched as he

picked his way upstream. She saw his socks and boots on a flat boulder,

and her breath seemed to catch in her throat. He had been there all the

time.

She leaped to her feet and hurried into her fresh clean clothing with

shaking fingers. She could barely tie her pink ribboned corset, and she

had to do the buttons on her blouse twice.

She pulled on clean hose and her shoes and looked at the rock.

He was waiting. Waiting for her to leave. He sat on the ledge, his toes

in the water.

He looked up as if he felt her watching him.

"It's almost dark, Miss. Stuart, if you don't mind."

"If I don't mind! You--you sat there through my bath, Lieutenant!"

she sputtered.

"Lucky I did," he replied pleasantly.

She was alive. Maybe she was lucky. But that wasn't the point, and he

knew it.

He shrugged, rising, casting off his shirt.

"It really doesn't matter that much to me, Miss. Stuart. You're welcome

to stay. Maybe you'll even want to join me ... ?" She swung around,

furious.

He was ready to strip down with her standing right there. He'd sat and

stared at her while she had been completely naked, assuming she was

alone.

She'd given him a whole damned show in the water! Swearing softly, she

plodded away, anxious to quit the brook. She hurried to her wagon and

sat on the bunk, hugging her arms to her chest.

Damn him. Just remembering his eyes upon her made her breasts swell

again and her nipples harden to taut peaks.

When she closed her eyes it didn't help. She remembered the way that his

shirt had hung open over his chest, and the sandy dark hair that grew in

rich profusion there, the ripple of tight muscle on his abdomen, the

swell of it at his breast and shoulders.

"Miss. Stuart?" It was Sergeant Monahan. "Yes?" She almost shouted the

word.

He was at the rear of the wagon, smiling.

"Wasn't that just the prettiest little brook you've ever seen?"

"Absolutely beautiful," she said evenly. But it didn't

matter--apparently word of the shots had gotten out.

Another one of the men stepped behind Monahan, nodding respectfully to

her.

"Monahan! Hardy says she almost got it from a moccasin. Luckily the

lieutenant was near and blasted the thing to kingdom come. Ma'am, it is

the prettiest little brook around, but you be careful from here on out,

you hear?

You've become pretty important to all of us."

"Thank you, that's very kind," she murmured, but she knew that she was

blushing again. Everyone knew what had happened.

But they didn't really know. They didn't know what it had felt like when

his eyes had touched her naked flesh. "Rations aren't much, ma'am, but

one of the boys brought in a few trout. May I fix you a plate and bring

you some coffee?" Monaban asked her.

"Please," she agreed.

"That would be very nice." Monaban brought her a plate of food, the

other young man brought her coffee. She thanked them both. Then, as she

ate, it seemed that every man in the company came by to see how she was,

if she would like anything, if she needed anything, anything at all, for

the night.

She thanked them all, and when they left, and the darkness fell, and the

camp became silent, she smiled. They were Yanks, but a good group of

them. Maybe there was hope. She believed again. There were von Heusens

in the world, but there were others, too, good people. She just had to

keep fighting. She had to hold on to the ranch and she had to keep the

Wiltshire newspaper going.

"Miss. Stuart."

She started, feeling every nerve within her body come alive. She knew

the voice. Knew the deep tone, low and husky and somehow capable of

slipping beneath her skin. It was a sensual, sexy voice, and it awakened

things in her she was certain had died beneath the rifle fire of the

last years of the war, She inhaled quickly. If she was silent, he might

just walk away. He might believe that she slept and just walk away.

But he wouldn't. He knew she was awake. She sensed it, and she resented

him for his easy knowledge of her.

"Yes?" she asked crisply.

"I just wanted to make sure that you were all right."

"I'm fine, Lieutenant."

"Is there anything you need?"

"I want you to believe me, Lieutenant. And you're not offering me that."

He was silent. She hoped he would turn away, but she sensed he was

smiling.

"You didn't thank me. For saving your life."

"Ah, yes. Thank you for saving my life." She found herself crawling the

length of the bunk, then defying him over the rear edge of the wagon.

"Lieutenant?"

"yes?"

"Come closer, please."

He took a step nearer. Tess let her hand fly across his cheek. He

instantly caught her wrist, and she was glad of the surprised and

furious fire in his eyes as they caught hers. She kept smiling, even if

his fingers did seem to be a vise around her, even if the air seemed

charged with electricity. Even if she was just a little bit afraid that

he was going to drag her out of the wagon and down beneath him into the

dirt.

"I do thank you for saving my life, Lieutenant. But that was for the

ungentlemanly way in which you did so."

She pulled on her hand. He didn't let go. His eyes glittered silver in

the moonlight.

I'll try to remember, Miss. Stuart, that you are most particular about

the way a man goes about saving your life," he told her.

"You know exactly what I'm saying."

"I never meant to give you offense."

"Never?"

"I do swear so, Miss. Stuart. I kept my presence quiet because you were

as bare as a baby before I realized it. And then, well, I do admit, I

was caught rather speechless."

"You weren't speechless on the rock!"

He smiled slowly.

"No."

"Oh, you ... Yank!"

She tugged on her wrist again. He didn't release her at first, then his

fingers slowly unwound. He was smiling, she realized. And his eyes fell

over her again, and she felt as if he was burning the sight of her into

his memory. A flame shot high within her, and she didn't know if she was

horrified-or fascinated.

"Good night, Miss. Stuart," he said softly. Then he did walk away. She

didn't move, and after a moment he turned back.

"Miss. Stuart?"

"What?"

He hesitated.

"You're a very beautiful woman. Very beautiful."

He didn't wait for an answer. He walked away and disappeared into the

night.

Chapter Three.

Two days later, they reached the fort.

It was, Tess thought, a typical military fort in Indian country. The

walls of the stockade were high, maybe twenty-five feet high, and built

of dark sturdy logs. She heard the sound of a bugle while they were

still some distance from the fort, then the huge wooden gate swung open

to allow their party to enter. Looking up as they went into the

compound, Tess saw armed guards in their cavalry blue lined up on all

the catwalks and staring down at them.

She was grateful to have reached the fort. She was driving her mules,

swearing to them beneath her breath, and wondering if the calluses would

ever leave her fingers. She'd gotten them right through Uncle Joe's

heavy leather gloves.

She was sweaty, salty and sticky, and her hair was coming loose from the

neat braid she'd twisted at her nape. She had said that she could

manage--and Lieutenant Slater had let her do just that.

His men had continued to be very kind, and she had continued to smile

and be as gracious as she could in return. He had kept his distance

since he had left her that night, but she had felt his eyes on her.

Always. his eyes were on her. When she drove the wagon, she would

suddenly feel a warmth, and she would look around to discover that he

was no longer at the head of the column, but had ridden back and was

watching her. And at night, when. one of the men would bring her coffee

or food, he would stare across the distance of the camp fire. And by

night she heard footsteps, and she wondered if he wasn't walking by to

determine if she was sleeping. If she was safe.

Or did he walk by to discover if she might still be awake?

He infuriated her, but she was also glad, and she realized that she felt

safe. Not because she was surrounded by thirty or so cavalry men, but

because he was walking by, because he was near.

But now they had come to the fort. He would turn her over to his

commander and disappear from her life.

Someone would be assigned to see her to Wiltshire, and she need never

see him again. Never feel his eyes again, the touch of smoke gray and

insinuation that warmed everything within her and seemed to caress her

as if he saw her again as he had by the brook.

They were in front of the command post. Tess pulled hard on the reins,

dropped them and started to leap from the driver's seat. She smiled, for

Jon Red Feather was there to help her.

She had grown to like the man very much: his striking, sturdy

appearance, his silence and his carefully chosen words. And she sensed

that he believed her when others might not.

He set her upon the ground. She thanked him then looked at all the

confusion around her. Wives, children and perhaps lovers had spilled

from the various buildings in the compound to greet the returning men.

Monahah had called out an order dismissing them all, and the band was

quickly breaking up.

Lieutenant Slater was striding up the steps to the broad porch that

encircled the command post, saluting the tall, gray-haired man who

awaited him. Jon indicated the steps.

"Miss. Stuart, I believe the colonel will want a statement from you as

soon as possible. I'll see to your accommodations for the evening and

return shortly."

He walked her to the porch. Apparently Slater had already explained

something about her, for the colonel was quick to offer her a hand and

guide her up the steps.

"Miss. Stuart, our most sincere condolences on the loss of your uncle,

but may I say that we are heartily glad that you have survived to be

here today," "Thank you," Tess said. It was strange. It already seemed

like the whole thing had happened in the distant past. Days on the

plains could do that, she decided. And yet, when the colonel spoke so

solicitously of Uncle Joe, all the pain and the loneliness rushed back.

She tried to swallow them down. She needed to impress this man with

intelligence and determination, not a fit of tears. She didn't want to

be patted on the back. She wanted to be believed.

"Miss. Stuart, if you would be so good as to join us inside, the colonel

would like to speak with you," Slater said.

There was a startling light in his eyes as they touched her. Not

amusement, but something else. Almost a challenge. He wanted to see if

she would back down, she thought. Well, she wouldn't.

She walked past both men and into a large office with file cabinets and

a massive desk and a multitude of crude wooden chairs. Slater pulled out

a chair for her, and she sat down as regally as she could manage,

pulling off her rough leather gloves and letting them fall into her lap.

She felt Slater's eyes, and she looked up then looked quickly away.

He had seen the blisters and calluses on her hands. The colonel took his

seat behind the desk. He was an elderly man, whose gentle blue eyes

seemed to belie his position as a commander of such a post. His voice,

too, was gentle. Tess thought he was genuinely grateful to see her

alive, even if he had never met her before.

"Would you like coffee, Miss. Stuart? I'm afraid I've no tea to offer

you" -- "Coffee will be just fine, thank you," Tess said.

She hadn't realized that there was another man in the room unt'd a

s'dent young corporal stepped forward to bring her a tin mug of black

coffee. She thanked him and an awkward moment followed. Then the colonel

sat forward, folding his hands on the desk.

"Miss. Stuart, Lieutenant Slater informs me that you have claimed that

it was not Indians who set upon your band."

"That's right, sir."

"Then who?"

"White men. Hired guns for a man named yon Heusen. He is trying to take

my uncle's property and" -- "He'd have men attack a whole wagon train to

obtain your uncle's property? Think now, Miss. Stuart, is that logical?"

She gritted her teeth. Slater was watching her politely. She wanted to

kick him.

"It wasn't a large wagon train, Colonel.

We've had good relations with the Comanche in our area, and my uncle

wasn't afraid of the Comanche! We were traveling with a very small

party, a few hired hands, my uncle-"

" Maybe, Miss. Stuart, the Indians weren't Comanche.

Maybe they were a stray band of Apache looking for easy prey, or

Shoshone down from the mountains, or maybe even an offshoot of the

Sioux"--" No Indian attacked that wagon train."

Tess swung around. Jon Red Feather had come into the room. He helped

himself to coffee, then pulled up the chair beside Slater. He grinned at

his friend, then addressed the colonel.

"I'm sure that Miss. Stuart does know a Comanche when she sees one, sir.

And it wasn't Apache. Apache usually only scalp Mexicans--in

retaliation." He turned and smiled at Tess.

"And I can promise you that what was done was not done by the Sioux. A

Sioux would never have left Miss. Stuart behind."

A shiver ran down Tess's spine. She didn't know if Jon meant that the

Sioux would have taken her with them--or that they would have been sure

to kill and scalp her, too. The colonel lifted his hands. Even with Jori

corroborating her story, he didn't seem to believe her. Or if he did

believe her, he had no intention of helping her.

"Miss. Stuart, I have heard of this von Heusen. He has big money, and

big connections, and I understand he owns half the town" -- "Literally,

Colonel.

He owns the judge and the sheriff and the deputies."

"Now, Miss. Stuart, those are frightful charges" -- "They are true

charges."

"But don't you see, Miss. Stuart, you'd have to go into a court of law

against this man. And you'd have to charge him in Wiltshire, and like

you said ..." His voice trailed away. "Why don't you think of heading

back east, Miss. Stuart?"

She was up on her feet instantly.

"Head back east? I have never been east, Colonel. I was born here in

Texas.

My grandparents helped found Wiltshire. And the little bit of town that

yon Heusen doesn't own yeti still do. I have no intention of turning it

over to him! Colonel, there's nothing else that I can tell you. I have

had a rather trying few days. If there's some place where I might rest,

I'll be most grateful to accept your hospitality for a night or two.

Then, sir, I have to get home. I have a ranch and a paper that need my

expertise."

The colonel was on his feet, too, and she sensed that, behind her, Jon

and Slater had also risen. She spun around, feeling Slater's eyes,

certain that he was laughing at her again.

But he wasn't laughing. His eyes were upon her, smoky and gray and

enigmatic. She sensed that she had finally gained a certain admiration

from him. What good it could do her, she didn't know. The colonel had

been her last hope.

Now the battle was hers, and hers alone.

"Miss. Stuart, I'd like to help you if I could"

"Nonsense, Colonel. You don't believe a word I'm saying," Tess told him

sweetly.

"That's your prerogative, sir. I am very fatigued ..."

"Miss. Stuart can take the old Casey place while she's here," Jori said.

"Doily Simmons is there now, with linens and towels."

"I shall be most grateful to the Caseys," Tess said. "No need," Slater

drawled.

"Casey is dead. Caught a Comanche arrow last year. His wife went on hack

east." He was taunting her, and she smiled despite it.

"I have told you all, Lieutenant, I've never been east" -- "Oh, not that

east, Miss. Stuart. Mrs. Casey and the kids went to live in Houston,

that's all."

"Well, I rather like the area I live in," she said sweetly, then she

turned to the colonel.

"If I may, sir ... 7"

"Of course, of course! Jamie, you and Jon will please escort the young

lady to her quarters. And Mis~ Stuart, if it's Wiltshire you're

insisting on reaching, I'll arrange you an escort just as soon as

possible."

"Thank you."

Jon opened the door. Tess sailed through it. Slater followed her.

"It's this way, Tess," Jon told her. He'd never used her first name

before, and certainly not as he did now, intimately, as if they were old

friends.

There was a bright light to his striking green eyes, and she realized

that it was for the benefit of Jamie Slater. Jamie. Silently, she rolled

the name on her tongue.

"Lieutenant" seemed to fit him better.

Not always . Not that day he had looked down at her on the rocks after

shooting the snake. His hair had been ruffled, his shirt had fallen

open, and she had wanted to touch him, to reach out and feel the vital

movement of his flesh, so bronze beneath the setting sun. Then, then the

name Jamie might have fit him just fight. It was an intimate name, ,a

name for friends, or for lovers.

He was behind her still. Jon Red Feather was pointing things out to her.

"That's a general store, and there's our one and only alehouse, we don't

dare call it a saloon. And down there is the coffeehouse for the ladies.

We've a number of women at the fort here. The colonel approves of the

married men having their wives with them, and since the fort is strong

and secure ..." He shrugged.

"Then, of course, we have the stores and the alehouse and the

eoffcehouse, so we've a few young and unattached ladies, which makes it

nice for the soldiers at the dances."

"Dances!"

"Why, Miss. Stuart, we do try to be civilized out here in the

wilderness." "Desert," Jamie Slater said from behind them.

"I think it's really more a desert than a wilderness, don't you, Jon?"

He didn't wait for an answer, but continued, "There's the Casey house

right there." He strode up three steps to a small house that seemed to

share a supporting wall with the structure beside it.

The door burst open suddenly. There was a large buxom woman standing

there.

She had an ageless quality about her, for her features were plump and

clear, her eyes were dark and merry, and it was difficult to see if her

hair was blond or silver.

"You poor dear! You poor, poor dear! Caught up in that awful Indian

attack"

"Miss. Stuart doesn't believe that it was Indians, Dolly," Jamie Slater

said evenly.

Dolly waved a hand in the air.

"Don't matter who it was, does it? It was awful and heinous and cruel

and this poor girl lost her friends and her uncle. It was your uncle,

fight, dear?" "Yes," Tess said softly.

Dolly had a hand upon her shoulders, drawing her into the house. Jon and

Jamie Slater would have followed except that Dolly inserted her grand

frame between them and the doorway.

"Jon, Jamie, get on with you now. I'li see to Miss. Stuart. I'm snre you

were right decent to her on the trail, but she's had a bad time of it

and I'm going to see to it that she has some time to rest, and I'm going

to give her a nice long bath, some homo-cooked food, and then I'm going

to put her to bed for the night. She needs a little tenderness right

now, and I'm not so sure you're the pair to provide it!"

"Right, Dolly," Jon said. Amused, he stepped back. Jamie Slater tipped

his hat to Tess over Dolly's broad shoulder. His lip, too, was curled

with a certain amusement, and Tess felt that, for once, she could too

easily read the message behind his smok~-gray eyes. He thought that she

needed tenderness just about as much as a porcupine did.

"Good evening, Miss. Stuart. I do hope that you'll be feeling better

soon."

"If you're lucky, Jamie Slater, she'll be up and about for the dance

tomorrow night."

"If I'm lucky" -- Jamie started to murmur. "Well, hell, there's no lack

of young men around here, Lieutenant!" Dolly said.

Tess could feel a brilliant crimson flush rising to her cheeks. She

wasn't sure who she wanted to bat the hardest--Dolly for so boldly

putting her into an awkward situation, or Jamie Slater for behaving as

if escorting her to a dance would be a hardship.

"There's absolutely no need for anyone to concern himself," she said

quietly, a note of steel to her voice. There-she'd given Slater his out.

"I consider myself in mourning. A dance would he completely out of the

question."

"Would it?" There was a core of steel to Jamie's voice, too. He managed

to step past Dolly and catch her shoulders, and she thought he was

furious as he gazed into her eyes. She couldn't understand him in the

least.

"I don't think so, Tess. Your uncle was a frontiersman, a fighter. I

don't think he'd want you sitting around crying about what 53 can't be

changed.

He'd know damned well that life out here was hard, and sometimes awfully

darned short and sweet, and he'd want you to live. And that's what

you're good at, isn't it? Fighting--living?"

"Lieutenant Slater, really, I" -- "Maybe it's just the fighting that

you're so good at. Maybe you don't really know how to live at all."

She cast back her head, ignoring the grip of his fingers upon her

shoulders.

She gritted her teeth hard, then challenged him hotly.

"And you think you're the one who could teach me how to live,

Lieutenant?

Why, I'm not sure that you're more than a perfo~t Yankee mannequin

yourself, Lieutenant."

His lip curled. His grip on her shoulders suddenly relaxed.

"Why don't you test me then, Miss. Stuart?"

"Jamie Slater, that young girl is vulnerable right now" -- Dolly started

to warn him, but Jamie and Tess both spun on her.

"As vulnerable as a sharp-toothed cougar," Jamie supplied.

"Never to the likes of him!" Tess promised. Dolly was silent. Soft

laughter sounded, and Tess saw that it was Jon Red Feather laughing, and

that he seemed quite pleased with the situation.

"No wonder white men don't like Indians!" Jamie muttered darkly.

"Sure. Keep the white folks at war with themselves, and half the battle

is solved," Jon said pleasantly.

"Jamie, come on. It's settled. You can pick up Miss. Stuart right after

sunset."

"Nothing is settled" -- Tess began.

"Sunset!" Jamie said. He seemed to growl the word. And he didn't give

her another second to protest, but slammed his way out the door. It

closed with such a bang that even Dolly jumped, but then she smiled

benignly.

"I do just love that man!" Dolly said.

Tess stared at her blankly.

"Why?" she demanded. "Oh, you'll see," young lady. You'll see. And that

Jori! He does like to stir up trouble.

But then, maybe it's not trouble this time. Jon can be plain old silent

as the grave when he wants, too. I think that he's just delighted to put

Miss. Eliza's nose out of joint. She thinks she just about has her claws

into Jamie, and who knows, it is lonely out here. But she isn't right

for him, she just isn't fight at all. You'll see."

"Miss. Simmons" -- "Dolly. We're not very formal out here.

"Ceptin' the men, when they're busy playing soldier, that is."

"Dolly, I have no intention of going to a dance with Lieutenant Slater.

I don't really like him. He's self-righteous and hard as steel and cold

as ice" -- "Hard maybe, cold, no. You'll see," Dolly predicted. "But" --

"Come on, I've got a steaming bath over there in the corner . You just

hop in, and I'll make you some good strong tea, and pretty soon dinner

will be ready, too. And you can tell me all about yourself and what

happened, and I'll tell you more about Lieutenant Slater."

"I don't want to know anything more about Lieutenant Slater," Tess said

firmly. But it was a lie. She wanted to know more about him. She wanted

to know everything about him.

And she did want to go to the dance with him. She wanted to close her

eyes and feel his arms around her, and if she thought about it, she

wanted even more. She wanted to see him again as she had seen him that

morning with his shirt hanging open and his hair tousled and his bare

feet riding the rocks with confidence and invincibility.

"Let me help you out of those dusty travel clothes," Dolly said. She was

quick and competent, and Tess felt immediately at home with her, able to

accept her assistance. In seconds she was out of her dirt-coated

clothing and into a wooden hip tub with a high back that allowed her to

lean in 55 comfort. Dolly tossed her a bar of rose-scented soap and a

sponge, and she blissfully squeezed the hot water over her knees and

shoulders.

"What did you do to your hands, young lady?" Dolly demanded.

Tess looked ruefully at her callused palms.

"Driving. I can do it, of course. It's just Uncle Joe usually did most

of the driving."

She didn't know what it was about saying his name, but suddenly, tears

welled in her eyes.

"You should cry it out," Dolly warned her.

"You should just go right on ahead and cry it out."

Tess shook her head. She couldn't start crying again. She started

talking instead.

"He raised me. My parents died when I was very young, both caught

pneumonia one winter and they just didn't pull through. Joe was Father's

brother.

He sold Father's land and put the money into trust for me, and he took

me to live with him, and he made me love the land and reading and Texas

and the newspaper business, and most of all, he made me love the truth.

And he never gave up on the truth or on fighting. And that's why I have

to keep it up.

He always gave me everything."

Her voice trailed away. So much, always. She remembered learning how to

ride, and how to ink the printing press, and then how to think out a

story, and what good journalism was, and. And what it was like to live

through pain, and stand up tall despite it, and to learn to carry on.

Joe had been there when she had fallen in love with Captain David Tyler

back in '64, when his Confederate infantry corp had been assigned to

Wiltshire. She had been just seventeen, and she'd never known what it

was like to love a man in that mercurial way until she'd met David.

They'd danced, they'd taken long walks and long rides and they'd had

picnics out by the river, and he had kissed her, and she had learned

what it was like to feel her soul catch fire.

They'd known the war Dolly sniffed, apparently uninterested in a woman

running a paper or a ranch.

"There's things a young lady should be doin', and things she shouldn't!

Now you, you need to be married. You need yourself a man."

Tess sank back into the water wearily.

"I need a hired gun, that's what I need."

Dolly was quiet for a moment, then she said enthusiastically, "Well,

then, you really do need Lieutenant Slater."

"What?"

Dolly came around the side of the tub and perched on a stool.

"Why, he was claimed to be an outlaw, him and his brothers! There was a

big showdown, and the three of them shot themselves out of an awful

situation.

Then they surrendered, and all went to trial, and the jury claimed them

innocent as babes!

But those Slater boys--why, it was legendary!

He's as quick as a rattler with his Colt." He was, Tess thought. She

couldn't forget the way he had killed the snake. She might have died,

except that he was so fast with that gun.

She shivered suddenly. Maybe he wasn't what she needed. He was what she

wanted. A man good with a gun. A man with hard eyes and a hard-muscled

chest and hands that were strong and eyes that invaded the body and the

soul.

"Someone's got to escort you to Wiltshire," Dolly said flatly.

"And Jamie, he's got time coming. And he really ain't no fool. I know

there's this big thing going on about whether it was Indians or white

men attacked you, but Jamie, he'll find out the truth." "He didn't

believe a word I said."

"Oh, but he could discover the truth! He knows the Shoshone, the

Comanche, the Cheyenne, the Kiowas and even the Apache better than most

white men--most white men alive, that is! Why, he speaks all their

languages! He can tell you in a split second which tribes are related to

which, and he knows their practices, and how they live.

Sometimes he even knows the Indians better than Jon Red Feather, 'cause

you see, Red Feather is a Blackfoot Sioux, and he thinks that the world

begins and ends with the Sioux!

If you're telling the truth--oh, my dear! I didn't mean that! I know

you're not telling fibs! But if you're right about it being white men,

why, Jamie will find that out. He won't let the Comanche be blamed for

some atrocity they didn't commit!"

Tess was silent. Dolly spoke again, softly.

"If it isn't Lieutenant Slater who takes you, it might be the colonel

himself. His wife was killed by Pawnees before the war, and he ain't

ever forgiven any Indian since. Or else there's Sergeant Givens, and

he's an Indian hater, too. Or Corporal Lorsby, and he's a lad barely

shaving, he won't be too much good to you. Oh, wait just a minute, I've

got some shampoo here, all the way from Boston."

"I don't want to use your good" -- "Come, come, what good does it do to

this old head of mine? Use it!

Your hair will smell just like spring rosebuds, and every bit as sweet

as sunshine."

Tess accepted the shampoo. She disappeared beneath the water to soak her

hair, then she scrubbed and rinsed it. As she rose from the water again,

Dolly was still talking to her.

"Lieutenant Lorsby, he's a good boy. He's just untried.

He's never been in a battle. He came from the east, and I'm sure he's a

bright and wonderful boy, but he don't know a Kiowa from a Chinaman, and

that's a fact. You really need to think about this, you know."

Tess nodded, feeling a chill as the steamy water cooled. Maybe she did

need Lieutenant Slater after all. She smiled at Dolly.

"Could I have the towel, please?"

Dolly held it, and Tess stepped from the bath, wrapped the towel around

her and took a seat before the fire as she started to dry her hair.

"All right, Dolly, so tell me, please, just what is it about this Miss.

Eliza that's so horrible."

"why, I'm not quite sure.

"Ceptin' she seems to think that she's God's gift to the men of the

cavalry.

Jamie's the only one who's never fawned over her, and I think that's

exactly why she's set her cap for him! He ~ms to be amused most of the

time, but the woman does have a wicked fine shape, and a wicked heart

and mind to go along.

You'll see. Now sit back, and I'll bring you your tea, and then some of

the finest Irish stew you'll ever taste. Then I'll see to getting the

rest of your things brought in. I have a nightgown for you, right over

there on the bed. Once you're all ~uched in, I'll see to the rest. You

need to get some sleep." Dolly brought her tea, then the stew, and it

was delicious.

Tess hadn't felt so warmed and cared for since. Since Joe had died.

The thought brought her close to tears again, but she didn't shed them.

She finished eating and put on the nightgown Dolly had provided for her.

She crawled into the bed, more exhausted than she had imagined. As Dolly

started to leave the darkened room, Tess called her back.

"Thank you, Dolly. Thank you, so very much."

"It's nothing, child."

Tess sat up.

"Dolly?"

"yes?"

"I didn't take you from your family, did I?" She smiled.

"Me? No, child. I sit around most of the day and remember Will. My

husband. He was with the cavalry, killed just a few years ago. He made

it home, though. Jamie Slater brought him home to me. He rode through an

ambush to bring Will home. So now I mind the store a few hours a day,

and I try to look after the soldiers that need a little mothering. And

now you.

It's been my pleasure, dear, so you go on and get some sleep."

Dolly was gone then. Tess yawned in the luxurious warm comfort of the

clean bed. She stretched out, thinking that she would sleep. If she

wasn't plagued with memories of Joe.

But it wasn't memories of Joe that kept her from sleeping. Even in the

darkness and the warmth, she felt strange 61 chills snake along her

body. It was Jamie Slateifs face she saw before her in the darkness, the

dry amusement in his gray eyes: Then she remembered the feeling of

wicked, surging heat as his gaze fell over the length of her. He had

stayed away. And he had been drawn back. Almost as if he was feeling the

same thing.

She didn't need a lover, she told herself. She needed a hired gun.

Maybe she would have to barter to gain what she wanted. Barter! she

charged herself.

And in the darkness she admitted that he cola id be as cold and hard and

ruthless as stone, he could care for her not at all, or perhaps even

want her with a curious interest. It didn't matter. She hadn't thought

about any man in over five years.

But she wanted this one. That he could deal well with a gun was all the

better.

When she finally did sleep that night, it was with the stern reminder

that she ought to be saying her prayers. That she ought to hope that

Jamie Slater wanted nothing more to do with her, that the stoic colonel

would take her to Wiltshire.

She could fight von Heusen, and she would. She just wasn't sure if she

could fight von Heusen and all the decadent and shameful things she felt

for Jamie Slater at the same time.

It was wicked.

It was true. If Joe had taught her anything, it was wisdom. She couldn't

change what she was feeling, even if what she was feeling could only

cause her pain. Exhaustion overwhelmed her, and she slept. Slept, and

dreamed.

Of smoke-gray eyes, of a man with broad shoulders, taking her into his

arms.

Naked, as she had been by the brook.

He was moving into a trap, Jamie thought the next night as he walked

along to the Casey house, where Tess Stuart was. He was definitely

moving into a trap, because he couldn't call Tess a liar. He did know

the Indians well, and he couldn't let a huge war get started because

everyone was unjustly blaming the Comanche. He was going to have to find

out what had happened.

He paused at the door before knocking upon it, swallowing down a

startling, near savage urge to thrust the door open and sweep the

challenging and all too luscious Miss. Stuart into his arms. No matter

how he tried, he could not forget everything that he knew about her. No

matter what gingham or frills or lace or velvet adorned her, he kept

seeing beneath it.

He'd lied to her. She was very much alive. She spoke of passionate life

and living with her every breath, her every word. Her gpirit was ever at

battle, never ceasing. She would stay on in Wiltshire, he was certain,

no matter how stupid it would be for her to do so. She was determined to

fight this von Heusen, and she would fight him even if they met on the

plain and he was carrying a shotgun and she was completely unarmed.

If. if. Was the man really so dangerous?

He didn't want to believe her. He wanted to be a skeptic. But there was

truth in her passion, in her determination.

There was truth in the honesty of her beautiful, sea-shaded eyes, eyes

that entered into his sleep and made him wonder what it would he like if

she looked at him with her hair wound between them and around them in a

web of passion.

Every time he was near her he felt it more. Something like a pounding

beneath the earth, like a rattle of thunder across the sky. Every time.

And if he didn't watch out, the day would come when he would thrust wide

a door and sweep her hard into his arms.

He wouldn't give a damn then about Indians or white men or the time of

day or even if the earth continued to turn. All that would matter would

be the scent of her and the feel of her silken flesh beneath his

fingers. He was going to a dance, he ~-r. afinded himself. And every

officer in the post would be there, and the enlisted men, too.

He gritted his teeth and willed his muscles and his body to cease

tightening with the harsh and ragged desire that seemed to rule his

every thought. He knocked on the door. "Come in, Lieutenant."

He pushed open the door, irritated that he should want her so badly,

determined that he would control himself. She was probably late, women

always were. She was probably trying to pin up her hair, or fix her

skirts or petticoats.

She wasn't. She was standing s'fiently by the small fire that burned in

the hearth. She didn't need to change a thing about her hair--it was

tied back from her face with a blue ribbon, then exploded in a froth of

sun-colored and honey ringlets. The tendrils curled over her shoulders

and fell against the rise of her breasts.

Her gown was soft blue, with a darker colored velvet bodice over a skirt

of swirling froth. The sleeves were puffed, baring much of her arms, and

the velvet bodice was low, but just low enough to show the risc of her

breasts, the beautiful texture of her flesh, the fascinating way the

soft curls of her hair lay upon it. She was even more beautiful than he

had seen her before, her eyes bright and fascinating with the light of

challenge, her smile soft and untouched by tragedy this night.

"You're ready?"

"Yes, of course. You did say sunset, didn't you?" He nodded. She reached

for a blue silk stole and handed it to him. Woodenly he took it from her

fingers and set it around her shoulders. The sweet scent of her hair

rose against his nostrils, and the essence of it seemed to fill him.

Damn.

He'd tried so hard to gain control before entering the house. Now the

scent of her was tearing through his senses, exciting his temper as well

as his passions.

"Shall we go?"

"Yes, of course." Her smile, he decided, was a wan- toh's. Miss. Stuart

was not entirely innocent, but rather a woman completely aware of her

power. She hadn't become a fluttering belle. Her intelligence was

apparent, along with her rock-hard strength, in her steady gaze.

And still . her beauty, her femininity . they were breathtaking. Jon had

seen it even when Jamie hadn't.

"Where is the dance?"

"In the alehouse," he said curtly.

"But then he determined that he knew the game himself; he would play it,

too.

He smiled graciously, capturing her hand and slipping it around his

elbow.

"The rest seems to have done you quite well. You're looking

wonderfully--healthy."

"Why, thank you, Lieutenant. With such flowery compliments a girl could

surely lose her head."

"What a little liar. You wouldn't lose your head if the entire Apache

Nation was staring you down, would you, Miss. Stuart?"

"There you go again, Lieutenant, what a dazzling compliment."

"Do you need compliments?"

"Maybe."

They had reached the open doors to the alehouse. Already music could be

heard, the strains of a lively jig. The notes of the fiddle seemed to be

loudest, and for a moment Jamie thought that Tess's smile wavered. He

was suddenly displeased with the night, and with himself. She had gone

through a harrowing experience, and she had come through it with

tremendous spirit.

No more platitudes for this chit! he warned himself. But her eyes met

his in the dim light spilling from the open doorway. So deep a blue they

were mauve in the darkness, so wide and unwavering upon his. He wished

suddenly that 65 she hadn't been young, that she hadn't been beautiful.

That she hadn't been different from any other woman he'd ever met in his

life.

"Maybe you shouldn't have come tonight," he said sol fly She smiled.

"I'm fine, Lieutenant, truly I am. Shall we go in?"

He nodded and escorted her on into the room. Dancers filled the floor,

soldiers in uniform, officers with epaulets and brightly colored sashes,

women in their sparkling fin- cry. The floor seemed alive with the blue

and gold of the uniforms, and with brilliant reds and greens and soft

pastels, lovely silks and brocades, satins and velvets.

But none compared with the blue gown that Tess Stuart was wearing. No

other garment seemed to so fit a woman, to cling to her shape, to

conceal and enhance, to so artfully combine both purity and sweetly

simmering sensuality.

Like the touch of her fingers upon his arm. Like the scent of roses that

seemed to fill him and make him mindless of what else went on.

Jamie saw Jon Red Feather coming toward them, and he swore softly

beneath his breath. Normally the darned half breed was as silent as the

night. Suddenly these days he was expounding away with his Oxford

eloquence.

"Miss. Stuart! Jamie. Ah, you've made it at last. Miss. Stuart, please

don't think me too bold--Jamie! I dare demand the first dance!"

"Jon" -- he began in protest.

"Jon! Good evening!"

The delight in Tess's voice was so obvious that Jamie wanted to spit.

If the two of them were so damned all-fired eager to be together, Jon

should have escorted her tonight. It wouldn't have made the least bit of

difference to him.

The hell it wouldn't. She was his.

He'd found her, he'd touched her and he'd brought her back here. It

might be a trap, but he was deep within it now, and there was no

crawling out. Still, he had to he civil. Too bad they weren't out on the

plain. He and Jon could go to it like savage kids. They'd done it

before.

He smiled and bowed with the best of the Southern chivalry he could

remember from the days before the war.

"Jori--Miss. Stuart, please. Just return her in one piece, Jon."

"He's trying to pretend that I take scalps. I don't, you know," Jon

informed her gravely.

Tess smiled again--brilliantly. Everything about her lit up. Smiles for

him, and taunts for me! And still, Miss. Stuart, we are irrevocably

bound, aren't we? "Evenin', James," the colonel addressed him.

"Evenin', sir."

"I see that Miss. Stuart has been whisked away." He nodded toward the

dancers.

"Well, she's lovely. A very welcome addition to our little soiree, eh?"

"Yes, sir."

"Ah! Well, you shall't be lonely long. There's Eliza coming to whisk you

away, I dare say."

Eliza was on her way over. She had stopped to chat at the punch table,

but now, with her fan fluttering against the heat of the night, she was

hurrying around the dancers to greet him.

He hadn't seen her since he'd come back with Tess.

But she knew. She knew that he'd come back with a woman, and she knew

that he was with Tess tonight. He could see it in her velvet dark eyes.

She was smiling, but it seemed that the curve of her lip hid a snarl.

She was still something to behold. Her neck was long and swan like her

hair as dark as ebony, and though she was slender and graceful, a man

could g~t lost for hours in her voluptuous breasts. Her skin was ivory

and flawless, her lips red, her face lovely. Jamie knew she'd had her

mind set on tormenting him for some time. He usually enjoyed her company

because she was such a brazen piece of baggage. He'd seen her break half

a dozen hearts before she'd deter67 mined to stomp on his, but he'd

always managed to hold his distance from her. To take care that he never

spoke a word that sounded like commitment.

He hadn't been able to refuse her constant seduction. He hadn't been her

first lover, and he was sure that he wouldn't be her last.

She was especially seductive this evening, her ink-dark hair caught to

one side of her head and plunging in a black cascade over one shoulder,

her bodice so low-cut as to reveal the endless depths of the valley

between her breasts, her kelly-green gown contrasting beautifully with

the darkness of her hair and the perfect ivory of her complexion.

"Jamie, darling'! Well, you have saved the first dance for me. I've

missed you so!"

In full view of the company she slipped her arms around him, rose on

tiptoe and kissed his lips.

He waited for something to stir inside him. He swore inwardly. It was

Tess.

He was obsessed, and any other touch would leave him cold until he had

quenched that newfound fire. "Eliza, nice to see you," he murmured,

catching her arms and unwinding them from around him. She pouted

prettily, but he barely noticed. He was looking past her, toward the

dance floor where Tess smiled and laughed, swirled and dipped and

whirled in his best friend's arms.

They were striking together, the tall half-breed and the exquisite blond

who looked so delicate but had a will of pure steel. "Dance, yes!" he

muttered, and he swept Eliza into his arms and onto the floor.

"I was afraid that you hadn't missed me!" she told him, her eyes growing

dark.

"What? Of course I missed you," he said.

"You didn't come to see me last night."

"No, I had reports to fill out."

"I waited for you. Very late. Into the night."

"I'm sorry."

I'll wait again."

It was promising. Maybe he could close his eyes and imagine that he held

Tess's sun-honey blond hess

No. It wouldn't be fair.

He smiled.

"Eliza, I brought Miss. Stuart to the dance."

"Miss. Stuart?

Oh, yes! I heard about her! The zany woman who thinks white men are

Comanche." She shuddered.

"Honestly, Jamie, I understand how you might feel responsible, but just

walk her home and then come on over."

"Can't, Eliza. Not tonight."

She looked furious for a moment, as if she was about to argue. But she

fell silent, pressing closer to him. The musky scent she was wearing

rose around him. He felt the pressure of her breasts, the flash of a

thigh. She wanted to excite him.

"I'm glad to find you so understanding, Eliza," he said pleasantly.

"Of course. I'm always understanding," she told him gravely, sweetly.

Like hell, he thought. But he smiled. Jon was no longer dancing with

Tess.

She'd already danced with half the men in the regiment, Jamie thought

irritably. She was in the arms of a young sergeant now, a handsome

towhead stripling! A kid who probably hadn't even shaved yet. And he was

gushing all over her.

Just about to trip over his own darned tongue. Jon reclaimed her.

Jamie gritted his teeth, determined to watch his date for the evening no

more. He had no way of knowing that Tess Stuart was watching him every

bit as covertly. Those strange stirrings rose inside her as she watched

the ebony-haired enchantress laughing, pressing against him, heaving her

bovine breasts beneath his nose. She was very anxious to be retrieved by

Jon, and managed to dance her way over to the tall Sioux.

He promptly cut in and swept her around, smiling like the devil's own

disciple.

"Mr. Red Feather?"

"yes?"

"Who is the massive mount of mammary glands?" He laughexl and bent low

to whisper against her ear.

"That, Miss. Stuart, is Eliza."

He lifted his head again and smiled benignly toward Jamie.

"Keep an eye on that one," he warned Tess.

"I certainly intend to," she told him sweetly, then she tossed her hair

and laughed, and the sound of her voice was like a melody on the air.

And every man in the place seemed to turn to her. Including Jamie

Slater.

Chapter Four.

Tess didn't see how or when Jamie extricated himself from Miss. Eliza,

but within a few minutes, he was tapping on Jon's shoulder, claiming her

for a dance. She smiled serenely as they moved to the music. Hemust have

attended many of these little balls. He was as accomplished at dancing

as he was with riding and shooting. She felt suddenly as if she walked

on air herself, as if the room and the people all around them faded, as

if they shared more than a simple touch. Maybe they did. His eyes were

boring into hers.

"Enjoying your conquests, Miss. Stuart?"

She widened her eyes.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I mean every snot-nosed young trooper here is ready to lie down and die

for you." "Really?" she asked with a sweet note of astonishment. "Well,

how very genteel of the lads, how kind! But tell me, Lieutenant, how am

I doing with the others?" His jaw twisted slightly, but there was still

amusement to his smile.

"The graybeards, Miss. Stuart, are quite willing to dig their own

graves, if need be, for your cause."

"Oh, dear! Ah, well, let's hope that it need not be. But I'm curious,

sir, how am I doing with the men between nineteen and ninety?"

"Would it please you to know that a number of them were probably quite

ready to slit one another's throats for the mere bounty of your smile?"

She didn't know if he was teasing. Not anymore. The smoky quality was in

his eyes again. She lowered her lashes, shivering slightly, wondering if

he was really a man to play with so freely. Then she raised her eyes

with a bold and sweeping challenge.

"Thank goodness, sir, that you would not participate in such a skirmish!

I mean, as one could see how heavily involved you are ..."

"What?" he demanded, scowling.

"The bountiful brunette, Lieutenant. Miss. Eliza."

"Oh, Eliza." He said the name dism~ssively. Too dismissively. He knew

Eliza well, maybe better than he wanted to at the moment.

"Yes, Eliza," she said pleasantly.

"Are you engaged, Lieutenant?"

"Good heavens, no!"

"Ah, was the horror of that statement over the possibility of

engagement, or over Eliza?"

"Miss. Stuart, you are very presumptuous."

"Sir, no one is forcing you to dance with me."

His arms tightened around her. He was smiling, but there was a sizzle to

the smile, and it sent little shock waves rippling all along her system.

Maybe she was playing dangerously. It was delightful. Maybe she risked

igniting his temper to extremes she had yet to know. She realized that

she was willing to do so, that the storm taking place within her own

heart and body was demanding that she do so. "Miss. Stuart, I am your

escort to this dance, remember?" he said bluntly.

"Oh ... yes, well, I suppose that I had forgotten. When I saw the way

your lips became pasted together with Eliza's ..."

"Jealous, Miss. Stuart?"

"Well, how could I be? I have just entered into your life. I couldn't

possibly mean to dissuade you from, er, liaisons you have been

nurturing."

She heard the clenching of his teeth. The scowl that tightened his

handsome features seemed to reach inside her and take her breath away.

She felt his hand upon her waist, warm and powerful, and the fingers of

his other hand so tightly entwined with hers that the pressure nearly

caused pain. She inhaled a clean scent from him that also seemed to

speak of the plain, of the rugged vistas, of the horseman, the marksman.

Everything rugged, and everything striking.

He was a real son of a bitch, a small voice warned her. It didn't

matter.

"Do you always hop so recklessly into the fray, Miss. Stuart?"

"Whatever do you mean? What fray, Lieutenant?"

"You've barbs on your tongue, ma'am."

"Why, Lieutenant! I'm only speaking frankly."

"Um. I still say there are barbs there. Perhaps I should discover if I

am right ..."

He was swift on his feet, agile and sure. In a moment he had danced her

out the door and into the shadows on the porch. He swept her against a

supporting pillar, then his mouth descended upon her, lips parted,

parting hers. She had wanted this. this very thing. She had teased and

goaded him, and now she had him. But the kiss was no casual dance-floor

brush. It was a thing so searingly intimate that she lost all hope of

breathing, all hope of standing upon her own two feet. His mouth

encompassed hers, drawing from her all strength and will. The heat of

his mouth filled and infused her, and his tongue swept by all barriers

to ravage and invade.

And she did nothing to stop him, nothing to fight back, nothing to

protest even the shocking intimacy of the invasion.

He kissed her mouth as if he kissed all of her. His 73 tongue touched

every little crevice and nuance of her mouth and thrust with a rhythm

that entered into her pulse, into her bloodstream. It was far different

from anything she had ever experienced before. Anything. It brought

tremors to her limbs and a swirling tempest within her belly; it singed

her breasts and weakened her knees.

And worst of all, perhaps, she felt no remorse, no shame. She allowed

herself to fall into his arms, to feel his strength support her, the

rippling muscles of his chest and thighs. Then his mouth pulled away

from hers. She inhaled raggedly and lifted her eyes to meet his. It had

been a game; she hadn't been expecting this, and she was suddenly very

afraid that her eyes betrayed the depths of her innocence, of her shock,

of the staggering sensations that had taken place within her. His eyes

were heavily shadowed, and he didn't look at all like a man about to

laugh with the pleasure of an easy conquest, but rather like one

consumed with some blinding fury or emotion. But he didn't speak. She

wanted to reach up and touch the sandy tendrils of his hair, fallen

rakishly over his forehead, but she didn't dare move, she didn't dare

touch him again, for there seemed to be something explosive about him.

"There she is!"

The accusing cry seemed to awaken them both. Jamie stepped back,

surprised, frowning, looking around.

A plump woman was coming out on the porch. She was small and seemed

exceedingly broad. Her hair was snow white and swept up beneath a little

cap, and her dress was old-fashioned, her petticoats as wide as they

might have been during the war, her dark fringed stole from an earlier

period.

She wasn't alone. People were spilling out behind her. "Clara," Jamie

said softly, still frowning.

"Clara, what on earth is wrong?"

Clara seemed not to hear him. She pointed a finger at Tess.

"You!

You--you harlot! You hussy! You whore!

Attacked by Indians, and crying out that white men fell upon you! How

dare you! You should have been killed! God will smite you down with an

arrow for lying! You trash, you white trash!"

"Clara!" Jamie shouted.

Tess, stunned by the violence of the attack, stared in silence.

"Clara, you're overwrought, but you owe this lady an apology, you can't

know"

"No!" Clara shrieked.

"She's the devil's spawn!" Tess realized then that the porch was full of

people.

The young soldiers who had been ready to die for her looked as if they'd

gladly nail her to the wall.

"How many of us have lost our dear loved ones to the bloody savages?

You, Lydia, the Pawnee took your only daughter! Charlie, the Comanche

cost you your arm, and Jimmie, your boy Jim went down in that fight with

the Apache. Heathens, bloody heathens, all of them! And now she's lying

about what happened to her little wagon train.

She won't let the men go after the real culprits, she wants a war with

the white men! She wants us all at one another's throats so the bloody

savages can move right in. She"--" No!" Tess shouted furiously.

"You don't understand, you weren't there, and don't you dare" -- "She

ought to be tarred and leathered and thrown right out of here naked as a

jay. Then she can run to her Indian buddies."

There was a startled moment of silence. Tess felt certain they were all

about to step forward and tear her into little shreds.

"Yes, yes" -- Clara began wildly. But she was interrupted.

The sound of a clinking spur struck loudly and discordantly upon the

floor as Jamie stepped firmly between Tess and Clara.

"That's enough!" Jamie stated flatly.

"Clara, I don't know what got you going tonight, but you've no right to

judge this girl, none at all. You owe her an apology, and I damned well

mean it." He paused. Tess realized that he was looking across the crowd.

Looking straight at Eliza. And there was something about her eyes that

told all, even if she tried to stare at Jamie with a look of pure

innocence.

She had stirred up the people. Jamie had left her on the dance floor,

and dear Miss. Eliza had made the rounds, talking to those most

vulnerable.

"But what if it is true, Lieutenant? What if Miss. Stuart was seeing

things?

Then the Comanche or some other tribe is on the warpath, and if so,

we've got to start fighting back!" "I'll find out," Jamie said.

"I promise you, I'll find out." There was a gasp from the crowd. The

sound had come from Eliza, Tess realized. Her plan had backfired. Tess

wasn't sure what victory she felt. Whatever move Jamie made, he made

because he had been forced into it, a gentleman caught by circumstance

into defending a lady's honor.

"I'm going to escort Miss. Stuart to her home, and I'll look into things

there. And I will find out the truth."

By then Jon Red Feather had come to stand next to his friend. It was a

casual but defensive gesture. They were shoulder to shoulder. If any

fighting had erupted, the handsome half-breed would have been ready. But

maybe he had come for more than that. He edged forward, taking Clara's

hands.

"Give Jamie time," he told her.

The little woman looked up at Jon.

"Oh, Jon! I didn't mean you."

"I know," he said, grinning.

"I'm only half savage and heathen and barbarian."

She flushed brilliantly.

"Jon ..."

"It's all right, Clara. Heaven help us, if the Sioux Nation went to war

now, I'm not at all sure where I would be at times." He raised his

voice.

"Every single one of you has, at one time or another, seen some savage

injustice done to the Indians!. You've been with commanders who think

nothing of the murder of women and infants! How in hell can you possibly

doubt this story!"

There were murmurs, then the crowd began to clear. Clara started to cry

softly.

"I'll take her home," Jon told Jamie.

Jamie nodded. He and Tess watched as Jon escorted her through the

alehouse.

"Well, damn it, it's just exactly what you wanted, isn't it?"

He was a far different man from the one who had kissed her with such

staggering heat. She stiffened, wishing she could wash the taste of his

lips from her own, trying to wipe the taste away with the back of her

hand.

"What I wanted!

No! I never wanted to be called' any of those things, Lieutenant, and I

certainly never wanted to see an old woman in pain, nor did I ever

particularly want to be threatened with being tarred and feathered!"

"You wanted me to go to war with your von Heusen."

"All right, yes! I wanted someone else to stand up against him."

She was backed against the pillar still. Her hands slipped behind her to

reach for it for support. He turned on her, coming closer, leaning his

hands upon the beam and bringing his face very close to hers. She was

trapped by his arms, by the prison of his body.

"And now," he said softly, "it's my battle."

"You're the damned cavalry, aren't you? You spent time enough telling me

that the day that you dragged me into the dirt!"

"I dragged you into the dirt! Why, you little hellion! You're the one

who came after me like a bat out of hell!"

It was there again, that feeling of something entirely combustible

between them, of static charging the air, of 77 lightning on a still

night. She had to fight back, and quickly and hard, or she would lose

everything.

"I was frightened out of my wits," she retorted, "not that you probably

weren't worthy of everything I did!"

"Oh? Is that a fact? And have you taken to judging me, Miss. Stuart?"

"Why the hell not? You're determined to judge me." They were silent for

a moment, and in that moment, they both heard a throat being cleared.

Jamie swung around again. Sergeant Monahan was standing there,

red-faced.

"Excuse me, Lieutenant."

"What is it, Monahah?"

"The, uh, the colonel wants to see you."

"Right after I escort Miss. Stuart to her house."

"Er, pardon me, sir, but no, sir. The colonel says that I'm to escort

her and that you're to see him immediately. About this business of your

going to Wiltshire." Jamie frowned, started to protest, then sighed. He

cast Tess a warning glare, although she wasn't at all sure of what the

warning was about.

She was still trembling, she realized, still holding hard to the pillar.

Jamie bowed to her.

"Good night, Miss. Stuart. We'll leave as soon as possible."

He walked away with long, angry strides. Tess looked at Monaham Monahan

was watching Jamie go.

"Well, that might be one heck of a confrontation," he muttered. "Why?"

Tess asked.

"what? Oh?" Monahan flushed, as if he had just realized she was there.

"Why, nothing, miss ..."

"Monahah!"

"Well, the colonel may try to stop him from going."

"What do you mean, might try? The colonel outranks him, doesn't he? Or

am I missing something?"

"No, no, but Jamie is up for reenlistment.

Technically, he could have walked away from the cavalry a month ago.

Paperwork gets slow out here sometimes."

"But why would the colonel want to stop him from going?"

"Oh, the colonel probably wouldn't. Not by himself, that " Monahah, you

are near to frustrating me to tears! What are you talking about?"

Now Monahah was a brilliant red. He stuttered, then started again.

"Miss. Eliza is the one who might mind."

"Eliza Worthingham."

"Monahah!"

"Oh, you don't know! Why, miss, Eliza is Colonel Worthingham's

daughter."

"Oh!" Tess cried, startled.

"Tarnation, I didn't mean to upset you none. Don't you worry. The

lieutenant ain't nobody's fool, and he ain't about to have his life run

by a skirt, even if Miss. Eliza is a pretty piece of fluff. Ah, hell,

not that you're not every bit as pretty--prettier!--but you see my

point? He ain't ever gonna have his mind made up by a woman. Not any

woman.

Oh, dear, this ain't getting' no better, not one wit! Come on, Miss.

Stuart, let me do one duty fight and get you home for the night!"

"Ah, yes, thank you, I think that I am quite ready to retire," Tess told

him, He walked her through the now empty alehouse and she thought of how

disastrously the evening had ended. Then she found that her fingers were

fluttering to her lips and that she couldn't forget the way Jamie had

kissed her.

She would never forget the way he had kissed her. Not if she never-saw

him again, not if she lived to be a hundred and two.

He wouldn't ever let himself be run by a woman. That was what Monahah

had said. But if he came with her, he would feel he had been trapped

into doing it. He had been forced to say he would come with her to calm

down Clara.

But if he stayed. Then it might be worse, because if he stayed after he

had stated he would go, it would be because he had been ordered to

stay--because of Eliza.

He's torn between the two of us, Tess thought. And which one of us will

win?

They had come to the Casey house. Monahah opened her door and lit a

lantern for her, then looked around the small building.

"Seems clear," he said.

"Why, Lieutenant, this is a cavalry outpost! What would I be afraid of

here?" "Never can be too careful," Monahah said cheerfully. "We learn

that out here, ma'am."

"Yes, I'm sure you do," she said softly.

"Well, thank you. I do feel quite safe now."

He told her good-night and left. Tess sat down on the foot of the bed

and slipped off her black leather dance slippers.

Then she paused, feeling as if something in the place wasn't quite

fight.

She stood up and looked around. She hadn't had much brought in from the

wagon, but one trunk was shifted away from the wall when she was certain

she had left it against the wall. Her brush, which she had set on the

small vanity, had fallen to the floor.

She picked up the brush and set it on the vanity. Then she walked over

to the trunk and opened it.

It wasn't in wild disarray, but she knew someone had been into it.

She always folded her clothing meticulously and kept it in defined

piles, her flatiron on the bottom of the chest, her heavy skirts next to

it, her light blouses and lingerie on top. Things had been moved.

She sat again. Maybe Monahah was fight. You never could be too careful.

There was no one in the little house now, but there had been. Who?

Eliza. Tess was certain of it. She smiled.

"Eliza," she whispered softly.

"I've been dealing with the likes of yon Heusen. Fighting you is going

to be easy."

She finished undressing, slipped on the borrowed nightgown and crawled

beneath the covers. Her eyes wouldn't close, though. She was ready to

deal with Eliza. But what if she had already lost the battle?

There was no way she could know until morning. It was a horrible night.

She pt feeling Jamie's kiss upon her lips again and again. And no matter

how she fought it, she k~pt imagining that kiss falling against her

throat, her palm. and Other places.

She slept very late. D~pite the bugles and the commotion of a company

heading out for a day's scouting, when Tess finally slept, she did so

deeply and well. It was nearly noon when she imagined she heard a sharp

rapping on the door. She ignored it. Then she shot up as the door burst

open and heavy footsteps fell within the house.

The covers fell away. Her hair was tousled and falling around her

shoulders, her gown dislodged from one shoulder and draping precariously

low over her breast. Startled and disoriented, she gasped when she saw

Jamie Slater in full uniform, his plumed hat low over his eyes, his legs

apart and his gloved hands on his hips as he stared at her.

"You," she muttered.

He swept his hat from his head, bowing very low.

"Yes, do excuse me, Miss. Stuart. I wanted to let you know that we would

be leaving at the break of dawn tomorrow. I realize, of course, that

dawn might be difficult for you, sinee you are still abed this midday,

but I do intend to leave promptly. Are we understood?"

"Tomorrow! You're still--you're still taking me?" His eyes narrowed

sharply.

"I said I was. Why wouldn't I be doing so?"

"No--uh, no reason." She allowed her lashes to fall, shading her eyes.

"I was just worried that maybe ... that maybe you hadn't meant what you

said."

He was silent for a s~ond.

"Miss. Stuart," he said softly, "I always mean what I say."

"I was just worried that you didn't really want to go" -- "Oh, for God's

sake! I'm going. We're going. Tomorrow.

That is, if you get up on time."

She smiled, then forgot her animosity toward him, and just about

everything else for that matter. She threw back the covers and leaped

from the bed and raced toward him, casting herself into his arms. His

hands came around her as he held her uptight, his arms wrapping around

her. "Thank you!" she said earnestly. Then she realized what she had

done and how she was standing.

And that them wasn't much of anything between them. She could feel the

pressure of her breasts against the hardness of his body, and she knew

that the thin cotton gown wasn't hiding anything of herself.

She backed away, swallowing fiercely.

"Thank you," she repeated.

"I

really do appreciate it. Very much. I don't suppose that you could ever

understand, but I do." The gown was falling off her shoulder again. She

tried to retrieve it. Then she realized that she was standing in the

morning sunlight and that every curve and twist of her form, and even

the shadows of her body, would be completely evident to him.

And her body was warming, and she was certain that her breasts were

swelling, and she was breathing far too quickly, and he could probably

see the pounding of her heart.

"Sincerely, thank you." And she was still muttering. A broad grin

stretched across his features. She plunged quickly into the bed beneath

the covers.

"Miss. Stuart?"

"'yes?"

"Do me a favor once we're under way, will you?"

"What's that?"

"Please don't chatter away endlessly like that, huh?" "I never chatter!"

she said indignantly.

"Never?" His brow arched.

She flushed.

"Almost never. Lieutenant, do you realiz~ how very rude you're being?

You've disturbed my sleep, and now you haven't the decency to leave me

alone to dress." His eyes fell upon her. Lingered over her. He was still

smiling.

"Do excuse me then, Miss. Stuart. But count on this--for the next few

days, I'll disturb your sleep often."

He tipped his hat to her and strode from the room. Tess pulled the

covers close around her, then she smiled and sank low into the bed.

It was a busy day for Jamie. Jon Red Feather was going to be

accompanying him, but other than that, they would travel alone. Since he

didn't know quite what he was going to come up against, he spent a fair

amount of time determining what he wanted to pack on the supply horses

and what he might bring in Tess Stuart's wagon.

Dealing with Colonel Worthingham hadn't been hard. Eliza had been behind

the trouble, he had known that.

Worthingham might be blind about his daughter, but he was a good

officer.

Not that Eliza wasn't careful. She had been with Worthingham when Jamie

went to see him. She had spoken of the danger, of how Jamie was needed

at the post, and she had been so sweet no one might ever have suspected

her of having an evil thought.

Worthingham had suggested that another man might do the job; Jamie had

politely reminded him that he wasn't officially in the cavalry anymore,

and that had done the trick. He had three months now, three months on

his own.

And Jon was his own man. He always had been. Jamie was glad Jon was

coming along, even if he was being a thorn in Jamie's side over Tess. As

if the minx needed any champions. The girl did know how to fight her own

battles.

He didn't want to battle, he thought. He closed his eyes, then

remembered the way she had looked that morning, half dressed and

completely seductive, the outline of her delineated by the sunlight

against the soft white cotton.

And she 83 had smiled and thrown herself into his arms. He remembered

the taste and feel and texture of her and had known that he had to get

out of the room before he took a running leap and fell upon her in the

disarray of her gown and covers.

He was a fool. He should be steering as clear of her as he could.

Instead, he had given his word to take her to Wiltshire. And he kept his

word.

There was just so much he wanted from her in return. And she was

desperate enough to give it.

That wasn't the way he wanted her, he told himself. But then he

reflected that he wanted her in any way possible, and he wasn't quite

sure ethics entered into the question. And he had to stop thinking about

her. He clenched his teeth and set to work.

It took most of the day to requisition the weapons and ammunition he

wanted to take. It was dark by the time he was ready to return to his

rooms. He wanted a good dinner and a long, hot bath before he started

out on the trail.

His orderly would have arranged for his bath. When he opened the door to

his office and saw that the lantern had been lit and a steaming hip bath

set in the bedroom, he breathed a sigh of relief. He tossed his hat onto

a chair, unbuckled his scabbard and holster and set his weapons on his

desk. He pulled off his boots and left them where they fell.

By the time he reached the doorway to the bedroom, his shirt was

unbuttoned and he was flinging it on the floor. He was anxious for the

bath.

But then he paused in his trousers, his eyes narrowing. He wasn't alone.

Eliza was in the bedroom. And Eliza had been in his bath. She was curled

up on his bed, her dark hair damp and forming tiny ringlets to frame her

face.

She wasn't exactly naked, but her appearance would have been less

decadent if she had been. She was wearing a lace corset he could almost

see through, and which lifted her cleavage to bold new heights. She wore

some kind of silk and lace pantalets, and nothing else.

"I came to say goodbye," she told him huskily. "Eliza, you're a fool,"

he told her irritably.

"What the devil do you think you're doing in my room?"

"Aren't you glad to see me?"

"Frankly, no."

She curled up on the bed, watching him like a cat.

"I'm not letting you go off with that little blond slut."

"Eliza, take a look at yourself and think about what you're saying."

"I'm in love with you!" She stood and walked toward him, swaying, her

lips parted and damp.

"I'm in love with you, Jamie, why do you think I've made love with you?

Do you think a secret rendezvous is all right, but you're afraid of me

being here because of my father?"

She had reached him. She started to slip her ams around his neck, but he

caught her hands.

"Eliza, I'm not afraid of your father. You should be. He'd send you back

east in two seconds if he had the least idea about your trysts."

"He'd make you marry me!"

"No one will ever make me marry anyone."

"You owe me!" She pouted.

"Jamie, I've lain with you" -- "Hm. And half of Companies C, D and E,"

he agreed. She freed a hand, ready to slap him. He caught her hand, and

for a moment they were very close. Then he saw her smile. Smile like a

wanton, with tremendous pleasure. She was looking over his shoulder.

Tess was standing in the doorway. Chaste and beautiful with her golden

ringlets piled atop her head, her pure white blouse buttoned to the

throat, her full skirt navy and subdued, her only jewelry a brooch at

her throat.

She stood there, very still.

"I was told by a young officer that you wanted to see me here,

Lieutenant. I wouldn't have been so careless as to en85 ter myself, but

he pushed open the door, and so here I am, to my great embarrassment.

Good evening, Miss. Worthingham.

Lieutenant, did you send for me?"

"I did not!"

"Then I must offer my apologies. Excuse me." She turned.

"Wait a minute?" Jamie thundered.

Tess ignored him.

Eliza was laughing softly. He caught her and shook her hard.

"You did this!"

"Min. You'll never get beneath her skirts now, Jamie!" Eliza said

happily.

Jamie didn't reply. He shoved her from him and walked away. He didn't

give a damn that he was barefoot or bare chested he was just glad he

still had his trousers on. He didn't know why it was so damned important

that he catch Tess, he only knew that it was.

"Tess!"

She was walking away from him, ignoring him. He caught up with her and

took hold of her shoulders, swinging her around.

"Tess!"

"What?" She wrenched herself from his hold. He circled her, determined

to catch her if she moved.

"I

called you! Why the hell didn't you stop?" Tess looked at him, wishing

she could be half as calm or serene as she was pretending.

She hadn't suspected a thing. The young soldier had appeared at her door

just minutes ago, and he had been very proper, and she had imagined his

mission to be a true one. Lieutenant Slater 'had requested her presence

at his office.

She hadn't even known that his office and his bedroom were connected.

And she had thought that the summons sounded just like Jamie. He would

give her some other trivial order about the next morning. Don't

oversleep, don't be late, don't touch anything of mine that I set in

your wagon.

And so she had come without a thought. Without a single thought.

She had never imagined what it would feel like to see him in another

woman's arms. It had been awful seeing the brunette worse than naked,

draped all over him. Her hair curling over his naked flesh. Her breasts

cast against him, his arms locked upon her, the fever between them. She

inhaled and exhaled. She wondered if she had heard the words right

between them. No one can make me marry anyone. That was what he had said

to her. Wasn't it?

They had been lovers. He had all but admitted it. And maybe they would

be again. Maybe he would take Tess to Wiltshire, and he would come back.

Maybe he shouldn't go to Wiltshire. Because if he did, if they were

together, they would become lovers. And maybe he would be just as cool

to her. Maybe making love meant nothing at all to him, when the desire

within her was something that had never happened before. It was special,

unique, precious.

But then again, she couldn't allow the brunette to win the game. Not

this way. She didn't deserve to win anything this way.

"Damn you, Tess, will you listen to me?"

"I don't see what difference it makes, but go ahead." He stared at her

hard.

"That was a setup."

She didn't reply. He caught her shoulders again, pulling her against

him.

"I'm telling you, it was a setup!"

She still didn't reply, and he looked into his eyes and swore suddenly.

"Why the hell am I explaining this to you?

Think what you want, Miss. Stuart. To hell with you." He left her

standing in the street. She heard his angry stride as he started away.

"Lieutenant!" she called. She didn't turn around until she sensed that

he had stopped. Then she turned to meet his eyes.

"I'm very aware that what I just saw was a setup. I'm sorry for Miss.

Worthingham, that she felt it necessary to put 87 on such a show.

Perhaps you might want to provide her with a bit more tenderness or

care."

He swore and walked away.

Tess smiled and started to her room. But then her smile faded. It had

been a setup, but she had sent him right back to the enemy's arms.

When she went to bed that night she lay awake in torture, wondering what

had happened next. She had advised him to offer tenderness.

Had he done so? Had he slept with the bewitching brunette in his arms,

against his heart?

She tossed and turned in wretched anxiety and she very nearly overslept.

If it wasn't for the timely arrival of Dolly Simmons, she would have

done so.

"Up, up, now, Tess, dear! This is the cavalry, you know! Things are done

by the dawn here. Lieutenant Slater will want to be on his way!"

Dolly had brought coffee. She slipped a tin mug into Tess's hands, then,

chatting, picked up things in the room.

"What are you wearing, dear, this nice brown cotton? Perfect choice for

a hot day on the trail. And just one petticoat-no corset, of course.

You'll be much more comfortable that way.

Come on, now, Lieutenant Siitter and Jon Red Feather are already out by

the wagon." Tess gulped down the coffee and was grateful When Dolly

helped her slip into the brown traveling dress she had chosen. Then she

frowned, realizing that Dolly was dressed for travel in a mauve suit

with a huge, wide-brimmed hat on her head.

"Dolly?"

"I'm coming with you, my dear."

' "You are?"

"Yes. You don't mind, do you?"

"No, no, I don't mind. It's just that ..." She paused. In the outpost,

it had almost been possible to forget that yon Heusen offered death.

"Dolly, no one wants to believe me, but it could be very dangerous for

you."

"Miss. Stuart!" Dolly drew herself up and looked terribly dignified--and

menacing. It would take a hearty soul to go to battle against Miss.

Simmons.

"I have met danger all my life. I have lived in places that would make

the ordinary woman's skin crawl. I have fought Apache, Comanche,

Shoshone, Cheyenne and Sioux. I think that I will hold my own wherever I

may go." She was quiet for a minute.

"And besides," she added softly.

"I've really nothing left here. I'd like to come with you.. I'm a wicked

good cook, and I can organize any type of household in a matter of

hours."

Tess smiled.

"Dolly, you're welcome," she assured her. She finished dressing quickly

and stuffed the last of her belongings in a portmanteau. She and Dolly

gave the room a last look, then they departed together.

She almost didn't recognize Jamie when they came to the wagon.

Instead of a uniform he wore a blue denim work shirt and pants and his

knee-high boots. His sandy hair fell over his eyes as he cinched the

girth on his huge horse, then cast her a quick stare.

"It's about time."

"It's barely dawn."

He didn't reply, but nodded Dolly's way. He must have known that the

older woman had determined on coming, because he didn't say a word about

her appearance. "Get up--I want to get started. Jon and I will take

turns driving with you--there's no reason for you to completely destroy

your hands again. And for God's sake, keep your gloves on."

"I can manage" -- He caught her arm as she was about to crawl up.

"And don't tell me that anymore. I know you can manage. It's ]nst that

you can manage better if you listen to me. Got it?" She saluted,

gritting her teeth.

"Got it, Lieutenant."

She climbed up and took the reins and Dolly got up beside her. The mules

were harnessed, Jon was mounted and two packhorses were tethered to the

rear of the wagon. All was ready for their departure.

Colonel Worthingham walked up as they were about to leave.

"Goodbye, Miss. Stuart, good luck."

"Thank you, sir."

"Lieutenant, Red Feather, take care. Remember, we're here if you need

us."

"Thank you, sir!" Jamie wasn't in uniform, but he saluted smartly. The

colonel stepped back.

"Jamie! Jamie, take care!" Eliza ran dramatically from the shadow of the

command post. She raced to Jamie's horse and clutched his hands where

they lay casually over the reins.

"Eliza, thank you, I'll be just fine," he said harshly. "Eliza, come

back, dadin'. Lieutenant Slater has ridden out again and again. You know

he always makes it back." The colonel set his hands on his daughter's

shoulders, drawing her back. Eliza didn't even glance at Tess, but Tess

felt the hostility that rose from her.

She wondered again about what had happened after Jamie had left her last

night, and she was infuriated that it should bother her so much, that it

should hurt and dig into the very center of her being.

Maybe he would turn around now. Eliza was stunning this morning, her

hair ebony against a yellow dress, her eyes huge with anguish. Tess held

her breath. Then she realized that Jamie had picked up his reins, that

he was shouting to her, telling her they were going.

She called out to the mules. The wagon rumbled forward.

She didn't look back. She followed Jamie and Jon Red Feather through the

open gates of the compound, and she sighed with a soft sound of relief

as she heard the gates closing behind her. They were really on their

way. Jamie Slater was coming with her. Eliza hadn't been able to

convince him to stay.

About last night. She didn't know. She just didn't know. She needed a

gun, she reminded herself. She needed a gunman.

It didn't matter that she wanted the man. If rumor was right, he was one

of the fastest guns in the west.

Maybe fortune was beginning to smile upon her just a little.

And maybe, just maybe, she was setting herself up for the heartbreak of

a lifetime.

She couldn't think, and she couldn't worry. He was with her, and they

were on their way, and for now, that just had to be enough.

Chapter Five.

Jamie Slater didn't seem to do anything by half measures. When he set

out to move, he moved.

They pushed hard throughout the morning, either Jamie or Jon riding

ahead to scout out the road, the other riding with Dolly and Tess. Jamie

was true to his word--some- where around midmorning he called a halt,

and Jon came up to take over the reins of the wagon. Dolly and Jon were

comfortable together, old friends who knew one another well and

respected what they knew. And both of them seemed genuinely fond of

Tess, which was nice.

Dolly was full of stories. She didn't chatter, but she kept Tess amused

with tales of Texas in times before Tess had been born.

"Why, Will and I came out here long before Texas was a state. Before

there was a Republic of Texas!

And long, long before the Alamo. Why, I remember some of those boys, and

it was a privilege to know them.

Mountain men, they were good men. They were the stuff that Texans were

made of. Will missed being at the Alamo by just a hairbreadth. He'd been

sent out to deal with Cheyenne. By the time he came back, the boys were

dead.

They say that Davey Crockett was killed there, but that ain't true.

The Mexicans took him prisoner, and they tortured him to death, that was

what the boys said. He was a fiery old cuss.

They never broke him. You can't break a mountain man. You can kill him,

but you can't break him. Kind of like a Blackfoot, eh?"

"A Blackfoot--or an Englishwoman, eh, Dolly?" Jon agreed, grinning.

Dolly chuckled gleefully and agreed.

Tess found herself studying Jon's handsome features. There was no

denying that the man had Indian blood, proud blood. His cheekbones were

wide and broad, his flesh was dark bronze.

And his hair, too, was Indian, black as ink and straight as an arrow.

But his eyes were a deep, startling green.

He caught her studying him, and she blushed.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude."

"It's all right. You're welcome to wonder about me. I'll tell you,

because I like you. My father was a Blackfoot chief.

My mother was the daughter of an English baronet."

" A baronet?"

"Urn. Sir Roger Bennington. Actually, he's a very decent old fellow."

He smiled.

"What does that make you?"

Jori laughed softly.

"A half-breed Blackfoot. Sir Roger did not marry his daughter to an

Indian.

She was kidnapped, but she discovered that she was in love with my

father.

She stayed with the Blackfoot until my father was killed. Then she went

back to England. She died there."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. They were both happy while they lived." Tess hesitated.

"Did you go to England with her? Is that where you acquired your

accent?"

"My accent?" he repeated.

"Well, you don't sound like a Texan or an Indian."

"I'm not a Texan, ~xeept by choice for the moment. I was born in the

Black Hills. And my father was still alive when I went to England. My

mother convinced him that a half breed needed every advantage. My mother

knew that the Indian's day was dying. That the buffalo were being 93

slaughtered.

That the white men were going to push west, and push us west, until we

were pushed fight into the sea or given deser/land as our reservations.

Our prisons."

He spoke hard words, but he spoke them softly.

"You don't seem very bitter," Tess commented.

"Bitter? I'm not. Bitterness is a wasted emotion. I ride with Jamie now

because I choose to be with him. Some time this year, I'll go back to my

father's people. And if the whim takes me, I'll go visit my grandfather

in London. I enjoy the theater and opera there, and Grandfather is a

hardy old cuss. I think he's actually damned pleased when people stare

at his Indian grandson. Actually, I wear formal clothing rather well."

He grinned ruefully, but then his grin faded as he studied her.

"I love the west, too. I love horses, and the feel of a good one racing

beneath me. I love my tribe, and I love this harsh, dry land. And I've

stayed with Jamie because he knows people. He's spent most of his life

fighting, but he still knows people. He goes to war with men, but he

never attacks children."

He gazed at her curiously, looking her up and' down, studying her.

"Jamie believes you. He's come into Indian villages and seen what

certain white men are capable of leaving behind. There are many men in

the cavalry who think that an infant Indian is still an Indian, and that

it will grow to put an arrow in someone's back. There was a lieutenant

who liked to order his soldiers to shoot the women, then bash the

infants' heads together to save bullets."

"God, how awful."

"Jamie knows about things like that. God knows, he saw enough of it

during the war."

"There was nothing like that during the war" -- "Jamie came from the

Kansas and Missouri border.

There was all kinds of stuff like that."

"Yes, but the war's over now," Dolly interrupted mat- ter-of-factly.

"We need to put it behind us. Bless us and save us! It's been five

years!

And Mr. Grant is president now" -- "Mr. Grant could use some help out

here in the west," Jon said dryly.

He smiled again at Tess.

"Ever been to London?"

She shook her head.

"I've n~ver be~n out of Texas."

"Now that is a great loss. A girl like you ought to s~ the world." Jamie

was heading toward them.

"Miss. Stuart, you ar~ welcome to travel with me at any time, in fact,

I'd consider it quite an honor."

Jamie was scowling. Tess lowered her lashes, knowing that Jon had said

the words strictly for Jamie's benefit.

Jamie's great roan stallion was prancing around.

"We seem to be clear for quite a while ahead. Jon, want to ride again?

I'll take over the reins for a while."

"Sure thing." Jon pulled in on the reins. He started to hop down while

Jamie dismounted from his horse. Tess looked at Jamie.

"I do appreciate your concern, but I've scarcely taken the reins myself"

-- "Miss. Stuart, I'll drive the wagon for a while now. After all, we

wouldn't want to ruin the hands of a newspaper woman."

Dolly slapped her on the knee.

"You let him drivel" she said, then she yawned.

"I think I'll ride in back for a while."

She smiled at Tess like a self-satisfied cat and crawled into the back

of the wagon. Tess watched her stretch out on Uncle Joe's bunk. Jamie

climbed up beside her and took the reins. Jon had untied his pinto from

the back of the wagon.

"I'll ride on ahead," he said.

Jamie nodded. Tess was left alone beside Jamie, very aware of the heat

of his thigh despite the heat of the day.

They rode in silence, and the silence se~med to stretch on and on.

Finally Jamie drawled out, "You made it on time this morning. Did you

manage to have a good night's sleep?"

"Yes, I did," she lied pleasantly. She turned to him with her eyes

innocently wide.

"What about you, Lieutenant?

Did you manage to have any sleep at all?" He studied her eyes, then

smiled slowly.

"Yes, I slept."

He didn't elaborate and Tess was infuriated. She wanted some kind of an

answer on this subject, and he was determined not to give her one.

"You seem to have been having a darned nice morning," he commented.

"Have I?"

"I've known Jon Red Feather a long time now. I've never known him to

talk so much."

"He's charming."

Jamie grunted. He flashed her a quick gaze and gave his attention to the

road once again.

"And I'm not?"

"No. You're impudent, insolent and a royal pain, Lieutenant Slater."

"Oh, is that so? Then why were you so anxious for my company?"

She inhaled sharply, staring at him.

"Because you can shoot," she said flatly.

"Why, thank you, Miss. Stuart! Thank you kindly. And you threw yourself

right into my arms the other morning, half naked and all, just because I

shoot."

"Right. Wrong! I was not half naked" -- "You felt as if you were."

"Lieutenant, you are a scurvy, low-down, no-good rodent-"

"But a no-good rodent who can shoot, right?"

"Precisely, Lieutenant," she said with a touch of silk. He nodded,

looking ahead.

"You are awfully determined to stay in Wiltshire, Miss. Stuart.

Couldn't you run a newspaper somewhere else?"

"I could. But I wouldn't own the good cattle land that Joe" -- She

paused.

"Well, it's all mine now."

"Is your life worth the land?"

"You don't understand. It's not just the land. Somebody needs to stand

against this man."

"You do want it desperately."

He was watching her curiously, the hint of a curve to his lips. She

frowned, wondering what he was up to.

"Yes. I do want it desperately. He killed Joe. He might not have ridden

with the men, but he killed Joe. And I'm going to bring him down."

"With the help of a scurvy rodent who can shoot."

"With whatever help I can get. And you do believe me about the attack, I

know you do."

He shrugged.

"Maybe. I've still got my reservations, but I do intend to go into

Wiltshire with you."

"And that's all?" she asked, horrified.

He smiled.

"Just what, Miss. Stuart, do you want out of me? Spell it out. We might

need to come to a few terms here."

"But, but" -- she sputtered.

"But you said you'd find out the truth!

You told Clara"--" I told Clara I'd find out the truth. I didn't tell

her that I'd go to war on your behalf."

"Bastard!" Tess spat out the epithet.

"Calm down, Miss. Stuart! Such language from a very proper and genteel

young Southern woman! I told you, say what you want, and we'll take it

from there."

"What I want? Well, I ... I want you to stay! Then when he sends his

guns, I'll have my guns!"

"Jon Red Feather and I against a horde of hired gunmen. Mm. I should

stand tall and let this man pump me full of bullets for the benefit of

having you call me a scurvy rodent?"

Tess caught her breath and tried to control her temper. She lowered her

lashes and counted to ten, then kept going to twenty, then started all

over again because he was laughing at her.

She moved suddenly, and he must have thought that she meant to strike

him because he cast an imprisoning 97 arm around her. She stiffened in

his hold.

"Lieutenant, this is completely unnecessary."

"Is it? I can't help but feel cautious around you, Miss. Stuart."

She swore softly.

He laughed.

"Go ahead! Laugh!" she said angrily.

"And just run like a cur with its tail between its legs-when we get to

Wiltshire."

"A cur? I thought I was a rodent."

"I can't find words for what you are, Lieutenant."

"Pity," he drawled. His eyes were on her, smoke and fire.

His arm was warm and strong around her. The heat of the sun bore down on

them, and she felt as if it touched her and brought a liquid rush

throughout her. She could not draw her eyes from his, nor could she

dispel the sudden, brilliant memory of his lips upon hers.

"We could bargain, Miss. Stuart."

"Bargain?"

"Yes. If I'm going to die, I'd like it to be for a little more than a

smile."

She stared at him. She felt a heat like that of the sun suffuse

throughout her body, bringing a rampant beat to her heart, a flood of

burning red to her cheeks and a tremor deep inside her. He could only

mean one thing, she was certain. If he was going to stay, he wanted her.

She should have been outraged. She should have been able to say that he

could be damned, that her honor was worth far more than her life.

Except that. There was something that washed over the outrage 'like the

deep, rich waves of the ocean. It was the same thing that caused the

pulse to beat ever more fervently in the column of her throat, the thing

that held her speechless. He watched her, that wry smile twisted so

tauntingly into his features. He was horrid. He was awful.

He was exciting, sensual, masculine. The scent of him beguiled her, just

as his arms beckoned and just as his kiss evoked feelings inside that

she would never be able to forget.

She couldn't just stare at him. She moistened her lips and swallowed

quickly, vowing that she would never let him know just how deeply he did

affect her. "Did you bargain with Miss. Eliza, Lieutenant?"

"Is she still on your mind?"

"Is she on yours?"

He cast back his head and laughed.

"The situation is not at all amusing, Lieutenant."

"Oh, but it is, Miss. Stuart, it's very rich. As you might have noticed,

I didn't really need to bargain with Miss. Worthingham.

If that's what you were inferring. And yet, I didn't happen to mention

yet what our bargain should be. Alas, I could see it in those huge,

innocent, violet eyes! He wants to sully my honor, this cavalry man. For

the price of a pair of spitting Colts! Her heart beats, and she

wonders-my cause! This is my cause! Shouldn't I lay down my honor and my

pride, and give all to this wretched rodent-all for my cause?"

"Someone should shoot you," Tess warned him. "Well, you're trying to

make me into a target, aren't you?

Ah, but then maybe, just maybe, I could die with the exquisite Miss.

Stuart's kiss still damp upon my lips."

She squirmed. She did intend to slap him. "Whoa, Miss. Stuart!" He

laughed, and his arm wound even tighter against her. They were sitting

like newlyweds, she thought disgustedly. She was halfway atop his lap

and she could barely move.

"Lieutenant, you're squashing me!"

"I'm trying to save my jaw, Miss. Stuart! Now calm down. You are

desperate, aren't you?" His eyes looked into hers, and a hard note crept

into his voice.

"You would do anything--anything at all that I asked. How very

intriguing."

"Jamie Slater" -- "Jamie!"

A sharp call from Jon caught their attention. Jamie's arm fell from

around her shoulder, and he leaned forward, reining in. Jon was riding

hard toward them. "What is it?" "Company," Jon said.

"Comanche?"

"Yep."

"How many?"

"Fifty at least. They're covering the hill over the next dune."

"Is it a war party?"

"They're out in feathers and paint, but I think it's a show. I'm pretty

sure it's Running River."

Tess watched as Jamie climbed from the wagon. She wondered if she should

be frightened, and she wondered with greater exasperation if he should

be walking away from her without a thought. He disappeared behind the

wagon, then reappeared on his roan.

"Let's go see Running River," he told Jon. "Wait a minute" -- Tess

began.

"You wanted to drive the wagon," Jamie called.

"Pick up the reins.

Drive."

Then he turned, and he and Jon raced forward. Swearing beneath her

breath, Tess picked up the reins and called to the mules. They started

plodding along.

Dolly crawled into the seat, puffing.

"Comanche! Never did trust 'em."

The mules pulled the wagon over the dune. Tess felt as if her heart

stopped, as if it caught in her throat.

The Comanche seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see.

Bare-chested, in buckskin pants, with various types of feathers banded

around their heads, they sat as still as ghosts. Many carried spears and

shields, others wore quivers at their backs and held their bows proudly.

Not one moved.

They just sat on their horses, looking down at the small party that

approached.

Tess wondered dismally if she was about to become the victim of a real

Indian. Her heart thundered, and she dropped the reins. Jon and Jamie

had pulled in before them, and they sat on their horses on the dune,

watching the Comanche.

The sky seemed afire with the morning light. Earth and horizon seemed to

stretch together in shades of dusty coral and crimson and gold. The

quiet was eerie; not even the wind whispered in the sagebrush.

Then Jamie lifted his hand in some kind of greeting. A loud, shrieking

cry sounded from atop the hill.

And then the Comanche were coming.

Tess screamed as the Indians started toward them in a blazing cloud of

dust, their whoops and cries loud. No one could ride like a Comanche.

The men lay braced against their ponies' necks, they swung beneath them,

they righted themselves again. They came closer and closer. Their cries

sounded ever louder.

Ever more deadly.

"My God, we're going to be butchered!" Tess breathed. "No, no, I don't

think so," Dolly told her calmly.

Astonished, Tess stared at the woman.

"Well, it's Running River. He and Jamie are blood brothers."

"Blood brothers," Tess repeated.

"Yes. The Comanche are warlike, of course. But not this tribe.

Running River has been peaceful since Jamie came out here. He always

deals with the lieutenant, and though there have been Comanche attacks,

they've never been perpetrated by Gray Lake Comanche."

Tess was still unconvinced. There had never been a Comanche attack on

Wiltshire--in fact some Comanche even came to town for work now and

then--but she had heard about the things that could happen, and watching

the extraordinary horsemen bear down upon them did nothing to ease her

spirit.

"My God ..." she breathed, sitting very still. The riders were circling

the wagon, shaking their spears and bows in the air. Now that they were

closer, she could see that their faces and chests were painted in

brilliant colors.

She didn't move, although she didn't know if it was courage or pure

terror that kept her still. She e0uld see Jon and Jamie, still mounted,

as they watched the thundering horses and their riders. Neither reached

for a weapon.

It would be suicide, she thought. They were drastically outnumbered.

The Indians raced by them. The whoops and the cries were suddenly

stilled, and there was silence. Only the dust remained to settle.

The Comanche were motionless again, surrounding the wagon and Jamie and

Jon.

As Tess watched, Jamie lifted his hand again. One of the Indians, his

ink-black hair falling down the length of his naked back, wearing a band

with a single dark feather, urged his mount closer. He walked his horse

straight over to Jamie. Then he reached out his hand, and Jamie clasped

it.

The Indian began to speak. Tess didn't recognize a word, but Jamie and

Jon paid rapt attention.

Then Jamie responded in the Indian's own tongue, easily, effortlessly.

Jon spoke, too, then the Comanche again.

"See," Dolly whispered.

"It was a show. It was a performance. There never was any danger."

Tess exhaled silently. One question had been answered for her. She'd

seen something like this before, but there had been differences. She'd

seen the riders--but with saddled horses, in wigs and feathers and

paint. They hadn't ridden like these Comanche. And they hadn't let out

the terrible eries.

They had been absolutely mute, carrying out their silent executions.

But she had a right to be afraid of this show. "What's going on?" she

asked Dolly.

"How should I know, dear? I don't speak that heathen gibberishl" Tess

stiffened, realizing that Jamie was gesturing to her. The Indian he was

talking to urged his pony toward her, followed closely by Jamie. Reining

to a halt in front of her, the Comanche stared at her. He started to

speak.

Tess swallowed.

He was lean, wiry, menacing in his paint, and yet when he spoke he

smiled, and his teeth were good and strong, and the smile gave some

strange appeal to his face. Tess smiled in return.

"What did he say?" she asked Jamie, between bet teeth.

"He said that he did not kill your uncle."

"Tell him I know that."

Jamie spoke, then the chief broke into a barrage of words again.

Lost, Tess kept nodding and smiling.

"What did he say now?"

"Oh. Well, I told him we were traveling to Wiltshire, and that I was

going to try to prove that the white man had been guilty. If you made it

worth my while, that is. The chief is suggesting that you make it worth

my while. He thinks that you should bargain with me."

"Oh!" Tess gasped furiously. As she frowned, the Comanche chief frowned,

too.

"Oh, my, my!" Dolly murmured beneath her breath. "Smile, Tess!" Jamie

suggested casually.

She smiled. She locked her teeth, and she smiled. The chief spoke again,

quietly.

"What did he say?" Tess demanded.

Jamie didn't answer her.

Jon did.

"He said that you were very beautiful, and that Jamie should take good

care of you."

The chief took Jamie's outstretched hand again, then lifted his spear

high and cast back his head. A loud, startling cry rent the air. Then

the riders were kicking up tremendous clouds of dust again, and racing

across the plain.

Moving like quicksilver, they touched the landscape and were gone. They

disappeared over the hill from which they had come.

Then, slowly, the dust settled again.

Jamie turned to the wagon.

"Come on, ladies. Let's make a little time here, shall we?"

Tess caught hold of the reins, called out to the mules and snapped the

leather in a smart crack. The animals started off with a jolt.

A little while later, Jon rode by the wagon. He smiled to Tess and

Dolly.

"Ladies, are you both all right?"

"Just fine, Jon," Dolly told him.

"Tess?"

She nodded gravely.

"Jon, was Jamie telling the truth?" She flushed slightly.

"Did he tell me the truth about all the chief's words?"

Jon hedged slightly.

"More or less. Running River went a little bit further than Jamie told

you."

"Oh?"

Jon shrugged.

"He said that it might have been Apache that attacked you. The Apache

have refused any treaties, they are constantly warlike, and stray bands

have been known to travel in this area frequently. The Comanche and the

Apache have often been enemies."

"Does Jamie know the Apache as well as he knows this Running River?"

"No. The Apache do not want to be known." Tess shivered, and Jori

quickly amended his statement.

"He does know a few of the warriors and chiefs. They will at least talk

to him. He speaks the Apache language as well as he does the Comanche."

"It's all heathen gibberish to me!" Dolly announced. Jon grinned at

Tess, and Tess felt somewhat better. There was something very reassuring

about Jamie's abilities.

Maybe it could be proven that the Apache were no more guilty of the

attack than the Comanche.

Jon waved and rode on ahead.

"I'll take the reins for a bit now," Dolly told her. "You don't need to"

-- "I'll be bored as tears if I don't put inmy part, dear. Now hand them

over."

Tess grinned and complied.

They rode until sunset, then until the first cooling rays of the night

touched them. Jamie and Jon knew the terrain.

Again, they knew where to find water. Tess climbed from the wagon the

minute they stopped, stretching, trying to ease the discomfort in her

back. Jamie pointed out the path through the trees to the little brook,

and she started out in silence, aware that Dolly followed her. The water

moved over rock and along the earth, barely three inches of it, but she

cupped her hands into it and drank thirstily, then splashed in huge

handfuls over her face and throat, heedless that she soaked her gown.

Beside her, Dolly dipped her handkerchief in the water and soaked her

face and throat and arms with it.

"Ah, the good lord doth deliver!" she said cheerfully.

"Jamie! Come on in, the water's fine, Lieutenant!"

Tess froze, aware only then that Jamie was standing silently behind her.

Dolly her ted up her bulk.

"Guess I'll head back and see if Jon's got a cooking fire started yet."

She stepped by. Jamie knelt in Dolly's place. He doffed his hat and

untied the kerchief from his throat, then soaked it as Dolly had. He

leaned low and plunged in his whole head, then rubbed the kerchief over

his throat and shoulders. Tess stared at him, unaware that she did so.

He smiled, watching her. She jumped slightly when he touched her

cotton-clad shoulder.

"You're soaked," he told her.

"I suppose so."

He grinned, recalling memories of a different brook, a different time.

"I rather like you wet."

"You" -- "Ah, now, please, Miss. Stuart!"

She fell silent, but his smile faded and he sat on his haunches, folding

his hands idly over his knees.

"We've got to talk, Tess."

She didn't intend to blush, but color rose swiftly to her cheeks.

Damn him!

"What?" she said harshly.

"Well, I'm waiting to find out if you're going to bargain with me or

not."

She was silent, feeling her body burn. "Well?"

"You are a bastard."

"Come, come, now, Miss. Stuart, will you bargain?" She leaped to her

feet.

"Yes!" she spat at him.

"Yes-and you were right, you knew damned well that I would do so. I am

desperate. You can have anything. Anything that you want."

She swung around in what she hoped was indignant fury. She was suddenly

blinded. She nearly tripped as she started forward. She reached for a

branch to steady herself. "Miss. Stuart!"

he called to her lightly.

"Oh, for God's sake! What now?" she demanded. "Well, pardon me, but you

didn't wait to hear just what it was that I wanted."

"What?" she gasped.

"I said" -- "But, but ..."

She stared at him. He was still seated so comfortably on the ground,

casual now, idly chewing upon a long blade of grass.

"But, but, but, Miss. Stuart! Where is your mind, dear lady, but deep,

deep down in the gutter?"

He stood. Warily she backed away from him.

"Listen, Lieutenant, I'm not sure that you do shoot well enough for all

this!

What do you want now?"

She backed straight into a tree. He was right in front of her, smiling.

He stroked her cheek lightly with his knuckle and laughed softly as she

indignantly twisted her face to the side.

"Still waters do run deep, eh, Miss. Stuart? You ready to listen?"

"What" -- "Land."

"What?" she repeated, dazed.

"Land. I want some acreage. Some of your prime acreage, and maybe a few

cattle. If I'm going to go out and die for this land, I'd like to have a

bit of it in my own name."

"That's--that's what you want?"

' "That's it ."

"Land?

"Land, Miss. Stuart. I know you've heard the word." She pressed against

the tree, slipping her hands behind her to hold furtively to keep

herself from falling. Then a crimson blush surged to her cheeks again,

and she raged out in a tempest.

"You! You made me think that--oh, God! You are the lowest, most horrid,

most terrible" -- "Disappointed?" he interrupted pleasantly. She

shrieked something unintelligible and swung at him.

He caught her hand before she could strike him, but she continued to pit

herself against him. He pulled her against him, lacing his arms around

her.

"Don't be angry" -- "Angry! I could gouge out your eyes" -- "Ouch! It

would be hard as hell for me to aim at this yon Heusen of yours if you

did that."

"I could shoot off both your knee caps!"

"Then how could I get places to find out the truth?"

"All right! All right! You fight yon Heusen, then I'll gouge out your

eyes and shoot your knee caps. Now let go of me!"

"No, not yet, I'd be risking my eyesight, I'm afraid. Or my--ouch!" he

said as she stamped on his foot. Her feet were dangerous. And her knees.

"Don't even think about it!" be warned her, pressing her so close

against the tree trunk that she could barely breath.

Nor could she kick him--his thigh was pressed close to hers. Her breasts

heaved with agitation; her heart was thundering.

His lips were close. So close to hers. He was going to kiss her again,

she thought. And if he did, she'd probably let him get away with it,

despite all he had done to her. "Did you know that you have a really

beautiful mouth, Miss. Stuart?" he asked, his own nearly touching it.

"Ah! Not nearly so beautiful as my cattle!" she retorted.

He laughed softly again.

"You are disappointed."

"Don't deceive yourself, Lieutenant. I am vastly relieved."

"Why don't I believe you?"

"Because you're an egotist and a scurvy rat."

"Why is it that you just beguile me so, Tess Stuart? Is it that you

taste like wine and smell of roses, even in the most god-awful heat of

the day.

Is it that fall of golden hair, or your eyes, like wild violets? No ...

it must be the tender words you're always whispering so gently to me.

Words like ... scurvy rat."

"Lieutenant, will you please" -- "I do want you."

"What?" she cried.

"Very much. But I don't want to bargain about it. When you decide to be

with me, you'll do so because you want to.

You might have to think it through and weigh all the factors, or you

might just wake up one night and come to re108 aliz~ that it's going to

be, that there's just something there. I feel it when I touch you, when

I'm near you.

"You're a fool!"

"Am I?"

He l~aned closer. H~ was going to ~ h~ aga~. "Don'tv' she cfi~ out.

H~ igno~ the wa~ing, tang h~ lips with his ~n, ~d ou~ sh~ m~bl~ a ~nd

prot, her mouth was al- ~dy pa~g to his. ~d his tongu~ was d~,. d~

within bet, and it touch~ her in pla~ it could not possibly ~ch.

She ~ ~at h~ was right, and she ha~ ~ for it, but she ~ h~ stffi, and

she wan~ h~ stffi. She t~bl~ against th~ swat sava~e~ of his touch, and

she felt the p~u~ of ~s b~y, of h~ t~ aga~st h~, of mo~ than his thigh.

H~ hands we~ in her hair, strong her fa~, rounding over the full ri~ of

her b~st, and sh~ was still bra~ against him, unabl~ to do anything

other than f~l. ~en he ~1~ her. She gas~ ragg~ly and fell back.

His lips ~ghtly bmsh~ fffst her forbid, then her ch~ks. He smile.

"Egotist, eh?"

He w~ off guard. She sl~m~ her ~ aga~st h~. She didn't qui~ hit home,

but she must have given h~ a good bm~ in the thigh. He groan~ at ~e pa~,

gritting h~ ~th, flash~g her a lethal glad.

"~ Stua~, if I didn't have ~me vague memo~ of ~- ~g a gentleman" -- "If

you have any memo~ at all, sir, it must ~ vague~"

"Miss. S~art, I should tan" -- "Do ex~ me, Lieut~ant," she ~id, at~pt~g

to s~ past h~.

"It's not that you have~'t got d~nt lips, it's just that it's ~possible

to know wh~e they've ~n befog."

"~nt lips]"

"~nt, y~," she said sw~tly, still walking. He caught h~ a~ and pull~ her

into his a~s.

"I ~uld just" -- be ~gan, but then he laughs.

"Impo~ible to 109 know where they've been before! Why, honest to God! I

do believe that you're jealous!"

"Not on your life, Lieutenant!" she protested. But he touched his lips

to hers again, sweeping her swiftly into realms she was just beginning

to discover, then righting her just as quickly and dropping his arms. He

cast his arm out, indicating the trail.

"After you, Miss. Stuart. I will always wait."

"You'll wait until you're old and gray!" she snapped. She was jealous,

she thought. Anguished. It was painful to care like this, so deeply and

so quickly.

He smiled serenely.

"Will I?"

She managed to return the smile.

"Not all women are like Miss. Eliza, Lieutenant."

"No? I had rather thought that they were--at heart."

"You're mistaken."

"Maybe you're mistaken. Maybe most women are hypocrites."

"Oh, you are impossiblev' Tess cried. She swung around and began to

stride angrily toward the wagon.

But before she could reach the break in the bushes, he had pulled her

back.

She started to snap something to him, but the words caught in her throat

when his smoky gaze fell upon her.

"Tess, you are different."

"Different from what?"

He smiled.

"From any other woman I have met," he said softly.

Then he stepped past her and preceded her to the camp fire Jori had

burning with a welcoming warmth and light.

Chapter Six.

The delicious aroma of cooking was already filling the air as Tess

stepped toward the fire. She inhaled deeply as she tried to dispel her

immediate memories of Lieutenant Slater. The fire had been set in the

center of the clearing. A small animal roasted on a spit atop it. Jon,

on his haunches, turned the spit. On a bed of hot rocks surrounding the

fire sat a coffeepot.

Dolly was coming from the wagon with tin plates, and with mugs for the

coffee. She smiled at Tess.

"Rabbit! A nice, plump brown rabbit. Jon caught and skinned that thing

in minutes flat. I do declare, he's a fine provider!"

"Yes, he is," Tess said, smiling at Jon. She strode past him and

daintily swept her skirts beneath her to sink upon the ground. Jamie was

coming across the clearing toward them, too. He sat beside her.

"You caught a big one," Jamie acknowledged.

"Good."

"We need some water for this coffeepot," Dolly said.

"I'll get it," Jamie and Tess volunteered simultaneously. "Fine, you get

it," Tess said.

"No, you can go."

"But, Lieutenant" -- "Jori, give me the damned pot, will you?" Jamie

said.

He started toward the brook, then paused, looking back.

"How's our supply in the barrels?" "Good," Jon said.

"Later we can fill the canteens." Jamie nodded and started toward the

water.

Tess hesitated a minute, then started after him. "Tess!" Dolly called.

"I'll be right back!" "We'll never have coffee!" Dolly said dolefully.

Tess ignored her.

She was panting and breathless, and wondering what in hell had made her

rush into the den with the lion.

She caught up with Jamie at the brook. When he wanted to, he could move

quickly.

He stared at her as he filled the coffeepot, arehing one brow.

"You want acreage," she said.

"How much?"

"Well, now, I don't know. I haven't seen the property, have I?"

"Give me an idea."

He shrugged. His eyes were hard as he stared at her. "Half. Half of what

you own."

She gasped, stunned.

"You're insane!"

"I can ride back to the fort."

"But you don't even know what I own!"

"That's right. You're the one pushing the point here."

"A quarter."

"Half."

"Never!"

"Half. And that will be it. I won't ask another thing of you, Miss.

Stuart."

"Not on your life."

"We can ride right back." He stood and walked toward her. He didn't

touch her, but he was smiling still.

"Miss. Stuart, normally I don't barter at all, not without seeing what

it is I'm willing to risk my life for."

"You're in the cavalry. You risk your life daily."

"They pay me. And you" -- "I'll pay you wages."

He shook his head slowly.

"You know what I want."

Tremors swept through her. She did know what he wanted--and he kept

saying it was property. He kept smiling, and his eyes roamed up and down

the length of her. "Like I said, I usually like to see what I'm buying

with my time and my Colt. Since I trust you so, I'm willing to take a

chance in this circumstance."

"A quarter," Tess said firmly.

"Half."

He walked by her quickly. She stumbled to keep up with him, but he moved

too fast. She was still stumbling when he walked into the clearing. She

slammed into him and he turned, lifting her chin.

"Half!" he whispered.

She pulled quickly away from him.

"We'll discuss it later. I think you're insane. I think you're just as

crooked as von Heusen. Just another Yankee carpetbagger."

He stiffened, dropped her chin and turned in harsh, military fashion,

then took the coffeepot to the fire. He sank down across from Jori.

"Well, the coffee will taste much better once we've eaten that sizzlin'

sweet rabbit all up!" Dolly said cheerfully.

"It's cooked enough for me," Jon said, leaning over and ripping off a

leg.

He winced as the meat burned his fingers, then he smiled.

"Dig in!"

They all ate hungrily, and in silence. Jamie rose and brought a loaf of

hard bread from the supply pack. It didn't matter that it was hard--it

was delicious. And when they were finished eating, the coffee was done.

It did taste wonderful after all the food, just as Dolly had so

cheerfully suggested.

It grew dark as they sipped it. Velvet dark. The moon was a bare sliver

in the sky, but there were hundreds of stars out, dotting the heavens.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Dolly said.

"Very nice," Tess agreed. She yawned.

"We should take the dishes to the water and wash them now."

"Don't be absurd. It's dark as Hades," Jamie said harshly. His eyes were

smoke when they touched her. He was furious, she realized. And it wasn't

their arguing over the payment in acreage, it couldn't be. He liked to

taunt her and anger her, the silver light of challenge was always in his

eyes then.

But he wasn't feeling fondly toward her at all at the moment, she was

certain. Her heart beat too-hard as his eyes touched her, and she

thought she saw something lethal in him, something that made her shiver,

something that made her think she did not want him to be her enemy. He

was coming to fight her battle, she reminded herself.

But then why did he look as if he wanted to strangle her? "I--I can

bring a lantern," she heard herself saying.

"Dammit, you can just wait until morning!" Jamie said irritably. He

stood, tossing the last of his coffee into a bush.

Then he strode away, disappearing into the darkness. Tess cast a quick

glance toward Jori.

"What's the matter with him?"

Jon shrugged.

"I don't know. You'll have to find out yourself." He stood and

stretched.

"Ladies, I suggest an early night."

"He's gone off on his own!" Tess said indignantly. "He's taking first

guard," Jon said softly.

"I'm going to bed," Dolly announced.

"Tess, now you come, too."

Jori was dragging his saddle and blanket to the fire. He stretched out

and closed his eyes, setting his hat over his face. Dolly headed for the

wagon.

Tess hesitated, then decided to go after Jamie.

She heard Jon rise as she moved into the bushes, and she swore softly,

certain that he would follow her. He did. But before he could reach her,

a hand snaked out for her, catching her arm, swinging her around. She

tossed back her head and met Jamie's angry eyes. She wrenched free from

his grasp.

For safety's sake, she took a step backward.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Looking for you."

"I told you not to run around in the dark!"

"But you" -- "Miss. Stuart, from now on, you're taking orders from me.

And from now on, you listen. And if I hear one more crack out of you

about my being a Yank just like von Heusen, I'll tan your backside until

it's the color of a Comanche. Are we understood?"

"No!" she snapped indignantly.

He took a single step toward her. In the near darkness, his eyes seemed

to glitter with a menacing light.

She decided that she wasn't going to tempt fate any further that

evening.

She didn't think he made idle threats.

She turned and fled.

Jon was standing not far from the camp fire. He had seen her reach

Jamie.

She slowed her pace as she saw him. She smiled pleasantly and wished him

good night. "Good night, Tess," he told her.

She crawled into the wagon. Dolly was already softly snoring. Tess

unhooked her shoes. Closing the cover of the wagon, she stripped down to

her chemise and pantalets. She crawled into her bunk, closed her eyes

and made every effort to sleep. Her heart was still pounding, and she

didn't know if it was with vexation or excitement. He wanted her

property, not her person, she reminded herself. Then how could he seem

to insinuate so much that seemed sensual when they talked about dry

land? And then, of course, he could change so quickly. Lose his temper

over simple words when he could tease so long himself. She didn't

understand, but he was occupying more and more of her mind. And more and

more of her heart.

It was light when she awoke. Dolly was already up. Tess quickly slipped

into her dusty brown dress for the second day on the trail. She tied her

shoes and slipped from 115 the wagon. She could smell coffee brewing

already, and something was cooking in a frying pan.

She could hear voices by the fire. Jori and Dolly, she determined. She

started around the wagon then held Still.

Jamie, bare-chested, in only his boots and jeans, was shaving. His

mirror was leaning against the steps at the front of the wagon, his

shaving mug was on the second step, and he was wielding a straight razor

against his cheeks.

Apparently he caught sight of her in the mirror. He nicked himself and

scowled deeply at her. She should have walked by. She could not. She

smiled, enjoying the sight of him so. He had wonderful shoulders, broad

and very bronze. He was nearly as dark as Jori, with powerfully bunched

muscles in his arms and chest, and hard, unyielding ones at his lean

waist. She swallowed suddenly. She'd seen lots of men bare-chested. The

hands often stripped off their shirts after a long day and doused

themselves with water at the troughs. Jamie Slater's chest was

different. She couldn't look at him and wonder if the herd was doing

well. She looked at him and wondered what his flesh would feel like

beneath her fingers.

Maybe he read her mind. Maybe her thoughts were obvious in her eyes.

They were still locked with his in the mirfof.

Her smile faded and she felt a crimson blush rising to her cheeks.

She prayed for motion then and she managed to move her feet and hurry

past him to the fire. "Fish!" she said delightedly.

"Freshwater fish, just wonderful," Dolly supplied happily.

"Jon, you're wonderful!" Tess claimed.

"Oh, I didn't catch these. Jamie did," he told her casually.

Dolly passed Tess a plate.

"I'm taking a walk to the brook with a few of the utensils. I'll be

right back." "Thanks, Dolly," Tess said. Dolly winked. Jon smiled at

Tess as she hungrily ate her fish.

"Coffee?" he asked her.

"Please." He handed her a mug, then said something about finishing the

harness.

She was left alone with a beautiful, early morning sun and the delicious

food and coffee. She set down her plate and took a long swallow of

coffee.

She closed her eyes, inhaled the aroma and felt the heat. When she

opened her eyes, Jamie was standing before her.

"Miss. Stuart, you might want to hurry along a little. The rest of us

have been up a while now, and I'm ready to ride.

We can make Wiltshire by tomorrow if we keep moving." She gazed up at

his newly shaven face. All the planes and angles were handsome, smooth

and rugged all at once-- masculine ... and still belligerent. It was

war, she thought.

She sighed softly.

"Why, Lieutenant, I, at least, am fully clothed.

And I do promise that I can finish this coffee and the fish before you

can be dressed and ready to ride."

" Then let's see it, huh?"

He started to walk by her.

"Oh, Lieutenant," she called. "What?"

"You're bleeding, sir. There seems to be a--a gash right at the tip of

your chin. Have you been Shaving long, sir?"

"Longer than you've been wearing a corset, Miss. Stuart. A whole lot

longer," he told her pleasantly. That time, when he stepped by, she

quickly leaped to her feet, finished her coffee and, as quickly and

delicately as possible, peeled the last of her fish from the bone. She

glanced over her shoulder.

He was buttoning the last button of his shirt.

She cast the last drop of coffee and bit of food into the ashes of the

camp fire and raced for the steps to the driver's seat of the wagon.

She made it just as he rode up on his roan.

"I won," she told him.

"At best--and that's if I'm in the mood to be cavalier-- it was a tie,

Miss. Stuart."

"At best for you, Lieutenant."

He smiled.

"Half of your acreage, Tess."

"A quarter."

"That remains to be seen," he told her, riding close.

"But then, a lot of things remain to be seen, don't they?" He nudged

Lucifer and rode to the rear of the wagon.

"Jon, you ready?

Where's Dolly?"

"Here, here, I am coming, I do declare, the rush you boys get yourselves

into! I was just down at the brook, cleaning up the pans, and there you

are, riding off without me."

"Dolly! We'd never ride off without you!" Jamie promised her solemnly.

"Never," Jon echoed.

"But times awastin', Dolly," Jamie said.

"And suddenly, I'm just darned eager to reach Wiltshire."

Dolly climbed onto the wagon. Tess lifted the reins against the mules,

and they were under way again.

By late afternoon of the following day they had reached the outskirts of

Wiltshire. Then Tess gave the directions to her home, a large ranch

outside of town.

Tess held the reins. As the house came into view, she saw Jamie pull in

on his big roan and stare. He glanced her way.

"That's it? That's your--ranch?"

"That's it."

He started to laugh suddenly, looking at Jon. Then he spurred the roan

and raced toward the house. Tess flicked the reins and hurried after him

with the rumbling wagon. The house was magnificent. Joe had put years

and years of work into the sprawling, two-story ranch house. There were

two large barns to the left and a large red carriage house to the right.

The vegetable garden, lush with summer, could be seen behind the house.

The paddocks, stretching before and behind, seemed to go on forever.

Horses, her uncle's prize thoroughbreds, roamed in the paddocks, the

yeaifs foals seeming to dance alongside their mothers.

Tess knew about the weathered paint on the fine old house, however.

Since the war, nothing much had been done. They had considered

themselves lucky to hang on to the property once the battles had ended

and the dust had died down. There were floorboards on the blue~-gray

porch that needed to be mended, and Tess thought that if Jamie Slater

looked long and hard at the velvet drapes in the parlor, he would see

the material was old and fraying.

In the past few years, all their efforts had gone into their battles

with von Heusen.

She drove the wagon hetwcen the paddocks toward the house. Jamie and Jon

were far ahead of her. They'd reached the clearing before the house, and

Jamie was turning around on the huge roan, looking at everything around

him.

He was still amusd. A--and pleased.

He must have thought I was a potato farmer and that he bartered himself

for a few dusty acres! Tess decided. Well, he should be pleased.

The front door burst open as the wagon reached the clearing. Hank Riley,

Joe's foreman, came hurrying down the st~s, followed by Janey Holloway,

who had worked for them since Tess had begun to work at the paper. Hank

was as tall and skinny as a young oak sapling, with a weathered face so

browned and crinkled that he sometimes looked like an Indian. Janey was

young and plump and pretty, with sandy hair and soft gray eyes.

Jane stared from Jamie to the wagon, then screamed with joy, clutching

her heart when she saw Tess. Hank didn't make a sound. He came hurrying

down the steps of the porch and over to the wagon and reached right up,

catching hold of Tess and swinging her down. He lifted her up and swung

her around again, a smile crinkling his face to 119 even greater depths.

"Tess! The Lord be praised, but that man told us you were dead!"

"I'm not dead, Hank, I'm fine." Hank had set her down. Jane was crying

softly.

"Jane!" Tess took the young woman in her arms to comfort her.

"It's all right! I'm here. I'm alive, I'm well!"

"Oh, Miss. Tess! Miss. Tess, it's just so wonderful to see you! He said

he was coming back tonight~ and at first we thought that you were him

coming back a little early. He had the sheriff with him, you see, and he

said as how everyone had heard that both you and your uncle had been

killed in an Indian raid, and that the land would go up for public

auction. Hank and me and the hands were to clear out. Well, the hands

could stay on until the actual auction, but" She paused, gasping for

breath.

Hank, casting a curious glance toward Jamie and Jori, continued the

story indignantly.

"He said that since Jane and I might think ourselves too close to the

family, we'd have to get out before we started stealing property from

the deceased!"

"He--who the hell is he?" Jamie demanded, dismounting.

Hank frowned, not about to answer the question until he had a signal

from Tess.

"Well, Miss. Tess, I'll answer him about who the hell he is--once this

fellow tells me who the hell he is himself!"

Jamie's eyes narrowed, and his face started to look like thunder.

"Hank," Tess said quickly.

"This is Lieutenant Jamie Slater, he's with the cavalry. And Mr. Jon Red

Feather..

Hank, they've been gracious enough to see me home"--" Then Joe really is

dead," Hank said miserably.

She nodded.

He swallowed hard, looking into the distance.

"I'd kinda hoped, seeing you and all ... Then he really did get it from

the Indians."

"No. From von Heusen."

"Him again," Hank muttered.

"He--him," Jamie interjected.

"Axe we, or are we not, talking about von Heusen all the way around

here?"

"Of course!" Tess stated firmly.

"You mean to tell me," Jamie said, striding toward Hank, "that this yon

Heusen has already been here, telling you that the property is going to

go up for public auction in lieu of being granted to legitimate heirs?"

"Yep, something like that."

"Just like a vulture," Jon commented. "Well, he'll be back," Hank

promised.

"Soon enough.

You'll get to meet him."

Dolly, still on the wagon, cleared her throat.

"Oh, Dolly!" Jamie exclaimed apologetically. He hurried around to help

her down. Dolly smiled and took Hank's hand firmly.

"I'm Dolly Simmons, Hank. Nice to make your acquaintance. And you, too,

young lady. Jane, isn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"A fine name, a fine name. And I'm mighty parched. Perhaps we could go

inside and have ourselves a sip of something."

"Yes, let's!" Tess said.

She started for the house. Jon dismounted and looped his pinto's reins

around the hitching post in front of the house.

Tess was halfway up the stairs before she realized that Jamie hadn't

moved.

He was still standing with the roan's reins in his hands.

"Jamie, come in, please," she said politely. A bit distantly

perhaps--they were still involved in their fierce, personal battle.

"We'll see to the wagon later. Hank and the boys will help."

He shook his head, looking at Hank, not her.

"That the trail to follow into town?" he asked, pointing toward the

road.

"Yep, that's it."

"Where's the action congregate around here?" Hank was smiling but

curious.

"Why, the Bennington saloon. The best card games in town go on there,

the best whiskey flows there, and the best girls" -- He paused, glancing

quickly toward the ladies.

"Well, Lieutenant, the best entertainment in town can be found there,

too."

Jamie nodded. Smiling at Tess, he told her, "I think that I'll take a

ride in."

"Now?" she demanded. The best entertainment in town! Von Heusen was

expected at the house, and he was about to ride off to enjoy himself

with a dance-hall gift! "No time like the present."

"But von Heusen is going to come here!"

"I don't want to meet Mr. yon Heusen. Not just yet." He swung up on his

horse and glanced at Jon. Tess tried hard to follow his gaze. Something

passed between them, like cons of words, and yet it all happened in a

few seconds.

Jori was staying with her. And still, she was furious. Jamie was

demanding half her land and he wouldn't even stay around to meet his

adversary.

"Lieutenant, if you head into town, perhaps you should stay there for

the night," she snapped. They all stared at her. She had to control her

temper.

She had to quit caring.

He grinned, "Why, Miss. Stuart, do you think there'll be enough there to

keep me occupied all night?"

"I imagine, Lieutenant, that that is entirely up to you. Do what you

feel you must."

She turned her back on him as quickly as she could. He was a free man,

she thought furiously. He could do whatever he wanted to do, drink

himself silly, consort with whores, gamble his life away. He sure as

hell wasn't going to do it on her property, though!

He was going to do it, though. He didn't even enter the house, but

turned and rode away. Tess tried very hard to look back, not to let

anyone see that her eyes had misted with her are and frustration.

Damned Yank. Damned Yank.

"It's a nice place you've got here," Jon complimented as they entered

the house.

"Beautiful!" Dolly exclaimed.

It wasn't exactly beautiful, Tess thought. But it was nice, and it was

livable, too. The parlor into which they entered was vast, and it was

combined with a big dining room that held a heavy carved Mexican table

that could seat fourteen for dinner. To the left of the dining area,

against the rear wall, was the broad staircase that led to the second

floor.

Nearer the door was Joe's desk, on a dais, perched on a cow skin. His

large wing-chair was behind it, and two heavy leather chairs were

situated before it. There was a spittoon in the corner for those who

felt they absolutely must chew tobacco. In the center of the room, on a

beautiful hooked rug, was a. large, soft, brown leather sofa. It sat

next to the fire, with matching chairs across from it and occasional

tables beside it. There were bright Indian flower vases on the tables.

There were flowers in the vases, and Tess smiled. Hank and Jane had kept

up, no matter what.

"Well!" Dolly said.

"Now this is nice! Tess, where would you like us to stay?"

"Oh!" She had forgotten that even though Jamie Slater had ridden away

the moment they arrived, she had other guests to attend to.

"I'msorry. Upstairs, Dolly. Hank, we can wait a while on the other

things, but let's bring up Dolly's trunks. Come up, please!" She urged

Dolly and Jon forward.

When they reached the second-story landing, they looked down a long

hallway with doors on either side and a big-paned window with velvet

draperies at the end.

"There are eight rooms up here," she murmured.

"We shouldn't be wanting."

Jane, who had followed her up the stairs, cleared her throat softly.

"Tess, your room is aired, and Joe's room is 123 aired, and I just

happened to air the back two, but I haven't touched the others yet. I

was getting around to them, but then when we heard ... When we heard

that both you and Joe ... Nothing seemed to make much sense anymore."

"That's all right," Tess said.

"But we'll nee~l linens and all for Mrs. Simmons and Mr. Red Feather.

Can you see to that? We'll put them in those two rooms you aired."

"What about the lieutenant?"

"I believe he's staying in town. And should he wander back, well, he can

wander into the barn."

Jon made a choking sound, then laughed. Dolly gave a little gasp.

Tess didn't care. She walked grandly down the hall.

"Dolly, this room here is more appropriate for a lady, I think.

There's a big dressing table in here, and the light is wonderful in the

morning."

"It is just wonderful!" Dolly said delightedly.

"I love it!" She caught Tess's cheeks between her plump hands and gave

her a kiss on the cheek.

"I am so glad I came. And don't you dare wait on me. I'm here to help.

Jane, you run along and get linens, and I'll get this bed made up, and

then you show me around the house and tell me what I can do!"

' "Dolly, you don't have to do anything but rest. It's been a long trip

" You hush, dear. I'm going to get to know my room!" She stepped inside,

closing the door. Jane hurried down the hall to the little'

linen-storage room.

Tess smiled wryly at Jon.

"She's wonderful, isn't she?"

"Dolly? Yes, she's a wonder."

"I didn't really give her the best room, Jon, both these rooms are big

and have beautiful views. I think you'll be just as happy over here. The

bed is large and firm, and it's very airy."

"I'll be quite comfortable wherever you put me," he sured her.

Smiling, he looked into the room, then backed out again.

"I'll go help Hank with the trunks."

"If you're tired"

"Tess, do I look tired? If yon Heusen is coming back tonight, we want to

look settled in, don't we?"

"It's interesting that you should feel that way. Apparently the

lieutenant wasn't very worried."

"Don't underestimate him, Tess. He knows what he's doing."

"You would defend him no matter what, wouldn't you?"

"Because I know him," Jon said quietly, and he stepped past her, down

the hall and down the stairs. She'd best get moving herself, Tess

decided.

She turned and hurried down the hallway in Jon's wake. While the men

unloaded the wagon, she could see to the horses and the mules.

Then she'd have to find out how many of the ranch hands had stayed

around once they'd heard that von Heusen would be taking over.

And then she'd have to wait. for von Heusen himself.

The town of Wiltshire was not a little hole-in the-wall, Jamie decided

as he rode down the main street. It was really quite sophisticated, with

rows and rows of Victorian houses with their cupolas and gingerbread

lining the roads that ran off the main street. Along the main street

were any number of businesses--two different mercantiles, a barbershop,

a corset shop, a men's wear shop, a cooper, a photographer, a mortician,

a pharmacy, a doctor, two lawyers, a boardinghouse for young ladies and

an inn that boasted a sign, "Perry McCarthy's Shady Rest Hotel--Stop

Here and Dine! We've a Restaurant for Any Respectable Traveler,

Gentleman, Lady or Child."

He wondered how well Perry McCarthy was doing. The streets were very

quiet.

In front of the barbershop a few men sat around and puffed on pipes.

One was missing an arm, another was minus his left foot. A pair of

crutches leaned against the wall behind him.

The men looked at Jamie as he rode by. The 125 war, Jamie thought. These

men had fought in the war.

Southerners, like he'd been. Even if Miss. Stuart was insisting upon

calling him a Yank. Well, he was a Yank. Hell, they were all Yanks now.

Because the damn Yanks had won the war.

"Howdy," he called out to the group.

The fellow with the stump for an arm nodded.

"Stranger in these parts, aren't you, mister."

"Yes, sir, I am. But it seems to be a nice enough place."

"Used to be," the man minus the foot said, spitting on the ground.

"Used to be. But then the varmints started coming in and taking over.

You know how that is. You don't hail from these parts, but I don't think

that's any Chicago accent you got on you, boy. Where you from?"

"Missouri," Jamie said.

"Missouri," the footless man repeated. He stroked his graying beard with

a smile and settled back.

"Well, now, I hope you stay a while."

"I was planning on it. I thought I'd buy some land."

"Don't think you're going to be able to, not good land.

Oh, there's some land up to the north for sale, but it's pure desert.

You don't want that, boy."

"Well, I'll look around. I heard that Joe Stuart was killed. Maybe I can

get my hands on some of his land."

The man without the arm was up in a minute.

"Don't you go looking around to be a vulture after Joe's place. You'll

wind up dead yourself, young man."

"Maybe you'd better shut up, Carter," the other fellow muttered.

Jamie leaned down, smiling.

"Fellows, Joe's niece is alive and well and kicking, I can tell you."

"Miss. Tess!" The one named Carter gasped with pleasure.

"Why, that's the best news I've heard since '61! You telling the truth

there, boy?"

"Sir, I'm over thirty," Jamie politely told him.

"And I think I count. double time for the war, my friends, so that makes

me pretty darned old, and nobody's boy."

"Sorry there, Carter and me, we didn't mean to offend."

"No offense taken. My name is Jamie Slater. I'm look- hag to buy land.

You hear of anything, you let me know."

"We'll do that. But you aren't going to get the Smart ranch. Von Heusen

wants that. He wants it bad."

"But he doesn't want that other land. That's interesting," Jamie mused.

"Hope you stay a while," Carter said.

"Thanks. I intend to."

"My name's Jeremiah Miller, you need any more information, bo--young

man, you look me up. Hell, anybody younger'n me is a boy, son!"

Jamie laughed and urged his mount on. He could see the saloon ahead.

He reined in before it, tossed his reins over the tethering bar and

entered through the swinging doors. He paused for a minute, letting his

eyes adjust to the dimness and the smoke. There was a piano player in

the rear. A singer with a short mauve shirt that barely covered rich

black petticoats and stockings perched on the piano. Her voice was as

smoky as the atmosphere.

There was a bar to his right, running the length of the establishment.

Two heavyset bartenders ha white aprons leaned against the mahogany bar

talking to customers. There were a number of patrons at the twenty or so

tables in the place. Some were well-dressed small-town merchants, others

were ranch men, wearing denim pants and spurs and tall, dusty hats.

Their spurred boots were sometimes up on chairs or tables. It was a lazy

crowd, it seemed, an interesting one.

The crowd went silent the minute Jamie entered the room. The singer

forgot the lyrics to her song. The piano player swung around and stared,

too.

"Howdy," Jamie said casually.

People stared. Then the brunette hopped off the piano and walked

forward.

"Hello, there," she said, frowning at the others, offering Jamie a broad

smile.

"What's the matter with you all! We've a stranger in town. Let's not

make him think we haven't a single wit of manners between the lot of

us!"

"Sure thing, Sherry, honey? one of the cowboys called out. He let his

feet fall to the floor.

"Howdy, there, stranger.

Welcome to Wiltshire. We ain't rude. We're just surprised. Strangers

just don't come here very often very more." "Why is that?" Jamie asked.

The cowboy shrugged, but not before looking around the room. In one

corner, a few men in suits were playing cards.

"It ain't a good gamble, that's why," a tall, thin man with heavy

iron-gray whiskers called out.

"But you're here now, so come on in. Hardy!" He called to the bartender.

"Give the stranger a whiskey, on me." "Thank you kindly," Jamie said. He

strode into the room. Sherry brought his whiskey. He sat across from the

man who had invited him, next to a small, nervous man with wir~rimmed

spectacles.

"My haree's Edward Clancy," the bewhiskered man said, offering Jamie a

hand.

"I'm the editor of the Wiltshire Sun."

Jamie nearly betrayed his surprise. He kept a firm smile plastered to

his face.

"The Sun, huh? The newspaper?" "The gossip rag," the man said flatly.

"That's all I dare print, and I'm careful about that. Oh, well, I write

up some articles about President Grant and about the Indians. But not

much else."

"Why?"

'"Cause I like living," Edward Clancy said flatly.

"We're playing poker. You in?"

Jamie pushed back his hair and reached into his pocket for money.

"Sure, I'm in. I like to gamble."

"Then you're in the right town, mister. You're surely in the right towm

What's your name?"

"Jamie. Jamie Slater."

Clancy smiled slowly.

"I've heard of you. You're one of the Slater brothers. Why, I heard that

you can hit a fly in the clouds with that " Rumor," Jamie interrupted

him.

"Rumor, that's something I'd just as soon keep quiet for the time

being."

"It's quiet. It's quiet." Clancy stared at him hard, then grinned again.

"That's Dec Martin. He was one of Joe Stuart's best friends. We'll keep

things quiet. Whatever you say."

"Thanks."

"We'll help you any way that we can," Dec volunteered. "Information is

what I need now," Jamie said, leaning closer.

"Why does this yon Heusen want the Stuart property so damn bad?"

"You know, we haven't figured that one out yet. We just haven't figured

it out. But he does want it badly."

"Badly enough to kill?"

"Hell, yes, I think so. Why, if the Indians hadn't gotten old Joe ..."

His voice trailed away as he stared at Jamie.

"It wasn't a tribe of Indians that came after him, was it?"

"Not according to Tess."

"Tess! She's alive!"

Jamie nodded. The look of pure, unadulterated joy on the man's face was

somewhat irritating. The sun-honey blond seemed to be a golden angel

around these parts. Edward Clancy leaned so far across the table that he

was nearly on top of it. His voice was soft; his features were knotted

up and tense.

"If Tess says it was von Heusen, it was von Heusen all right. Are

you--are you going to stay around and fight him?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

He didn't guess so. He was committed, and he knew it. He had been

committed since he'd first seen Tess's face.

He just hadn't known it right away.

"Hell! Don't look now," Dec muttered suddenly. "What?" Jamie demanded.

"Some of von Heusen's boys. The four fellows who just came in. The

mean-looking ones."

They were a mean-looking group, Jamie decided. Lanky- haired,

glitter-eyed.

Two were light, two were dark-haired.

One chewed tobacco incessantly.

The dark-haired man who chewed tobacco seemed to be the spokesman for

the group. He slammed his fist on the bar, rattling all the glasses on

it. He shouted to the bartender, who couldn't seem to move swiftly

enough to the end of the bar.

"Hardy! What's the matter with you, ya getting' old?" one of the men

demanded.

"Whiskey. And not the rotgut you serve the local swine. Give us the best

in the house." Hardy set a bottle on the bar. The man grasped him by the

shirt collar and nearly pulled him over the bar. Hardy was starting to

turn purple, and his attacker was laughing like a hyena.

"That's enough."

Jamie was on his feet. Once again, everyone went silent. Von Heusen's

men were silent, too. The four of them stared at him with astonishment.

Then they began to smile. "Who the hell are you?" asked the dark-haired

brute.

"That doesn't matter. Let Hardy alone."

"Why, son, you don't know anything about this town at all, now, do you?"

"Let him go," Jamie repeated.

"He needs to be taught a lesson," one of the light-haired men said with

a nasty snarl.

"Yeah. A fatal lesson."

In a flash, the man released the bartender. He drew his gun.

He was fast, but not fast enough. Before he could aim he had dropped the

gun, howling in pain. His friends tried to draw.

Rapid shots sizzled from Jamie's Colts. The second man was on the floor,

clutching his leg. The third grasped an arm. The fourth was on the

floor.

He might have been dead. Jamie didn't know or care.

He looked at Edward Clancy.

"Thanks for the drink, friend," he said quietly.

Then he left the bar, walking over his fallen enemies.

Chapter Seven.

By nightfall the wagon had been unloaded except for the printing press,

which would be taken into town in the morning. Tess had even managed to

fill the hip bath in the kitchen with steaming water and soak for a long

time, washing away the dust and dirt from the trail. She kept reminding

herself that von Heusen was coming back, but she felt strangely calm,

despite the fact that Jamie had deserted them.

Von Heusen wasn't going to come right up to the house and murder her. He

hadn't the guts for that. She dressed in a soft summer-green cotton and

set about making dinner with Jane and Dolly to help her. She was

accustomed to Jane, but it was really nice to have Dolly with her. Dolly

kept up a steady stream of conversation, mostly about her husband, Will,

and their days in the military. Her stories were spicy and fun, and Tess

enjoyed them thoroughly.

They cooked a huge wild turkey on a spit and summer squash and green

beans and apple turnovers. When the table was set and everything was

ready, Tess went out to find Jon.

He was leaning against a pillar, a band tied around his dark hair and

forehead, a repeating carbine held casually in his hand. He looked over

the landscape. "Dinner's on, Jon."

He glanced her way, smiling.

"Thanks, Tess, but I think I'll wait out here a while longer, keep an

eye on things."

"It's turkey and all kinds of good things. I'd like to repay you for the

trip."

I'll eat soon," he promised. She nodded and left him. Halfway inside the

house she paused, wondering if he was looking for yon Heusen or Jamie.

She hoped Jamie was eating stale, weevil-fiddled bread somewhere.

She'had a feeling, though, that he was not.

She walked into the house and to the dining-room table. Hank had come

in, and he was smiling.

"The boys are out at the bunkhouse and they're pleased as peaches that

you're home, Miss. Tess. Well, them that's left. We've still got Roddy

Morris, Sandy Harrison and Bill McDowell. They won't be going anywhere."

"Wonderful!" Tess told him.

"Bring the boys in for dinner, will you, Hank?"

"They're already fixing. their suppers in the bunkhouse, Tess. We'll

have a big Sunday dinner for them all, that's what we'll do."

"Fine. That sounds good, Hank. Now, let's all sit." Dolly offered to say

grace. She thanked God for His bounty, for their being alive and being

together, then she asked God to take a good look at their enemies and

see if He couldn't do something to put bad men in their proper place.

"Amen," she finished.

"Amen," they all chorused.

Tess was about to take her first bite of dinner when she heard the

sounds of horses' hooves. She set down her fork.

How many of them had come with yon Heusen? It sounded like five, r! o

more.

"Excuse me," she said primly, setting her napkin carefully on the table

and rising casually. It didn't matter. Dolly, Hank and Jane all

catapulted to their feet, and they attached themselves to her like

shadows as she walked to the door. She could hear voices before she

reached it. Jon's first.

"That's close enough, fellows. Close enough."

"It's an Injun!" "I said close enough."

Someone must have moved. A barrage of shots went off, followed by a

startled silence.

Then yon Heusen started to talk.

"Hold it, boys, hold your fire! I've just come to talk to Hank and Jane

about removing themselves from the prop" There no need for them to

gemove themselves from the property," Jori said.

"This is private property, and the owner seems to want them here. One

step nearer, boy," he warned someone, "and there'll be a hole in your

chest where your heart used to be."

"Who in the blazes are you!" von Heusen thundered, losing his control.

"A friend."

"A friend! Well, listen here, you red-faced monkey. The Smarts are dead.

They were attacked by Comanche or " Apache?" Jon interrupted. She could

hear something cold and dangerous in his voice.

"Tell me, which Apache?

Which Apache do you think did it? Or don't you know? I'll tell you, I'm

damned sure it wasn't any Apache. Apache, any Apache, make war, or they

go raiding. They make war to 'take death from their enemies." They raid

to fill their bellies. I haven't met an Apache yet who would leave dead

cattle scattered with the corpses of men."

"Who the hell knows or cares what Apache!" von Heusen thundered.

"It doesn't matter. Maybe it was Comanche" -- "Running River denies it."

"There are more tribes of Comanche!" "Yes, there are," Jon said softly.

"But the Comanche know what doin too.

it to man.

"Of course, the whites have been scalping for a long time now. I read

somewhere that they started scalping way back in the east in the sixteen

hundreds. But still. White men in a hurry do a sloppy job. Neither a

Comanche nor an Apache would do a sloppy job. No matter what his hurry."

"Takes an Inj un to know I" someone muttered.

"Maybe we ought to string him up. Who knows? Maybe he's some renegade in

charge of the party that did it himself!" von Heusen said.

"Let's hang him!"

"Let's see you try!" Jon said very softly. "Hold it! Hold it!" von

Heusen said.

"Now listen, Joe Smart and his family are dead. And this property is'

going to go up for public auction. Now I have" -- Tess had taken his

statement as her cue. She threw open the door and stepped onto the porch

behind Jon.

"Correction, von Heusen. I am not dead."

Even in the dusky light that sifted down from the moon and the stars,

Tess could see the startled look that flashed briefly across yon

Heusen's features.

He was a lean man, tall, spare. His features were almost cadaverous, his

cheekbones sucked in, his chin very long and pointed. His eyes were coal

black, and they seemed to burn from his skull. He sat atop his horse

well, though. Jon had his repeating rifle aimed right at his heart, and

von Heusen still sat casually, his hands draped over the pommel.

Around him were four of his men. He had about twenty hired guns on his

place. Only four of them were with him.

Tess didn't like it. He usually paid his visits with an escort of at

least eight to ten.

It made her wonder where the rest of his men might be. Von Heusen found

his voice at last.

"Why, Miss. Smart.

I am delighted to see you alive and well."

" Like hell you are, von Heusen.

"That's uncalled for, ma'am."

"Be damned, you carpetbagging riffraff, but it is."

"Someone ought to wash your mouth out with a little soap, lady. I just

came by" -- "You just came by to rob Joe of everything he ever had, now

that you've murdered him!"

"You watch your accusation there, Miss. Stuart."

"It's the truth. You know it, and I know it. And somehow, I'm going to

prove it!"

Von Heusen was smiling.

"I don't think so, little lady. No, I don't think so. You want to know

what I do think?" He leaned toward her. It was just a fraction of an

inch and he was still far away, but the gesture made her tremble inside.

"I think that this ranch was meant to be mine, Miss. Stuart. Now I've

offered you good money for it. Real good money.

And you still don't want to sell. Miss. Stuart, I want you out of town."

"I'm not leaving."

"I wouldn't be so adamant, little lady. You may find that you leave in

one way or another."

"You threatening her, von Heusen?" Jori asked. "She seems to think that

I'm guilty of something," von Heusen said.

"The whole damned town can tell you that I was in the saloon playing

cards the day the Indians attacked the Stuart train. The whole damned

town can tell you that. But still, if the lady is so worried and so

certain, well then, maybe she ought to plan on riding out of town. What

do you think?"

"I think that you should give reasonable thought to the idea of riding

out of town yourself, yon Heusen," Jon warned quietly.

Von Heusen started to laugh.

"On the word of a half- breed Indian?"

He started to Urge his mount closer to the porch. Jori fired a shot that

must have sizzled a hairbreadth from the man's cheek. Von Heusen went as

pale as the clouds. boss"-- one of Von Heusen lifted a hand.

"Calm down now, boys. Just because Miss. Stuart's resorting to violence

is no reason that we should. We'll be riding off now. But you remember

what I said, Miss. Stuart. I'd hate to see you leaving town other than

all dressed up right pretty and in a comfortable stagecoach!" He smiled

at her.

"It is good to see you alive and well. Such a pretty, pretty woman. And

all that blond hair. Blond hair alone is worth a pretty penny in certain

places, did you know that?"

He stared at Tess. As he did so, she suddenly realized that she could

smell smoke.

Suddenly she knew where the rest of yon Heusen's men were. The smoke was

coming from the direction of the card age house. The printing press was

in the wagon still, and the wagon was next to the buckboard and the

chaise in the carriage house.

And so far, it had been a dry summer. If the carriage house went up in

flames, the blaze could quickly spread to the house, to the barn, even

to the stables. Von Heusen was smiling.

"You bastard!" she hissed at him. Jon hadn't moved; he didn't dare.

If he moved the rifle a hair yon Heusen just might decide to take

advantage and shoot them all down. They stood there, locked in the

moment, yon Heusen staring at Tess with a smile, Tess staring at him,

hating him so fiercely that she should have been able to have willed him

dead. It was lost now.

All lost. The house, Joe's house. The press.

It didn't even seem to bother yon Heusen that he would slaughter all the

horses.

Then suddenly, in the midst of yon Heusen's triumph and her own despair,

a commotion sounded from the direction of the carriage house. There was

still smoke issuing from it--no sign of fire yet.

But men suddenly spilled out of it. Four of them, their hands held high

above their heads. They nearly tripped as they walked, for someone had

apparently ordered them to lower their breeches, and their pants were

tight around their ankles.

Three of them wore long johns; the fourth must have been buck naked.

Tess only caught a glimpse of his bare legs, as he managed to stay

behind the other three.

"Tarnation!" yon Heusen swore.

"You fools! What in bloody hell is going on" -- He broke off and never

finished his question. From the smoke of the carriage house, another man

appeared.

Tess felt her heart catch.

It was Jamie. He had a single gun trained on the men and he followed

them out with the casual air yon Heusen had had.

The men kept walking forward. The half-naked one paused, and Jamie

nudged him forward.

"Ladies, do excuse me," Jamie apologized, "but they seemed to be a

little more docile and trustworthy in this fashion."

"I'll kill you yet!" one of them muttered. "Well, I don't doubt that you

intend to try," Jamie assured him. Then he stared at the men still

mounted upon their horses.

"Which one of you is yon Heusen?"

"I am Richard von Heusen. Who the hell are you?"

"Jamie Slater. But that doesn't matter. What does matter is that I own

part of this spread now. And I'll thank you kindly to keep yourself and

your half-sawed ruffians off my property, is that understood?"

"Your property" -- yon Heusen began.

"My property, yes. Now, take your arsonist friends here and move."

"You must be mistaken. Why would my men set fire to anything here?"

"Who knows why? But that was what they were doing. Ordinarily, of

course, I'd want to get to know my new neighbors. But since you and the

Stuarts don't seem to be very good friends, I really don't think you

should stay. I bet dinner is on. Tess, is dinner on?"

"yes!"

"Something good?"

His eyes touched hers across the dusky night. She nodded, fighting for

speech.

"Turkey. Dressing. Squash. All sorts of things."

"And getting cold. I do declare. Gentlemen, good night," Jamie said

firmly.

He prodded the men.

"Move 'em, now, von Heusen, or they'll start turning into corpses."

"We're nine to one, you fool" -- "Nine to two. See my friend there? He

could hit the hair in a man's nose at a thousand yards, and he's faster

than greased lightning. You're out manned and outnumbered, you just

don't know it yet." "We'll see about that," von Heusen said angrily.

"Get those half-naked idiots up on your horses!" he ordered his mounted

men.

He jerked his mount around to face Tess and pointed a long finger at

her.

"You'll pay for this, Miss. Stuart. You'll pay dearly. I promise you."

He swung around again, and his men followed. They raced off into the

darkness, the horses' hooves pounding on the dry earth.

Silence and stillness fell over the small group on the porch. Jon Red

Feather slowly lowered his rifle. He stared at Jamie.

"What the hell took you so long?"

"Well, there were four of them in the carriage house!"

Jamie announced indignantly. He strode up the stairs. Tess was still

staring at him blankly when he tweaked her cheek and walked past her.

She managed to turn and follow him. He walked over't the table and sat,

then pulled off a turkey leg and bit into it hungrily. Looking up, he

saw Tess staring at him, Dolly and Jane on either side of her, and Jon

and Hank on either side of the women. He paused in mid bite

"Do you all mind?"

Tess stood in front of him.

"Where did you go? How did you happen to come back right then?"

He chewed before answering her.

"I left the saloon as soon as I met a few friendly people--and a few not

so friendly people. I knew he was coming out here. I didn't know he

intended to burn you out." He paused, looking past Tess to Jon.

"Seems strange, doesn't it? The man wants this property, but he doesn't

seem to care if he destroys it.

Makes you think, doesn't it?"

"Sure does."

"Makes you think what?" Tess asked irritably. "Tess, think about it.

It needs a little paint, a little shoring up here and there--but this is

a darned nice house. Solid, sound, big.

Then you've got the outbuildings, the carriages--and the horses. I

haven't seen enough to really make an estimate on the value of the

stock, but I imagine that we're talking hundreds and hundreds of dollars

in horseflesh alone.

And von Heusen doesn't care. He wants the property, but he doesn't care

if he burns it to the ground."

" He's a vile son of a bitch, that's why!" Tess stated.

"Well, yes," Jamie acknowledged with a wry grin.

"But there's more to it than that, I think."

Dolly took a seat at the table again and spooned up a mouthful of

squash.

"Vile, certainly! Why, our dinner has gone quite cold!"

"That's the spirit, Dolly," Jamie told her.

"Jori, sit. The turkey may be cold, but it's delicious."

"That's it?" Tess demanded heatedly.

"What do you mean, that's it?"

"Where did you go? What were you doing? You were supposed to be here!"

"Jon was here," Jamie said evenly.

"But" -- Jamie was buttering a roll. Jane and Hank and Jon sat and

picked up their forks. Jamie's butter knife went still and his eyes were

slightly narrowed as he stared at her.

"Miss. Stuart, I don't like the tone of this conversation. I came back

in time to save your hide."

"You wouldn't have had to rush back if you'd been here--where you should

have been! You want to be paid so highly, and you can't even stick

around!" He stood suddenly. His knife clattered against a dish.

"I

don't argue like this in front of others, Miss. Stuart."

" There is no argument!" she snapped.

"No, there isn't. I'll make it simple. Wherever I choose to go is my own

business, Miss. Stuart. You are not my keeper. And as to payment, hell,

yes.

Tomorrow we'll go into town and you'll turn over half interest in this

place to me."

She gasped aloud, stunned.

"Jamie, she doesn't understand what you're doing," Jon said, ignoring

the rising tensions and reaching for a roll himself.

"If you just explained" -- "Explained! Hell, I feel as if I'm up before

the judge and jury!"

"Judge and jury! I really don't give a damn what you do with your time,

but"

"You begged me to come here, Tess."

"Begged!"

"Begged!"

"Oh!" she cried. Then she wound her fingers tightly together.

"I don't argue in public either, Lieutenant!" she snapped. She was

shaking, she realized. She'd been so damned amazed and grateful to see

him, but she'd also been scared, and now she was furious and shaking and

she wasn't even sure what she did want. She turned, having no taste left

for dinner.

Angrily she began to stride for the door. "Tess!" He was on his feet,

calling to her. He really expected her to stop because he had commanded

her to. She didn't stop, she didn't turn, she didn't even pause. She

sailed straight for the front door. She would go to the carriage house

to make sure the fire von Heusen's men had started had been stamped out.

"Jamie, give her a minute," Dolly suggested.

"The hell I will!" Jamie snapped.

Before Tess heard the door slam in her wake, she thought she heard

Jamie's chair hit the floor as he pushed it over.

She started running toward the carriage house, anxious to reach it

before he could see her. She was at the side door when she heard the

front door to the house slam. She slipped into the eaniage house. She

inhaled and exhaled, but couldn't smell any smoke. All she could smell

was the fresh scent of the alfalfa hay that was being stored behind the

chaise.

She fumbled in the darkness to light the gas lamp by the door. When the

glow filled the carriage house, she went to check the wagon and the

printing press. She crawled into the wagon and gave a soft sigh of

relief as she saw that the printing press was fine. She sank down on one

of the bunks. "Tess!

Where are you!"

Jamie was obviously angry. She clenched her teeth and tried to ignore

him.

She stepped from the wagon and went to the buckboard. No flames had

lapped against it. The chaise, too, seemed untouched. Walking around,

she discovered a half burned bale of hay. It had been dragged into the

center of the room and lit. Von Heusen had meant it to be a slow fire.

He had really meant to be long gone when the place burned.

She moved away from the hay and from the faint, acrid smell of fire that

remained.

"Tess!"

He was still calling her, like a drill sergeant. With a sigh she

determined that she would have to open the door, but she hesitated with

her hand upon it. Where had he been? He'd been gone for hours. Had he

really enjoyed the saloon so much? What part of the saloon?

And why was she torturing herself so thoroughly over him? She couldn't

change the man.

The before twist the With a back.

was hat less, his shirt open at the neck, his hands on his hips, his

sandy hair tousled casually over a brow, but his manner anything but

casual.

"Why didn't you answer me?" he demanded. "Because I didn't want to speak

to you."

"It didn't occur to you that I might have been worried?"

"I could have been in and out of the carriage house all evening, and you

wouldn't have known. What, I'm supposed to be on a ball and chain if

you're around? But if you're not, it doesn't matter?"

She saw his jaw twist and a pulse tick hard against his throat.

"That's about it, yes. Think you can live with the niles?"

"No!"

"Then I'm leaving."

"what?"

"You heard me."

"But--'," In astonishment she stared at him. She inhaled sharply. She

couldn't let him leave her. She couldn't!

But she thought he wouldn't go. He just wanted to see her beg.

"Leave," she told him. She'd call his bluff, she determined.

He turned and reached for the door. She thought quickly and desperately,

then said,

"I thought you liked the property.

And the house, and the horses. And I thought you wanted half of

everything.

If you want it, you have to earn it."

He swung around. A smile curled his lip as he leaned against the door.

"You just can't say please, can you?"

"It isn't that! My God, this isn't fair! You want thousands of dollars

worth of property" -- "If yon Heusen has his way, there won't be any

property."

"But you're unfair!"

"Because I went to the saloon?"

"Because you weren't here!"

"But I was here. I was here exactly when you needed me." He walked

toward her. She took a step back and tripped over the pile of half

burned hay. He kept coming, and she reached out a hand, expecting he

would help her up. He didn't.

He dropped down, half on top of her and half beside her, his arms braced

over her chest so that she couldn't move.

Gray eyes looked into hers. He'd had a shave in town, she thought.

HIS cheeks were clean, and he smelled slightly of a cologne. He smelled

good all over, like good clean soap and like a man. He'd had a bath,

too, she realized, and her temper soared again. He had stayed at the

saloon. He'd had a drink and a bath and maybe a meal and. Maybe a woman.

"Get off of me, Yank!" she said angrily. The smoke left his eyes. He

stared at her with a gaze of cold steel. He leaned closer. So close that

their faces nearly touched. The heat of his body was all around her, and

she forgot everything, afraid, excited, wanting to ere ape him and run.

And wanting to know more of him.

"You're hurting me," she began.

"No, I'm not," he corrected her flatly.

"And I'm not moving a hair, because I really want your attention. Now

listen. I can go, or I can stay. The choice is yours. But if I stay, we

do things my way. I'll try to explain. I'm not desperate for land,

cattle, a house or money. I've done all right myself, thanks, despite

the war, despite everything. But tomorrow, you're going to turn over

half of this place to me on legal papers.

That way you may have a chance of keeping it. Pay attention. You're a

smart girl, Tess. Von Heusen thought that all he had to do was kill you

and your uncle and he could have this place. You have no next of kin.

But dadin', I've got plenty. I've got brothers, nieces and nephews.

It would take yon Heusen years to find them all if he did manage to kill

both of us. That might give him some serious pause. Do you understand?"

Staring at him, Tess simply nodded. He was right, and every word he was

saying made such perfect sense. And she wanted to be sensible. She

wanted to be dignified, grateful, strong.

She wanted to be able to fight her battles, but she could not fight

alone.

If only she didn't want him as a man, if only she didn't grow jealous

and angry so quickly. And yet. he still had that haunting aroma. His

flesh would be slick and clean, and she wanted to know how the warmth

would feel beneath her tongue.

The way he lay against her, she felt the thunder of his heart, and her

own, and the beats seemed to rise together, and fall away, and rise

together again, quick, wild, rampant. She felt his breath against her

cheeks, and the iron lock of his thigh upon her own. She wanted to reach

out and run her fingers through the sandy tendrils of hair that fell so

hauntingly over his forehead, and so often shadowed and shaded his eyes,

and hid his innermost thoughts.

"Yes? You do understand?"

"Yes!" she cried out.

"And it all makes sense to you? You'll do what I'm asking you to do?"

"Yes. We'll go into town. As soon as I've stopped by the paper"

"Before."

"What difference does it make?"

"Maybe none. But the sooner von Heusen hears about this, the better

things are going to be."

"Fine!" She was nearly screaming again. She was close to tears because

she was desperate to escape him and the sensual blanketing of his body

upon hers.

"Please, let me up!"

He rolled to his side, and she was free.

"You do sound more like him every day, though," she muttered heedlessly,

lpache Summer 145 rolling from him to rise and dust the hay from her

gown.

"Carpetbagging Yanks, all of" -- "That's another thing we're going to

get straight here once and for all!" he stated. Before she could flee as

she had intended, his arm snaked around her, and she was tumbling into

the hay again. He straddled her, and his hands pinned her down.

"I'm not a Yank. I'm all.S. Cavalry of- ricer now, Miss. Stuart, but I

was born and bred in Missouri and I fought with Morgan for many long

years in the war. As a Reb, Tess. Got that straight? Don't you ever go

calling me a carpetbagging Yank again, and so help me God, I mean that!

Understand?"

She stared at him blankly. She had called him a Yank a dozen times, and

only now was he telling her the truth.

"Tess!"

"Yes!" she cried. She tore at her wrists and freed them from his grasp,

then shoved him as hard as she could. He didn't move.

"Either Jon or I should know where you are at all times.

All right?"

"No hiding in barns or carriage houses."

"I wasn't hiding! I was trying to make sure the fire was really out."

"I wouldn't have walked out of here without making sure the fire was

out."

"Maybe I needed to see for myself. The printing press is in here."

"That damned press! It's everything to you."

"Yes! The paper does mean everything! It's the only means I have to tell

the truth!"

He was silent for a moment. Then he moved slowly to his feet and reached

down for her. She tried to ignore his helping hands, but they were

quickly upon her. He stood her up, but he wasn't ready to release her

yet.

"I know what I'm doin [."

She inhaled the scent of him.

"I do imagine that you do, Lieutenant ."

"What does that mean?"

"You've had a nice bath, so it seems."

"And a shave."

"May I go now?"

He was smiling again.

"Jealous little thing, aren't you?"

"Why should I be? I had a wonderfully pleasant afternoon with Mr. Red

Feather. He's extremely well read and well traveled."

Jamie's eyes darkened and narrowed. For an instant she hated herself;

she had no right to want to cause trouble between the friends. But she

seemed driven to try and make Jamie angry.

And then it hit her like a bolt from the blue. She was falling in love

with Jamie!

No! I am not in love with him, she thought in dismay. But maybe she was.

She wanted him. In ways she had never imagined a woman would ever want a

man. "It's important," Jamie repeated softly, "that Jon or I know where

you are at all times. Did we get that one down yet?"

"Yes, thank you, I think we did. But since I do seem to get along much

better with Jori, don't you think I should report to him, Lieutenant?"

She twisted free and saluted stiffly.

He caught her shoulders and pulled her back.

"You're a minx, Tess. A tart-mouthed little m'mx with siren's eyes and

the longest claws this side of the Mississippi."

"Lieutenant, you're" -- "I'm not a Yank, or a carpetbagger, Tess, and so

help m ~"

"You're about to crush my shoulder blades, Lieutenant," she said as

regally as she could manage.

"Oh." He released her.

"Do excuse me."

"I try, Lieutenant. Daily. Hourly." She started for the door.

"Tess?"

She didn't turn.

"I could have made you beg, you know?"

She spun around. He was laughing. She raced forward in a sudden surge of

energy and butted him in the stomach.

Taken off guard, he fell into the singed hay. She didn't stay to hear

anything else he might have to say.

She raced from the carriage house and back to the house, not pausing

until she was inside. She leaned against the door, gasping for breath.

The dining table was clean. Jane came from the kitchen and paused when

she saw Tess.

"They've all gone to bed, Tess. Hank just went to the bunkhouse. Mr. Red

Feather suggested that the hands take a few hours apiece on a kind of a

guard duty. Roddy called in that big guard dog of his and he's going to

have the dog on the porch, once he sees the lieutenant and tells the dog

that the lieutenant is a friend. I was going to go to bed. It's been a

big day for me, Miss. Stuart. A real big day."

Her eyes rolled and Tess laughed. Impulsively she gave Jane a big hug.

It was a mistake. Jane looked as if she was going to start crying all

over again.

"I'm just so happy that you're alive!" she said.

"Thanks. And I'm happy to be home. Come on, let's go They walked up the

stairs together. Jane hugged Tess quickly and fiercely again and headed

toward her own room. Wearily Tess pushed open the door to her bedroom

and walked in.

Lighting the lamp at her bedside, she shed her clothing and dressed in a

soft blue flannel nightgown. She sat in front of her dressing table and

picked up the silver-embossed brush that had belonged to her mother. It

was good to be home.

She pulled all the pins out of her hair--and then all the little pieces

of hay that had stuck into it--and began to brush it. It fell down her

shoulders, long and free. She brushed it mechanically for several

minutes, staring at her reflection and not seeing a thing.

Jane had been fight. It had been a big day.

But yon Heusen had been beaten back. Between Jamie and Jon, he had been

beaten back. She never had told Jamie that she was grateful. Truly

grateful.

He never seemed to give her a chance to say thank you. He was on her

side, but it seemed that she was always fighting him. At first, she had

been fighting him to make him believe her. Now she was certain he

believed her.

He had met yon Heusen. He couldn't have any doubt that yon Heusen had

been responsible for the attack on the wagon train.

And now. Maybe she wasn't fighting him. Maybe she was fighting herself.

First it had been that darned Eliza. Tess had managed to walk away from

Eliza with her dignity intact, but she had heard Jamie speaking to the

woman.

No one can make me marry anyone.

No one can make me marry anyone. So he wasn't the marrying kind.

She was. She wanted a man, a good man. She hadn't had much time to think

about it, what with the war and then everything that had happened since.

But when she thought for a moment, she knew. She didn't want to be a

spinster.

The paper was important to her, and she wasn't just copublisher and a

reporter anymore, she was the only publisher.

She had to keep it alive. But she wanted more, too. She wanted a

husband, one she really loved, and one who loved her. And she wanted

children, and she wanted to give them a world that wasn't forever

tainted with the memories of conflict and death.

And she wanted Jamie Slater. She wasn't at all sure how the two things

intertwined-- they didn't intertwine at all, she admitted. She sighed.

She had to get by the present for the moment. She had to survive yon

Heusen.

She shivered suddenly, violently, remembering the way von Heusen had

threatened her. She would be getting out of town, he had told her. If

not by stagecoach, then by some other means.

What could he do to her? She wasn't alone. She had help now.

But to pay for it she was about to turn over half her property--half of

Uncle Joe's legacy to her--to Jamie Slater. If he chose, he could be her

neighbor all her life. She could watch him, and torture herself day

after day, wondefing who he rode away to see, wondering what it was like

when he took a woman into his arms.

She groaned and pushed away from the table. She couldn't solve a thing

tonight. She needed some sleep. She needed some sleep very badly.

She doused the light and crawled beneath the covers. It felt so good to

be in her own bed again. The sheets were cool and clean and

fresh-smelling, and her mattress was soft and firm, and it seemed to

caress her deliciously. A faint glow from the stars and the moon entered

the room gently. It kept everything in dark shadows, and yet she could

see the familiar shapes of her dressing table and her drawers and her

little mahogany secretary desk.

The breeze wafted her curtains. She closed her eyes. Perhaps she dozed

for a moment. Not much time could have passed, and yet she suddenly

became aware that nome thing was different. Her door had been thrust

open.

She wasn't alone.

Jamie was standing in the doorway, his hands on his hips, his body a

silhouette in the soft hazy moonbeams. There was nothing soft or gentle

about his stance, however. She could feel the anger that radiated from

him.

"All right, Tess, where's my room?"

His room?

"Oh!" she murmured.

"Your room ... well, I didn't think you were going to stay here."

Long strides brought him quickly across the room. She scrambled to a

sitting position as he towered over her.

"I

just spent two days riding with you to get here. I spent two nights

sleeping on the hard ground beneath the wagon."

"The hay in the barn is very soft."

"The hay in the barn is very soft," he repeated, staring at her. He

leaned closer.

"The hay in the barn is very soft? Is that what you said?" She felt his

closeness in the shadows even as she inhaled his clean, fascinating,

masculine scent.

His eyes seemed silver in the darkness, satanic. She was rid- died with

trembling, so keenly aware of him that it was astonishing.

"You don't have a room for me?" he demanded. "All right, I am sorry.

But you were gone, and we were all exhausted. And you did have a bath

somewhere. I just believed that you meant to sleep where you had

bathed."

He was still for a moment--dead still. Then he smiled. "Miss. Stuart,

move over."

"What?"

"Move over. If there's no room for me, then I'll sleep here."

"Of all the nerve!"

"Hush! We share this bed, or we sleep in the hay together," he warned

her.

He meant it! she thought, still incredulous. She started to rise, trying

to escape from the bed. He caught her arm and pulled her gently back.

"Where are you going?" he whispered.

"Where else! You're bigger than I am--I can't throw you out! I'm going

to the barn!"

"Wait."

"For what?" she demanded.

For what? Every pulse within her was alive and crying out. She felt him

with the length of her body, with her heart, with her soul, with her

womb.

He did not hold her against him. He caressed her. He was warm, and his

smile and the white flash of his teeth in the night were compelling and

hypnotic.

"I said that we'd go together," he told her. He swept her up, cocooned

in a tangle of sheet and quilt. He held her tightly against his body and

started for the door. Her arms wound around his neck. She stared at the

planes of his face and felt as if the soft magic of the moonbeams had

wrapped around her. She should have been screaming, protesting, bringing

down the house.

But she was not. Her fingers grazed his nape, and she felt absurdly

comfortable in his arms. He was dragging her out to the hay, she

thought, and she did not care.

Nor was there anything secretive or furtive about his action. He moved

with long strides and went down the stairway with little effort to be

quiet. He opened the front door, bracing her weight with one arm, then

let it close behind him. He stood on the porch and looked out into the

night. Then he stared at her, and she knew that she was smiling.

"Where am I heading?"

"I don't know."

"Where do the hands sleep?"

"In the bunkhouse, by the far barn."

"Then I want the first barn?" he demanded softly. She couldn't answer

him.

She wasn't sure what the question was. All she could think was that he

meant her to sleep in the hay.

She wasn't sure what else he meant for her to do there, but though she

was in his arms now, and though he carried her with a certain force, she

suddenly knew that what happened would be her choice. Still, he had

caught hold of something deep within her, and she wasn't angry.

She smiled again as she looked at him and told him primly, "You, sir,

are completely audacious." "Maybe," he said, and smiled in return. Then

it seemed they were locked there in the night, their eyes touching, and

something else touching maybe, with the tenderness of the laughter they

shared. Then the laughter faded.

He pulled her more tightly against him, higher within his arms. And as

she watched him, fascinated, in the glow of the moonbeams, his lips

parted upon hers, and the world seemed to explode as his kiss entered

into her.

Darkness swirled around her, and sensation took flight. She had to get

away from him. and quickly.

No. she had to stay. She was where she wanted to be. Exactly where she

wanted to be.

Chapter Eight.

He carried her, in the moonlit night, to the barn. He entered it and

laid her, in her cocoon of covers, in the rear of the building, where

soft alfalfa lay freed from its bales, ready to be tossed to the horses.

The smell of the hay was sweet, almost intoxicating.

He lay down beside her and brought the back of his hand against her

cheek, touching the length of it, as if he studied just her cheek and

found the form and texture both beautiful and fascinating. Then his

finger roamed over the damp fullness of her lip. He watched the movement

as he touched her, then his eyes met hers. She could still feel, in her

memo~j, in the pulse that seemed to beat throughout her, the touch of

his lips against hers. And yet when he kissed her again, though the feel

was poignant, she knew that he would move away when he did.

He lay back against the hay, staring at the rafters and the ceiling.

He groaned softly, then rolled suddenly, violently, to face her again.

He didn't touch her, but leaned on an elbow to stare at her

reproachfully.

"You couldn't have just arranged a room, for me, huh?"

"You couldn't have just stuck around for a while, huh?" ahe retorted.

He was ruining it, dissolving the moonbeams, destroying the moment she

had imagined and waited for.

He rolled on his back again.

"Go to your room," he told her.

"I had no right to drag you out here."

Tess leaped to her feet, her cheeks flaming, her body and soul in

torment.

She stared at him furiously.

"You have no right to do what you're doing now! To ruin everything!"

"To ruin everything?" He scowled.

"Tess! I'm trying damned hard to do the decent thing!" And she would

never know what an effort it was taking. He felt on fire, as if he

burned in a thousand hells. It had been all right before he touched her,

before he felt her lips parting beneath his.

Before he sensed her innocence and the sweet wildness beneath it, the

passion, the sensuality that simmered and swept beneath it all, that

promised heaven. She was different. He wasn't sure if he dared take her

all the way, because he knew it would mean fragile ties that might bind

him forever. He couldn't find a simple fascination in her beauty; it

would be more, and though he couldn't begin to define it, it was there.

He already slept with dreams of her haunting his mind; he never forgot

for a moment the way she had looked upon the rock, as naked as Eve, as

tempting as original sin.

"Tess, don't you see? I'm trying to let you go!" She paused, and it

seemed that she waited upon her toes, as if she would go or stay

according to the way the breeze came.

There was a curiously soft smile on her face, almost wistful, a look he

had seldom seen.

"What if I don't want to be let go?" she asked him very quietly, with a

breathless, melodic whisper. He wasn't sure he had really heard the

words.

Real or not, they ignited embers within him. He came to his feet and

looked at her across the small, shadowed distance that separated them.

He could almost reach out and touch her. If he did, he would be lost. If

he put his hands upon her now, he would never let her go.

"You have to make up your mind." He almost growled the words.

"No strings, no promises, no guarantees. You should run. You should run

from me just as fast as one of those thoroughbreds of yours."

"Why?"

She didn't move; she hadn't taken a step. There was a note of amusement

and challenge in her voice. Her chin was raised high; her eyes were

brilliant, nearly coal-black in the shadows. He forced himself to walk

around her, but that was a mistake. The moon was filtering through the

windows, and the light played havoc with the flannel gown she wore.

Light touched fabric, molded it, saw through it. He felt again the

softness of the woman he had held, and his hands itched to touch her

again. A hunger took root inside him, one that made him long to caress

and taste and know.

"Why?" He repeated her question.

The reasons were swiftly leaving his mind. If she was willing, he was

more than anxious to drown in the sweet depths of her fascinating

waters. He clenched his fingers and kept moving casually.

"Because we're in a barn, because I've the distinct feeling you don't

know what you're doing, because you're young and because you're probably

the type of woman who ought to fall in love, deeply in love, with the

right man, and have a band of gold, and all the rest. Because I'm the

hardened refuse of an ill-fated war, and though I don't mind a fight, I

wouldn't be looking for more than a lover."

She smiled.

"Lieutenant, what makes you think I'd be looking for anything more than

a lover?"

He almost groaned aloud. If she didn't leave soon. "Tess, I don't think

you know" -- "I'm twenty-four, Lieutenant. And just as much the refuse

of an ill-fated war as you are. That war taught me a great deal. You

can't always wait to seize what you want. Life is too short, too quickly

severed."

She was smiling still, and there was something poignant about her words

that caught hold of his heart. He had never seen her more beautiful,

more feminine, more arresting. Her eyes were wide; her smile was gentle;

her still form was compelling in the flannel that was draped over her

shoulders, nearly falling from them, that conformed to the rise of her

breasts, then fell to the floor. Her hair was a river of dating, honeyed

light that caressed and embraced her, waving around her shoulders and

falling almost to her waist. Her eyes. When he came close, he saw that

they were not coal-black at all, but so deeply colored in the near

darkness that they appeared to be a rich and hypnotic purple.

He held still. He watched her and tried to find the fight words, the

words that would get her to leave. She would hate him for humiliating

and rejecting her, but maybe that would be better than what he wanted.

To own her, to have all of her, to teach her everything she wanted to

know so thoroughly that she would forget everything but the feel of him

beside her.

"Come here then," he said hoarsely.

She still seemed to pause. Like a sprite, like a night witch or angel,

he knew not which. A rueful curve came to her lips, and she said softly,

"Jamie?"

"What?"

"Where did you take your bath?"

He smiled, too.

"At the livery stables. Not at the saloon."

"Thank you," she murmured, then she took a step toward him, and another

step, and she was in his arms.

His mouth closed upon hers, and he let his hands wander where they

would. He had tried to do the decent thing. And it hadn't worked. So

now. She was fragrant, like a drug. He breathed in the scent of her hair

and the scent of her flesh. He kissed her lips and her earlobe, and he

pressed his tongue against the surge of her pulse at her throat, and he

took her lips again, savoring the caress of her tongue, feeling the rise

of heat and need and the rampant beat in his loins as the thrusts of

their tongues became ever more erotic and telling. He stroked her body

through the flannel, caressing her breast, finding the peak and

massaging it to a hard pebble with his thumb and fingers. Then he cried

out and lowered his mouth upon her, his teeth grazing the fullness of

her breast and the hard peak through the fabric, the dampness of his

mouth pervading it and bringing whispers and whimpers to her lips.

She braced herself upon his shoulders, and cried out, falling against

him.

Trembling, he lifted her and set her on the cocoon of sheet and quilt in

the hay. Then he stood over her, watching her. He ripped away the

kerchief at his throat and slowly undid the buttons of his shirt. He

watched her all the while, but her eyes did not close. He threw his

shirt upon the hay, and pulled off his boots and socks, unbuckled his

gun belt and then his pants belt and finally peeled away the last of his

clothing. Her eyes closed at last, but not before her cheeks had taken

on a dusky hue.

"You can still run," he told her harshly.

She shook her head. Her hair lay spread across the quilt and sheet and

dangled into the hay around them. He knelt before 'her and set his hand

upon the hem of her gown, pushing it up.

She had beautiful feet. Small, the toenails neatly manicured. Her ankles

were trim. Her calves were shapely.

He paused to press kisses against her kneecaps, then he continued,

thrusting the gown up to her hips where he paused because his breath had

caught. The entire length of her legs was fine and beautiful, and her

hips were seducflared. Her waist was very narrow, and she was endowed

with the same touch of honey hair to add even greater purity and

innocence to her beauty.

That very touch of purity seemed to be driving him insane. A ragged

pulse beat at his groin, and in his mind, and raged throughout his fin-

gem and his limbs and all of his body. He buried his face Ilgainst her

belly, and a harsh sound escaped him, a cry of ~onging, of need, of

desperate desire.

Some soft sound esi~aped her, and she gasped when his lips moved upon

her fi~h, when he turned his head against her, his hair teasing the

flesh of her abdomen, then his kiss and lips caressing it As he kissed

her he continued to push the gown up. The flannel raked over her

breasts, over her hardened nipples.

He rose and knelt over her again, taking each breast fully into his

mouth.

She was alabaster, as perfect as marble with the dusky, rose-tipped

peaks, so hard, so compelling, drawing his body into a tighter, harder

knot all the while, exciting him to an ungodly high with the mere

whisper of her breath, the tiny gasps that escaped her, the sultry,

sensual way her body moved against him. Such little movements, as if she

was afraid, as if she discovered the haunting rhythms of making love.

He paused, meeting her eyes. Half-closed eyes--dazed, damp, luminous and

honest--meeting his. Her gaze fell upon his naked and aroused body, and

her eyes widened again. They met his again, and the beautiful flush of

rose came to her cheeks. He reached for her gown and pulled it over her

shoulders, and they knelt facing each other. She threw her arms shyly

around him, but that served to press them together, all their nakedness,

and he felt her breasts upon his chest as thoroughly as he knew that she

felt the ripple of his muscle and the blinding heat that led him now.

He pressed her into the quilt, down, down, into the hay. He crawled over

her again, seizing hold of her lips, kissing her until her breath came

raggedly, until her breasts rose and fell heatedly in his hands, until

she trembled wherever he touched her. Then he kissed her breasts again,

fascinated by the shape and texture and by the perfect marble beauty. He

lowered himself against her, near blinded by his own need yet driven to

see that she felt no pain, that she savored this time between them as he

did, that she remember the passion; the desperation, the aching, longing

need.

He kissed her between her breasts, then strayed down the length of her

breastbone. He touched her ribs with the tip of his tongue and delved

deeply into her navel the same way. And then he dropped his head still

lower. He felt her legs quiver and a quickening within her and heard the

soft, 159 shocked protest on her lips. But he ignored her and made love

completely to her, delving into the very femininity of her. She cried

out, this time not so softly. He laced his fin gets with hers and

touched and delved ever deeper. He brought the searing, damp heat of his

kiss and earess to the very bud of her desire. Her fingers tightened

painfully around his, but he wedged himself firmly_ between her thighs

and tenderly caressed her. She whimpered, tossing her head so her hair

spread out like a burst of sunrise. And still he drank ever more deeply

of her sweet scent and taste, until he could feel the pulse of desire

rising within her.

He crawled atop her then, discovering her eyes dosed, her face ashen.

And yet her fingers dug into his shoulders, and when he carefully

lowered himself over her and pushed slowly within her, he found her damp

and welcoming. He watched her face even as he thrust past the portals of

her innocence, and she never cried out or murmured a single protest or

whimper.

He sheathed himself slowly inside her, then he held and caught hold of

her chin.

Her eyes flew open, so large and dark, then they fluttered closed again

as he took her lips and caressed her with long, slow, leisurely

kisses--taking all of her mouth, exploring, tasting, savoring. And as he

kissed her he began to move within her, strokes as soft as velvet, slow

and evoea- five, coercive.

He felt something give within her when the pain had ~ faded and the new

pleasure began. There was an easing of her arms around him, and her

long, enchanting legs wound tightly around him. Her fingertips grazed

his shoulders, the nails lightly stroking. Soft sounds of passion began

to escape her.

He thrust hard then, unleashing the passion that had grown and simmered

and become explosive 'within him. He moved like the wind and like the

earth, and he whispered to words that meant nothing, words that barely

found and yet words that meant everything. Their lips met again and

again, parted, fused and sealed together, as did their bodies. He felt

himself grow slick with the heat they ignited in the night, and he knew

that he could not hold on much longer. And still he fought the climax

that clamored in his loins, in his heart, in his mind. He fought it,

driving her ever upward, leaving her shivering in moonbeams, taking her

ever higher. Then he felt it. A wild stiffening in her body, a stark

moment in which she seemed to fight him, then she was trembling beneath

him in great shudders.

He cast back his head. He felt a groan rumbling in his throat just as

the heat and fever and excitement within him drew to a massive pitch.

The sound escaped him, the life and energy and heat of his body shot

from him, filling her.

Again and again, shudders seized him, and he filled her again and again.

Then he wrapped his arms around her and held her very tightly. He eased

to her side, taking his weight from her but keeping his arms around her

so that she fell atop him. She sighed softly. Damp tendrils of her hair

curled over him. He touched it and remembered wondering how it would

feel against him.

Like silk. it felt like silk. And it looked like the sun, so blond

against the bronze of his skin. And she felt like silk, her body so

slick with all that had been between then, covering him.

Her face lay against his chest. She didn't say a word, and she didn't

seem to want to look at him.

"Are you all right?" he asked her, softly smoothing back a tendril of

her hair.

She nodded against him.

"Did I--hurt you?"

She shook her head, but still she didn't say a word. "You're not crying,

are you?" he asked her.

"No!" she said in muffled, indignant protest. "Women do, you know."

"Women do!" she repeated, speaking at last. She sat up, and her eyes met

his.

"How many women do you--did you ... Oh, never mind!" She started to

pull away. Her breasts swung heavy and fascinating before him, and he

quickly laughed, pulling her back. His voice was husky when he spoke.

"I've never, never, been in a--er, circumstance like this one before."

"Like" -- "With a virgin," he said flatly.

She flushed crimson. He pulled her close to him. She was wiggling and

squirming, ready to retreat now that it was all over, despite the way

she had played the seductress so boldly. He didn't want to lose her.

"Tess!"

"What? Will you please" -- "I didn't go back to Eliza that night,

either.

The whole thing was a show" -- "Eliza is in love with you."

"Eliza is in love with a lot of people." She Paused, tossing her hair,

studying him with her enormous eyes.

"And what about you?" I m not in love with anyone, he said. Agam"~e felt

her pulling away. He tightened his hold around her. But I am your eyes.

And I love the way you fight until the bitter end, though I could also

strangle you for that same quality. I love the way you think, and I love

the way you take ~ of the people around you, and I even love the way

your ~Yes flash when you're jealous."

"I'm not jealous" -- "Then nosy. You were damned determined to I had

taken my bath."

"Because" -- She broke off, staring at him. i He grinned.

"Because you weren't about to come near me had been near another woman,

was that it?"

He laughed again, hugged her close and rolled her over in the hay.

"Never fear, my feisty little love. When I am near you, I will never

find the need for another."

His lips closed over hers. He stroked his hand down the length of her,

touching her openly and intimately. A sound rumbled in her throat

against his kiss. He ignored her. All the fires of hell were burning

inside him again, and this time he need not be so slow, so careful. She

had learned about tenderness. She was ready to learn about the tempest.

Later, when dawn neared, she slept. Jamie stared at the rafters as the

first pale light of day appeared, impressed by the eagerness and

complete abandon with which she had approached lovemaking. He had never

known a feeling of such relaxation, of physical bliss as her sleeping

body against his.

She had learned many things this night. She slept with her knee slightly

curved upon him, her hair tangled around his shoulders and chest. He

touched a strand lightly, and it was almost as if the gold and honey

touched him back, as if it gave him warmth. He looked at her face, so

beautiful, so perfect, her lips just slightly parted, cherry red in the

first rays of light, tempting. He stroked her shoulder and her back. She

moved against him, and he felt the warmth of her breath upon him as she

sighed softly.

She had learned so much. But he had lea rued a great deal that night,

too.

He had learned that he'd never really made love before. He'd had women,

but he had never really, truly made love. He'd never wanted anyone like

he'd wanted her.

Wanted her still. Who had taught whom? he wondered.

He kissed the soft skin of her back and wondered again at the ripple of

longing that went through him. Then he sighed. He had to wake her up and

let her go hack to the house before the morning began, before the ranch

came alive.

By nine that morning they arrived in town. Jamie drove the wagon with

Tess sitting primly by his side.

Morning had changed things amazingly, he thought. Since he had awakened

her, she had been distant. She had donned her flannel gown, and with it

a peculiar silence. She hadn't seemed remorseful about anything; she had

been cool and quiet. She hadn't sneaked back to the house; she had

walked very calmly. She had promised him she would be ready in thirty

minutes. When he had pressed his lips to hers on first awakening, she

had responded with warmth, but already there had been that widening

within her eyes, as if she thought that something very grave had gone

on, something she hadn't quite realized at the time. He'd almost braced

himself, waiting, but she hadn't anything to say to him at all. She had

dressed quickly and walked to the house. Her chin was high, and she

wasn't about to hide anything, but then again, Jamie thought, maybe she

wasn't about to do anything again, either.

I never wanted to rush it! he reminded himself in silence. But he still

hadn't found the right words to say to her, and she sat by him quietly

as they rode into town. They didn't five words.

It was early, and the streets were nearly still. Only a pass- by or two

walked the plank sidewalks in front of the bank and the barbershop and

the offices of the Wiltshire Sun. Tess bit her lip and looked at the

newspaper office, but she remained silent on that point.

"Mr. Barrymore's office is fright ahead. He was always Joe's solicitor."

"Well, then, fine, we're going to go see Mr. Barrymore." He helped her

from the wagon. She was dressed for ll~ ring in light-blue-and-white

checked muslin, with a matching wide-brimmed bonnet.

The touch of her fingers against his seemed electric. She met his eyes

and flushed.

"We need to talk," he told her.

"I need to get to the newspaper," she retorted.

"So hurry along now, will you?"

"Eager to turn it all over to me, eh?"

"I shall resent it to my dying day," she said sweetly, "but then, you

are better than von Heusen."

"Such a compliment!" he teased, bowing low as he opened the door to the

lawyer's office.

Tess started to reply, but instead smiled at the tall, lean man behind

the desk.

"Mr. Barrymore, how are you?" she inquired, walking forward, reaching

out her hand. The man rose instantly to his feet. He reached out for

Tess's hand, but his eyes were on Jamie. Jamie winced inwardly,

realizing this man had been in the saloon the other night when he had

met von Heusen's boys.

Tess didn't see the recognition in his eyes.

"Mr. Barrymore, this is Lieutenant Slater. Lieutenant, Mr. Barrymore,

who has helped my family for years."

Mr. Barrymore was still staring at Jamie. "Mr. Barrymore!" Tess said

more sharply.

"Oh, my dear, my dear, I am so glad to see you! Of course, you know that

Joe left everything in your name" -- "That's why I'm here," Tess said.

"Of course, of course" -- "No, you don't understand. I want to turn over

half my holdings to Lieutenant Slater."

"Half your holdings?"

"Half."

At last, Mr. Barrymore looked at Tess. The pen he held in his hands

nearly snapped as he stared at her.

"Half?"

"Half."

He cleared his throat and stared at Jamie.

"That will make you a very rich young man."

"I intend to pay the lady, but the money is going to be due to her in

payments over the next few years. Can we draw up a schedule?" Jamie

said.

Tess stared at him then.

"You're going to pay me?"

"Of course. You didn't think I was just going to whisk away your

property." "Yes, but" -- "Tess," he said softly.

"You're--I mean, the land is worth it."

He thought she was going to leap to her feet and scream. She managed not

to.

She leaned over the desk and smiled at Mr. Barrymore.

"Make sure he pays the premium price then, will you?"

"Well, yes," Mr. Barrymore said nervously. He looked at amie, then he

looked at Tess, then he cleared his throat.

"You're sure this is what you want, Tess?"

"And Mister--er--Lieutenant Slater, would you, uh, like ~,to explain how

you want these payments to be made?" . Certainly," Jamie said. He

rattled off sums and amounts, and Mr. Barrymore began to write quickly.

"And When we're done with this," Jamie said, "I need to make and Miss.

Stuart is go' rag to do so, too. In the case deaths, the property is to

be equally divided in between my two brothers, Cole Slater and and in

case of their deaths, to their heirs."

smiled at Tess reassuringly.

"Oh, yeah, and Mr. I want you to make sure you talk about this. I the

whole town to know that there's just no way, no at all, the Stuart

spread is ever going to be up for sale.

understand me?" stayed silent for a long moment, then he be" You got it,

Lieutenant Slater. Damn, but it! Oh, excuse me, Tess.

I plumb forgot you were there!" amusing," Tess said with a stiff smile.

"They'll know, all right, they'll know ... " Mr. Barrymore was writing

quickly.

"I must hand it to you, Lieutenant, you do seem to know what you're

doing with property and the law. Though it ain't surprising, not one

bit. You sure do know what you're doing with those Colts of yours. Why,

in all my life, I've never seen anything like the shootin' you did in

the saloon the other night" -- "Shooting?" Tess interrupted, sitting

straight. "Oh, my, yes, you should have seen him! Some of those

hooligans of Mr. yon Heusen's come in and they were giving Hardy a bad

time, but the Lieutenant here, he stood right up to them." Mr. Barrymore

slapped his hand hard on his desk and hooted with laughter.

"It was a joy to these weary eyes, Tess, it was! Didn't you tell Miss.

Stuart about it, Lieutenant? Hell--heck, boy, if it had been me, I'd

have told the whole damned--darned--world about it!"

"I didn't seem to have the chance, Mr. Barrymore. When I got home, a few

more of Mr. yon Heusen's boys were at the ranch.

And someone needed to tell those fellows that it wasn't a good thing to

play with matches."

"You shot yon Heusen's men in the saloon?" Tess asked, staring at him.

"Sure," Mr. Barrymore said cheerfully.

"Why, you would have heard about it if you'd gone into the paper, Tess.

The lieutenant was sitting with Ed Clancy and Dec?" Tess stood and

stared at Jamie.

"I think I'll take a little walk over to the Wiltshire Sun right now.

I'm sure, Lieutenant Slater, that you know exactly how you want

everything worded. Then Mr. Barrymore can draw up the papers and I will

come back and sign them. Excuse me, will you?"

Jamie and Mr. Barrymore both stood quickly, but Tess was already at the

door.

She stormed out, feeling her face red, wondering if she should be

furious with the man or if she should run back and kiss him. She wasn't

going to do 167 either--she was going to see Ed and find out exactly

what had happened.

She walked into the Wiltshire Sun office as if she were a battleship.

Harry, the printer, looked up from his plates.

Edward, at work at his desk, also looked up. The naked joy in his eyes

as he saw her made her first questions flee. He leaped up to hug her,

nearly breaking ~ery bone in her body.

"I knew you were all right, Tess, because I saw Slater.

But, girl, it does an old body good to see you!"

" Thank you, Edward, thank you!" she told him.

Harry, toothless and shy, was standing behind him.

"And you, too, Harry, come here. Let me give you a big, sloppy kiss

right on that jaw of yours!"

He flushed a bright red from his throat to his white, tufted hair, but

he accepted a kiss and hugged her tightly in return.

"We just kept doing the paper, Miss. Tess. Even when they tried to tell

us that you weren't coming back, we just kept the Sun going out on

schedule.

Every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday, we had a W~tltshire Sun out on the

street!"

"And I'm so grateful and so proud of both of you I" Tess assured him.

Edward cleared his throat.

"Well, I didn't exactly have the news of the nation going out," he

admitted.

"Ah, hell, I didn't really have the balls to print too much. Von Heusen

was breathing down my neck, and I" -- "You kept it going," Tess said.

"And I'm grateful." She gloves and headed for her desk.

"Am I in time a story for the Tuesday edition?"

"Yes, yes, Miss. Stuart! I'll clean out the presses, I'll" -- "I've just

got one story," Tess assured him.

"But it's an one. I want it on the front page." smiled at Edward and

inserted paper into the new typewriter she had insisted they buy. She

closed her pausing for a moment, smelling the ink on Harry's Then she

smiled and started to type. She described the small wagon train, then

she described the attack. She described the attackers, who had looked

like white men painted up to look like Comanche. She wrote about being

saved by the cavalry, then she wrote about Chief Running River and how

he had sworn his people had not had anything to do with the attack. Then

she wrote that she knew she was an eyewitness. and a survivor. She ended

the piece with a bold accusation.

"Certain tyrants in this town will stoop to any means to bring about

their chosen results. This town has been mercilessly se'tzed upon. We've

seen our friends and neighbors disappear. Some say it was the war, but

the war has ended, and all good men are trying to repair broken fences

and lend a helping hand. In this town, however, we have been met by

evil. Yes, my friends, evil lives in man. The evil that killed a man

like Joe Stuart. Joe Stuart's death must not be in vain. We must band

together and fight the evil. It does not come from the war. It comes

from a man, and no matter how he threatens, we can beat him--if we stand

together." She left it at that. She hesitated for a moment, searching

for better words, then shrugged. She had said what she wanted to say.

She pulled the sheet of paper from the machine and handed it to Edward.

"Read this over for me, will you, Ed?"

His eyes were already racing over the piece. He was a swift.

proofreader, and he quickly came to her final paragraph.

His fingers trembled, and the paper wavered within them. "Tess" -- "I

want it out tomorrow," she said.

"Tess, he'll come after you lock, stock and barrel" -- "He already left

me for dead once," she said.

"But, Tess" -- "Print it, please. And now tell me--what happened at the

saloon the other night?"

Edward stared, trying to change his train of thought quickly as she was

changing the conversation.

"The 169 night? Why, Miss. Tess, I was just in a little need of

companionship-"

"Not that, Clancy, not that! I want to hear about the lieutenant."

"The lieutenant?"

"Slater, Edward Clancy! Jamie Slater and the yon Heusen men and the

blazing guns."

"Oh, it was something, Tess. Honest to God, but it was something!"

"Something? Fine. What? Tell me about it, please!"

"Why, he just-come into the bar, and we all kind of greeted him" --

"Everyone in the place stared at him, wondering if he was : dangerous or

not "

"Right, right. Doc and I were playing cards and we invited him over for

a whiskey. He started asking questions right away, then yon Heusen's

guns came in. One of them had Hardy the bartender by the throat when

Jamie Slater him to stop. The man laughed. Then they were all

threatening to shoot up Slater, but that Slater, he had their number!

Before you know it--one, two, three, four! All of were lying on the

floor and choking and crying and on like babes. And Slater just stepped

over them, as a cucumber, and walked over to the barber and got a shave

and a bath.

"Well, of course, yon Heusen's fellers, they were threat- right and

left, but those boys lit out of town as as Doc patched them up, lit

straight out of town, they Don't know if they went back to yon Heusen or

if they away for good. I ain't seen a one of them since. Of one young

feller, he ain't gonna be ridin' anywhere a while, he kind of took his

shot in the posterior sec- if you know what I mean." I think I know what

you mean," Tess said. She gave Ed kiss on the cheek.

"You take care now. I'll be in tomorrow morning. You make sure my piece

goes on the front page."

"Yes, ma'am!"

Tess left the office and walked slowly down the street toward Mr.

Barrymon~'s office.

What had she gotten?

She'd wanted a hired gun. And she'd gotten one. She railed against Jamie

for leaving the ranch when he'd been finding out what he could--and

shooting it out with some of yon Heusen's toughs at the same time.

And gaining quite a reputation as he did so. She shivered suddenly.

She'd seen him shoot the snake. She'd known that he was fast and good.

She shouldn't have been surprised to hear that he had knocked down four

of yon Hensen's men in a matter of seconds. Then he'd humiliated yon

Heusen at the ranch. Von Heusen was going to be mad, and he was going to

be thirsting for blood. Her blood.

But she'd known she had to fight him. And she had Jamie. She'd wanted

the gun.

And she'd wanted the man.

And now she had both.

She tightened her fingers around the drawstring of her little purse and

stopped walking to lean against a wooden wall as a fierce trembling

swelled within her. hard and inhaled deeply as she remembered the

previous night.

She couldn't have been so brazen. Or so wanton. or so decadent. or so

searingly intimate.

But she had been. He had warned her away. He had given her every

opportunity. He had told her that she should be with a man who cared. He

implied that he didn't care. Surely that wasn't true. He liked her.

There were about her he loved.

But it didn't mean anything. That was the rub. It mean anything at all.

She was just a woman, a warming body. Just like Eliza. She had thrown

herself at him.

And one day he'd turn away from her, just as he had turned from Eliza.

She inhaled, exhaled, then forced herself to walk. She must not let it

happen again. Even if it had been more than she had ever dreamed. She'd

never imagined that making love could be so erotic, so wonderful. She'd

never imagined that it was possible to feel so excited,- so cherished,

so ~ explosive and so sated. She'd never imagined that a man's hands

could do what his had done, or that a man's kiss could awaken everything

in her body, or that a man could 'join with a woman so completely and

bring about such splendor.

It could quickly become addictive. But he didn't intend to stay. Even if

he bought her land and settled down, he had made it clear that he didn't

intend to stay with her.

She had taken care to sound independent, too. And now. Now she wanted to

lie down beside him again. She wanted ~to laugh and feel his touch and

explore his shoulders and his chest and his long, muscled legs and .

everything. Even the parts of the body that she couldn't quite bring

herself to name aloud. She had wanted him. never deny that. But now she

was afraid of the long that seemed to have escalated since she had known

his touch.

Having him hadn't quenched the desire at all.

It had set it all afire. She was in front of the lawyer's office. She

set her hand knob and twisted it and walked in. Mr. Barrymo~e finishing

copying out a second set of papers. Jamie directed him as to what he

should write.

timing," Jamie said, applauding her.

"We need ~ " Shouldn't I read the documents?"

"Be my guest."

Tess took the papers from Mr. Barrymore, but she couldn't quite manage

to read. She pretended to, skimming the words. They all swam before her.

"We need a witness," Mr. Barrymore said. "No problem," Jamie told him.

He stepped outside. A moment later, he was back with Doe. He signed one

set of papers, then Mr. Barrymore and Doe signed as witnesses. Then Tess

signed, not having the least idea of what was really on the papers, and

her signature was witnessed, too.

"That's that, then!" Jamie said, pleased. He counted out gold coins to

Mr. Barrymore, who seemed very pleased. So much was being done in paper

currency lately. "Let's go, Tess," Jamie said.

"Good day, Mr. Barrymore, Doe. Thank you," she told the lawyer. But

Barrymore and Doe were hardly able to respond before Jamie had his hand

on her elbow and was leading her out.

When they reached the wooden sidewalk, she wrenched her hand free.

"Jamie, I just might not be ready to head home."

"We're not heading home," he told her.

"We're going to talk."

"What if I had something to do?" she demanded. "It would have to wait."

"It wouldn't!"

"Today, Tess," he insisted, "it would." The brim of his hat was pulled

low over his eyes, hands were firmly on his hips.

"Now, listen" -- "You listen," he told her, wagging a finger beneath

nose.

"I'm not going to live like this. We're straighten out the

relationship."

"There is no" -- "The hell there isn't. Now get in the wagon, or I'll

put you in it."

"You wouldn't" -- He took a step toward her. Before she knew it she was

off her feet, then she was sitting in the wagon. She swung around, but

he was beside her in an instant, and the reins were in his hands, and he

was clucking to-the thoroughbred that pulled the small conveyance.

Tess crossed her arms over her chest, staring straight ahead.

"You are intolerable!" she told him.

"I just don't like a bunch of bull, that's all."

"Bull" -- "The way you're acting."

"I'm not acting" -- "I hope to hell you are."

"I don't know what you're talking about." They were already out of town.

He was silent for a moment.

The horse picked up its gait and it seemed they were flying down the

road.

Then, suddenly, Jamie reined in. The horse slowed and Jamie hooked the

reins around the brake. He jumped down and came around the wagon for

Tess.

"What?" she demanded, staring down at him. He reached up, placed his

hands around her waist and lifted her down. When she was on the ground,

his hands still her. His eyes were like smoke, and his jaw was She knew

that he did, indeed, intend to have things She opened her mouth, wanting

to protest again, want- to deny and denounce him and run away. But she

was because that wasn't what she wanted at all. She to trust him. She

wanted to lean against him.

And, of all, she wanted to feel his lips upon hers again, as as the sun,

as rich as the earth. But she didn't want to him so badly. she didn't

want to make a fool of her- like Eliza.

Because, like Eliza, she was falling in love with him.

"Come on," he told her.

"Where?" she protested.

"Down by the water."

The road ran along the river. He held her hand and led her through the

trees until they came to a little copse. They were alone with the sounds

of the rippling waters, with the occasional call of a bird, the soft

rustle of a tree. He drew her close, and when she stiffened, he drew her

even closer.

"What is this?" he demanded.

She moistened her lips, staring at his eyes, then at his mouth.

"What is--what?" she asked.

"Miss. Stuart, I gave you a chance last night. Hell, I gave you several

chances last night. You wanted to stay."

"You wanted to make love."

"I ... yes," she whispered.

"And now you're running. Why?"

"I'm' not!" she protested.

"It's just that" -- "I can't do it, Tess. I can't live with it if you

think you can blow hot and cold in a matter of hours."

"Then what?"

"I'm just trying to give you ... space!"

She lowered her head. She desperately wanted to put her~ shoulder

against his shirt. She breathed in, smelling clean male scent of him,

and she felt a furious pulse flight at her throat, in her heart, in her

veins. He slid fingers into her hair at the sides of her head and lifted

face. He stared, and she tried to return his gaze tering. But then his

hand came to her breast. She muted something softly, then she did lean

against him.

sky seemed dazzling, but not so dazzling as the man. "Tess, Tess!" he

whispered to her, holding her close.

frightening, it's damned terrifying. You're coming so much to me."

His arms were around her. She parted her lips and moistened them with

her tongue again. His parted and moved upon hers, and they melded and

tasted until finally he drew his lips away. Then they sank down together

upon a bed of leaves, with the river just beyond them. Their arms locked

together and they kept kissing, tasting one another, and it ~ ~eemed

that the sound of the rushing water grew louder and louder.

Tess found that she was pressed into the leaves. His hands were upon

her.

She set her palms against his cheek, and desire took flight within her

as she felt the planes and textures , of his face. She thought

confusedly that she loved the way he looked with his smoke-dark eyes and

sandy, disheveled hair, with the rough touch and the rugged angles and

lines of his face, the twist of his jaw. She wrapped her arms around

him, sliding her fingers through the hair at his nape, drawing him to

her for another kiss. The earth beneath her began to heat. She ran her

fingers over the opening of his ~ahirt. She felt the ripple of muscle

with her fingertips. She teased at his buttons until his shirt opened,

until she could reach her hands inside and slide her nails over his

naked ~t~h and feel the trembling that she evoked.

him groan and she felt his touch upon the tiny of her dress, then she

felt herself being freed from Her slip and her chemise remained, but

they were the feel of his searing kiss upon her body and Soon her slip

was wound beneath her, and she felt earth with her bare flesh. His hard

and driving man teased her for a split second, then drove within her a

startling, shattering thrust that swept her breath The sun was above

him. She heard curious cries, then re- they came from her and that she

was clinging to arching, writhing. meeting him, welcoming him, him. She

felt the slap of his body against hers, and earthy and real. She felt

the sun upon his naked flesh, and that, too, was real. And she felt

more. the certain heat, the glow of the sun, which heightened every

swift pleasure, a touch of the blue, cloudy sky. She was damp, and so

aware of him within her, and aware of the rising ecstasy inside her

body. Coiling tighter and tighter until she was crying out again, then

gasping in a soft shriek as something came upon her so strong and sweet

and volatile that it rent the whole of her with shivers, while something

like hot nectar seemed to swamp her body. She couldn't move. She could

scarcely breathe, and it seemed that the world went dark before the sun

burst upon her again. And just as it did, he thrust hard within her and

stayed and stared at her, the whole of his face tense and haunting and

taut with passion. Then he exploded within her, and thrust and thrust

again. and lay down beside her, wrapping her in his arms.

The sun was still above them.

"I'm afraid of you," Tess admitted.

He had been flat on the earth. He rose up on an elbow. "What?"

"I'm afraid of caring too much."

He touched her cheek.

"We're all afraid of caring too much ."

"I don't believe you're afraid of anything." He smiled, a crooked,

rueful smile.

"Yes, I am. I'n afraid of losing you right now."

"Right now," she repeated.

"But what ... what about tomorrow, Jamie?

That's what frightens me."

"What do you mean?"

She shook her head. She rolled away from him, rising to her feet,

straightening her slip and dusting bits of leaf and dirt and grass from

it.

She smiled at him, then hurried toward the water.

He must have stripped off the remnants of his for when he came up behind

her, he was stark naked.

placed his hands around her waist and kissed her nape.

177 he whispered in her ear, so softly that she wasn't sure she heard

him.

"Tomorrow? I'm not sure. But I think that I'm falling in love with you,

Tess."

He left her, walking into the river, then ducking beneath the surface

and swimming into the center of it. He rose, let out a cry and shivered.

"It's damned cold for summer!" he called out to her.

Tess stooped and threw water over her face. She watched as Jamie dove

beneath the surface again.

A twig snapped suddenly behind her. She leaped up, spinning around.

There were four of them. The so-called Indians. They were clothed in

bronze paint and breech clouts

"Jamie!"

she whispered.

But of course there was nothing he could do. The men were armed with

bows and arrows, rifles, even a few tomahawks.

They were going to kill her, she thought, and Jamie would never have

time to reach the surface. And it would be her fault, because if she had

talked to him this morning, he would never have brought her here, and he

would never have become so involved with her that he forgot danger.

"Jamie!" she screamed as one of the men lunged toward her. She fought.

She kicked, she scratched, she screamed and struggled, but a second man

came up, grasping her legs, and between them, she was tossed over a

shoulder. She still fought, clawing, screaming, pounding.

Bronze coloring came off in her hands. "Tess!" Jamie was charging, naked

and unarmed, out of the water. She saw his eyes. They met across the

distance and locked with hers; the pain and the horror of the moment was

mirrored between them.

"Tess!" He screamed her name again in a loud, long cry and he was

speeding furiously toward the emthe man carrying Tess began to run with

her. She craned neck, straining to see Jamie. She saw him reaching the

shallows, and she saw him running, running to the shore. He rammed one

of the armed attackers with such violence and force that the man fell.

He spun and kicked his next opponent, then thrust his fists against him

in a fury.

But then Tess saw that another man was behind Jamie as he fought. She

saw the second man raise a battle club and bring it down upon Jamie's

head with all his strength. She heard the cracking sound. And she

screamed as she saw Jamie crumple to the ground, and then she saw no

more, for blackness descended over the sun.

Chapter Nine.

Tess didn't know how much time passed before she regained consciousness.

When she did, she was hanging facedown over the flanks of a sweating

horse in front of the pseudo-Indian who had grabbed her. She was acutely

uncomfortable.

Although the sun was setting, it was still ferociously hot. The sticky,

wet hair of the horse irritated her flesh, and the continual and

monotonous thump-thump- thump of its gait was bringing a ferocious pain

to her head.

Her arms hurt, her back hurt, and her neck burned like blue blazes.

She was a great mass of pain, and at first that was all 'she could think

of.

After a while she remembered. She'd been kidnapped. The bronze paint

worn by the "warrior" behind her was coming off on her flesh and chemise

where the man's thighs and knees rubbed against her.

And Jamie Slater was by the river with his head bashed in. couldn't be

alive. He had fought for her, and he had b~n killed in the attempt.

Scalding tears stung her eyes. She fought back the urge to aloud.

Jamie could perhaps have survived. Maybe just been knocked unconscious.

They had left her for once, and she had survived. Jamie was tough. He

had the war, he had. She had seen the club come against his skull.

Still, she couldn't accept it. She had to believe that he was alive

because if she didn't she wouldn't care if she lived or died.

Maybe there wasn't much chance of her surviving, anyway. Von Heusen

didn't know yet that there was now no way he was going to get his hands

on the Stuart holdings. She wondered briefly about the other Slater

brothers and their wives. Would they come to Wiltshire to accept an

inheritance? When they saw what had been happening, would they pick up

her fight? Why should they? Because they were probably close. Because

Jamie wouldn't have taken the time and the care to see that things were

done the way they were if his brothers weren't willing to fight. To

fight for him. To avenge his death.

No, no, he couldn't be dead. Please! God in heaven! she prayed silently.

Don't let him be dead, don't let him be dead, don't let him' be. "Let's

hold up here!" someone called out.

The horse she was thrown over ceased plodding. A second animal trotted

up beside it. The man spoke again.

"We've come far enough. Even if someone manages to find Slater's body,

they won't be able to track us. Not across the river. And we left plenty

of Comanche arrows behind. She still out, David?"

"Seems to be, Jeremiah."

"Well, that's good. Still, let's stop here for the night. By tomorrow

afternoon we'll meet up with the Comancheros and turn the girl over to

them."

Comancheros? Despite herself Tess felt a sizzle of terror sweep through

her.

They weren't exactly Mexicans, and they weren't exactly Indians; they

were a wild grouping of both who savagely lived off the land. They

raided, pillaged, murdered and raped without thought, and they made much

of their income by selling arms illegally to the Apache.

Von Heusen meant to have his revenge this time. He hadn't planned a

quick, easy death for her. He had consigned her to a living hell.

She couldn't let them give her to the Comancheros. Somehow, she was

going to get the best of these men. And if they had killed Jamie, she

had to see that they were brought to justice.

"Come on, let's get started setting Up a camp for the night," the man

David said. He started to dismount.

"Boy, that did feel good, swinging that club against that bastard

Slater.

After everything he did to us out at the Stuart place the other night, I

just wish I'd had time to gouge out his eyes."

"Or take ' '~" a scajp. Jeremiah suggested with laughter.

"Yeah--or take a scalp."

"Do you think Hubert and Smitty have made it back with the good word for

yon Heusen yet?"

"Probably. I told them to head straight back. Someone will find Slater's

body soon enough. We want to make sure we can't be blamed for it. Come

on, now, let's get her down and tied up before she comes to."

Jeremiah hopped off the horse. The one named David reached for her.

The one whose hands would be forever stained with the blood of Jamie

Slater.

Tess let out a wild scream when those hands touched her. She was ready.

He wanted to gouge out eyes? Her fingers were flying madly for his. She

caught him completely by surprise. He howled like an infant when her

nails swiped his face, missing his eyes but digging deeply into the

flesh of his cheek.

He stumbled, and she tried to right herself upon the horse.

The animal, panicked by the screams, reared high, its forelegs kicking

and flailing. Desperate as she was, Tess couldn't quite gain her

balance. The horse came down on four legs, kicking up great clouds of

dust, then rose, pawing the sunset-hued air once again. Tess went flying

into the bushes.

She lost her breath and lay stunned for several seconds. David and

Jeremiah were shouting at one another, David giving the orders.

"Get the horse! Get the fool horse! I'm going for the girl."

Fear spurred her aching and bruised limbs into action. She managed to

rise to her bare feet and race down a narrow trail between rows of dry

bush. Her feet encountered rocks and stickers, and she gasped out and

tried to pray.

Despite the pain she kept running. She felt as if her lungs would burst,

as if her calves would buckle, but she kept going, desperate to be free.

But arms suddenly swept around her legs, and she plunged forward into

the dirt. Mouthfuls of it seemed to choke her and fill her nose. She

gasped and choked and wheezed and finally managed to open her eyes.

David sat atop her, straddling her. He was still wearing a breech clout

and streaked theatrical paint, but he had discarded his black braided

wig. His own reddish hair looked strange against the melted bronze

paint, but matched the blood-red welts she had drawn across his face. He

wasn't much past his early twenties, and might even have been halfway

attractive if his way of life had not done things to his face and his

eyes. Both were cold, and there was a permanent twist of dissatisfaction

about his jaw. He smiled as he looked at her, enjoying her situation,

reveling in his power and in her misery.

She swung out again and managed to connect her fist against his cheek.

He swore and secured her wrists, then started laughing as he stared at

her.

"My, my, Miss. Stuart, it is a pleasure to see you this way!"

She was barely clad, she realized. Her chemise was dusty and pulled

high, leaving her midriff bare. And her cotton petticoat was rucked up

against her knees; her legs were bare 183 beneath it. As he stared at

her she felt sick.

She could see his intentions in his eyes, and she wanted to die. Not

long ago Jamie had whispered on the breeze that he thought he was

falling in love with her. And not long ago, he had taught her what it

was to feel feminine beyond belief, to know the beauty of a mutual

yearning, a soaring passion, all the sweet and fascinating things that

should be shared between a man and a woman. Not long ago. And now this

horrible man with blood on his hands was looking at her and laughing.

"I always did want to get to know you better, Tess!" he assured her.

He lowered himself against her. She twisted wildly, hating the feel of

his greased flesh, despising him. He tried to find her lips. She twisted

and thrashed and screamed, and still she felt him touching her.

"That's all right!" he hissed against her cheek.

"It's all right.

You'll come to like it soon enough. I'm real good. I'm real, real good.

I'll have you screaming in a way you just ain't imagined yet, honey. And

later on, you'll be grateful.

"Cause you're going to Nalte, one of the chiefs of the Mescalero Apache.

He's wanted a blond woman like you for a long time. They say he tried a

few raids to acquire one, but he kept coming up with brunettes. Our

Comanchero friends promised him a beautiful young blond white woman.

Nalte is tough, Miss. Stuart. You'll be real glad that I initiated you

into this ..."

He tried to secure both her wrists with one hand while he spoke. Tess

fought him like a wildcat, delaying his purpose but losing her strength

quickly.

Nalte? An Apache? Then the Comancheros were the delivery men. Von Heusen

was dealing with the Comancheros, and the Comancheros were dealing with

the Apache. She would be safe from the Comancheros. Because she was

meant for the Apache!

But she wasn't safe from David. She sobbed as she fought to free her

wrists. She threw his weight from her hips, but he seemed to enjoy

feeling her move against him. She twisted and sank her teeth into his

fingers.

He shouted out in pain and sat hard on her, plunging his fingers into

his mouth and stating at her murderously. Then his palm connected

sharply with her cheek, and the world seemed to spin. His hands were

upon her, upon her breasts, tugging at her petticoats.

"No!" she screamed in desperation and horror. But there was no one to

help her out here. Jamie was by the river, dead. The vultures might well

find his body before anyone else could.

David's hands were upon her, and he was tugging on her clothes. He was

about to violate the only beauty she had ever really dared to reach out

and hold.

"Get off her!" someone suddenly roared. And David was plucked away from

her.

Tess crawled quickly backward on her elbows. Her heart soared as she saw

that David and Jeremiah were involved in a fistfight with one another.

David was swinging and screaming at the same time.

"What the hell's the matter with you, Jeremiah? You can have your damned

turn when I'm done" -- "No! Von Heusen said no! He promised the chief an

in- noeent woman " -- "What do you think she was doing by the river with

Slater?"

"I don't know anything! I saw the girl washing her face, and I saw

Slater going for a swim. That's all I saw. Von Heusen promised the

Comancheros an innocent. And he made us swear not to touch her. I'm not

getting my balls shot off for your entertainment, and that's a damned

fact."

"I give the orders here" -- "Von Heusen gives the orders here!"

Tess realized that she was just staring at them. They were fighting like

madmen and not paying the least bit of at ten- 185 finn to her, and she

was just staring at them. She rolled over and stumbled to her feet. It

was time to start running again, before David convinced Jeremiah that

she was no innocent and that no one would ever know if the two of them

used her, too.

She hadn't gone three steps before fingers laced into her hair, dragging

her back. She gasped and sobbed, swinging and flailing out, but she was

so exhausted, and in so much pain, that she knew that no matter what her

will, she could not fight much longer.

"Stop it! Stop it! Come on, Miss. Stuart, calm down, and make the night

easier on all of us! I won't touch you, and he won't touch you, you

understand? Just calm down." It was Jeremiah who held her. He was as

young as David, she decided. He had lanky blond hair and colorless blue

eyes, but they didn't yet hold that absolute cold, cruel streak that

touched David's.

He almost smiled.

"I'm going to get you something to wear. Then I'm going to tie you up. I

have to. But I'll get you water, too, and something to eat. We're not

going to touch you."

"Speak for yourself!" David snarled from a few steps away.

"We're not going to touch her?" Jeremiah snapped. "We're going to turn

her over to the Comancheres, just like we promised yon Heusen."

Tess didn't know who would win out. Jeremiah kept a firm grip upon her

arm and pulled her along. She saw that there was a third horse on the

trail, and that a number of rolled packs were tied on the animal's back.

Jeremiah kept one hand and one eye on her as he tugged at the bundles to

free them.

When they fell to the ground, he pulled her down with him to dig into

one.

"Here," he said roughly.

"Take this. And get into it. But if you try anything funny, I'll turn my

back and close my ears and David can do whatever the hell he wants.

Understand?"

She understood. She hadn't the strength to fight them. She needed some

sleep. She needed a little time to think and plan.

She snatched the clothing Jeremiah handed her. Apache, she thought.

There were fine, soft trousers and a traditional blouse of buckskin with

beadwork and tin cone pendants. She slipped into the bushes with the

garments.

"You stay where I can hear you!" Jeremiah called. "I'm here!" she

replied.

The buckskin garments concealed much more than the tattered remnants of

her clothes had. She couldn't believe she could be grateful to Jeremiah

for anything, but she was glad of the clothing. If--not if, when! --she

found her opportunity to escape, she would be much better able to

weather the elements.

"You still there?" Jeremiah demanded.

Tess tossed her torn undergarments into the bushes and stepped 'out in

the Apache attire.

"She should have had a skirt. No warrior trousers," David commented.

"She couldn't ride in a skirt," Jeremiah retorted. Tess stood quietly.

Jeremiah was the one to work on, she thought. He seemed to have a few

human qualities left. She lowered her eyes and stood still.

"Miss. Stuart, you come over here and let me tie your hands," he said.

She didn't move.

"Please ..." she murmured softly. "Well ..." Jeremiah began.

"Well, nothing! She's taking you strictly for a fool, that's what she's

doing!" David strode over angrily and snatched the rope from Jeremiah's

hands. He walked roughly toward Tess. Seeing his face, she almost

panicked.

She almost ran.

"Try it. I'd love it if you did!" he told her, his eyes narrowing. He

meant it. He liked the chase, he liked the fight and he even liked the

smell of blood.

She held out her hands mutely. David looped the rope around them

tightly, tugging hard on the knot. Then he caught her arm and dragged

her past the horses to the center of the little clearing where they had

paused. He shoved her down to her knees and warned her, "Sit! Just sit?

He looked over to Jeremiah.

"There's a creek down past the scrub bush over there. Nothing much. But

you can go get rid of that paint. Then I'll decide if I trust you to

keep an eye on her so I can do the same!"

Jeremiah hesitated.

"Don't you go getting' no ideas, now, David Birch."

"I ain't going to get any ideas! I want to get this blasted paint off,

and that's all!"

Jeremiah walked to the bundles and picked up a satchel of clothing.

He stared at David, then walked toward the brush.

Tess kept her eyes on David. He smiled as he watched her in turn.

"You think you're going to get around Jeremiah, don't you? Well, you're

not going to. I'm going to see to that.

You're going to reach old Chief Nalte, and then you won't have to worry

about writing those rabble-rousing pieces in that newspaper of yours

anymore, ever again.

You'll have lots of other things to think about." He cackled with

laughter.

"Lots and lots of other things. Like raising a whole little troop of

papooses, yeah." ,. Tess edge~l-around in the dirt, turning her back on

him.

He laughed all the harder, then he came forward and jerked her head back

so her eyes watered as they met his.

"I'm going to enjoy knowing where you are. Just like I enjoyed hearing

Slater's skull crush this morning. I really got a kick out of that."

She forced herself to smile.

"Maybe his skull didn't crush," she said very softly.

David gritted his teeth and yanked harder on her hair. "He's gone, lady.

Dead and gone. And you don't need to worry about that no more, either."

He walked away, leaving her in peace at last. In time, Jeremiah

returned, and he became her silent guard.

She hadn't the energy to say anything to him. They sat in silence while

the darkness fell upon them. When David re.

turned, the two men made a fire. There was cold chicken to eat and water

from canteens, but they wouldn't untie Tess's hands, and the effort to

eat suddenly seemed too great. She left the food, sipped some water and

lay down in the dirt.

She tried to tell herself that Jamie was alive. Any minute now he would

come rushing out from the bushes and kill the two men and take her away.

But he did not come. She closed her eyes in misery and tried to forget

the nightmare visions of the day.

Jeremiah came over and tossed a blanket around her shoulders and shoved

a pack beneath her head for a pillow.

"Don't think about going nowhere," he warned her. David obviously didn't

think the warning was enough. He stood and walked to the piles by the

packhorse and came back with a good length of rope. She tried to inch

away from him, but he tied one end of the rope around her ankle.

Pinching her cheek, he spoke directly into her face.

"If you move, I'll feel it. If you run, I'll make you pay for it." He

walked away with the other end of the rope in his hand.

It didn't really matter. If she had been threatened by evexy demon in

hell, she couldn't have run that night. She was too weary. Tears stung

her eyes.

When she closed them, she saw Jamie again, fighting, then falling. And

she heard his whisper.

I think I'm falling in love with you. It hurt to close her eyes; it hurt

to open them. She prayed for sleep against the nightmare images. She

tried to tell herself that he was still alive. But he would have come

for her if he was alive. He would have come.

And if he was not alive, well, then, she didn't want to live, either.

Jamie was alive, if only just barely.

Jori found him around midnight, when the moon was full and high. The

wagon had come home without Jamie or Tess, but very late. Jon had to try

and track them from town in the darkness, and even when he had found

signs that the wagon had stopped and the two of them had walked toward

the river, it still took him time to find Jamie's still, crumpled body.

He drew off his buckskin jacket and wrapped it around his friend. He

touched the wound at Jamie's temple where the blood had dried. Carefully

moving his fingers over the skull, he decided that it was not cracked or

crushed. He took his kerchief to the river and soaked it and brought it

back to Jamie, cleansing the bloo~way. Jamie's body was icy cold.

He needed warmth, and quickly.

Jon rose carefully and lifted his friend's body into his arms. He called

to his pinto and the animal obediently trotted over to him. Bracing

Jamie's weight with his hand upon the pommel, he managed to somehow

swing up with Jamie in his arms. Then he made a clucking sound and the

animal took off at a smooth lope.

At the ranch, Dolly, Hank and Jane were waiting with anxious concern.

When Jori burst in with Jamie's half naked body, Jane gasped and turned

white.

"Don't you dare faint on me, young lady!" Dolly ordered her.

"Bring him right to the sofa, Jori. Jane, you run upstairs and get

blankets, lots of them. And you, Hank, I'm going to need a sewing kit

for that wound.

Some water and ~ome alcohol to clean him up, and maybe a little for the

lieutenant to sip. My, that's a mean and nasty bash!" Hank was on his

way out. Jane was still staring in horror. "Move!" Dolly commanded her.

In a moment the young woman was back with blankets. Jon draped them

around Jamie and rubbed his feet. Hank ~turned with water and a sewing

kit, and Dolly began to clean the wound. A long gash ran into the left

side of Jamie's temple.

"It's amazing he's still breathing!" Dolly murmured. "He's Missouri

tough," Jon told her.

"He'll make it, you'll see."

"I intend to do my best to see that he does," Dolly assured Jon. She

looked at him anxiously.

"What about Tess.9" Jon shook his head.

"I don't know. I had' to get him back here before he died. I'm going

back out to see what I can find." He liftext his hat to Dolly and left.

At the door he paused and looked back.

"Now, don't you let him die."

"I'm just going to sew him up. And I'm going to pray." Jon hurried out.

But when he returned to the river, he discovered that whoever had

attacked Jamie and Tess had made an escape through the water. He would

need daylight to track them. There was nothing he could do that night.

But maybe there was. It was late, but saloons had a tendency to cater to

the late crowd. Maybe he could find out more from casual conversation

over a poker game than he could from a broken branch.

He turned the pinto toward town.

Jamie's d~s were occasionally dark and occasionally erotic, but always

fevered.

He fought giants with buffalo headdresses. Then the battle would fade

away, the powder would dissipate, the roar of the guns would cease. He

wasn't fighting Yankees anymore, he tried to tell himself in his dream

world. He was a Yankee, dressed in blue. He was a specialist in Indian

affairs, a linguist. And he knew Indians. He hadn't needed Jon Red

Feather to tell him that the Apache didn't like scalping. It was a

contaminating thing to them, and it had to be done with 191 careful

ritual. He should have known from the very beginning that the woman

hadn't lied.

The woman. Tess. And the Yankees were gone, and the Indians were gone,

and he was lying by still, cool waters, and she was walking toward him.

Her hair was like the sun, falling in soft, delicate tendrils over her

breasts and down her back, and her smile was at once wistful and

innocent and full of the most alluring promise. She knelt beside him and

her fingers touched him, raking gently over his naked flesh. He couldn't

take his eyes from her. Her eyes were so giving, velvet and deep, deep

blue, and startling in their honesty. He had thought that she would run,

but she had not. And now, no matter whether he woke or slept, she was

with him, the sun- ray webs of honey-gold hair spinning around him and

wrapping him in the sweetest splendor.

Her breath was soft against him. She leaned over him, and her breasts

brushed against his chest, and he groaned aloud and waited. He wanted to

pull her beneath him. He wanted to see her eyes widen and darken to

mauve with the startling strength of passion. He wanted to feel her arms

wrap around him.

But the smoke was coming again. The powder. And people were shouting;

they were at war again. The war was over, but the fighting hadn't ended.

It was the Indians. It wasn't the Indians. That was it. They could dress

up all they chose, but they were not Indians. They had Tess. he couldn't

remember. yes! They had Tess, they had ridden away with her. By God!

What they would do with her! He awoke and jerked up. A staggering pain

seized his temple, and he cried out hoarsely, grabbing his head. The

pain slowly subsided to a dull thudding, and he opened his Jori was

sitting in front of him, watching him. Jamie groaned again.

"what the hell happened? Where's Tess?"

"Von Heusen's pseudo-Comancbe," Jon said calmly, still studying him;

Alarmed, beginning to remember much more clearly everything that had

happened, Jamie sat up. He saw that his legs were bare, that he had only

been covered with blankets, and he saw that Dolly and Jane and Hank were

hovering anxiously behind Jon. He gritted his teeth against the new pain

that had come with his movement, frowning.

"Tess?"

"She was gone."

"Gone! And you didn't go for her"

"Wait a minute, my friend," Jori warned him.

"You were supposed to have been dead--that's the way they left you.

You would have been dead, if I hadn't brought you here. I couldn't trail

them in the dark"--" You can trail anyone!" Jamie savagely reminded him.

" Not when they ran the river, not without some light," Jon said'.

"But I did find out where they're taking her."

"Where?"

Jamie exploded. The sound of the word seemed to reverberate in his

skull, and he grabbed it in an effort to ease the savagepain.

"They're taking her to the Comancheros. And the Comancheros are taking

her to a renegade Apache chief down in Mexico named Nalte."

Jamie grabbed a blanket and staggered to his feet. Dolly cried out

softly then scolded him, "Jamie Slater. What do you think you're doing?

You can't go anywhere" -- Jon had risen, too.

"Sit down, Jamie. rll go."

"No! It's my fault they took her. I'm going after her."

"You're in no condition" -- "I'm in damn fine condition!" Jamie roared.

The sound of his own voice ravaged his temple. He shook his head.

"I

need my pants. And if you don't want to be offend&t, Jane and Dolly, I

need you two ladies to disappear. Now!"

"Jamie Slater" -- Dolly began. But he was already rising.

"Jamie" -- She turned around, pinkening. Jane let out a little gasp and

went tearing up the stairs.

"Want to wait until I've got some clothes for you?" Jon asked dryly.

"I'll throw something down the stairs," Dolly said. She let out an

indignant little snort.

"Although what good you think you're going to do that girl when you can

barely hold your head up, I don't know." "I'll be with him," Jon said.

Dolly was heading up the stairs.

"I'll go saddle up your horse," Hank told Jamie, heading out.

Jamie nodded his thanks, then confronted Jon.

"You can't come with me. I need you here."

"You can't ride alone. You're in no shape to do so."

"Then I'll let you come as far as the border. Maybe we'll catch up with

them before that. If not, you'll have to turn back.

Jon, once I go after Tess, you'll be the only one who can stand against

yon Heusen here. You've got to do it." He shuddered and sat on the sofa.

"Comancheros! She could already be dead! And after yon Heusen's men" --

He broke off, white, panicked.

"I'll kill him," he swore.

"I'll kill yon Heusen with my bare hands, and every other man who came

near her.

Jesus, Jon, it was my own damned fault"--" This was going on long before

you came into it, Jamie. They meant to kill her on that wagon train. And

it's not as bad as you think. Von Heusen's men won't touch her, and the

Comancheros won't touch her, because Nalte wants his golden blond for

himself, so I learned at the saloon."

" At the saloon?"

"There's a whore there named Rosy who knows yon Heusen well--personally,

that is. Every once in a while yon Heusen sends for her, and she goes

out to his ranch. Last time she was there, he was sending out messages

and making plans. This Nalte has always wanted a blond woman for a

bride. You know the Apache. They usually only take one wife, unless they

consider themselves well able to afford more than one. Nalte does very

well. He has an Indian bride, but he wants a white woman, too. A blond

white woman. And his requirements go a little further. He wants an

innocent white woman."

Jamie stared at Jori blankly, then his face began to pale again.

Jon frowned, then slowly sucked in his breath.

"She isn't an innocent white woman any more, is that it?"

"Jamie Slater, here are your pants!" Dolly cried, dropping a pair of

trousers down the staircase. Jamie wrapped the blanket around his waist

and went to retrieve them. His hands were shaking as he stumbled into

his pants.

Dolly tossed down a shirt, and he shrugged it on also. "Jamie?" Jon

said.

Jamie paused, looking at his friend.

"Maybe they won't know. I doubt it's something that Tess is going to

rush around telling them," Jori suggested.

"First, yon Heusen's men are going to have to be damned afraid of him

not to hurt her," Jamie said.

"Then the Comancheros. Who the hell ever trusted a Comanchero?" He

strode to the sofa and stared at Jori.

"I've got to catch up with them before they get to this Nalte. Or I'll

have to try to talk to Nalte himself."

"Yes, you'll very definitely have to talk to him," Jon said gravely.

"And carefully, Jamie. Nalte will not be easy to deal with. He's watched

wars and treaties go by for years, and he is a law entirely unto

himself. He eschews everything white--except for the white men's guns,

horses and women.

He moved his people into the mountains when the white men took over the

plains, rather than have to deal with them.

"He keeps to the old ways. His women do not buy cotton for their

dresses, and his scouts do not wear cotton shirts. He moves about in a

breech clout as do his braves in summer, in winter he warms himself with

hides and furs.

He is also intelligent, astute and very dangerous--an Apache to the

core."

Hank had come in.

"You need the cavalry," he said. Jamie shook his head.

"No, Hank. No. If I do that, they might ?dll her. If I don't catch up

with them before they hand her over to Nalte, I'll have to speak with

him personally and convince him to give her back. I_t's our only

chance." Listen Hank, yon Heusen is going to think that he has both Tess

and me out of the picture. If anyone comes around, act as if you haven't

seen either of us. That lawyer will let out the information about the

will, and that will stall yon Heusen for a little while."

He paused, then strode over to the big desk, sat and drew out a piece of

paper. He wrote on it quickly.

"Now Hank, you make sure that this telegraph gets out today, you

understand?

It's real important."

"Yes, Lieutenant Slater, I understand."

"Good. Jon will be back soon, and if I've any luck at all, I'll bring

Tess home to you again." He paused.

"If not, Hank, you hold tight. Help will come. Von Heusen isn't going to

win this one." He stood again, gritting his teeth.

I'll be damned in hell a thousand times over before I let yon Heusen win

this one!" He strode around the desk again in his bare feet.

"Hank, I need a pair of boots that will fit me."

"Sure thing, Lieutenant.

I'll find you something." Jamie nodded.

"Jon--I need new guns."

In silence, Jon left to fulfill the request. They'd come with plenty of

guns, and he would know what Jamie wanted and what he needed.

Twenty minutes later the guns were assembled and Jon and Jamie were

ready to ride out. Dolly had made some coffee, and Jamie drank some

quickly, wincing as the hot liquid filled him. He felt a twitch at his

temple and felt the stitches there for the first time.

"You sewed me up, Dolly?"

"As pretty as a young girl's ball gown, Jamie."

"Thanks."

They moved outside. Jamie and Jon mounted with the others looking on.

"You bring Tess home now, you hear?" Hank said. "Please, please, bring

her home!" Jane added, her large doe eyes wide and damp.

Jamie smiled at Jane.

"I'll bring her home. I promise, Jane. I'll bring her home, or I'll die

trying."

He tugged on the reins, and he and Jon turned their mounts and started

off.

The sun was rising already. It was falling in orange and gold splotches

across the dry earth. Beyond them, it shimmered upon the mesas.

He'd been out a long time, Jamie reckoned. And von Heusen's men had

already had Tess for a long time.

His muscles clenched tight, his jaw locked, he damned himself again and

again for what had happened. He should have been more careful. They

never should have had the opportunity to sneak up on him. Hell, if he'd

been that careless during the war, he'd have been dead half a dozen

times over.

He'd always been so damned good: he could hear a twig drop in a forest,

he could hear the rustle of trees when it wasn't just the wind, he could

hear bare footsteps against the dry ~rth. But when it had mattered, he

had failed.

He'd failed Tess. He'd forgotten everything, staring into her

violet-hued eyes, feeling her against him, hearing the whisper of her

voice, the tremor of her words. He'd just had to prove something.

She'd been so aloof, and he'd been so angry, and he hadn't known why.

Because she'd tried to draw away, and he hadn't been about to tolerate

it.

No, he hadn't been about to let it happen.

He had just wanted her, and he hadn't wanted her to escape him.

He was falling in love with her.

So what? he mocked himself. He hadn't wanted to do so. He hadn't

suggested that she marry him--he'd just wanted to touch her. To sleep

with her. To feel her beneath him, her breath coming in a desperate

rush, her hips and thighs moving, her eyes, those eyes, so wide and

still, sultry upon his. But he hadn't been able to let her walk away

from him. He just hadn't been able to give her time.

And so she was gone.

He felt his jaw lock anew. She had infuriated him. No matter how he

touched her, she could hold herself aloof.

And his anger and determination had brought them both down.

Damn!

He didn't know that he had cast back his head and cried the word aloud

with anguish until he saw that Jori was watching him. Until he saw the

pity on his friend's bold features.

"It's too late for recriminations, my friend," Jon said quietly.

"Yeah. Too late."

"If you want her back, you'd better forget your feelings. You can't make

any more mistakes." "I won't," Jamie said.

"You should let me go alone."

"A half-breed Blackfoot? The Apache won't like you any better then

they're going to like me."

"Nalte isn't going to be fond of either of us." "I can deal with Nalte,"

Jamie said. He spun'ed his horse forward, calling to Jon to follow him.

He would deal with Nalte. One way or another, he would get Tess back.

One way or another.

Comancberos.

They lined the dry, dusty hilltop that overlooked the desert, seeming to

go on forever, covering the horizon. A hundred of them, at least.

Her hands tied before her, Tess sat in her buckskins in front of

Jeremiah on his big horse. She didn't know how long or how far they had

ridden that day, but they had finally come to this desert that stretched

to the mountains-- a beautiful area, with myriad colors, a barren,

forbidding area where the vultures sat upon the branches of the few

scrawny trees, where cactus eked out an existence, where most life was

lived in the cool that settled over the golden landscape by night. Soon,

the terrain would change again, as they entered the mountains.

They were already in the land of the Apache. And Tess was realizing how

little she knew of this feared tribe. She knew they were fierce, and

that they did not go to reservations. She had read that President Grant

had initiated a "peace policy" toward the Apache this year, but that

meant one thing in Washington, quite another here. Apache. it took an

Apache to track an Apache, so they said. Once Cochise had been a captive

of the American Army, but the trap had infuriated him. He had drawn his

knife, slit apart the tent--and disappeared. An entire cavalry company

had 199 been unable to find him.

She shivered. Perhaps more so than any other Indian on the Western

frontier, the Apache could strike terror into the hearts of the people.

But nothing could be more fearsome than the Comancheros who faced her

now, staring down at their small group of three from the hillside and

the horizon.

Tremors tore at her heart. She had ridden with Jeremiah and David for a

day and a night and through much of this day as well, and she had done

her very best with Jeremiah.

She had looked for eve~ possible opportunity to escape, but David had

taken great care never to give her a chance. She was never alone. Even

when she relieved herself, he was not more than a few steps away, and

his promises of what he would do if she even tried to move made her

weigh her circumstances very carefully. As long as she was with them,

she was safe. Jeremiah wasn't going to let David touch her, and David

was frightened enough of von Heusen to listen to Jeremiah.

Hour by hour she had dreamed. Jamie had to come for her. If he was

alive, he would have to come for her. HIS sense of honor would let him

do no less.

But he had to come while she was still with David and Jeremiah. The odds

would have been pretty even then, he could have ridden in with the sun

and carried her away into the sunset. But he had not come, and although

she could not allow herself to believe that he had been killed, she knew

the odds were no longer even. Not even Jamie Slater could come riding

into a throng of a hundred Comancheros, guns blazing, and carry her

away. She was indeed here, and. The Comanchcros were all staring down at

her. Suddenly, wild screams and shrieks filled the air, and the army of

Comancheros came galloping toward them. The cries made her heart

flutter, and as they came nearer and nearer, Tess felt an even greater

terror growing within her. She began to see their faces, and they were

frightening. Most were Mexicans, dark, with long, scruffy beards and

heavy, dipping mustaches. They wore hats and shirts and trousers and

boots; many wore blankets over their shoulders.

All were heavily armed, some with shell cases crisscrossed over their

chests.

They would not run out of bullets in a fight. There were Indians, too.

Renegades of many tribes, Tess thought, Apache, Comanche, Navaho, some

in the Mexican regalia of their comrades, others in more traditional

buckskin, at least two of them in simple breech routs riding nearly

naked in the wind, hooting their triumph and their catcalls, racing

around and around the three of them again and again.

They meant to terrify her! Tess thought angrily. Well, supposedly she

wasn't in danger yet, even if she was so frightened that she wasn't sure

if she could talk or move. David had been a nightmare, but this was far

worse.

Any dreams she had entertained of rescue fell crashing down into a

horrible pit of despair. She had never felt more vulnerable in her life.

She swore, though, that she would not cower before these men who were so

determined to unnerve her. They wanted to see tears, she thought. Panic

and hysteria. She was close to giving them all that they desired, but

she locked her jaw against its trembling and raised her chin. And as the

Comancheros raced by her one by one, she kept her eyes levelly upon

them, and she ignored the dirt that rose to choke her, bringing tears to

her eyes. She sat very still, and she waited.

The horsemen rushed by, then doubled back, bringing their horses to a

halt behind her. Jeremiah and David swung around to face them. Tess

didn't know whether to find pleasure or new anxiety in the fact that her

captors seemed as unnerved as she by the rugged Comancheros. The

Comancheros were all lined up again, and silent once more. The leader

emerged, edging his horse forward. He was frightening indeed, with

coal-dark hair and coal-dark eyes and a dark olive complexion. He had a

great, drooping, handlebar mustache, and though he grew no beard, the

rest of his face was not clean shaven. A western hat sat atop his head,

the brim pulled low. His chest was crisscrossed with ammunition, and a

long, lean cigarillo fell in a slash from the corner of his mouth.

He paused before them and reached into his pocket, then struck a match

against his boot to light his cigarillo. He stared at Tess, a smile

forming on his features. "So, amigos, the goods are delivered, eh?" He

smiled, staring at Tess. She returned his gaze. His smile deepened. "She

stares at me hard.~Maybe she will be just what Nalte desires. Untie her

hands."

"Chavez, she is dangerous," Jeremiah warned him. "Dangerous? One little

blond girl is dangerous when there are a hundred men around her? I told

you--untie her hands. Send her to me."

Tess felt the movement as Jeremiah reached for his knife. She heard the

rasping sound as he severed the ties that bound her hands together.

Instinctively she brought her hands before her, massaging her wrists

where the rope had burned them.

"Come down here, nirut," Chavez ordered.

She was ready to defy him; Jeremiah was not. He dismounted quickly from

the horse and reached for Tess. He set her hastily on the ground, then

moved away from her as if she were a rattler.

"There she is, good as new, just as we promised. Now, where is the gold,

Chavez?"

Chavez motioned to one of the men behind him, a half- naked Indian

wearing a headband of eagle feathers, a breech clout twin leather strips

of rifle bullets and nothing more.

He carried a small leather satchel that he tossed to Jeremiah. Jeremiah

instantly opened the bag. He let out a joyous whoop and looked to David.

alpache Summer "Gold. I mean gold!" He bit the coins, smiling wolfishly.

"See, David, it was all worth it!"

"Wait, my friend," Chavez said. He took a step closer to Tess.

"These rat piss, they did not touch you?"

Tess narrowed her eyes, then thought of her own safety. "No, they did

not touch me."

Chavez nodded.

"Nalte, he does not like to be he- trayed." He raised his voice,

shouting in Spanish. A Mexican rode up leading a small pinto pony.

"You," he told Jeremiah and David.

"You are done. You go. That is all.

And you, woman, you will ride this horse."

She did not move. Jeremiah mounted his horse once again, but Tess made

no move. Angry, Chavez urged his mount forward until his large buckskin

was nearly stepping upon her.

Still, she did not move.

"Ni~a" -- "I'm not a girl, Chavez, and I have a name. It's Miss.

Stuart."

Chavez started to laugh. He laughed so hard that he crunched down on his

cigarillo. He nearly swallowed part of it and started to choke.

When he caught his breath, he dismounted from his horse and thundered

furiously over to her. He was a short man, she thought. One who looked

much better on a horse than standing. She was almost as tall as he. She

would be taller.

She raised her chin and met his stare.

"Get on the horse," he said. Still, she refused to move. "Eh, nifta, I

am talking to you." He reached out a hard, callused palm and set it

against her cheek. Tess slapped him with all the strength in her.

There was silence from every man there.

Then Chavez let loose with a spate of Spanish oaths. Tess thought he

would strike her, but he did not. He lifted her, setting her upon the

bare back of the pinto. She fought and clawed at him. His hat went

flying into the dirt.

Her nail imprinted a bright line upon his unshaven cheek. He swore

again, stooping to swoop up his hat.

"Hey, Chavez!" David snickered.

"We warned you she was dangerous."

Chavez calmly pulled out his pistol and shot David through the heart.

Tess, who had despised David, nearly gasped aloud. She clenched her

chattering teeth, managing to remain immobile and silent as she watched

the red stain flare out on David's shirt.

His eyes widened, and then glazed over, and he crashed down from his

horse.

He had deserved it. He had savagely, heinously attacked Jamie. He had

nearly raped her. And yet the cold brutality of his shooting sent waves

of shock rippling within her. "You--you shouldn't have done that,"

Jeremiah stuttered, shocked.

"Mr. von Heusen, he" -- Jeremiah's words broke off in a scream as he saw

Chavez lowering the still smoking pistolin his direction. Chavez was not

a man of mercy. The pistol barked again.

That time Tess did scream. She catapulted from the pinto horse and threw

herself against Chavez, clawing, raking, pummeling him. He swore,

dropping the pistol, ducking her blows, trying desperately to seize her

wrists.

Finally he had her. His heavy arms locked around hers, and she was

assailed with the scents of onion and sour breath and unwashed human

flesh. A sickness nearly overwhelmed her, and she locked her jaw,

standing very still as he stared into her eyes with his own coal-black

ones.

"Don't be too dangerous--Miss. Stuart. You see how I deal with people

who can no longer serve me. You will behave until we have delivered you

to Nalte.

Do you understand?"

"No, I do not. I do not, because I do not give a damn!" He swore again,

savagely. His arms tightened around her as if he intended to break every

rib in her body, but as suddenly he released her, thrusting her into the

dirt.

The dust rose high around her. Tess started to cough and choke. Chavez

wrenched her up and helped her onto the pinto pony. The horse protested,

letting out a shrill sound and prancing back and forth.

"You will ride!" Chavez yelled, his eyes black upon her. Trying to

maintain her balance, Tess reached for the reins.

She wanted to protest; she wanted to fight.

But she said no more. She held the reins and leveled a glare at Chavez.

She didn't want to be bound once again. At least she was not tied, and

the pinto pony was sound and sturdy. Her dreams had escaped her, but now

they were finding a rebirth. There were a hundred men surrounding her,

but feeling the power of the horse beneath her, the determination

reawakened within her that she would escape. She would survive.

"Ride!" Chavez roared again. She was going to obey him, and he knew it.

He started to laugh.

"Miss. Smart. Yes, Miss. Smart, you must ride! Nalte is waiting!" The

Comancheros shrieked again. Men lifted their rifles in the air; some

chanted.

Horses pranced around, and their hooves hit the dust. Then they were

off.

Tess found herself holding tight to the pinto lest she be thrown and

trampled in the stampede.

"Damn?"

High atop a cliff where the mountain range began its craggy rise to the

sky, Jamie threw himself against a rock near his perch overlooking the

broad, dusty plain below. He closed his eyes in pain, then opened them

to stare across at Jon, who was still squatting on the flats of his

feet, stating down at the riders who were racing away in a cloud of

dust.

They had ridden hard and long, and they had nearly caught up with Tess

before David and Jeremiah had come upon the Comancheros. Nearly. Not

quite. They had come in time to watch the Comancbero kill yon He, usen's

men in cold blood, and in time to see Tess hit the mustachioed Mexican

bandit.

And they had come in time to watch the men ride away with her.

"There was nothing to be done. Not now," Jon said unhappily.

Jamie nodded bitterly.

"Tonight. We have to catch up with them tonight." He was silent for a

moment, then he pulled off the low-brimmed hat he was wearing and

slammed it against the dirt.

"What the hell is the matter with that woman? Doesn't she realize that

Chavez is a cold- blooded killer? He's going to rip her to shreds if she

keeps that up! I could rip her to shreds myself right at this moment." ~

"She can hardly know that we're sitting up here watching her," Jon

reminded him.

Jamie stood up, retrieved his hat and set his hands on his hips as he

stared at the sun. Twilight was coming soon enough. He didn't want to

follow so closely that they stood a chance of the Comancheros doubling

back on them, but he didn't want to be very far behind.

"She's getting closer and closer to Nalte's territory. I have to get her

back before she winds up in Apache hands." He paused.

"Before Nalte discovers that he hasn't been brought ..."

"A virgin bride?" Jori suggested.

Jamie scowled. He was staring down where the dust still rose in the wake

of the horses.

"I met Cochise once," he murmured.

"I admired the man. He was willing to meet with me under a flag of truce

in spite of the number of times the cavalry betrayed his trust. He is

our enemy, he is dangerous, but I would not hesitate to go to him. I

wonder if this Nalte is a man like Cochise."

"Nalte is powerful," Jon said.

"He is the head of his family, and the chief of many families. He

usually makes war with the Mexicans because of the war they have made

upon him, but he will deal with the Comancheros because they bring him

the arms he needs to fight his battles. He is fiercely against the

reservation life, and will battle for his land to the bitter end. But

from what I have heard, he is still a man with ethics and honor."

Jamie inhaled and exhaled.

"I just don't know. I'm going to try to get her back tonight," he said.

"I daren't risk waiting to deal with Nalte."

He turned and started sliding down the cliff toward the small clearing

in the rock where they had left the horses.

"Coming?" he called to Jon.

"I'm fight behind you," Jon assured him.

The Comancheros rode hard alongside the range until the daylight waned

and night began to fall upon them,~ Then they moved into the mountains.

The terrain became very rugged, and their pace slowed.

Chavez dropped back to ride beside Tess.

"This is Nalte's territory.

You will meet your bridegroom very soon." He sneered at her, very

pleased with himself. Tess said nothing, but watched the man with as

much disdain as possible.

"Wait until you meet Nalte. He is tall and as strong as the rock.

He crushes arrogant little girls between his fingers. He is fierce in

his paint and breech clouts and he is merciless upon his enemies."

"Chavez, he cannot be anywhere near as repulsive as you," she said

pleasantly. So pleasantly that it took several long moments for the

smile to fade from his weathered features. He shook a fist in her face.

"I have not given you to Nalte yet, little girl! You hold your tongue,

or you will pay!"

He rode forward again. Tess shivered but kept her eyes straight ahead in

the growing darkness. She could feel the horses and the men bunched

around her, could feel their eyes upon her, could smell the sweat of

their bodies. But she kept her eyes on the trail, looking neither left

nor fight, trying desperately not to acknowledge them--or her own fear.

The rocks stopped suddenly. They had come upon a small plateau studded

with crude buildings barely discernible in the dusk. An open fire with a

huge spit set above it burned in the center of the clearing, and there

were women there and a number of armed men awaiting them. Tess figured

it had to be a headquarters of sorts for Chavez in the mountains.

Perhaps his last stronghold before it became Nalte's territory in full.

She remained on her horse as the men rushed into the clearing, yelling,

screaming, calling to their women, cavorting as they dismounted.

Chavez rode over to her.

"Welcome to my home, little girl." He laughed.

"Mi casa es su casa. Always, my house is yours. Tomorrow, Nalte's tepee

will be your home!" He roared with laughter, as if he had just said the

most amusing thing in the world.

He dismounted from his horse and lifted her down from hers. He pulled

her close against him, still roaring.

"Maybe I will keep you myself. You have so much to learn about manners.

Maybe you are like a very fine horse to be broken, eh? A magnificent

mare to be ridden and tamed, eh?" Tess struggled fiercely against him.

He enjoyed her distress and continued to smile. She shouldn't fight him,

she thought.

He enjoyed it so very much.

But just as she went limp, a sharp female voice called out, "Chavez!"

His features hardened. He did not release Tess, but turned around and

stared at the dark-haired, buxom young woman coming toward him. She wore

a white peasant blouse and a full, colorful skirt. Her brown feet were

bare. She was young and pretty but her features were wide and her hips

showed signs of broadening With age and the birth of children.

She scowled furiously at Tess and scolded Chavez in Spanish.

"Woman, shut your mouth!" Chavez roared at her. She did not stop talking

until Chavez turned, his fist raised as if he would hit her. The woman

fell silent, but her eyes were eloquent. Her look said that she hated

Tess.

"I am Chavez, and I will do as I choose!" he warned the dark-haired

woman.

He pushed Tess toward her.

"Take her.

Take her to the house. I will come shortly."

The woman put a hand on Tess's shoulder. Tess shook free from her hand.

"Don't touch me!" she warned her sharply.

"What a woman!" Chavez sighed, and Tess did not know if it was with

mockery or pleasure. She gritted her teeth and stepped past the woman,

striding toward a house she indi The dark-haired woman hurried behind

her.. ~ The daylight was almost gone. By the glow of the fire, Tess

tried to take measure of where she was. The rocks of the mountains rose

all around them, but there were many trails that sprang from the

clearing. She had no idea where they led, but if she could escape during

the night, she could get some distance from Chavez.

"Stop! You stop, you gringa slut!" the woman called out. Tess ignored

her.

She reached the house and threw open the door.

There were just two rooms there. One was a kitchen with dirty shelves

and boxes. Old liquor bottles, chipped and broken, lay upon a dirty,

rickety table. Beyond the kitchen was a bedroom.

Tess stared in horror.

"This is filthy. I cannot stay here." Behind them, Chavez laughed

sourly.

"Anna, she is right. This is a sty. You will clean it up." Anna turned

and hit out at him. He grabbed her hands.

She fought him wildly, then went limp. She pleaded with him in Spanish,

her voice catching on a sob. Tess tried to ignore them. She looked

around and saw there was a back door in the bedroom. She tried not to

stare at it, wondering if it wasn't especially designed as an escape

route for Chavez if a stronger force came after him.

She didn't want him to catch her staring at the door so she turned

around and sat on one of the crude wooden chairs that surrounded the

filthy table.

"Tell her to clean it up!" Anna suddenly said, stamping her foot hard on

the floor.

"I will not," Tess said immediately. She crossed her arms over her

chest.

Chavez was convulsed with laughter once again. He unbuckled his gun belt

and tossed it on the table on top of the debris. He sat in a chair

opposite Tess and stared at her, still very amused, so it seemed.

"She will not clean up your slop, Anna. She is Miss. Stuart. She wears

an Apache squaw's buckskins, but she is a lady. You don't know this,

Anna, to be a lady. You must watch her. You musn't ask her to pick up

swill." He stopped looking at Tess for a moment and slammed his fist

against the table.

"I am hungry, Anna. You will bring me something to eat. And you will

bring something--for the lady."

Anna didn't like that at all. She began to argue again. This time Chavez

rose and slapped her hard across the face.

Anna stared at him, tears forming in her eyes. But she said no more,

choosing to obey him. Chavez looked at Tess sternly.

"That is how to handle a woman!" he told her firmly.

"That, Chavez, is not even the proper way to handle a dog," she told

him.

But a second later it was all that she could do not to shrink away from

him as he jumped to his feet and stood over her, his hand raised, ready

to strike. She willed herself not to flinch.

Slowly, his hand fell.

He smiled, then he laughed, and returned to his seat, still looking at

her.

"I would like to keep you here. I would like to see you change your

tune. I would like to see you after your eyes had been blackened and

your body used by every man here. Then you would not be so proud."

"You could never really touch me, Chavez," she said softly.

"You can hurt Anna because she loves you. You cannot hurt a woman who

despises you. That is something that you cannot even begin to

understand."

He looked at her, puzzled, then the door opened again. Anna was back

with a plate of food for Chavez and one for Tess.

Tess didn't want to touch anything in the filthy hovel, but she thought

again that she needed strength if she was going to escape, and she

hadn't had anything but water all day. She accepted the plate Anna

handed her, saying a soft, "Thank you." Anna looked at her curiously,

then went to sit in a chair facing Chavez, her head bowed.

Tess chewed the stringy beef she had been handed, and scooped up the

beans with a spoon. She ate quickly but she still had not finished when

Chavez let out a loud belch and wiped his face with the back of his

sleeve. She glanced at him and felt ill. Knowing she could eat no more,

she set her plate on the table.

"You see? She does not eat much, just little, little bites, like a

lady," Chavez told Anna. He pushed himself back from the table and rose.

Belching again, he growled at Anna to get out of his way.

"I will drink with my comrades!" he said. He went to Tess and gripped

her chin hard.

"I will come back when I have drunk my fill. And I will decide if you

get to learn your lessons from me--or the Apache." Laughing, he released

her, collected his guns from the table and strode out of the house. When

he was gone, Tess stared at Anna, watching the woman's jealous face.

Suddenly she leaped to her feet.

"Anna, listen to me. You want Chavez. I do not! Help me. Get me out of

here."

"No!" Anna cried in alarm.

"You want him. I hate him] Please" -- "No! No, no, no! He will beat me!

He might kill me." The woman wasn't going to help her, no matter how

jealous she was. With a deep sigh of exasperation Tess wandered back to

her chair.

She closed her eyes for a moment.

Lord, she was tired.

Seconds went by, then minutes. Anna stayed where she was, her head

lowered.

Tess looked longingly at the rear door. If she tried to escape, Anna

would sound the alarm. She wouldn't have a chance.

She wondered how long Chavez had been gone. The Comancheros were all

outside drinking. Drink might make Chavez think he wanted her more than

he wanted the gold the Apache was paying for her. He was a brutally

cruel man, she had to remember that. It wasn't difficult. She had only

to close her eyes to remember how he had murdered Jeremiah and David in

cold blood.

And then an idea came to her. She hurried over to Anna, falling to her

knees before the woman in her excitement.

"Anna! What if we fought? What if we pretend that I bested you and that

I"

"You could not beat me, puta!" Anna claimed. "Anna! Chavez is your man!

This is pretend. I tie you up.

I gag you. Then I am gone, and you have Chavez, and he cannot hate you

for letting me go. He must love you all the more for what I have done to

you." Tess didn't know if that was true or not, but she was certain that

Anna would survive Chavez, and equally certain that she might not do so

herself. Anna's eyes had narrowed, as if she was giving the idea a great

deal of speculation.

Tess picked up a lock of her hair.

"I am blond! That is what they want. If I stay, Chavez might throw you

out."

That decided it. Anna stood and looked around the room. She rushed' from

the kitchen to the bedroom and found some scarves.

"Is this good?"

"Yes, yes."

Anna moved to the hearth where she picked up a heavy cast-iron skillet.

She thrust it toward Tess.

"Hit me. You must hit me hard on the head. I must have a bruise."

"I--I don't think that I can" -- "You must! If Chavez should beat me, it

would be much worse. ' " All fight," Tess agreed doubtfully.

"Let's get in the bedroom. I want you to fall on the bed. I don't want

to hurt you ."

"You must hurt me some."

They walked into the bedroom. Like the kitchen, it was a mess--with the

bed unmade and clothes strewn everywhere.

Anna stood before the bed.

"Now hit me."

Tess closed her eyes and bit her lip. Then she raised the iron skillet

high and brought it crashing down on Anna's head. The woman fell without

a sound.

Panicked Tess checked to see if she had a pulse and if l~er lungs still

rose and fell with her breath. Assured that the woman was alive, she Set

to tying her wrists and ankles and gagging her with the scarves.

She was just finishing the task when the front door slammed open.

Chavez was back!

Tess ran to the rear door. She moved soundlessly and with tremendous

speed, and yet it wasn't enough. The door stuck when she tugged upon it.

Chavez was behind her. He grappled her shoulders and spun her around, a

rich growl thundering against his throat.

Tess stared into his ebony eyes. His fingers closed around her throat.

"You are dangerous! The gringos were right about you! You are trouble

and you need to be taken care of, now?

He was strangling her. She could barely breathe. In desperate

self-defense she brought her knee slamming as hard as she could against

his groin. It was a powerful and direct hit, and Chavez screamed out his

pain, staggering back.

Tess did not want to stay to see if his condition improved. She grabbed

the door again. Gasping, nearly crying, she strained against it.

Then, it opened. She nearly fell against Chavez, it opened so suddenly.

She was about to bolt through it when she gasped. Her heart seemed to

stop in her chest, her knees grew weak, her mind went blank of anything

other than the man standing in the doorway.

It was Jamie. He had come.

Hands on hips, he stood there, staring. The breadth of his shoulders

filled the doorway. He seemed to tower over her and Chavez, and indeed,

the entire room. He stared at Tess and at Chavez, swiftly summing up the

situation.

He was alive! He had come for her. She had not allowed herself to

believe he could be dead, but still he was a dream standing before her,

the hero come to sweep her away. She was so stunned to see him she could

not move, she could not utter a word, she couldn't even cry out her

thrill at seeing him standing there alive, warm blood pulling in his

veins, his chest rising and falling with every breath he took. She saw

nothing but Jamie.

Chavez had not seemed to notice Jamie was there. Chavez was staring at

Tess, and there was pure, cold murder in his coal-black eyes.

"Tess!" Jamie hissed to her.

"Move!"

She found motion at last as Chavez charged after her. She pitched

herself toward Jamie. He caught her shoulders, and his smoke-gray eyes

stared sternly into hers. "Go!" he commanded her.

"Go, get out of here, run! Do you hear me? Get the hell out and run!"

Then he thrust her behind him and out the door, into the darkness of the

night. Tess heard the sound of the impact as Chavez came thundering

against Jamie.

She couldn't run. She paused and turned back. Chavez had pulled his

knife.

The steel glistened in the pale moonglow of the night.

"Jamie!" she cried.

But Jamie had seen the knife. She expected him to draw his Colt, but

when he didn't she realized he couldn't draw down the entire camp upon

them with the sounds of bullets.

He, too, drew a knife.

"Go!" he thundered to Tess.

Still she hesitated, tears forming on her eyes. "Jamie" -- "Go! I'll

deal with you later?"

His furious, high-handed tone finally sent her into motion. She had been

kidnapped and abused, and now he was yelling at her.

Yelling at her. and facing Chavez with a knife. She bit her lip, then

turned and ran. The trail stretched~ out in the darkness before her,

narrow, twisting, rising higher and higher into the mountains. Gasping

for breath, half choking, half sobbing, Tess continued to run. She

stumbled into a huge rock, glowing white in the moonlight.

She caught hold of it, wincing against the pain in her feet, inhaling

deeply and desperately. Then she started to run again, almost blind as

the shrub grew thicker and rose higher, adding to the darkness of the

night.

Staggering, she kept on running. She grabbed at shrubs, still running,

heedless of discomfort or pain.

Then, in the darkness, she slammed against something with such impetus

that she fell to the ground, barely catching herself to break the fall,

scraping her palms with the rock and dirt beneath her hands. Stunned,

she tossed the hair from her eyes and looked up, trying to discern what

had happened.

She gasped yet made no noise, and her heart began to thunder with

renewed terror.

He stood before her, naked except for a breech clout his arms crossed

over his chest. He was as tall as Jamie, as broad, and very, very dark.

His hair was ebony and it streamed straight down his back. He was nearly

copper in color, and his features were very strong and hard.

He reached down, grasped her wrists and drew her to her feet.

Instinctively she tried to pull away from him. His grip upon her

tightened.

He smiled very slowly, and though she struggled, he held her tightly.

"Let me go," Tess said.

"Jamie--er, Lieutenant Slater is right behind me, and he'll shoot you."

She was losing her mind. She was trying to explain things in English to

an Apache savage.

"So you are the blond woman who costs so dearly," he responded in

perfect English.

"You have escaped the Comancheros. You will not escape me."

She shook her head wildly.

"No! You do not understand me! Let me go.

I've a friend. He's fight behind me. He's killing that Comanchero and

he's going to kill you. He"--" Shut up, Sun-Colored Woman."

"My name is Tess. Or Miss. Stuart. It's" -- "Sun-Colored Woman. That is

to be your name. I am Nalte, and it will be so."

"Nalte!" she breathed. She had escaped the Comanchere to run into the

arms of the very Apache who had ordered her as if she was dry goods for

a mercantile store! "You--you speak English," she said.

"Yes. Now you will come."

"No! Please, listen" -- He wasn't going to listen. He grasped her wrists

and drew her over his shoulders. She slammed her fists furiously against

him.

"Let me go, you savage! Let me go fight now! You can't just buy a blond

woman! Please ..."

But he wasn't listening to her. He was moving flcetly up the hail. He

didn't seem to be running, but the trail was disappearing beneath his

feet, and they were moving higher and higher into the mountains. He was

ignoring her pleas.

"Bastard!" she cried in furious panic.

"Savage! Horrid, horrid savage!"

That brought him to a halt. He lifted her and slammed her down upon her

knees. She tried to rise, and he pressed her down with such fury that

she w~nt still. He towered over her.

"Savage? You, a white woman, would call me savage? No one knows the

meaning of brutality so well as your own kind. Let me tell you,

Sun-Colored Woman, what the whi~ man, the white soldier has done to us,

to my people." The moon rose high, shimmering down upon him with sudden

clarity. Nalte, his bronze shoulders slick and heavily muscled, walked

around her.

"In 1862 your General James Carleton sent a dispatch unit through Apache

Pass. Cochise and Mangas Coloradas lay in wait. There was a fierc~

battle, and Mar~gas Coloradas was seized from his horse. He was taken to

Janos, but his followers told the doctors that he must be cured or their

town would be destroyed. So he survived.

"Mangas Coloradas survived so that he could come a year later, under a

flag of truee, to parlay with the soldiers and miners for peaee. He was

seized.

Your general ordered that he have Mangas Coloradas the next morning,

alive or dead. So do you know what your civilized white people did to

him?

They heated their bayonets in the fire, and they burned his legs, and

when he protested, they shot him for trying to escape. It was not

enough. They cut off his head, and they boiled it in a large pot. Do you

understand? They boiled his head. But now you would sit there, and you

would tell me that I am savage?"

She wasn't sitting, she was kneeling, in exactly the position in which

he had pressed her. She was trembling, shaking like a leaf blown in

winter, and she was praying that Jamie would arrive and rescue her.

But of course, she didn't know if Jamie was alive or dead. He had faced

Chavez in a knife fight, and she couldn't know the outcome. And now she

was facing an articulate Apache who seemed to have reason to want

vengeance.

"You speak English exceptionally well," she said dryly. He did not

appreciate her sense of humor. He wrenched her to her feet and pulled

her against him. "You will find no mercy with me," he assured her.

"Do not beg." "I--I never beg," she said, but the words came out in a

whisper. She wasn't certain if they were defiant or merely pathetic. It

didn't matter. He pushed her forward, then tossed her over his shoulder

again.

"No!" she protested wildly. She hit his back, but he did not notice her

frantic effort. She braced against him and screamed, loudly.

desperately.

Jamie. Dear God, where was he now?

Perhaps it did not matter. Perhaps there was no help for either of them

anymore.

That brought him to a halt. He lifted her and slammed her down upon her

knees. She tried to rise, and he pressed her down with such fury that

she went still. He towered over her.

"Savage? You, a white woman, would call me savage? No one knows the

meaning of brutality so well as your own kind. Let me tell you,

Sun-Colored Woman, what the white man, the white soldier has done to us,

to my people." The moon rose high, shimmering down upon him with sudden

clarity. Nalte, his bronze shoulders slick and heavily muscled, walked

around her.

"In 1862 your General James Carleton sent a dispatch unit through Apache

Pass. Cochise and Mangas Coloradas lay in wait. There was a fierce

battle, and Mangas Coloradas was seized from his horse. He was taken to

Janos, but his followers told the doctors that he must be cured or their

town would be destroyed. So he survived.

"Mangas Coloradas survived so that he could come a year later, under a

flag of truce, to parlay with the soldiers and miners for peace. He was

seized.

Your general ordered that he have Mangas Coloradas the next morning,

alive or dead. So do you know what your civilized white people did to

him?

They heated their bayonets in the fire, and they burned his legs, and

when he protested, they shot him for trying to escape. It was not

enough. They cut off his head, and they boiled it in a large pot. Do you

understand? They boiled his head. But now you would sit there, and you

would tell me that I am savage?"

She wasn't sitting, she was kneeling, in exactly the position in which

he had pressed her. She was trembling, shaking like a leaf blown in

winter, and she was praying that Jamie would arrive and rescue her.

But of course, she didn't know if Jamie was alive or dead. He had faced

Chavez in a knife fight, and she couldn't know the outcome. And now she

was facing an articulate Apache who seemed to have reason to want

vengeance.

"You speak English exceptionally well," she said dryly. He did not

appreciate her sense of humor. He wrenched her to her feet and pulled

her against him. "You will find no mercy with me," he assured her.

"Do not beg."

"I--I never beg," she said, but the words came out in a whisper. She

wasn't certain if they were defiant or merely pathetic. It didn't

matter. He pushed her forward, then tossed her over his shoulder again.

"No!" she protested wildly. She hit his back, but he did not notice her

frantic effort. She braced against him and screamed, loudly.

desperately.

Jamie. Dear God, where was he now?

Perhaps it did not matter. Perhaps there was no help for either of them

anymore.

Chapter Eleven.

Nalte moved through the darkness so swiftly that Tess had little idea of

how far they traveled. She felt as if they twisted and turned

rdentlessly, but slowly she realized that they were moving downhill. She

tried at first to reason with him, but he ignored her, and it was

painful to t~ to talk when she was held so 'tightly against him. She was

exhausted, and the words she hzd said to Chavez were true at the very

least. She wanted to be free from Nalte, but she did not feel the same

loathing for the man that she had felt for Chavez. And now she knew

Jamie was alive. Or at least he had been alive. lie had gone to battle

Chavez, but now she had hope, if not ling else.

Hope. Could he come for her against Nalte? Could he slip out in The

darkness and come furtively against the Apache? S~ didn't know what to

think anymore. She hadn't thought that Nalte would speak English, but he

did so, very well.

He halted suddenly, letting out the cry of a night bird, and was

answered in kind. He started to walk again and they descended a final

cliff to a clearing where tepees rose magically againft the night sky,

and where camp fires burned with soft gl~s, where only the movement of

shadows could be seen.

Nalte set her down and let out the soft sound. of a bird cry once again.

From the shadows a man emerged. He was dressed as Nalte was, in a breech

clout He wore high buckskin boots and numerous tight beaded necklaces,

and carried what appeared to be a U. S. Army revolver. He began to speak

with Nalte very quickly, and Nalte replied. Then the man turned and

disappeared into the shadows. The Apache camp was sleeping, Tess

thought.

"Come," Nalte told her, catching her arm and leading her across the

camp.

She saw more shadows. The camp might sleep, but men were on guard.

She started to shiver, realizing that now she had no defenses. She had

enjoyed a certain safety with Jeremiah and David, so much so that she

could even be sorry that Jeremiah had been killed so coldly. But now.

She had come here as Nalte's prize.. That had been yon Heusen's plan.

The darkness lay all around them, and Nalte was leading her toward the

largest tepee. It glowed in moonlight, and she could see the designs and

colors upon it, the scenes of warfare, the furs attached to the flaps.

Smoke rose from the hole where the structure poles met at the top

indicating a fire within the tepee.

"Get in," Nalte said, thrusting her inside.

She nearly fell, but she regained her balance and stood quickly, ready

to fight him whatever came. He let the flap fall over the entryway and

crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. She moved backward,

noting the amusement that flickered in his dark eyes. She stumbled upon

something, looked around and saw that blankets and packs of clothing

were neatly rolled against the sides of the tepee and that there were

several cooking utensils by the fire that burned in the center of the

tepee. Its smoke escaped through the high hole.

There was a woman in the tepee already. A young, very pretty woman, who

stared at Tess with wide eyes. Tess stared in return, coloring as dread

filled her. Nalte had wanted a blond woman: He already had a wife. He

intended to rape her here in front of his first wife.

He took a step toward her. She tightened her fingers into fists at her

side.

There was no escape here. This was not a place like the haphazard

Comanchero dwelling. If she could escape Nalte she would only be caught

by his warriors.

Jamie had been so close! Rescue had been within reach. But now she

couldn't even hope that he would come against the Indians. Nalte would

kill him.

Tess gazed from the young woman to the Indian.

"You are a savage!"

she shouted. Tossing her hair, she stared at him defiantly.

"I don't want you. I don't want to be here! I was kidnapped for your

entertainment! And now here sits your poor wife, and you think that

you're going to ... that you're going to ... No!" she shouted, for

the flicker of amusement had deepened in his eyes, and he was striding

toward her.

She lashed out wildly, her fists pummeling his chest. He seemed to

barely notice her effort, and bent low to pick her up and throw her on a

blanket roll. She opened her mouth to scream, but he did not come close

to her.

He stepped back, watching her.

"This is not my wife. This is my sister. And because of her, you will be

safe from me this night. With the light we begin the ceremony that makes

her a woman." He smiled at the woman, and there was deep affection in

his gaze, but it faded when he looked at Tess again.

"It is an important ceremony, a religious one."

He turned and found another blanket roll. He had dismissed her entirely,

Tess thought. She stared from the war' riot to the young woman, longing

to bolt for the opening. Nalte was already stretching out comfortably on

his blanket.

The woman tried to smile at Tess. She patted the ground, indicating that

Tess should sleep.

Tess swallowed, keeping a wary eye on Nalte. She pulled out a blanket

and carefully lay down on it. Stretching out, she pretended to close her

eyes.

But she kept watching Nalte. When he slept, she would try to escape. If

she could return to the trail in the mountains, she could possibly find

Jamie.

Was he alone? she wondered. Or was Jon out there somewhere with him?

She was exhausted, and tears threatened her eyes. No matter how hard she

tried, or how she fought, she never seemed to escape the fate that yon

Heusen had intended for her.

Jeremiah and David were dead, and she could pray that Chavez was dead,

yet it had done little for her. She was where von Heusen had intended

she should be, and she was certain that men braver than she and far more

knowledgeable of the rugged terrain could not escape the Apache.

Nalte was finally sleeping. She rose very carefully and tiptoed across

the dry earth flooring of the tepee to the slit.

She glanced at Nalte again. His eyes were closed, his features immobile.

She started to slip beneath the flap.

A hand wound around her ankle, bringing her down hard upon the floor.

In seconds the fierce warrior had crawled over her. His eyes were ebony

in the night.

"You have courage," he told her.

"But you are stupid!"

"You speak of our savagery!" she charged him.

"You deal with the despicable Comancheros, you buy rifles and women from

them!"

"My sister is my only family," he told her in turn, "because the others

were killed. Killed by white men. Beaten, skewered, broken and left to

die. My mother died this Way, my sisters. Babies, little babies. I have

not brought you here to kill you. Not unless you force me to."

"You are holding me against my will."

He touched a long strand of her hair. He seemed reflective for a moment.

"You will come to understand me," he told her.

"You will learn our ways, and you will be happy here."

"I cannot be happy!" she told him desperately. "We are not savages!"

She shook her head, moistening her lips.

"No, no more so than we. But I am not what you wanted. I" -- "You are

more than what I wanted," he interrupted, and he was smiling.

"Now go back to sleep or I will forget that I keep a sacred vigil this

night."

"Nalte, please" -- "Go back. Now."

She felt the tension in his arms and saw the fierce glitter in his eyes

and she knew that his warning was not without good reason. Hastily she

retreated. She curled into her blanket, pulling it around her ears. She

shivered. She didn't hate the Indian, but he didn't understand that. She

was not repulsed by him, but she had to be free, for she was not part of

his society. She wanted revenge. She wanted yon Heusen hurt as he had

hurt her.

And she wanted Jamie. She was in love with him, and that hurt more than

anything else. If it weren't for him, she could bear anything that

happened.

But he was out there, somewhere. And she could never forget him.

Morning came, and the blanket was pulled away from Tess's shoulders.

She gasped and opened her eyes, expecting to discover Nalte, but it

wasn't him. Several women stared at her.

They spoke to her, but she didn't understand them.

They pulled her to her feet. She protested, but was ignored. Nalte's

little sister smiled at her encouragingly. She had little choice, for

the women set upon her arms and drew her along with them. They left the

tepee to enter the family clearing. The sun was just beginning to shine

down upon the camp.

Men and women were busy, moving around. Some cleaned their weapons,

others watched her with curiosity.

The women moved around with buckets of water or with bowls of food.

A soft word was said to her, and she was moved forward. No one was cruel

to her, but she couldn't have escaped the women who were determined to

escort her.

She heard the stream before she saw it, as they walked a trail that

brought them through trees and dense shrubs.

From the trail she could hear the tinkling melody of the water,

reminding her that she was very thirsty, and that there was a certain

personal necessity she had to take care of. She was glad to he with the

women, even though she flushed when they tugged at her buckskins,

indicating that she was to strip and bathe.

Still, she felt better once the water was against her skin and once she

had swallowed huge mouthfuls of it. She realized that the women were

disappearing between a bank of trees, and she was certain the trees had

to be the latrine. She followed them, and thought longingly once she was

done of disappearing into the brush, but' even as the thought came to

her, she saw that two of her keepers had come for her. Again, they were

not cruel, but the women with the ink-dark hair and the huge dark eyes

placed firm hands upon her and took her to the stream.

There they ignored her. It was Nalte's sister who gained everyone's

attention. Once she, too, had bathed, she was dressed in a soft, pale

buckskin dress with shades of yellow coloring on it. A yellow paint was

smeared over her face, and her hair was lovingly combed out and let

loose to fall beneath her shoulders. Necklaces were placed upon her,

beautiful pieces of beads and silver cones, and one rawhide strand with

a claw upon it. She smiled during it all, flushed and lovely.

It was her ceremony day, Tess remembered. And then she realized that she

had not been forgotten after all. A woman called for her from the bank

of the stream. She had no choice but to crawl out and let them stare at

her. They whispered over her nakedness and she flushed, backing away

when they would have touched her. Her pale skin was very different from

their own, she knew.

But it was her hair that seemed to fascinate them most--both that upon

her head and that upon her body.

They didn't tease her long, but gave her a new outfit to wear. It was a

soft, pale buckskin much like Nalte's sister's dress, but with no yellow

on it. It fell just to her knees. Her feet were still sore from her

barefoot treks over the mountain trails, and she had hoped that someone

would give her soft doeskin slippers to wear. But nothing was supplied

for her feet, and when she tried to ask one of the women, the Apache

shook her head. They were preparing to go back to the village, and Tess

was to go with them. Tess wondered again about her chances of escaping,

but she had heard that the Apache women could he every bit as fierce as

their men. The women were excited about the young girl they had dressed

so carefully for her rite, but their eyes were still upon her. She

walked along, weary and desolate, trying to focus her thoughts on her

hatred of von Heusen so that she wouldn't be able to fear her own

future, and to wonder desperately about Jamie Slater.

Her eyes were lowered, her head was down when they came into the

village.

She stumbled and looked up to see where she was going.

Looking across the compound she saw that four Indians were in curious

costumes with huge headdresses, obviously preparing for the rites to

come.

But the Indians were staring across the compound at a stranger who had

come among them. For a moment he looked very much like Nalte. Tess

narrowed her eyes, watching the man, trying to figure out why he looked

so familiar. He was dressed in buckskins from head to toe and he wore a

cap adorned with eagle and owl feathers. His hair was black and straight

as Nalte's, but worn shorter. Even as she stared at him, he turned

slowly, pointing her way.

She gasped, stunned to see that the newcomer was Jon Red Feather. He

smiled at her briefly, a sign of encouragement, she thought, then his

expression quickly sobered again, and he continued to talk to Nalte.

The tall Apache was dressed for the ceremony, too. He wore a fringed

buckskin shirt, buckskin pants, high, laced boots and eagle feathers in

his hair. He was also adorned with a turquoise amulet around his neclq

and silver studs and beads upon his bonnet and shirt. He was listening

to Jori Red Feather--and watching Tess gravely as he did.

Nalte nodded, and Jon let out a whistle.

Then Jamie rode into the clearing. He was in calico shirt, denim pants,

knee-high boots and a Western hat. He didn't glance at Tess, but lifted

a hand to Nalte. When he reached the chief, he slipped from the horse

instantly and approached the man, speaking quickly.

She felt as if her heart slammed hard again. ~t her chest. He was a

fool! she thought. He didn't know Nalte, he didn't know how the Apache

chief hated the white man, nor did he seem to realize the things that

had been done to the Apache by the cavalry. Fool! She wanted to scream

to him, but she couldn't breathe, she could only pray that Nalte

wouldn't slay him right on the spot.

Nalte shook his head violently.

Forty warriors suddenly drew their weapons, facing Jamie.

His Colts were around his waist, but he didn't make a move to touch

them. He spoke calmly once again, and Nalte called out something

sharply. Guns and war clubs were lowered.

Frightened still, Tess cried out, shaking off the hands of the women

around her and racing toward Jamie. She pitched herself against him, but

he caught her shoulders hard and thrust her away.

Thrust her away--straight into Nalte's arms. Her eyes widened with alarm

and fury.

"What in God's name are you doing?" she gasped. She couldn't move.

"Nalte's dark fingers were a vise upon her.

Nor did Jamie seem to want her. His eyes flashed upon her with dark

fury.

"Stop it, Tess."

"But" -- "Stop it! Shut up!"

"Damn you, Jamie" -- He switched into the Apache language, addressing

Nalte.

At the last, he spoke English once again.

"Nalte, may Jon Red Feather take the woman away so that we may speak

without interruption?"

"Speak without interruption!" Tess flared. But Nalte was nodding.

"Tess, come!" Jori called to her.

Apparently she didn't move quickly enough. Jamie reached for her arm and

thrust her toward Jon. He pulled her away even as she protested.

"Jon" -- "Tess, he's trying to negotiate for your return."

"They were going to shoot him! I had to do something." She tugged free

of Jon and turned back to watch Jamie, still talking with Nalte.

"What are they doing now?"

"Talking about prices."

"For what?"

"For you, of course," he told her with a crooked smile. "How can Jamie

pay Nalte?"

"Well, he can't pay him ... not very much, that's why he's arguing

that you aren't worth the price."

"I'm not worth the price!"

"Tess" -- Tears touched her eyes.

"He shouldn't he here to begin with! He must not understand Nalte"

"Nalte would have killed most men by now. He is seeing Jamie because he

knows about him, he knows that Jamie has always been fair. Tess, keep

your mouth shut, all right?" She wanted to keep her mouth shut, but she

was still in terror that the Apache would betray Jamie, as they had been

227 betrayed so many times themselves. She was deliriously glad to see

him and Jon, and she wanted to know about Chavez, but she was afraid to

ask. Her temper was rising because she was so desperately scared of what

was to come. Before she could say more, Nalte came striding by with

Jamie and his guard behind him.

Jamie cast her a fiercely warning glare; Nalte barely glanced her way.

They entered Nalte's dwelling.

"What are they doing now?" Tess demanded. "Negotiating," Jon said

briefly.

She started to shiver. Nalte didn't need to negotiate. He could kill

Jamie and ke~P her. He had all the power. He could do anything he wanted

to do.

"There's no hope!" she whispered.

Jon set his hands on her shoulders.

"Courage, Tess. There is every hope. Nalte's little sister begins her

puberty rite today. The rite goes on for four days. The woman over there

will be her sponsor. She is of impeccable character, and she will stand

for the sister. The man there with the buffalo horns upon his cap and

the white eagle feathers, he is the shaman, the medicine man, and he

will add the sacred religion to the ceremony. The girl is dressed for

her role as White Painted Woman or White Shell Woman, a sacred maiden

and one of the most important of the Apache supernaturals.

She will pray to the sun. The dancers with the headdresses, they are the

Gan, or Mountain Spring Dancers.

It is an expensive ceremony, but Nalte is a great chief, and he has

supplied much for his sister's rite. The Gan dancers symbolize the four

directions.

They are elaborate." Tess watched the dancers as they prepared for the

day.

They were painted black and white, and they carried huge fan racks and

wore buckskin kilts. They carried wands. On their arms were trailers

made of cloth and eagle feathers. Their huge masks had false eyes. The

fan racks portrayed snakes and other creatures.

She shivered, grateful that Jori was there to assure her that the

dancers were involved in a ceremonial rite and were not preparing for

war. She looked into his green eyes and realized that he had kept

talking to ease her mind from worry, and she was grateful to him.

"He must be furious to be disturbed today!" she whispered.

"He is not disturbed. He will make his decision quickly," Jon told her.

An Apache warrior emerged from Nalte's tent. He spoke briefly with Jori

and took Tess by the arm.

"Jon!" she cried.

"Go with him," Jon ordered her.

"He isn't going to hurt you. I'm wan led with Nalte. And you are not."

She didn't want to let Jon out of her sight, but he moved away

resolutely, and she had no choice but to accompany the warrior who took

her by the arm.

Seconds later she was thrust into an empty tepee. The fire that had

burned in the center was nearly out. On rocks beside it were corn cakes

and dried meat. She hadn't been told she could, but she was alone and

she was starving, so she helped herself. She had barely bitten into the

food when she became so nervous she couldn't chew. She set the food down

and began to pace.

After a while she sat again and looked sadly at her tender and torn

feet.

They would never be the same again.

Moments later, she heard a rush of air. She catapulted to her feet,

staring toward the opening of the tepee. Jamie was coming in. She gasped

softly, then raced toward him, flinging her arms around him.

He quickly untangled himself, staring fiercely into her eyes.

"We're going to get out of this. If you can manage to behave."

"Behave!"

"Listen to me!" He shook her so hard that she felt her teeth rattle.

Indignantly she tried to jerk away from him, but his grip on her was

firm and he wasn't letting go. "You're hurting me!"

"I'm hurting you! We're in the midst of a fiasco like this" -- "It

wasn't my fault!"

His jaw twisted hard.

"I know. It wa~ mine. For being so damned determined to try to

understand you.

She felt the color drain from her face. The planes of his face seemed

very lean and hard. He was more bronze, tauter. There was a fresh scar

upon his cheek. She wanted to touch it tenderly, but he was holding her

with too great a vigor. And the smoky anger in his eyes told her he did

not want her touch.

He had come for her. He had survived both yon Heusen's guns and his

fight with Chavez to come for her. But now she realized that he had come

only because he considered himself responsible for what had happened to

her. She paled, trying to pull from his grasp, but he wouldn't let her.

"The puberty rite for Nalte's sister will last four days. He will not

attend to any other business during that time. Jori and I are to be his

guests. You are to stay here, do you understand me?"

"Just stay here ... for four days?" she whispered.

"Can't I be with you?"

He swore, vehemently.

"You were purchased, Tess! Damn it, don't you realize that? And not for

your talents with a newspaper."

"Jamie, don't you start with me" -- "No, don't you start with me," he

said heatedly.

"You can manage yourself, and you can manage a lot, and you probably are

a damned good rancher and newspaper woman. But if you try anything here,

Tess, we'll both probably die. Do you understand? We're walking a very

narrow line here. I've tried to explain von Heusen to Nalte.

He has a sense of honor; there is a chance he will return you. But I

can't do-any of this if you interfere. Do you understand?"

She wrenched free of him at last. His hands fell upon his hips and his

hat brim tipped over one eye, yet she could still see the silver glint

in the other. She swung around and walked with her shoulders stiff and

straight, then she sat Indian fashion upon a blanket roll. She mustn't

let him see how hurt she was.

He didn't say anything else to her, but started to turn to leave. She

couldn't stand that, and called out to him.

"Jamie!"

"What?" he demanded impatiently.

"What" -- She paused, licking her lips. "what happened to Chavez?"

"He's dead," Jamie said flatly.

"And the Comancheros" -- "The Comancheros never saw me," he said.

"But if we're going to get out of the mountains, we're going to need an

Apache escort. So don't create problems."

"Me!" "You," he said succinctly, and he was on his way out again.

"Jamie!"

"what now?"

She hesitated a second.

"Thank you. Thank you for coming after me.

Thank you for risking so much."

"You don't need to thank me. I owed you this." This time he stayed,

staring at her. But she couldn't speak anymore because sudden tears were

welling behind her lashes and threatening to spill over on her cheeks.

He owed her this. He had come for her because he owed her. She had

dreamed that he was falling in love with her.

Maybe she was proving to be too much trouble. She had traded half her

land for a hired gun. But she had never told 231 her hired gun he was

going to have to go after Comancheros and Apache as well as von Heusen's

men. I'll member to thank Jon," she said coolly.

"He didn't owe me anything."

"You do that," Jamie told her. But still he didn't leave. He stood by

the entrance, and she sat across from him, her knees crossed, her

shoulders and back-very straight, her hands resting upon her knees. The

distance between them seemed immense, and yet she felt the touch of his

eyes as if it was fire.

It was he who spoke. ~this time, lightly, softly. "Tess?"

"What?"

"Did--did any of them--hurt you?"

She knew what he meant. Her cheeks burned and her lashes fell over her

cheeks.

"David was a monster, and he probably would have killed me. Jeremiah

wasn't so bad--he wouldn't let David touch me. I was sorry to see

Jeremiah killed." Her voice faded slightly.

"Especially the way he was killed.

And Chavez. Well, you know about Chavez, because. because you were

there."

"Yes, I know about Chavez. What about Nalte?" She shook her head.

"He let me be. Because of his sister."

She started, hearing the long, ragged exhalation of his breath. She

thought, for a moment, that he would cross the distance between them and

take her into his arms. He did not. She could scarcely breathe, longing

to leap to her feet once again. But he had already set her from him. She

wasn't going to touch him again.

"You're still Nalte's," he told her harshly. She gazed at him, wondering

what he meant. Then she realized that he would not touch her until he

had completed his negotiations with the Apache chief.

He didn't say any more. He swung around and left, and she knew that even

if she had called his name then, he would have left her.

The day wore on endlessly. Tess could hear the ceremonial drums beating

and the chants of the puberty rite, but she could see nothing, and she

was involved in nothing. She tried very hard to be patient, and to

understand that everything rested upon negotiation.

Late in the afternoon, Jon came in. She almost leaped into his arms, but

he was carrying a dish of food for her. He set it down, and she did hug

him, fiercely. "Eat," he told her.

"You may need your strength."

She nodded and sat and looked suspiciously at her bowl. "What is it?"

she asked.

"Something exotic and Apache," he told her, "beef. Probably, from cattle

taken in a raid. You should not worry.

The Apache are very finicky about what they eat. They will not eat

snake, for they believe that the creature is evil, and they will not eat

evil meat.

Here they are close enough to the plains to seek out the buffalo. They

also hunt deer, antelope, elk and bighorn. Their food is quite safe, I

assure you."

She flashed him a quick smile and ate the beef with her fingers. It was

delicious.

"How does the ceremony progress?" she asked. "The gift has been taken to

the ceremonial tepee with her shaman. She has knelt down on the buckskin

and lain prone to be massaged by her sponsor, and she has run in the

four directions. Tonight she will dance in the ceremonial tepee, and

others will dance in the center of the village."

He paused, looking at her.

"I am leaving tonight. Nalte will not let you go until this ceremony is

over, and we think it is important that I hurry to Wiltshire with the

news that you have been found."

"Oh!" Tess said, setting down her bowl and staring at him. Then she

moved across the tent and hugged him close.

"I don't want you to leave. I'm so afraid for you."

"The Apache will see me past the Comancheros, as they will do for you if

they choose to let you go."

"If" -- "Whenl" he assured her.

She pulled slightly away, staring into his deep green eyes and feeling

as if she had found a friend she would cherish all her life. In his

buckskins he appeared very much the Indian, but his words were those of

the white man who knew her society and understoocf her fears.

"Oh, Jon, be careful!" she pleaded with him. "I'm quite sure he will

be."

Jamie's deep drawl startled them both. Tess stood quickly. Jon came to

his feet more slowly, staring at Jamie.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," Jamie said drily. He ducked beneath

the flap and was gone.

Tess instinctively ran after him.

Jon caught her before she could leave.

"You cannot go to him!" he ordered her hoarsely.

"He has explained to you.

You are still Nalte's. You remain here, untouched, until a decision is

made.

"But he--he misconstrued what he saw!" Tess wailed. Jon offered her a

dry smile.

"Perhaps he deserved to, eh?" She didn't smile in return, and he

hastened to reassure her.

"He is my friend, and I am his. He knows we said goodbye and nothing

more." He didn't let her answer, but gave her a quick squeeze.

"I'll see you in Wiltshire," " he whispered, then he was gone.

And she was left alone. Outside the light was fading. Darkness was

coming, and despite the summer heat of the day, the night was coming

with a chill.

Tess shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, staring miserably at

the center of the tent where the fire burned no longer.

Jamie walked almost blindly into the growing darkness of the night.

Soon, the evening ceremonies for the young girl would begin, but at the

moment, there was a lull as preparations were made. This puberty rite

was one of the most important for the Apache. It was a structured

society, a social one, and respect and honor were tremendously

important.

The anger that seethed through him lightened for a moment as he thanked

God that Nalte happened to be an exceptionally honorable man. Nalte had

known when he first bargained with yon Heusen that the man who intended

to sell a blond woman to him had to be somewhat of an outcast in his own

society. But he had not imagined the things Jamie told him. Jamie

explained that yon Heusen had made war on Tess and had tried to make the

people around him believe it was the Comanche or the Apache who had car-

tied out the raids.

That had infuriated Nalte, and it had almost given him Tess.

Almost. Nalte wasn't quite ready to let go.

Jamie clenched his teeth and his fists as he hurried past the circle of

tepees and into the night. He wanted to reach the stream, to bathe his

face in its coldness.

Yet even when he reached the stream, the water could do nothing to

soothe him. He could not forget Tess's eyes-huge, violet and luminous

upon his.

She had been so straight and rigid, and yet she had seemed so very small

and vulnerable when she had talked to him in the tent. She had explained

the past few days with a simple dignity, and he had been so relieved to

discover that she had received a minimum of abuse that his knees had

gone weak. He had wanted to wrap her in his arms and promise her

everything would be all right, that no one would ever hurt her again.

But he hadn't been able to do that. He couldn't make any promises. He

didn't even dare touch her lest the emotion or the passion tear him

apart and lead to Nalte's fury. But he had never hungered more deeply

inside for her.

She was always fighting; she was always strong. She had endured so much

that she could be no less than strong. And yet now she had that air of

vulnerability about her. She did need him. And he wanted to be all

things to her.

He splashed more water on his face, and his temper cooled. He owed Jon

so much--and not his anger. Yet he had been angry, seeing her trustingly

in his friend's arms, seeing the tears in her eyes, the emotion within

them. He wanted her. He wanted her in his arms.

He closed his eyes, and saw again the picture of the young woman with

the luminous violet eyes and the soft storm of golden-red hair falling

over her shoulders and down her back. So quiet and still, and somehow

achingly soft in the bleached white buckskins. There'd been a strange

serenity about her, a serenity she could not possibly be feeling. He'd

felt impotent to be just standing there talking to her. He was her gun,

her hired gun. He'd said that he'd protect her, but he hadn't been able

to. Others had descended upon her, and she had endured fear and

suffering at their hands. He'd been praying for a miracle. Praying that

she hadn't been so abused that he'd never manage to live with himself

again.

He'd never felt good about killing a man. Never. Not during the war, not

after. But he'd wanted to kill yon Heusen's men when they had taken her.

He'd wanted to do more than kill them--he'd wanted to tear them limb

from limb and watch them die in horrible agony. Chavez had taken that

away from him. For the good of his soul, maybe it was just as well. It

was hard for a man to live with that kind of hate. He knew. He'd watched

it fester in his brother Cole, and it had nearly cost him his wife,

Kristin. Then there had been Chavez.

He'd never seen Chavez, except from the mountaintop. And watching the

Comanchere shoot the men in cold blood had kept him from feeling the

least remorse when Chavez had fallen beneath his blade. The fight

between them had been cold, both men knowing that it was life or death.

Jamie had been a little quicker, and Jon had managed to come around with

the horses before the Comancheros knew that their leader had been

visited, much less killed. The bound woman on the bed had never moved,

and she hadn't seen anything. They were done with the Comancheros--for

good, he hoped.

He smiled suddenly. He would have to ask Tess how the woman had come to

be bound and tied on that bed. It would surely be an interesting story.

But when they had fled the Comancheros camp, Tess had been nowhere to be

seen. They had tracked the trails up and down all night, calling softly

to her. He hadn't been willing to admit that they had helped her elude

the Comancheros only to send her into the arms of the Apache. But Jon

knew the territory, and he knew something of Nalte. And in the end they

had decided that the only way they could deal with the chief was to lay

their cards on the table. Jamie was going to have to count on his

reputation with the Indians. Jori would change into his buckskin attire

to approach Nalte first, then Jamie would ride in. It had been risky for

them both. The Apache were a warlike people, and Nalte was known to hate

the white man. But he had a reputation, too--one for upholding his own

sense of honor and hospitality.

Besides, it was obvious from the out skim of the village that some big

ceremony was going on, and a chief like Nalte didn't usually like blood

on his hands during such an occasion.

And so they were here, and still waiting. Darkness was falling upon the

water. The moon glittered gently upon it, and the easy melody of the

running water was gentle.

It was a beautiful sight, this valley within the beginning of the fierce

mountain ranges.

A beautiful place to die, Jamie thought.

Nalte had promised his decision about Tess as soon as the festivities

for his sister had ended. Jon seemed to believe that the Apache chief

had already determined he would return Tess, at some cost, of course,

but he would return her.

But what if he did not?

Jamie knew he would never leave without her.

If Nalte decided against him, he would have to fight the chief. And if

he won, the Apache would probably slay him in vengeance anyway. He might

well die in this beautiful place, then there would be nothing more that

he could do for Tess.

I'm sorry! he thought. i never should have become so involved. Falling

in love with a beautiful angel has surely been the downfall of many a

man. I couldn't let you go that morning. I had to make you see that the

thing between us was right and that you couldn't turn away from it by

the morning's light.

He hadn't had the edge he had needed, the edge that had kept him alive

through so much.

So now they were here, and their fate rested on the decision of an

Apache chief.

He liked Nalte. He had a keen intelligence, was well- versed in his own

language and in English, well-aware of the world around him. And

fighting to maintain the inheritance of a people despite an encroaching

world. He was not so bad a man, Jamie thought. Rather he die and leave

Tess to Nalte, than leave her to trash like David or Chavez. Nalte would

never hurt her.

He clenched his fists and swore to the night sky. Then his thoughts

raced as he sank on h~s haunches to stare at the rippling, moon-kissed

water once again. I will not die here! Come heaven or hell, I will

fight, and with every edge, and I will bring her home with me!

"Jamie!"

He thought he imagined the voice.

But then, as he stared into the water, her reflection was caught by the

glow of the moon almost magically on the surface before him.

"Jamie ..."

She was there. She was wearing the white buckskin dress he had seen

before.

Her hair was flowing, rich and waving, paler than usual in the water's

reflection. Nor could the water catch the color of her eyes, that violet

that was so extraordinary and so compelling, so quick to flash with

anger, so deep when touched by her emotions. Nothing could catch that.

No words, no mirrored image.

But the water did catch the softness he had glimpsed before, and he knew

then why he had been falling in love with her so swiftly and so

completely. She had great strength, she would never tire, and she would

never cease to fight, for herself, for others, for the glory of all the

great muses that caught her heart. She could not bear injustice, and she

would never falter to overcome it.

But never could she be less than a woman, beautiful, giving, enwrap ping

all with the passion of her soul, and of her life. Once he had wanted

only her smile to touch him. Once he had been enamored of the silk of

her flesh, and the sweeping curves and slim angles of her form. Once.

But now he knew what it meant to love. It was desire, but more than

desire. It was needing the smile as much as the passion. It was wanting

to lie down by the still waters as much as to weather the tempestuous

storm. It was wanting to share a lifetime together.

"Jamie ..."

Once again, she whispered his name. He turned slowly, and saw that she

did stand just behind him--no image, no dream, so much more than a

reflection.

In her bare feet with her bare calves, her dress falling just above her

knees, she seemed exceptionally innocent.

The color of her eyes was true, deep as the night, dark as the desire

that suddenly swept over him. He wanted her in his arms--but he dared

not touch her. Not until Nalte made his decision.

He swallowed hard and came to his feet. He stared at her and hoped that

his scowl was menacing. Yet he didn't even know if it remained upon his

face, for he couldn't deny the moonlight or the strange, mystical

sensation that seemed to touch her. She seemed to be of the

supernatural, too beautiful to touch, an angel, a spirit, the spirit of

life that pervaded the mountain.

"What are you doing out here?" he demanded harshly. She smiled, a slow

cu~rl of her lips that touched her eyes to deep, shimmering radiance.

She took a step toward him, shook her head slightly.

And reached for him.

Her arms came around him, giving, soft. She pressed against him. She was

naked beneath the buckskin, and her breasts were full and flush against

him, the hardened peaks seeming to rake his flesh despite the layers of

clothes between them. Sparks tore into him, igniting great fires,

ripping through his limbs, thundering down to his groin.

And then she kissed him. Her teeth grazed his lips, and the tip of her

tongue encircled his lips, touched the roof of his mouth, swept into his

mouth. There was a pounding so fierce he could not deny it.

He touched her. Touched her almost violently, his arms sweeping around

her, his lips seizing hard upon hers, his tongue returning each sweet

torment she had cast upon him. He swept her from her feet and carried

her to the soft embankment. He pressed her to the earth, his mouth still

covering hers. He felt the soaring temptation of her nails raking

lightly against his back, drawing new, shimmering sensations of deadly

heat within him.

This was madness.

He drew his lips back from hers, and her eyes met his. Violet,

beguiling, with a touch of fire, a touch of innocence.

Sweetly wicked, she smiled again; she touched his cheek. Her lashes fell

demurely, sultry, sensual against the pale marble beauty of her cheek.

She had come to seduce him.

He groaned aloud.

It was madness.

Nalte might well kill them both if he came upon him. But the fire had

spread throughout his limbs. Tension and desire pervaded his heart and

his mind and knotted fiercely at his loin, driving him to madness. How

could she smile so hauntingly, knowing that she invited him to doom. He

swore softly, and he touched her lower lip in the moon glow, meeting the

wild violet beauty of her eyes. "Lead me to death then, if you would,

Miss. Stuart. I cannot leave you now."

And he seized her lips once again with his own. The rich, verdant scent

of the earth and stream surrounded them, and he was lost.

Chapter Twelve.

l_9ie? Tess whispered against his lips. Desperate to be near him that

night, she had hardly believed the good fortune that had let her come to

him, and now, in the magical splendor of the night, he was talking of

dying in her arms.

He was so tense above her. His eyes raked over her with a hard edge, and

his voice was harsh, but still she felt the depth of his longing. It was

luxurious to be so coveted and so desired. And yet she wondered at his

words, her eyes widening to his.

"Nalte," Jamie said, leaning high above her.

"He would kill me in seconds if he found me with you. Is that your plan?

To seduce me to my doom?"

She didn't reply right away. She smiled wickedly and smoothed his hair

back from his face." Would you really die for me?" she whispered softly.

He caught her hand where she touched him and drew her wrists together

high over her head, staring down at her. She didn't know if he loved her

or despised her in those seconds, but she did know that he wanted her.

Tension con stricter the length of his body, and muscles convulsed at

his throat and within the tautness of his features.

"Is that what you want?" he demanded.

He wasn't smiling. She knew that she had probably tested him beyond

endurance, so she whispered softly to him in the night.

"No, I do not want you to die for me. Nalte knows that I am here."

"What?"

"He came to me and told me that I could go to you, that he had made his

decision. We are to stay here until the ceremonies are complete for his

sister, then the Apache will see that we are given an escort out of the

mountains."

"Nalte ... knows?" Jamie repeated.

She nodded solemnly.

"He said that you told him I was already your woman. He also said that

you were either a fool or a very brave man to have come for me, and that

a brave man deserves the respect of other brave men. And so he told me

that you were here, and that I could come to you."

He stared down at her, his grip hard upon her wrists as he tried to

understand what she was telling him. Nalte had decided in their favor.

There was no need to die here. He could leave with Tess.

He could leave with her.

And he could make love to her, here, tonight, in the shadow of the

Apache's mountains, at the stream where life itself and the night seemed

mystical.

He cried out harshly and lowered himself over her, his lips parting

before they ever touched hers. He ravished her mouth, demanding that it

open to his, and he seemed to taste and find all of her, his tongue

delving ever deeper, his teeth teasing her lips, his breath mingling

with hers, the whole of his kiss so deep and complete and sensual that

it was raw and laid her bare. It touched her on a level so intimate that

the very decadence aroused her to shattering heights. Then his lips left

hers, and she was bereft. The night air touched her lips where they

remained damp and moist from his touch.

His fingers were upon the rawhide laces of her buckskin dress. Her

breasts spilled free to his touch, and his hand cupped and caressed

them, his fingers stroking and arousing her nipples. Then his mouth

formed hungrily around one nipple to suckle and tease the hardening bud,

to send streams of excitement and desire sweeping through her limbs. She

was glad of the darkness.

Flushing, she wondered how it was the searing liquid fire of his kiss

touched her breast, yet sent the molten longing to swirl to the base of

her abdomen, and lower still to hover and deepen at the apex of her

thighs.

It did not matter where he touched. He continued to kiss her as he

slowly eased the buckskin from her body. He kissed the nape of her neck,

and the tip of his tongue hovered at her earlobe, then ran a trail down

her spine as he shifted her body to toss aside the dress. He kissed the

inside of her upper arm, and she had never imagined that a touch could

elicit such wild stirrings within her. Nor did he allow his kisses to

stop there.

Soon she was lying prone upon the verdant earth again, so close to the

water that it lapped at her ankles. And even the touch of the water

added to the wonder and the magic. It caressed her as the breeze did, as

his every touch did. She was whispering things to him, things she should

never have said, things about the wonder and desire he created. She

struggled to touch him in return, to know more and more of him. Her

teeth sank gently upon his shoulders, and her tongue laved every tiny

little wound. Her fingers stroked and massaged his shoulders and

trembled over every ripple and bulge of his muscle beneath her touch.

She shed his shirt, nearly ripping the buttons from it. She touched his

chest with her tongue, and she moved lower and lower against him.

But then she found herself prone again, and his hands and lips were

moving magic upon her. His kiss touched her, searingly hot. The cool

water lapped over her feet and ankles, but the whole of her was achingly

hot, a fire against the water. His lips touched her bare belly, and the

arches of her feet, and her knees and her thighs. And then he kissed her

warmly, intimately, at the very heart of her desire, kissed her body as

he would kiss her lips, demanding all and giving her ecstasy in turn.

And still the cool stream washed against her. In the end she rose

against him, and they knelt together in the shallows in the night, and

her breasts moved against his chest as their lips fused once again, and

then the fullness of their bodies. She led him down then to the rich

earth, and crawled atop him, her hair a blaze of sunset kissed by the

moon, ~r movements smooth and sultry as the touch of golden locks swung

over his chest and belly.

In the magic of the night, to the rough and urgent murmurings of his

husky voice, she rode the magic of the darkness, and of the man, until

the beauty exploded within them and around them, until the sweet

satiation and exhaustion seized them, until they were filled with one

another. Only then did she fall against him. She didn't care about the

future or the past; she only knew that she had come to him because she

had wanted him. And because she loved him.

Nothing else mattered, for she had learned that time and life and love

were precious, and this night she had all three.

They were silent together as the moon cast its gentle glow on them.

He stroked her hair softly and at long last he whispered, "It's

true--Nalte sent you to me?" She nodded happily against his chest.

"It's true," she whispered.

"Thank God," he breathed.

"He's very upset."

"He is?"

"He doesn't like the idea that von Heusen has been causing so much

trouble.

He told me that the Apache raid, and that they make war, and that these

are separate things. They raid for foodstuffs and other things they

need, they do not raid to kill. When they make war, they do so to kill.

But they do not kill children, and they do not slaughter animals

needlessly. He says there is enough trouble between the 245 whites and

the Indians. He doesn't usually have much use for the Comanche himself,

and the tribes have warred for generations, but he cannot see the

Comanche blamed for a white man's sins."

"You had quite a long talk with him," Jamie commented.

"Jealous?" she asked sweetly.

He grunted.

She braced her hands upon his chest, staring deeply into his eyes.

"I

like him, Jamie."

Jamie laced his fingers behind his head as he watched her eyes.

"Want to stay with him?" he asked.

Words, gentle words, self-betraying words, hovered on Tess's lips. I

like Nalte, but I love you, she almost said. But she could not dispel

the memory of Eliza hanging on to him, trying to force him to love her

in return. She would never do that, she swore. It was dangerous to fall

in love with Jamie Slater.

If nothing else, Tess wanted her dignity left to her.

She forced a smile to her lips and asked lightly, "Trying to get rid of

me?"

"You are a hell of a lot of trouble," he told her frankly. "Yes, but

you've already come this far."

"So I have."

"And I really am worth it."

"Are you?" His eyebrows shot up.

She nodded. Then she moved very low against him again. She let her hair

float over his chest as she lowered her lips to his slick bronze flesh.

She shimmied her body against him as she inched lower down the length of

his body, her thighs locked around him, moving sinuously against him.

She felt the quick rasp of his breath, and she let her lips linger upon

the spot where she could hear the frantic beating of his heart.

Then she moved lower and lower, daring to touch him instinctively,

exploring what was intensely male about him with little subtlety and

tremendous fascination. Her body undulated upon his. She discovered her

own prowess and power, and drove him nearly to madness. All that he had

demanded of her she took in return. He shuddered violently beneath her

touch, his fingers digging into the earth when she caressed him as

boldly with her lips and tongue as he had done to her. He shouted out

hoarsely, and she was soon pinned to the earth as he took her almost

savagely, with a driving, explicit hunger that seemed to rend the very

heavens.

And when the stars had exploded to dance within the night sky and go

still again, he whispered tenderly against her ear, "My love, you are

worth it indeed."

They stayed by the water a little while longer. Whatever came in the

future, Tess knew that she would dream of this place as long as she

lived.

She began to shiver, and he covered her in the doeskin dress once again,

and then he suggested that they return to the tepee in the village.

They slept that night alone together in the teix~ where she had been

taken earlier that day. They slept, having shed their clothing once

again, wound into one another's arms within the warm shelter of an

Apache blanket.

When morning came, they were still together.

During the next few days, they were Nalte's honored guests. They

attended the ceremonies for his sister, Little Flower, and Tess was

amazed to find that she had discovered a strange peace here, living with

the Apache. Nalte spent time with the two of them. Sometimes he ignored

Tess and engaged in long conversations with Jamie in his Apache tongue.

But sometimes he spoke in English, including Tess. Once, when they were

alone, Jamie having gone to join a bunting party, Nalte took it upon

himself to teach her something about the Apache ways.

He explained to her about the Gan," or Mountain Spirit Dancers. In their

masks, they impersonated the Mountains Spirits. They evoked the power of

the supernaturals to cure illness, drive away evil and bring good

fortune. They assembled in a cave, and under the guidance of a special

Gan shaman, they donned their sacred costumes. They held great power,

and therefore they were obliged to honor severe restrictions.

They were not to recognize friends once they were in their attire, nor

were they to dance incorrectly or to tamper with the sacred costume or

clothing once it had been left within a secret cache. To disobey any of

the restrictions could bring calamity down upon the dancer or his family

or tribe. To disobey could bring about sickness, madness, even death.

"We are a people of ritual," he told her.

"We celebrate the Holiness Rite and the Ceremonial Relay. For the

Holiness Rite the shaman must go through arduous procedures, imitating

the bear and the snake, and curing the people of the powerful bear and

snake sicknesses.

The Ceremonial Relay tells us of our food supply--game and the harvest

of nature. Runners symbolize the sun and the animals, and the moon and

the plants. If the sun runners win, game will be in plenty for us. If

the moon runners win, then we will feast on the harvest of the plants."

"You live a good life here," Tess said.

"I live a good life, yes, but I fear the day when white men come to take

it from me."

"But surely, here" -- "They will come, the white men will come. War will

tear apart the mountains, and blood will stain the rivers. It is

inevitable.

But when the time comes, I will remember you, and Slater, and I will

know that all whites are not the same. Yes, it is good here. Now. And

you, I think that you are at She smiled at him.

"I do not believe it, but yes, I am at peace here."

Nalte stared at the fire that burned in the center of the village.

"You might have been happy had you stayed," he said quietly.

"And maybe not. Our women are the gatherers. The first green vegetables

are the yucca, and the women collect them. Then they must collect the me

seal stalks and roast them and grind them into paste. We eat the mescal

as paste, and as the cakes you have been given with your meals. It is a

hard life."

"A ranch is a hard life. And so is a newspaper," Tess said softly.

She looked at him quickly.

"A newspaper" -- "I know what a newspaper is. I lived in a town for many

years when I was a child. I was captured with a war party and taken in

by a minister's wife. I learned a lot about your society. A newspaper is

a powerful weapon."

"It isn't a weapon at all," Tess protested. "More powerful than a gun.

Be careful with it," Nalte warned her. Then he asked her if she was

Jamie's wife. She flushed as she told him that she was not.

"But you are his woman," Nalte told her.

"It--it isn't the same thing," she said.

The Indian was lowering his head, smiling, and she remembered belatedly

that he had chosen to let her go because of Jamie.

"When an Apache marries, he goes to his wife's family. If she lives in a

distant territory, then the man leaves and joins her family. Within it

he may rise to be the leader, then he may become the leader of many

families, and ultimately a great chief. But always, when it is possible,

he joins his wife's family. He works for his wife's parents and elders,

and he is known by them as 'he who carries burdens for me."

He speaks for her, and the man and the woman exchange gifts. A separate

dwelling is made for the couple. She is his wife.

"But I tell you, Sun-Colored Woman, that it is the same among the Apache

and the whites. When a man loves a woman, when he claims her for his

own, when he is willing to give his life and his pride and his honor for

her, that is when she is truly his wife, in his eyes and in the eyes of

the 249 great spirits, be they our gods or the one great God of the

whites." He touched her cheek almost tenderly, then left her. She

thought about his words for a long time to come, and she wondered if

Jamie did love her. Did he love her enough to stay with her, or would he

tire of her, as he had tired of Eliza?

She had made love with him always of her own volition. She had wanted

him as she had never known want before.

But sometimes she wished that she had never given in to the temptation,

for she felt that she had tasted forbidden fruit.

She had found it very sweet, but she would perish when she could taste

it no longer. ~ Nights were theirs. She never spoke, but came to him

with her skin warmed by the fire, her body bathed by the stream, her

hair soft and fragrant from the sun. She lay down be- side him, and she

loved him, and she tried not to think of the future.

On the fourth night of Little Flower's puberty rite, when the maiden had

become a woman, Jamie was silent, holding her gently, staying

motionless.

Tess knew that he didn't sleep, and she shifted against him, asking him

what was wrong.

"We're free to go home tomorrow," she whispered to him.

"Yes, or the next day," be said absently.

"Nalte has been involved with his sister and us. He may be busy with

tribal business tomorrow."

"what difference will a day make?"

He shook his head, still staring toward the top of the tepee and the

poles that seemed to reach toward the stars.

"A

day will not make a difference. Nothing will a make a difference.

That's the point. When we go home, Tess, von Heusen is still going to be

there. And we still haven't any proof of what he is doing."

"But--but Jeremiah and David kidnapped me--and they left you for dead!"

Tess protested.

"Jeremiah and David are dead. They can't be brought to trial, and they

can't be forced to testify against von Heusen.

We're right back where we started. And I know you. You'll head right

back to that newspaper office of yours."

"Jamie, I have to!"

"You don't have to!" he told her savagely. "Jamie" -- "We're going back,

Tess, and we're going to fight yon Heusen. But we have to do it by my

rules."

"I don't" -- "That's right--you don't. You don't make a move without

someone by your side, do you understand me? Things are going to get

worse. Von Heusen may be thinking right now that you and I are gone. He

may even have had a few moments of divine pleasure, thinking that he'd

won at last. But Tess, by now he must have discovered that he can't get

his hands on that property, even if we're both believed to be dead and

gone. He's going to be furious when he finds it's willed to my

family--and he's going to be ready for a full- scale war. We've got to

pray that we're going to be ready for it."

"Can we be?" Tess whispered.

"Yes, we can," he said. But then he swung around on her, staring at her

fiercely, clutching her chin with a grip so tight that it was painful.

"But Tess, so help me God, you'll do it my way."

"Jamie" -- "You'll do it my way?"

"Fine! All right!" she snapped.

He dropped her jaw. Tears were stinging her eyes, and she quickly rolled

away from him, furious that no matter how close it seemed they became,

he still played the dictator. And left her frightened that she was

falling more and more deeply in love with a man who would wage war for

her, who would risk his life for her. And yet ride away in the end, when

it mattered the most.

He did not reach for her, and she did not come back to touch him that

night.

Her back was mid, and she drew the blanket more fully around her.

She shivered in the night. But the distance remained between them.

They spent one more day with the Apache, watching the sacred ritual when

a young boy departed with his first hunting party. The boy's first four

raids would be accompanied by ritual. This day he was instructed by the

war shaman and accepted by the adult members of the party. He was given

a drinking tube and a scratcher with lightning designs, and he was

bestowed with a war cap.

Jamie spoke to her while they stood watching. He pointed to the war cap

and told her, "It will not yet contain the spiritual power that belongs

to the men. He must complete his passage before the spirits will enter

into his cap." The men and women of the village were gathering around

the boy to throw pollen upon him as be departed with the warriors.

"It is a blessing," Jamie told her.

"And we are standing here, watching this, and these men and that boy

will go off and raid some white settlement and perhaps kill our own

kind," Tess murmured. Jamie glared at her.

"I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself. We're lucky to be

leaving here alive. And, Miss. Stuart, for your information, this party

is moving against the Comancheres. I don't believe you can feel too much

sympathy for that particular group."

She could not, but she didn't have a chance to tell him so. He turned

her around and propelled her toward the tepee they were sharing.

"Go in, be quiet. I'm going to ask Nalte if we might leave tomorrow."

She didn't hear, that afternoon, whether Nalte gave his permission.

She waited endlessly for Jamie to return, but he did not. When it was

dark one of the Apache women came to help her rekindle the fire and to

give her a plate of beef and yams and roe seal cakes. She ate

halfheartedly and waited, but Jamie still didn't return. Finally her

impatience brought her to the opening in the tent, and she looked out to

see Jamie and Nalte and the victorious raiding party sitting around the

central fire, laughing, talking, enjoying some newly arrived bottles of

whiskey, and apparently enjoying one another as if they were long lost

friends. In a fury she went to the fire and called Jamie's name sharply.

Every man there paused and stared at her, none of them more surprised or

annoyed than Jamie. Nalte shot him a quick glance and said something in

Apache. Jamie was quickly on his feet. He replied casually to the chief,

but two rugged strides brought him to Tess.

Before she could move or react he had butted her belly with his shoulder

and lifted her precariously. Her head dangled dangerously down his back.

She screamed out her protest, but Jamie ignored her and the Apache

laughed, enjoying the show.

Within seconds they were back in the tepee. She landed hard on one of

the blankets, desperately inhaling as he stared at her furiously. She

might have thought at first that he was drunk, but the sharp fire in his

eyes denied such a possibility. She accused him anyway before he could

yell at her.

"You're totally inebriated!"

"Inebriated--you mean drunk, don't you? I wish I were. Drunk enough to

give you what you need! And what you need is a good switch taken to your

hide."

"Oh!" She shimmied up to her knees.

"Don't you dare speak to me like that, Jamie Slater" -- "I don't think

I'm just going to speak!" he warned her, his lashes falling over his

eyes so that they were narrow and dangerous.

"I think I'm going to act" -- She was on her feet instantly, running for

the flap in the tent with a speed and agility as fleet as a doe's. But

at the flap she paused, realizing that she would be running into a group

of raucous Apaches.

She spun around, certain Jamie was almost upon her. But he was standing

back, watching her with supreme arrogance and amusement. He had known

she wouldn't run out of the tent.

She decided to take her chances with the Apache. She didn't make it.

Jamie had been still, but he came to motion in a flash. Just as she

reached for the rawhide flap, his arms swept around her calves, and she

came crashing down to the hard ground. She coughed and gagged and

struggled against his weight to turn around and face him. He straddled

her. Her sir~ple doeskin dress was wound high around her hips, and she

was naked beneath it. Jamie didn't seem to notice. He sat calmly upon

her, crossing his arms over his chest, aware that she wouldn't be going

anywhere at all.

He stared down at her.

"Undisciplined--brat!"

"Brat! I'm twenty-four years old" -- "An old maid! Maybe that's half the

problem."

She gasped, stunned by the remark, and started to struggle furiously

beneath him. Her fingers wound into fists but he was ready, leaning

forward to pin her wrists to the sides of her head.

"I told you--it's done my way. You may be Miss. Stuart, and you may be

the publisher of the Wiltshire Sun, and you may own one of the finest

ranches this side o the Mississippi, but you're with me now, and I

warned you, it's going to be done my way! Especially among the Apache!

You don't make a fool of a man in front of them!"

" But I just wanted to know what was going on!"

"I really should take a switch to you--but at some later date." The fury

suddenly faded from his voice. He released her wrists, his hands

massaging both tenderly and tempestuously through the splay of her hair.

"Tess, Tess, what are we doing? We're going back to Wiltshire, and all

hell will break loose when we get there. Let's not fight each other

now." ' She stared at his striking features, at the handsome and rugged

angles and planes of his face, at the passion in his silver eyes. She

trembled suddenly and wound her arms around him.

"Hold me!" she whispered.

And he did.

They shed their clothing, and she thought that he made love to her more

tenderly, more carefully, that night than he ever had before.

When the sun rose their naked bodies were entwined together in the soft

shadows. She didn't want to leave, she thought. She could live among the

Apache with Jamie forever.

But of course she couldn't. This was not her world, and she had vowed

that she would fight von Heusen. Neither she nor Jamie could walk away

now.

Jamie leaned over and kissed her lips, and she looked into his eyes.

"It's time," he told her.

He rose and dressed quickly, and she followed his example.

They did not leave with the dawn, for Nalte wanted another conference

with Jamie. His sister, Little Flower, came to Tess to say goodbye. Tess

had learned very little of the language, but she had been grateful for

Little Flower's shy kindness. It seemed that Nalte was bestowing gifts

on Tess-- she was given a new outfit in which to ride, in pale buckskin,

with fine tin cone pendants and beautiful beadwork. There was a long

overdress that fell nearly to her knees, and beneath it, soft trousers

so that she might ride easily. She was given boots at last, fine boots

with rawhide bottoms and soft leggings to cover her calves. She thanked

Little Flower as best as she could for the gifts, then kissed the young

woman on the cheek.

Nalte came to her then. Little Flower fled, and Nalte watched Tess for

several moments before speaking.

"You 255 will take the dress, too. Slater has told me that it will

always be special to him."

She flushed.

"Thank you. Thank you for the gifts. I've nothing to give you in

return."

He shrugged.

"I have gotten what I wanted from Slater. And I give you the gifts in

his behalf. In our courting ritual, we exchange gifts, as I have told

you." She smiled and lowered her head, wondering what Jamie had given

him.

"Most of all, Nalte, I thank you for my freedom."

He grunted and looked at her still.

"I understand that you are a warrior yoursell~' " A warrior?" she said,

startled.

"You take on men's battles."

"I didn't really intend to. I just--I had to fight back." She paused.

"This man had my uncle murdered. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand. I will pray that the sph'its will be with you."

He left her then.

Jamie returned soon after.

"They are ready to ride," he told her.

"Let's go."

She nodded and hurried after him. There was a small roan mare set aside

for her use, and she silently accepted Jamie's help to mount the saddle

less creature.

She was startled to see Jamie mounting a large paint gelding. She stared

at him and said softly, "Jamie, your own horse" -- "He's Nalte's now,"

Jamie said curtly. "Your horse! But you loved that horse. Why on earth

would you want to" She broke off. He hadn't wanted to give Nalte the

horse. The horse had been the negotiation.

"I'm sorry, Jamie."

"It doesn't matter," he said, and, turning his back, he rode ahead to

talk to the half-naked warrior in a breech256 clout at the head of the

party of a dozen or so, their escort through Comanchero territory. The

Indian turned and she gasped, startled to see that it was Nalte.

She couldn'? t ponder the chief's participation in their ride then, for

cries suddenly filled the air and they were leaving the village behind

at a quick pace. Jouncing on her pony, Tess turned back.

Little Flower was waving to her. Tess smiled warmly and waved in turn.

They she turned again and hugged her knees to her pony. She had thought

that she knew how to ride hard, but she had never ridden with the Apache

before.

She realized she was learning about a hard ride all over again, from the

very beginning.

By the time they stopped for the night, she could barely dismount, and

when she did she nearly fell.

Jamie was there to catch her. She widened her eyes and stared at him and

she wanted to straighten and show him that she could be strong. But her

knees were buckling and she merely managed to whisper, "Oh, Jamie ..."

He caught her before she fell. The Apache warriors were preparing a

fire, and he carried her to it. One warrior stretched out a blanket for

her, and a roll was stuffed beneath her head.

She never ate a meal that night for she fell asleep instantly.

Somewhere in the middle of the night she felt a new warmth. She opened

her eyes and realized that Jamie had stretched next to her, and she was

curled up in the shelter of his arms.

She stared up at the stars and was suddenly very afraid. She had wanted

to go home, and they were going home. But Jamie was right, it would be

open war now. She didn't want to die.

She was just learning how to live.

She closed her eyes and curled her fingers around the strong male hand

that curved beneath her breast.

"Please God, please God, please God," she whispered. The rest of her

prayer formed no words, but she knew it in her heart.

She wanted to survive. and more.

She wanted to survive with Jamie. The life that was now so precious to

her would be meaningless without him.

She dosed her eyes again, and to her amazement, she slept once more.

The Apache stayed with them all the next day and the next night.

Jamie seemed c6ncerned for them, warning Nalte that they were moving

into Comanche territory. But Nalte knew Running River, and he didn't

seem concerned.

Tess tried to talk to Nalte, reminding him that many whites had believed

yon Heusen when he said that it had been Indians who caused all the

trouble. Few of the new settlers knew there was a difference between

Comanche and Apache.

Nalte, however, was resolute. He and the Apache rode with them to the

outskirts of the town of Wiltshire. Then he lifted his spear high in the

air and a shrill, blood-chilling cry escaped him. The Apache formed

behind him.

"Goodbye, Slater, Sun-Colored Woman."

"Thank you. No matter what comes, Nalte, I will always be your friend,"

Jamie told him.

"I believe you." The chief moved forward, and he and Jamie clasped

hands.

Then Nalte swung his newly acquired mount around and his men raced off

behind him. Jamie watched them disappear in a cloud of Texas dust, then

he looked at Tess.

"This is it. We're almost home."

"Perhaps we should go into town"

"No. We'll head to the ranch."

"But I need to put this in the paper" -- He swore, roughly, violently.

"Tomorrow, Tess! We're going home. I tried to make a few arrangements

for help.

You can't go into town alone, and I have to get back to the ranch!

Got it?"

"Got it!" she shouted back.

They weren't far. She swung her Apache mare around and nudged her to a

fleeting gallop. She raced for a good ten minutes before she pulled up

suddenly, a feeling of utter joy encompassing her heart as the ranch

came into view. It was still standing. No one had burned it to the

ground.

Smoke was spewing from the chimney; Dolly or Jane must be cooking

something inside. Life had gone on while she had been with the Apache.

And the people who loved her had held on.

Jamie was behind her. She turned and shouted to him. "It's still

standing!"

"Yes," he began.

She didn't let him say more. She nudged the mare hard again with' her

heels and thundered toward the ranch. She passed the paddocks and the

beautiful mares with their foals and she felt joy cascade throughout

her. Von Heusen hadn't beaten them--not yet.

She reined in the mare as she came to the house. Dust flew as the little

horse pawed the ground. Tess leaped down and went racing for the front

door.

"Dolly, Jane, Hank!" She stood in the entryway, looking at the large

desk, at the stairway leading to the second floor, at the furniture in

the parlor, at the dining table. She was home.

"They're here! Someone is here!" a voice shouted. It was an unfamiliar

voice. Tess stared in astonishment as a tall, slim blond woman came

hurrying down the stairway. She was followed by a handsome little boy of

about five, then a second blond woman with a serene and beautiful face.

"Miss. Tess!"

Tess swung around as Jane hurried from the kitchen, throwing her arms

around her.

"I knew you'd come back, I just knew that you would!"

"Well." The first woman had reached the entryway.

"I knew that Jamie wouldn't come back without you, of course," she said.

"Where is he?"

Tess stared with astonishment at the two women and the little boy.

Then the door burst open behind her. Jamie had arrived, but he wasn't

alone.

With him were two men, both as tall as he, with the handsome but rugged

features of ranchers, of men who eked their existence from the land and

the elements. They were talking, the three of them were talking, the

darkest of them saying something about yon Hensen.

Then Dolly emerged' from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Those twins!" she proclaimed.

"The little darlings are going to eat us out of cookies and cakes, they

are!

Oh!

Oh, Tess! Jamie, Lieutenant Slater, why you're home! You're home!" There

were tears in her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I knew Tess wouldn't come home without her lieutenant. I knew you

wouldn't!" Dolly flung her arms around Jamie, and then Dolly and Jane

were fighting to hug Tess, and she was trying to hug them back.

But she still couldn't help staring at the strangers who were suddenly

filling her house. Twins? What twins?

The two blond women were kissing and hugging Jamie. Jamie was laughing

in return and thanking both for coming.

Tess wasn't sure if she would lose her temper or her mind first.

"Excuse me!" she said, but there was too much noise. "Excuse me!" she

shouted. The room went still. She looked around, and then said frankly,

"Excuse me, but--who are you?"

"Jamie!" the taller woman wailed.

"You didn't tell her?" Tess smiled sweetly.

"No. No, he didn't tell me."

Jamie stepped forward.

"These are my brothers, Cole and Malachi. And their wives, Kristin and

Shannon. And that's my nephew, Gabe. And I take it that Shannon and

Malachi's twins are in the kitchen" -- "The little darlings!" Dolly said

rapturously. "We've come because Jamie sent us a wire about von Heusen,"

Cole Slater told her.

Tess gasped. She stared at them all. So this was having a family.

They were so close. They knew one another so well.

They were happy and content, she could see it on their faces; they were

serene with their world.

She shook her head.

"Thank you, but" -- She swung around on Jamie.

"Jamie, you can't--they could get killed here!"

"Well, ma'am, I'm not planning on getting killed," Malachi told her,

tipping back his hat.

"I'm not planning on it at all. You see, we came to kill them if need

be."

"You don't know von Heusen." "Oh," Kristin said cheerfully, "we have

known men a great deal like him." She smiled, stepping forward.

"We're family, Tess. And that's what it's all about." She flashed Jamie

a quick grin.

"My brother-in-law was always there when I needed him," she said.

"Oh!" Shannon said suddenly.

"Smell that! Oh, no, Jamie and Miss. Stuart have come home at last, and

it seems we've let dinner burn!"

She swung around, then looked back.

"Well, isn't anyone hungry?"

And Tess realized she was starved.

She glanced at Jamie. She was still amazed, still in shock. But Kristin

Slater set a hand upon her arm.

"Come on! I promise you, things will start to look more reasonable after

a good dinner and a full night's sleep!"

Jamie shrugged.

Tess felt herself gently pulled along. Dinner. The perfect end to the.

perfect day?

Chapter Thirteen.

They had just reached the table when Jon Red Feather came in with Hank.

Tess let out a startled, joyful cry and raced to Jori, giving him a

fierce hug.

"You did come back! You made it out, and you came back!"

"Of course," he told her.

"Someone had to be here to welcome the Slaters. I mean, this is

practically a tribe. Have you realized that yet?"

"A tribe!" Kristin said indignantly.

"Sit down, Jon, and watch your tongue, if you will. Jamie, by the way,

you should marry this girl before you find out that you've got

competition on your hands."

Jon laughed, and Tess flushed. She wasn't sure about Jamie's reaction.

Kristin Slater started calmly doling out food into the numerous plates

on the table. It was a good thing it was a big house.

Uncle Joe, you would have loved to have seen this! she thought.

"If everyone would come sit down," Malachi said, pouting wine into the

glasses around the table, "I think that Jon has something to tell Tess

and Jamie."

"Yes, I do, as a matter of fact." Jon walked to the table and picked up

a glass of wine. He smiled at Tess and Jamie. "Cheers," he said, raising

his glass to his lips.

"Will you all please sit!" Cole said emphatically.

Tess sat at her own dining table--as she had been so politely orderedl

Jamie sat beside her, and they stared at Jon, who looked at them.

"I have discovered why von Heusen is so particularly eager to seize hold

of your land, Miss. Stuart."

Tess gasped, and she and Jamie stood.

"Why?" Tess demanded.

Jon smiled, swirling his wine.

"The railroad." "Oh, my God!" Jamie said, sinking into his chair.

Tess stared at him. He obviously understood completely what was going

on, but she didn't have the least idea.

"What?"

"Miss. Stuart," Cole Slater told her, drawing out a chair and sitting

back in it, "the railroad is coming through here.

That means that this property is going to go sky-high in value. If you

wanted to sell some land straight, it would be worth a small fortune."

"But there's more," Jon Red Feather told her softly.

"If 9ou do sell just the necessary land, the rest of your property will

still go sky-rocketing in value--you'll be able to send your produce

right out from your own doorstep. Tess, you're sitting on the best land

this side of the Mississippi. And that's why von Heusen has been so

desperate to get rid of you. With this property in his hands, he could

really control a good percentage of western Texas."

Tess smiled slowly, looking at Jamie.

"But--but he can't touch any of it now. He must know that! Half of it is

in your name, and even if we hadn't returned" -- "Ownership would have

come to Cole and me and our families," Malachi supplied for her.

"Well, he must know that."

"He does know that," Jon said. Gabe was sitting beside him, and he

tousled the lad's brown hair to be rewarded with a fascinated smile. Jon

smiled in turn, then gave Tess his attention again.

"I let it be known that Jamie had found you and that he'd be bringing

you home. I also went to see Edward Clancy and had him print up the

arrival of Cole and Malachi--and I stressed the ability of the Slater

brothers with their small arms."

"A couple of von Heusen's men rode out here the other day. But we

uninvited them quickly," ICRISTIN said, heaping mashed potatoes on a

plate to pass to Jori. "Cole or Malachi scared them away?" Tess asked.

"Oh, no, Shannon did," Kfistin said.

"She's an ace."

"I'm a decent shot," Shannon said demurely.

"She can hit a fly's eye at a hundred yards," Malachi said drily.

They all laughed, but' Cole sobered quickly and spoke to Jamie in low,

even tones.

"The point is, this von Heusen knows that scare tactics aren't going to

work with Miss. Stuart anymore. No one can quite fathom what he'll pull

next."

"Well, he'll have more to worry about after tomorrow," Tess said firmly.

"I'm going to go to the paper and I'm going to give Clancy another

front-page story. It's going to be all about David and Jeremiah and Mr.

yon Heusen's orders to see that I never returned."

"There might be a few problems with that," Jon advised her.

"Why?"

" Tess asked.

"Because Clancy and your printer gave in at last. Someone shot a few

windows yesterday, and by last night, Clancy had thrown in the towel. He

wanted you to know that he was sorry."

Tess inhaled and exhaled.

"I can do it myself," she said. "You won't have to do it yourself,"

Kristin corrected her, sitting at last with her own plate.

"Dolly and Jane can keep the children here, and Shannon and I will come

in and help you with the press. If you give us directions, we can surely

follow them. The three of us will go into town first thing in the

morning" -- "NOV' Jamie said emphatically.

"I have to," Tess began, turning, ready to give battle. "Jamie, I've

told you" -- "The three of you aren't going anywhere alone," he

intempted harshly.

"It isn't safe. Dammr to hell, Tess! Don't you understand yet?"

"I understand that the newspaper has always been my maj or weapon."

"But right now it isn't enough. Okay, we'll go. You'll do your damned

article, but we'll go together. Tess, what do I have to say to get

through to you? When yon Heusen attacks again, it's going to be all-out

war."

She wanted to retort. She was furious. He was right, of course, but she

still wanted to yell at him.

Fighting desperately to hold her tongue, she looked at Jon.

"How did you find all this out?"

He shrugged.

"I was still in buckskins when I came back, and I didn't change before I

made a visit into town. Von Heusen had one of his guns follow me. I knew

it, so I doubled back and got hold of him. As it happened, Cole and

Malachi had been riding in to meet me." "And," Malachi said, grinning,

"Jon just happened to be dressed for the occasion."

Tess was still confused. Kristin sighed and explained. "Cole and Malachi

convinced von Heusen's hired goon that Jon was scarcely more than a raw

savage and that he actually delighted in human flesh. Between the three

of them they barely had to touch the fellow before he was spilling

everything he had ever known in his life."

Tess smiled and glanced at Jamie.

He was not smiling. She looked away quickly, pushing a piece of roast

around on her plate. They were a lot alike, the Slater brothers. Cole

was the darkest, with golden eyes--his little boy had those eyes, even

though he had his mother's soft blond hair. Malachi was a golden blond

with blue eyes, and Jamie was sandy-haired with his smoke gray and

silver eyes. But the planes of their faces were similar, strong and hard

and weathered. She realized suddenly that she would trust any of the

brothers with anything she had.

And she didn't really mean to keep fighting Jamie. It just kept coming

out that way.

He stood up suddenly, his chair scraping back.

"That was a fine meal, Kristin, Shannon--Dolly?"

"We all contributed," Kristin told him.

"Well, thank you, but I think I need a little air. You got a good

cheroot on you anywhere, Cole?"

"Sure," said his brother, rising as well. He stopped by his wife's chair

and kissed her tenderly at the base of the neck before following Jamie

out.

"Seems like we're splitting up here," Malachi said. "Well, don't stay on

my account!" Shannon told him.

He laughed, shrugged at Jon, and the two of them left. Hank followed

them and the women were left--Jane, who had barely said a word, Dolly,

who was unbelievably quiet, and Shannon and Kristin and Tess.

"All this to make a meal, and then it's just wolfed down, and then

everyone runs" -- "Ma," Gabe suddenly interrupted from the end of the

table.

"I cleaned my plate. Can I go join Pa?"

Kristin threw up her hands, and Tess felt some of the tension leave her

as she laughed.

"Go!" Kristin told her son.

He smiled, excused hun self politely to Tess and ran out of the house.

"We might as well pick up," Shannon said. "Might as well."

Things went quickly with five of them to do the clearing, the scraping,

the washing and the drying. Shannon asked Tess what it had been like

with the Apache, and by the time she finished with her story about Jon

and Jamie appearing at just the fight time, they had finished the

dishes. Jane and Dolly kissed Tess again and went to bed. Shannon and

Kristin and Tess made tea and then sat around the kitchen table, staring

at one another.

"And then this Nalte let you go--just because Jamie asked for you? He

let you go to Jamie?" Kfistin said.

Tess felt herself flush, wondering how to avoid saying the very thing

the Indian chief had so clearly understood.

"He, uh, he ..."

"Oh, for God's sake, Kristin, they've been sleeping together and this

Nalte man knew it!" Shannon exclaimed.

"Shannon!" gris ting protested.

"Well, all right, I'm terribly sorry, but Ktistin and I both married

Slater men. I know. They're so easy to want to shoot, but at the same

time ..." Her voice trailed away and she was really beautiful as she

grinned.

"Well, they are easy to sleep with. Seductive."

Tess knew she had to be a thousand shades of crimson. Kristin sighed.

"He's very much in love with you. I'm sure We'll see a wedding any day."

"I'm not terribly sure about that."

"He called us here. To protect your interests. He must love you."

"I've turned over half the property to him. It's his own property he's

protecting." "Urn. Did he bargain for anything else?" Kristin asked her.

She didn't know why she was being so honest except that somehow she felt

she had known the two women all her life.

Maybe it was because they had all become involved with Slater men.

"Maybe they just don't marry easily," Shannon suggested.

"But you're both married," Tess began.

"Cole had to marry me," gris ting said.

"Oh, the baby?"

"No!" gris ting 'laughed.

"There was a horrible, horrible man after me.

The war was going on and the only way he could count on some protection

from some old acquaintances was to be able to say that I was his wife.

He fell in love with me slowly; it took him a long time." She smiled

sweetly at Shannon.

"And Malachi had to marry Shannon."

"Well, he didn't have to," Shannon protdsted. "The twins?" Tess asked.

"No, a shotgun," Shannon explained ruefully. They both laughed, and

Shannon took a deep breath and tried to explain that Kristin was her

sister, and that Kfistin had been in trouble.

She and Malachi had gone after her, and a kindly old couple had derided

the two of them had to be married. "But they'd been in' love for years.

They wouldn't admit it, of course, because they were too busy gouging

one another's eyes out."

"Oh, it never was that bad!" Shannon protested. "No, it was worse!"

Kristin said. She stood up.

"I think that we need a drop of brandy to go with this, too. Girls?"

Shannon and Tess both agreed. Then Tess yawned and complained that her

buckskins were filthy and that she felt as if half of Texas was covering

her.

The sisters quickly had the hip tub out and filled, and Shannon was

racing upstairs for French bath oil, and before she knew it Kristin was

presenting her with a lilac nightgown that matched her eyes. "I can't

take these things!" Tess protested.

"But you can. It's all in the family," Shannon told her. Tess shook her

head.

"I heard Jamie once. He said that no one would ever make him get

married." Kristin shrugged.

"They can't force him--but he just might choose to do so on his own."

' "Do you want him?" Shannon asked her.

Tess f~it her heart beat hard and she closed her eyes. Yes! Yes, she

wanted Jamie desperately. She had wanted him his eyes had first fallen

upon her, since he had killed since he had told her in a soft voice that

she was Since that day by the stream before the nightmare had begun and

he had touched her and said, "I think I'm falling in love with you ..."

But that had been before they had nearly been destroyea, before he had

lost his beloved cavalry mount to retrieve her.

She was trouble. He had told her that again and again. He had walked out

at dinner because he had been so furious with her that he hadn't been

able to stay at the table. "Do you?"

Shannon persisted.

"Yes," Tess admitted softly.

"I want him. For keeps."

"Then forget the arguments. Even forget the fact that you'll probably

never get along. I have," Shannon said cheerily.

"Forget von Heusen, forget everything, and cherish what time you have

together in peace."

"And get in the tub with the rose oil," Kristin suggested drily.

"There's just nothing like a very sweet smell."

"And a see-through lilac gown to match your eyes! Aren't they beautiful

eyes, Kristin?" "And she's not jealous often," Kristin said, laughing.

Feeling loved and protected, Tess stepped into the water and felt the

steam surround her. It was good to be home.

"I'm more worried now that I know just what this man is after," Jamie

said.

He was sitting on the rocker on the porch. Jori was perched on the

railing with Cole, and Malachi was seated across from him on the swing.

It creaked slowly in the night air.

Jamie exhaled. He looked at his brothers.

"Thanks for coming. I'm just wishing right now that I hadn't had you

bring Kristin and Shannon."

"Jamie, you've known the McCahy girls a long time," Cole said drily.

"And you should know at this point that they wouldn't have it any other

way."

"I just don't know what this man might plan. I do know that he keeps

twenty to thirty hired guns on his property at all times."

"We've met up with bad odds~ before Malachi reminded him.

"God damn it, don't you understand what I'm trying to say? I don't want

you, your wives or your children killed on my account."

Gabe came out then. He glanced at his father and it was obvious he had

heard some of what had been said. He went straight up to his Uncle Jamie

and took his trail-toughened face into his hands.

"There's right and wrong, Uncle Jamie, and you know that. And my pa and

my ma, they say you have to fight what's wrong, because if you just give

in, it'll bury you in the end.

I don't mind fighting. Not if it's the right thing to do."

Jamie lifted his nephew and hugged him tightly. Cole smiled.

"I rest my case."

"Malachi, those twins of yours aren't quite three years old. You think

they feel the same way?"

"Jamie, we're here, and that's it," Malachi said flatly. "Now, what

about Tess?"

"What about her?" Jamie scowled.

"She's the hardest creature to tangle with I have ever encountered,

Yanks and Indians and rattlers included." "Think you're going to marry

her?" Malachi asked pleasantly.

"If he doesn't do so soon," Jon Red Feather supplied, "I

"Damn you, Jon" -- I'll have to, to keep the poor woman honest." ,~

Jamie ou know the lot of you, you may be but I'm " She's beautiful, very

bright and has the will of a wildcat. Besides that, she's worth a damned

fortune. He's already absconded with half her property," Malachi said."

Wait a damned minute!" Jamie protested.

"The least you could do is marry her," Cole said. Jamie threw up his

hands.

"Thank you, one and all, for coming. And now I'll thank you, one and

all, to mind your own damned bus' mess Good night."

He set Gabe on the rocker and headed into the house. He was halfway up

the stairs before he realized he didn't know if he had a room in the

house. His brothers and Kristin and Shannon and even the kids seemed

very happily moved in.

But where the hell he was supposed to be, he didn't know. He headed for

Tess's room, wondering what her reaction was going to be. If she

threatened to scream and bring the house down he thought he'd throttle

her.

He tapped on her door, then pushed it open.

"Tess?" "Jamie?" She said his name softly, sweetly. Her voice touched

the air like the fragrance of roses that seemed to be all around the

room, light as stardust. Her whisper was sultry, as if he had awakened

her.

He strode across the room then paused, seeing how the moon entered

through the window and glowed upon bet.

Her hair was shining with greater splendor than any sunset, and it was

spread out behind her as if each strand were a glorious ray of the sun.

She was dressed in violet, a shade that matched her eyes in the darkness

of the night. A shade that was barely concealing, a shade that managed

to enhance every beautiful line and curve of her body.

"Tess, where the hell" -- He paused, clearing his throat, wondering why

the hell he was getting so damned angry.

"Tess, where am I supposed to--oh, the hell with it!" he growled.

He didn't see her smile as he dropped forcefully upon her, sweeping her

into his arms. He didn't really see anything 271 except the color of her

hair, entwining and tangling around him. He breathed in the clean, sweet

scent of her, and he could barely contain his longings. The Apache had

kept them apart for the last two long nights. He hadn't realized how

badly he could need her after such a short time, how much he could crave

her. She was like a sweet a man thought he tasted once, and yet wanted

more and more once he knew the exotic taste. He kissed her fiercely, and

he kissed her long, and he felt the frantic rise of her breasts against

his hand as she lost her breath. Only when she trembled and gasped did

he raise his head and stare at her.

"I'm staying here. We're doing it my way, remember?"

She returned his stare. Her arms wound around him, and she pressed her

lips to his, then she shoved him slightly away from her and started to

open his shirt buttons. Slowly, achingly slowly, she opened them one by

one, pressing her lips against his flesh. And when his shirt was east

aside she tenderly nipped and kissed his shoulders while she tugged at

his belt buckle. She inched his pants slowly down his hips. Boldly,

possessively she touched him, stroked him and trembled, her fingers

shaking as he came hard as steel to her ministrations. Then he could

stand no more of the sweet torture and she was on her back, with his

lips savoring her body beneath the gauze of the lilac gown. He tasted

her breasts and the valley between them and her navel and her upper

thighs and teased her more intimately still until she was thrashing and

calling his name to the moon-dusted night, begging that he come to her.

With the deepest pleasure, he obliged, and the feeling of being where he

belonged within her was almost as great as pure sexual excitement of

being so tightly, so erotically He shuddered with the force of his

desire, and deeper and deeper until they exploded as one. Then her

tightly into his arms, glad of her lips pressed to her head burrowed

against him.

You're mine, he longed to tell her. You were mine when I first found

you, and mine when I came to Nalte to ask for you. You are mine this

night. And if we can only survive, you will be mine forever. His

thoughts gave pause, and he added silently: even if you are the most

ornery and troublesome female in the western world.

In the morning his troublesome female was up and almost dressed by the

time he had pulled on his trousers.

"Afraid of my family?" he asked her.

Tess looked his way curiously and shook her head. No man could be a

finer lover, tender and tempestuous, but in the morning his temper

always seemed to leave something to be desired.

"I don't care what they know, if you're talking about our sleeping

arrangements."

"I see. You think my older brother will insist that we marry."

"No one will ever force you to marry, Jamie. You said so yourself."

"So you're not planning on marriage."

"I try not to plan on anything."