Temptation's Price [130-011-3.5]

By: Dallas Schulze

Synopsis:

Romance novel with a western theme.  Liberty Ballard falls in love with
her wagon train scout.


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Harlequin Mills & Boon Limited,

Eton House, l8-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 l SR

(C) Dallas Schulze 1992

ISBN 0 263 79529 2

Set in Times Roman 10 on 12 pt.  04-9603-74l26 C

Printed in Great Britain by

BPC Paperbacks Ltd

Chapter One

September 1860

The Kiowa were north of their accustomed range.  A raiding party of
braves, they had precious little to show for their efforts.  Until they
ran across the small wagon train.

It was late in the season for a group of immigrants to have just
crossed South Pass.  California was still more than half the journey
away and the worst of it lay ahead-deserts and mountains that would try
the endurance of both animal and human.

Their scout had already warned them that they stood little chance of
making it through the Sierra Nevada before snowfall.  Vivid in
everyone's mind was the fourteen-year-old tragedy of the Donner-Reed
party.  No one wanted to be trapped in the mountains with winter coming
on.

On the other hand, no one wanted to spend the winter in Fort Bridger,
eking out scant supplies.  Nor was there much more enthusiasm for
traveling farther south to Great Salt Lake City and spending the winter
dependent on the generosity of Brigham Young's people.

A decision had to be reached.  Tonight, when they reached Little Sandy
Creek, the men planned to hold a meeting and make it.

The Kiowa had no interest in the immigrants' problems The ten wagons
and the stock with them meant they wouldn't return to the village
empty-handed.  There were horses, oxen if they cared to drive them
south, and the wagons were sure to hold goods worth taking.

Though they had yet to realize it, the Miller train had far more
pressing problems than which trail to take at the Little Sandy.

Dawn was only a shadow of gray to the east.  The land lay still and
quiet.  Somewhere to the west, a coyote howled, a lonely call that was
answered from a greater distance, like echoes in a canyon.

Liberty Ann Ballard lifted her skirt to keep the hem from brushing
across the dew-moistened grass.  Behind her, the wagon train was
beginning to stir.  Soon the smell of coffee boiling and bacon frying
would drift on the still air.

She should be there, helping Mrs.  Miller prepare breakfast, making
ready for the day's travel.  She stifled a surge of guilt and continued
on.  She'd be back in plenty of time to help with breakfast.  And they
were to linger in camp this morning.  One of the wagons needed repairs
so they'd not be leaving as early as was their usual custom.  She'd
just steal a few minutes alone to watch the sunrise and then she'd
hurry back and do her chores.

Glancing over her shoulder, she could see the wagons , their tops
gleaming white against the darkness.  They looked out of place in this
wild country.  They looked like what they were, visitors on the land,
not really a part of it.

She turned away from the wagons and hurried on.  At first, she'd felt
as out of place as the wagons looked.  But more and more, she was
starting to see the beauty in the land, to view it as something more
than a distance to be traveled as quickly as possible, a passageway to
California and nothing more.

Looking back again, she saw that the wagons were out of sight.  Up
ahead was a stream, its banks lined with willow and cottonwood.  There
she'd wait and watch the sun come up, savoring the stillness of the
land before she returned to the bustle of the wagon train.

If she was lucky, no one would even know she'd been gone.

Matt Prescott had just swung into the saddle when he saw the slender
figure hurrying away from the camp.  His fingers tightened on the
reins, making the big roan shift nervously.  He stroked his hand over
the gelding's neck, soothing him.  His eyes were adjusted to the gloom,
making it easy to follow the girl's progress as she darted through the
damp grass.

He caught the gleam of pale hair as she turned to look back at the
camp.  Liberty Ballard.  No one else on the train had hair the color of
moonlight.  In all his life, he'd never seen hair like hers.  It made a
man want to feel it sifting through his fingers, to see it spread
across cool linens.

He wasn't likely to get a change to see either of those things, of
course.  Liberty Ballard was not the sort of girl who'd let a man run
his fingers through her hair unless there was a wedding ring on her
finger, which was just as it should be but it didn't stop a man from
wondering.

She disappeared from sight as the land sloped down toward the stream.
Matt had planned on going hunting today.  Part of his job as scout was
providing fresh meat for the train.  He tightened his fingers on the
reins and nudged the big roan with his heel.  Before he went looking
for game, he was going to see what Miss Ballard was up to.

He'd signed on as a scout for the Miller train at Fort Kearny.  Guiding
pilgrims across the prairie was a task little to his liking, but their
first guide, Zeke McLeary, was a friend and when 7.eke broke his leg
and couldn' tcontinue, Matt had agreed to take the Miller train west.

The train had left St.  Joseph later in the season than they'd any
business doing and they hadn't been able to make up for the time since.
He'd told them when they left Fort Laramie that they couldn't hope to
make it through to California before snowfall.

But Joe Miller had a head harder than granite and he insisted they
could get through with a little persistence Well, it was going to take
more than persistence It would take their oxen growing wings to fly
them over the mountains.  They sure as hell couldn't make it through
them.  But if they insisted on trying to make California, Matt Prescott
supposed he was damn fool enough to try to get them through.

But there would be time enough to worry about that later.  Right now,
he wanted to know where Liberty Ballard was sneaking off to.

There was a large flat rock planted firmly by the edge of the stream.
Liberty had seen it in the twilight the day before when she and some of
the other women had come to get water.  Benjamin Devers and Ethan
Lawrence had scrambled up and sat atop it with their legs swinging over
the water, and Liberty had envied them the freedom that came of being
only eight.

At eighteen, she was, of course, past the age where she could clamber
over any rock that caught her fancy.  Most of the time, the benefits of
having put up her hair and let down her skirts outweighed the
restrictions that went along with moving from child to adult.  But
there was something about that rock that made her wish she was eight
years old again.

The horizon was pale gray by the time she reached the stream.  Liberty
paused, closing her eyes for a moment , the better to take in the
silence.  It seemed as if the whole world was holding its breath,
waiting for sun to come up and spill light over the plains and
mountains

Liberty opened her eyes and studied the rock a moment before stepping
toward it.  A quick glance over her shoulder to make sure she was still
alone and she lifted her skirts to expose slim ankles clad in brown
cotton stockings.  The side of the rock was rough, offering plenty of
hand- and toeholds.  A quick, if undignified , scramble and she was
atop.

Grinning with delight, she moved to the side of the rock and sat down.
Feet swinging, she looked at the world from her new perspective. Though
the rock was not more than six feet from base to top, it was high
enough to make everything look different.

Looking east, she could see the first sliver of light edging the
horizon.  It must surely be full light back home, she thought.
Pennsylvania's green valleys and hills seemed an incalculable distance
away.  Between here and there lay miles of prairie-the Great American
Desert, some called it.  Liberty had walked most of those miles,
finding walking preferable to the swaying of the wagon.

Looking east, she felt a twinge of homesickness.  She'd spent all of
her eighteen years in Pennsylvania and might have spent the rest of her
life there if her parents hadn't died last year.  First Papa had been
killed when his wagon overturned, and then Mama had taken a chill and
died just after Christmas.

Liberty had been left alone, dependent on the generosity of family
friends, a position she found difficult to tolerate.  No matter that
she'd made it a point to do all she could to earn her keep, it still
sat poorly to be beholden to the charity of others.

Which was why, when her mother's brother-and Liberty's only surviving
relative-had written to ask her to join him and his wife on their ranch
in Idaho Territory, she'd said yes without hesitation.  The Millers had
agreed to let her travel west with them in return for her help with the
children and the household tasks.

She'd been frightened by the thought of leaving behind all that was
familiar.  But there was little left for her in Pennsylvania.  And she
was young enough to be excited by the thought of seeing new sights. Not
even all the weary weeks of travel had been able to beat that thrill
from her.  Sitting on the big rock, looking back the way they'd come,
she felt no regrets.

"It isn't smart, coming out here alone like this."

Liberty had been so absorbed in her thoughts that she hadn't realized
she was no longer alone until Matt spoke.  The quiet voice startled a
small cry from her and she jerked around to face him so suddenly that,
for a moment, she was in danger of sliding from her perch on the
rock.

"Mr.  Prescott!"  She regained her balance almost immediately.

"Miss Ballard: Matt touched the brim of his hat.  He sat his horse a
few feet away, his dark eyes watching her.

"You startled me."  She pressed one hand to her chest as if to still
the too rapid beat of her heart.

"I'd have startled you a great deal more if I'd been a Sioux brave,
ma'am.  That hair of yours would look mighty nice hanging from a lance.
Color like that's prized ."

Liberty lifted her hand to touch her hair, feeling her scalp prickle.

"I haven't seen any Indians," she said.  " "The ones you see aren't the
ones you have to worry about.  It's the ones you don't see that cause
problems"

"Are there hostile Indians around here?"  she asked , glancing about
uneasily.  The light had increased while she sat contemplating, but
only enough to make the shadows seem thick and ominous.  The little
stream that had looked so peaceful and inviting a moment ago was
suddenly full of potential hiding places.

"Ma'am, most any Indian has the potential to be a hostile Indian: Matt
pushed his hat back on his head.  "It just doesn't pay to go assuming
that, because there's been no trouble, there won't be trouble."

"I'm not that far from camp," Liberty said.

"Far enough that a scream wouldn't be heard.  If you got a chance to
scream," he added bluntly.

"You oertainly do know how to spoil a sunrise, Mr.  Prescott," Liberty
said tartly.  If she'd been standing on the ground, she would have
turoed and stalked back to camp.  But there was no way to make a
dignified descent from her current perch, and she wasn't going to
scramble down off the rock and scuttle back to camp like a naughty
child.

"You came out to watch the sun come up?"  Matt glanced east.  " "I
suppose you think it was very foolish of me, " she said, lifting her
chin.

"I'm not sure a sunrise is worth risking your scalp over, ma'am."

"I didn't realize I was risking my scalp.  We've had no trouble thus
far."

"True enough.  But out here, it pays to stay a little wary.  A person
tends to live a good bit longer that way."

"I'll try to keep that in mind, Mr.  Prescott."  She'd pulled back from
the edge of the rock in the first moments after his appearance.  Now
she drew her knees up under her full skirt and looped her arms around
them.

It was the first time she'd been alone with the scout , and she found
herself oddly reluctant to end the moment She'd seen him often enough
and everyone on the train knew who he was, of course, but he'd rarely
exchanged more than a few words with anyone but Mr.  Miller.

He'd kept to himself, though he was polite enough when spoken to. There
was acertain reserve about him that she'd secretly thought rather
romantic.  In his soft buckskins, his tobacco-brown hair brushing his
shoulders and a thick dark mustache framing his mouth, he looked the
very picture of a man born to action and adventure.

Coming from a small Pennsylvania town where the most adventurous thing
any of the boys of her acquaintance was likely to do was try to steal
an apple from old Mr.  Whipplebee's orchard, Liberty had allowed her
imagination free rein in speculating about the quiet scout.

"Have you lived long in the west, Mr.  Prescott?"

Matt had been studying the area around them, sunrises, but this was no
doubt the only opportunity marking in his mind the places that offered
shelter she'd have to talk to a man like Matt Prescott.  enough to
conceal a man.  There were too many of "People like me aren't the sort
who settle a count hem for his liking, but the fact that they weren't
dead try.  We open it up a bit, soften some of the rough yet indicated
that they were alone.  At Liberty's ques- edges, maybe.  But we aren't
the ones who'll build tion, his eyes shifted back to her face. churches
and schools.  People like these folks are the

"Long enough to learn a little caution, Miss ones who'll build
something lasting: Ballard: "I'd never have imagined you were such a
philosoShe really was a beauty, he thought.  She'd left off pher, Mr.
Prescott."  She smiled and tilted her head to her bonnet, and that pale
hair of hers gleamed in the look at him, as if seeing him for the first
time.  "You weak light.  Her skin looked as soft as a rose petal, de
sound like you've given it a good deal of thought: spite the hard weeks
of travel that lay behind them.  "And I'd never have imagined you were
so advenBut it was her eyes that lingered in a man's mind more turous,
Miss Ballard: He nodded to her perch on the than they had any right to.
Wide set and surrounded rock, his smile white beneath the dark
mustache.  by thick dark lashes, they were green, like deep wood' Looks
like we're both full of surprises this morn land pools that invited a
man closer.  ing," Liberty said, her smile widening.

"Have you been to California, Mr.  Prescott?"  "Looks like: Matt
reached in his pocket and pulled " "A time or two," he admitted.  out
the makings of a smoke.  It wasn't often he had the

"Is it as beautiful as they say?"  chance to talk to a girl as pretty
as Liberty Ballard.  He

"Parts of it: relaxed back into the saddle, as he rolled the tobacco

"Maybe someday I'll see it," she said, just a hint of into the paper
with one hand.  wistfulness in her voice.  "I'm to stay with my uncle,
"Do you have a family, Mr.  Prescott?"  who owns the Rocking S ranch
near Fort Bridger, you "No.  Cholera took my folks, ten years back." He
know.  So I won't be going on with the rest of the flicked his thumb
over the head of a match and held train: the flame to his cigarette. It
was a habit he'd picked up

"If the rest of them have any sense, they won't be from the Mexicans in
Santa Fe.  going on until spring," Matt said shortly.  "So you're all
alone?"

"Do you think we're foolish to come west?"  "Not right at this moment,"
he said, giving her a

"No, ma'am.  Folks like this are the ones who'll slow smile settle this
country."  "No wife?"

"Not people like you, Mr.  Prescott?"  Liberty had "Nope.  Never really
thought of myself as the mar forgotten all about the sunrise.  There
would be other rying kind."

"Don't you like women, Mr.  Prescott?"  Liberty looked at him from
under her lashes and Matt's fingers tightened on the cigarette.  He
wondered if she was even aware of the invitation in her eyes.  He
forced his hand to relax and lifted the cigarette to his mouth, drawing
in a lungful of smoke.

Liberty reminded him of a young filly in the springtime.  She was old
enough to be testing her feminine wiles and young enough not to know
how dangerous such testing could be.  In her blue calico dress with its
white collar and cuffs, she looked as inviting as a fresh-cut rose. But
roses had thorns to punish anyone foolish enough to pick them, and Joe
Miller's shotgun was a mighty big thorn.  Still, Matt could tell she
wasn't looking for anything more than a little innocent flirtation.

"I like women well enough," he said at last.

"But you never met one you wanted to marry?"

"Maybe I did meet such a woman and she wouldn't have me."  His grin
made it clear that there was no old heartbreak behind the words.  "
"I'd pictured you as the sort of man who generally gets what he wants:
'

"Had you now?  Perhaps she was a very stubborn woman."

Looking at him, Liberty was inclined to think such a woman would have
to be not only stubborn but made of stone.  Just talking to him made
her heart beat a little faster.

"Or maybe she just wasn't the right woman," Matt continued.  "Maybe I
was waiting for a girl with hair the color of new corn silk and eyes
like polished jade and a mouth as soft as anything in creation."

Liberty felt her heart stop as his eyes lingered on her mouth.  Her
lips parted, her breath coming too quickly.  What would it feel like if
Mike Prescott kissed her?  She'd only been kissed once when Billy Joe
Sauderton had caught her behind his father's barn and given her a peck
on the lips.  She'd promptly boxed his ears for him.

She didn't think Matt Prescott's kiss would feel anything like Billy
Joe's hasty effort.  Would his mustache tickle?

Matt had thought his words would startle her, make her realize that she
was playing with fire.  He'd expected her to poker up, her soft mouth
going all prim and proper.  What he hadn't expected was the sudden
awareness in her eyes, the curiosity in the way her gaze dropped to his
mouth.  He could read her thoughts as clearly as if she'd spoken them
aloud.

Perched on the rock the way she was, he'd have only to walk the roan a
little closer and he'd be able to reach out and catch her around the
waist.  He could draw her down in front of him on the saddle and see if
her mouth could possibly be as soft as it looked.

The roan shifted suddenly, his ears pricking forward as if he heard
something he didn't like.  Matt flicked the remains of the cigarette
into the stream, his hand dropping to the butt of his pistol in one
smooth movement.  His eyes scanned the area around them, seeking the
source of the horse's unease.

"What is-"

A sharp gesture cut off Liberty's question.  Matt loosened the thong on
his pistol.  The roan was mustang bred and as good a trail horse as a
man could ask for.  A man who spent a lot of time in the wilderness
learoed to depend on his mount's more acute senses.  If the roan
thought there was something out there, Matt was willing to trust his
judgment.

"Get off that rock," he ordered quietly.

After a quick look at his face, Liberty obeyed, sliding awkwardly off
the side of the rock and then staying pressed against it.  It suddenly
seemed very foolish indeed to have wandered so far from camp.  How far
had she come?  A mile?  Perhaps a mile and a half?  As the scout had
said, too far for anyone to hear a scream.

There was a quick rustling in the brush across the stream and Matt's
gun was suddenly in his hand, though Liberty hadn't seen him move to
draw it.  His fingers tightened on the reins, backing the roan until
the shoulder of the big rock half shielded them.  It was scant
protection but the best to be had.

The rustling stopped and then started again.  A moment passed with
Liberty hardly daring to breathe and then the tall grass on the
opposite side of the stream parted abruptly.

And out came a large raccoon.

He paused on seeing them, rising on his back feet to get a better look.
His masked face swung back and forth, his nose twitching as he tested
the air to see what sort of creatures he was dealing with.  Apparently
satisfied that they were harmless, he moved down the bank to the
stream, his rolling gait giving him the look of a furry sailor not long
off a ship.

"I guess my scalp's safe," Liberty said, her voice holding a shaky edge
of relief.  " "For now, anyway."

Relaxing in the saddle, Matt slipped his gun back in the holster.  He
turned the roan to face Liberty.  "I'd better get you back to camp. The
Millers are bound to wonder where you are."

It had become full light while they talked.  There was no possibility
that her absence wouldn't have been noted.  She'd missed her morning
chores, and no doubt, missed breakfast as well.  " " Mrs.  Miller must
be worried to death, " she said, guilt stricken.  The Millers had
treated her as one of their own, never making her feel like hired
help.

"She'll forgive you soon enough once she sees you're safe," Matt said
easily.  He pulled one foot out of the stirrup and reached his hand
down to her.  "You'll get back a good deal faster if I take you
back."

Liberty hesitated.  It surely wasn't proper for a lady to ride double
with a man.  Mn.  Miller would scold her for being unladylike.  But she
could ask the scout to let her down just out of sight of the camp.

She put her hand in his, feeling his fingers close over hers, hard and
strong, callused from work.

"Put your foot on mine and I'll swing you up behind me."

Hesitantly, she set her foot on his boot and then gasped, startled, as
he swung her up onto the back of the horse.  It was the first time in
her life that she'd been astride a horse.  Back home, she'd ridden
sidesaddle The new position felt strange and awkward.  She clutched at
Matt's waist, her fingers digging into the soft buckskin of his
shirt.

"You set?"  he asked over his shoulder.

"Yes."  Her answer was more sure than she felt, and when he nudged the
roan into motion, her grip tightened and she pressed herself against
his back.

It only took a moment for her to settle into the rhythm of the horse's
gait and gain some confidence that she wasn't going to tumble off.  Her
hold on Matt grew a little easier.

But once she was assured of her physical safety, Liberty became aware
of the intimacy of her position Only inches separated her from Matt.
She could see the way his shoulders filled the buckskin shirt, feel the
ripple of muscles under her hands.  If she leaned forward the smallest
amount, her breasts would be pressed against that broad back.

She stiffened her spine ramrod straight, her cheeks flooding with
color.  What was the matter with her?  How could she even think such a
thing?  There must be something wrong with her.  First, she'd wondered
what it would feel like to have Matt kiss her, and now, here she was,
actually thinking about..  she wasn't sure just what it was she was
thinking about but she knew she had no business doing so.

It was just that she'd never in her life met a man like Matt Prescott.
There was a toughness in him the like of which she'd never seen.  He
was like the land around them.  Hard and rugged, and yet just as there
was a beauty to the land, there was a gentleness in him that drew
her.

But gentleness or no, she'd no business thinking the sort of thoughts
she'd been thinking.

Even before he nudged the roan into a walk, Matt was regretting the
impulse that had led him to draw Liberty up behind him.  From the
instant he'd felt her slender hand in his, he'd known it was a foolish
move.

With that moonlight-colored hair and those wide green eyes, she'd
already figured in his thoughts more than he'd any wish for a woman to
do.  She wasn't like the women he'd known in saloons and dance halls.
Those women expected no more of a man than he chose to give.  Liberty
Ballard was the sort of woman who went with tidy little houses and
neatly fenced yards.

It was easy enough to keep that in mind when he only saw her at a
distance, walking alongside the wagon or helping with the chores.  But
with her arms wrapped around his waist and her body hardly more than a
deep breath away from his, it wasn't quite so easy to remember all the
reasons he couldn't pull her down in the tall grass and find out if her
lips were really as soft as they looked.

Matt had grown to manhood in the wilderness.  From boyhood on, he'd
known that to stay alert was to stay alive.  It took only a moment's
inattention to spell the difference between life and death.  It wasn't
only the threat of Indians.  The land itself offered more dangers than
any man, white or red, ever could.

Rattlesnakes, rock slides, flash floods, even something as simple as a
carelessly placed foot leading to a broken leg-any one of them could
lead to a man dying younger than he'd had any intention of doing.

That Matt had stayed alive was proof that he'd learned that hard lesson
very well.  But every man makes mistakes.

With Liberty mounted behind him, her arms around his waist and the soft
scent of her filling his head, Matt momentarily forgot that one vital
lesson.  The roan suddenly balked, his ears twitching.  The horse's
abrupt move made Liberty tighten her arms around Matt, and her breasts
brushed against his back.  Distracted, Matt nudged the roan forward,
rather than paying attention to his warning behavior.

It was a nearly fatal mistake.

They came up over a shallow slope and the wagon train lay before them.
But it wasn't the peaceful srene it should have been.

The Kiowa had hit hard and fast, catching the train just as people were
waking.  Most had died without a chance to get off a shot.  The few
who'd reached their weapons had been cut down instantly.

When Matt and Liberty came over the rise, the braves had nearly
finished ransacking the wagons.  The first curl of smoke was rising
from the canvas tops.  Bodies lay sprawled among the wagons that were
supposed to take their owners to better lives.  " " God !  " The word
was as much a prayer as a curse.

Matt's reaction was instantaneous.  His hands tightened on the reins,
drawing the roan back hard enough to make the big horse nearly sit on
his haunches.  He'd heard men boast that their horses could turn on a
dime and give a nickel's change.  That day, the roan returned a good
nine cents, spinning hard and fast.  Matt's heels connected with the
horse's ribs and he stretched out in a dead run.

If they were blessed with more luck than a man had any right to expect,
maybe the Kiowa hadn't seen them.  But a glance over his shoulder told
Matt that luck wasn't with them today.  Topping out over the rise
behind them were three horses, their riders bent low over their
necks.

Temptation 's Prece 25

Chapter Two

The roan was a good running horse.  Ordinarily, Matt would have bet his
life on his ability to outrun just about anything short of a pronghorn.
But not when he was carrying double.

Glancing over his shoulder, Matt could see the Kiowa were gaining.
Ahead was a place where rocks thrust upward from the grass.  Matt had
camped in those rocks a few years ago and he knew that if they could
reach them, they might be able to hold off the Kiowa, at least as long
as his ammunition held out.  It was a thin chance, but it was the only
one they had.

But they had to reach the rocks far enough ahead of their pursuers to
have time to dismount and reach their shelter.  And the Indian ponies
were eating up the distance between them.

Gripping the reins in his left hand, Matt drew his gun with his right.
Twisting in the saddle, he caught a glimpse of Liberty's frozen
features out of the corner of his eye.  But there was no time to think
of her, no reassurance he could offer.

He snapped off three quick shots.  He had no expectation of hitting the
Kiowa.  But the scattering of shots might slow them and every second
gained could mean their survival.  The Indians returned their fire and
Matt bent low over the roan's neck, feeling Liberty press herself close
against his back.

Looking ahead, he felt the bitter taste of defeat rise in his throat.
They weren't going to make it.  The rocks were in front of them, not
more than a hundred yards away.  But the Kiowa would be on them before
they reached shelter.  He could feel the roan laboring, the strain of
carrying two riders slowing him.

Feeling Liberty's arms clutching at his waist, Matt knew that if he had
the chance, he'd kill her himself before letting her fall into the
Indians' hands.  This was a raiding party.  They were too far out of
their accustomed range for it to be anything else.  They wouldn't be
taking prisoners back to the village.  But they might take time to
amuse themselves on her before they slit her throat.

The rocks were only a few yards ahead but that was too far.  A glance
behind showed their pursuers nearly on top of them.  Matt made a quick
decision.  He drew back on the reins to slow the roan.  Grabbing
Liberty's arm with bruising strength, he swung her off the back of the
horse.

"Run for the rocks," he snapped, turning the roan even as he spoke.
With a bloodcurdling yell, he slapped his heels to the horse's sides
and sent him charging directly toward their pursuers.  There was no
time to take a defensive position.  They'd be cut down long before they
reached shelter.  Which left him with only one chore.  He had to take
the battle to the foe.  Perhaps the element of surprise would tip the
balance in his favor.

Liberty stared after Matt, momentarily incapable of movement.  She felt
dazed, her mind spinning.  Terrible images were locked inside-burning
wagons, sprawled bodies.  But there was no time to deal with that now.
The rocks, Matt had said.  She was to get to the rocks.  Turning, she
stumbled toward the jumble of boulders , wondering what she was to do
when she reached them.

Looking over her shoulder, she saw that Matt had ridden right into the
middle of the warriors.  One was down and unmoving in the long grass,
his pony running for the horizon.  Matt and a second warrior were
grappling together, their horses pressed side to side as they fought.

But the third Indian was riding toward her.  Terrified, Liberty ran
faster, struggling to keep her long skirts out of the way.  Glancing
back, she saw he was practically on top of her, his face a savage mask.
In that moment, he seemed more demon than human He was holding a rifle
by the barrel, the stock poised to club her down.

Acting on instinct, Liberty swerved abruptly.  The sudden movement
caught the brave by surprise.  The blow he'd intended for her whistled
through thin air, the momentum of it throwing him off balance just as
his pony stumbled over a hidden rock.  He tumbled from its back.

He was on his feet instantly, his dark eyes glittering with fury as he
lunged after Liberty, who was running toward the rocks, though she
couldn't imagine what safety they could offer her now.

She cried out as a hard hand closed over her shoulder , spinning her
around.  His other hand caught her across the face in an open-palmed
slap that sent her to her knees, her head spinning dizzily.

She was going to die.  The realization brought with it a bone-deep
chill.  Hard on its heals came a frantic rage.  This man had been among
those who'd ravaged the wagon train, who'd killed the Millers.  And now
he was going to kill her.  She knew, with cold certainty, that she was
about to die.  But she wasn't going to make it easy for her killer.

The brave had his hand in her hair, his tomahawk drawn back for a
killing blow.  With a cry that mixed anger and despair, Liberty lunged
forward.  Her head caught him squarely in the stomach.  Off balance, he
stumbled back.  The hand that was still tangled in her hair pulled
Liberty with him as he fell to the ground.

She struggled wildly, raining blows on his head and shoulders.  She
tried to kick but her legs were hampered by the fullness of skirt and
petticoats.  There was no real question of the outcome of the struggle.
She could only postpone the inevitable.  But it wasn't in her to
quit.

She had no expectation of help.  For all she knew, Matt was already
dead or wounded.  Her right hand flailed out and her knuckles brushed
against a rock.  The Kiowa's fingers were around her throat, choking
her into submission.  Liberty had heard enough stories of what happened
to women captured by the Indians to know she'd rather be dead.

Blacknesswas clouding the edge of her vision.  Her lungs felt as if
they were about to burst.  She knew she was about to lose
consciousness.  Her groping fingers closed over the rock.  With her
last ounce of strength, she brought up her hand, slamming the rock
against the brave's head as hard as she could.

His hold loosened and Liberty drew in a gasping breath.  But the blow
had enraged him more than it had caused physical harm.  She saw the
glitter in his eyes, his lips drawn back from his teeth in a fierce
grin and knew she was about to die.  There was no strength left in her.
She could only lie there as he drew back his arm to strike.  She wanted
to close her eyes but she didn't even have the strength left for that.
She was helpless to do anything but watch death coming at her.

The tomahawk started to descend and she offered up a garbled prayer.

A long arm suddenly appeared over the brave's shoulder, a razor-edged
knife clenched in a broad fist.  Liberty saw realization flash across
her attacker's face and then the knife slashed across his throat.

She couldn't move, couldn't think.  Her mind was frozen with horror. As
if from somewhere outside herself, she saw Matt roll the Kiowa's body
away.  She felt him take hold of her arms and draw her to her feet. 
She could see his mouth moving but she couldn't hear the words.

The stickiness of blood was on her face, in her hair.  Staring down at
herself, she could see blood staining the blue of her dress.  Her white
cuffs were spotted scarlet and she knew her collar must be the same.
She held her hands out away from her sides, not wanting to touch
herself.

From somewhere far away, she could hear someone screaming, the sound
holding little sanity.  It wasn't until she felt the sharp sting of
Matt's hand against her cheek that she realized the screams were hers.
She broke off on a gulp.

"Are you hurt?"  When she didn't answer, Matt grabbed her by the
shoulders, giving her a quick hard shake, forcing her eyes to meet his.
"Answer me, Liberty.  Are you hurt?"

She drew a shuddering breath and shook her head.  Seeing awareness
returning to her eyes, Matt felt relief wash over him.  For a moment,
there'd been nothing but emptiness looking back at him and he'd
wondered if he'd rescued only a shell.

"We have to move away from here," he told her, speaking slowly.  "The
others might come after us: He felt the shiver that went through her,
saw the fear come up in her eyes.  But there was no time to offer
reassurance, even if he'd had any to give.

In the distance were the foothills of the Wind River Mountains.  If
they could reach those, they'd have shelter, a place to hide, if
necessary.  He didn't think it likely that the Kiowa would follow them
very far.  They were in enemy territory themselves.  They'd already
lost three braves trying to capture two people who had little to offer
in the way of material goods.  Chances were they'd decide to cut their
losses and head south with what they'd taken from the wagon train.

The Indian ponies had scattered, but the roan stood not far away.  He
shied a little as Matt approached,

uneasy at the scent of blood.  But Matt spoke to him, reminding him of
the long miles they'd traveled together , his voice low and soothing.

When he led the horse up to Liberty, he saw that she hadn't moved.  She
stood just where he'd left her, her hands held out from her sides, her
face ghostly pale beneath the blood that streaked it.  The dead Kiowa
lay practically at her feet but she kept her eyes averted from the
body.

She turned docilely enough when Matt touched her shoulder but he didn't
think she was really aware of him.  His face grim, he lifted her into
the saddle and then swung up behind her.  She'd had a hell of a shock.
But the only thing he could do for her now was to try to see that she
stayed alive.

He nudged the roan into a fast walk, heading toward the foothills,
which were too far away for comfort If he'd been alone, he'd have been
riding hell for leather, figuring to put as much distance as possible
between him and the remaining Indians.  But if he tried to do that now,
all he'd do was kill a damn good horse.

So he set the roan's head toward the foothills and kept a sharp watch
back the way they'd come, hoping to see nothing but empty prairie.

It was midafternoon when they entered the trees.  The land had been
gradually climbing as it sloped up toward the mountains.  Once in the
shelter of the pines, Matt stopped the roan and turned to look back
over their trail.  There had been no sign of pursuit and the grasslands
below were still empty.  Just as Matt had expected, the Indians had
decided that the chase would not be worth the price he might extract.

He didn't relax.  They might have left one danger behind, but there
were plenty more to take its place.  This moroing, he'd let himself be
distracted by a pretty face and the softness of a woman's arms.  That
moment had nearly cost them both their lives.  If he hadn't been so
busy thinking about the shape of her mouth and the pale silkiness of
her hair, he would have paid more heed to his horse's uneasiness and
wouldn't have simply ridden up on the massacre like a raw pilgrim

It wouldn't have saved any of the people with the wagon train, but if
they'd been able to slip away without being seen, Liberty wouldn't have
had to endure the fight that followed.

She lay back against his chest like a tired child.  She hadn't spoken
since seeing the ravaged wagon train.  Worried, Matt looked down at
her, wishing he could see her eyes.  He didn't try to break the
silence.  There was nothing he could say to ease her pain.

She felt so slender and fragile in his arms.  Remembering the emptiness
in her eyes after he'd pulled the Kiowa brave from her, Matt felt cold
fear.  He'd heard of people who never recovered from a shock like the
one she'd had this day.

If he hadn't been holding her so close that he could feel her heart
beating, he might have thought he was carrying a dead woman.  She
didn't react when he lifted his hand and put it against her cheek.  She
was colder than the temperature warranted.  Shock, no doubt.  They
needed to find shelter, somewhere he could build a fire, heat some
water.  They needed rest and so did the roan.

The trees thinned out into a small clearing with a narrow stream
bubbling through it.  Halting the horse, Matt swung off his back.

"We'll stop here for a bit," he told Liberty.  He reached up to lift
her down.  "Water the horse and let him rest.  I know of a cave a
couple of hours from here.  We should be able to make it before dark.
We'll stop there for the night: '

"I need to wash: It was the first thing she'd said all day.  Matt
doubted she'd heard a thing he'd said.

"I hadn't planned on taking that kind of time here, " he said slowly,
staring at her bent head.  Her hair had come loose from its pins during
the struggle with the Indian.  Matted with blood, it swung forward to
conceal her face.

"Please.  I need to wash."  Her voice held a tight edge that told him
just how fragile her control was.  She stood in front of him, her slim
body unnaturally rigid, her hands held out from her sides as if she
couldn't bear to touch herself.  She didn't look at him but focused on
some point beyond his shoulder.

Blood turned her face into a ghastly mask and stained her hair.  Her
dress was even worse than he remembered , the blue turned to purple
where blood soaked it.  He understood her need to wash the stains away
but he'd prefer to put more distance behind them before they stopped
for any length of time.

"Please," she whispered, her voice trembling.  Matt was not proof
against the vulnerability in that one word.

"All right."  Going to the roan, he opened a saddlebag and took out a
thin bar of soap.  " "Take this and go upstream.  Wash away the worst
of it.  But don't get your clothes wet.  Or your hair.  It's too cold
for that.  And don' ttake any longer than you have to.  I want to reach
the cave before dark."

Matt watched her walk away, the bar of soap clenched in her fist as if
it were a weapon.  He turned back to his horse and loosened the cinch
before leading the animal to water.  Unsaddling him and rubbing him
down would have to wait until they stopped for the night.

While the roan drank, Matt looked up at the patches of sky visible
through the trees.  Another hour or two and it would be dark.  He
wanted to get them settled in for the night before then.  The nights
were cold now.  The cave he remembered was deep.  He'd be able to build
a fire far enough back from the mouth to prevent it from shining like a
beacon for miles.

Warmth, rest and food.  That was what all three of them needed now.
There was food in his saddlebags.  Not much, but enough to last a day
or two.  He drew the mustang back from the stream and ground-hitched
him in a patch of grass.

He lowered himself to the ground, bracing his back against a convenient
tree.  He winced as the movement tugged at a shallow knife wound that
crossed his abdomen.  He'd barely been aware of the injury until now,
more concerned with putting distance between them and the scene of the
massacre.  A quick glance showed him that the Kiowa's knife had skated
across his ribs, leaving a wound that was little more than a scratch.
When they stopped for the night, he'd heat some water and clean it.

Just as soon as Liberty returned from washing up, they'd be on their
way.  A fire, a hot meal and a few hours' sleep was the best thing for
both of them.  Morning would be soon enough to worry about where they
were to go from here.

His eyes on the stream, Matt frowned, wondering how long it was going
to take her to get cleaned up.  They shouldn't have stopped even as
long as they already had.  Rising, he stared upstream.  She'd been gone
a long time.  How long could it take to wash her hands and face?  Had
she even heard him say not to get her hair and clothes wet?

Liberty had heard Matt's instructions but the words held little
meaning.  The only important thing was that she had to get clean.  She
had to get rid of the sticky feel of blood on her skin and in her
hair.

A few yards upstream, there was a place where several boulders thrust
into the water, forcing the stream to slow and widen.  In a daze,
Liberty stopped near the half-formed pool.  She set down the precious
soap on a rock.  She sat on the bank and unlaced her shoes, setting
them neatly to the side, her socks draped over them before she stood up
again.

Without a moment's hesitation, she picked up the soap and waded out
into the stream.  Her skirts grew heavy with water, clinging to her
legs, making it difficult to walk.  She hardly noticed the discomfort.
When the water reached her thighs, she sank to her knees.

It never crossed her mind that there was anything odd about her
actions.  She had to be clean.

She ducked her head under the surface, running the fingers of one hand
through her hair, feeling the cleansing water run through it, rinsing
away the stickiness

She focused her thoughts carefully on washing away every trace of blood
from her skin and hair.  She wouldn't think of anything else-not of the
Millers lying murdered next to the wagon that had been taking them
toward the dream of a new life; not of Sally Devers, who'd been heavy
with child, her sixth.  She refused to think of Mr.  Miller, who'd
insisted that they'd make it through to California before winter,
despite the warnings they were given at Fort Laramie.

No one was going to have to make the decision of whether or not the
train should spend the winter at Fort Bridger and continue in the
spring.  There would be no more arguments about whether it might be
better to take the cutoff for Oregon, after all.

They were all dead.  And their dreams had died with them.

Liberty squeezed her eyes shut, forcing down the pain.  She wasn't
going to think about it now.  She wasn't going to think about anything
at all.  All that mattered was getting clean.

She rubbed the soap over her face and neck and then down across her
breasts.  She repeated the motion again and again, rubbing the fabric
of her dress.  The water bubbled past her, carrying away all traces of
red.  But she still felt the horrid stickiness, still saw the stain of
the Kiowa's blood on her flesh.  It was as if it were more than his
blood.  She felt as if she bore the stain of all the people who'd died
with the wagon train.

Her side hurt, a sharp, gnawing pain that demanded attention.  But she
ignored it.  She had to get the feel of blood off her skin.  If she
could just get clean, everything would be all right again.

The soap disappeared beneath the repeated rubbings Liberty scooped up a
handful of sand from the streambed and rubbed it methodically over her
face and neck.  She had to get clean.

Matt found her there, on her knees in the stream.  He stepped out of
the trees and stopped, the sight of her jolting him with the force of a
blow.

She knelt in the stream, the water rippling just below her shoulders,
her hair floating behind her like a silken banner.

She seemed unaware that she was no longer alone.  Or perhaps she didn't
care.  t1s he watched, she bent and scooped up another handful of sand
and began rubbing it over her chest, crushing it against the wet fabric
of her dress.  The skin of her face and throat was already flushed and
angry looking where she'd been rubbing.

With an oath, Matt strode forward.  After pausing just long enough to
pull off his boots, he waded into the water.  Liberty was oblivious to
his approach, continuing her methodical rubbing even when his hands
closed over her shoulders, dragging her to her feet.  Matt grabbed her
hand, pulling it away from her body and forcing her fingers down until
the sand washed away in the current.  " " Liberty !  " He spoke her
name quietly, his hand coming up under her chin to lift her face to
his.

"I have to get clean."

"You are clean."

"No.  I can still feel it on me.  All the blood.  I have to get it
off."

"It's gone, Liberty.  You washed it all away."  But she didn't seem to
hear him.

"Mama will be upset.  I got blood on my blue calico It's my second-best
dress.  I have to get it clean."  " "Liberty, stop it!  " He gave her a
sharp shake.  " "Mama will be angry," she repeated, her voice soft as a
child's, her eyes looking beyond him to something that wasn't there. "I
have to get it clean."

Matt felt a fear greater than any he'd felt when facing the Kiowa.
Physical danger he understood.  He'd lived with it all his life.  But
this was something new.  New and frightening.  Liberty had retreated
from the terrible reality of what she'd seen.  She'd pulled back
somewhere inside her mind, hiding from the things she'd seen.

Staring at her smooth features, Matt tried to decide the best course.
He could just leave her in this state and hope she came out of it on
her own.  There might be a doctor at one of the forts who could help
her, if she didn't.  But they were a long way from both Bridger and
Laramie.  " " I have to get clean, " she murmured again, pulling
against his restraining hands.  "Mama will be upset."

Matt made his decision.

38 Temptntion's Price

" "Your mother has been dead a long time, Liberty.  Bending, he put one
hand behind her knees and And the Millers are dead, too.  We're the
only ones scooped her up against his chest.  Water ran off her, left."
The words were gentle but implacable.  He felt soaking his shirt.  He
waded out of the stream.  Her the impact of them strike her.  sopping
skirts wrapped around his legs, making

"No."  Her wide eyes met his and he saw a kind of walking difficult.
plea in them.  He hardened his heart against it.  They She lay against
him, her eyes closed, her face white had a long way to go before they
reached safety.  If he with grief.  The stream had its origin high in
the had to carry her along like a helpless child, it was go- mountains
above them and the water had been cold.  ing to narrow their already
slim chances.  He had to get her out of her wet things, had to get
her

"They're all dead.  You've got to be strong."  warm and dry as soon as
possible.  She'd be lucky if

Liberty sucked in a shallow breath, feeling his words she didn't catch
pneumonia.  sink into her mind, dragging her back from the safe His
face grim, Matt carried her through the trees to little room she'd been
trying to lock herself inside.  She where the roan waited.  There was a
buffalo coat tied didn't want to hear him, didn't want to believe him.
to the back of the saddle.  He'd spent too many years

"Liberty."  Matt's voice pulled her back to a reality in snow country
not to be prepared.  Though it was she didn't want to face.  She stared
up at him, seeing early in the season, blizzards were not unheard of,
est he pity in his golden-brown eyes.  especially in the mountains. 
One year he'd seen it snow

"No."  The word was little more than a breath.  in July.

"Yes."  The coat would serve to keep her warm until they

She shuddered as if the word was an actual, physi- reached the cave
where he could build a fire and make cal blow, her eyes closing.  Pain
lodged in her chest, some coffee.  She was young and healthy.  With
luck, tight and hard, somehow connecting with the sharper she wouldn't
catch a chill.  pain in her side.  "You've got to get out of these wet
clothes."  He set " "Oh God: The words were thick with pain.  When her
down and reached for the buttons that marched she opened her eyes, they
were dark with loss but they neatly down the front of her dress.
remained dry.  Matt brushed her wet hair back from " "I can do it." She
pushed his hands away.  Her eyes her face, almost wishing she' dcry. 
Tears could be a were a muddy green and her skin was still too pale,
but healing force.  But at least she no longer had that she was in the
here and now.  frightening blank look.  When Matt turned back with the
coat, Liberty had

"It gets easier with time," he said, knowing the only managed to
unfasten the first few buttons.  Her words offered scant comfort.  But
they were all he had fingers were shaking too much to manage the rest
of to give.  them, whether with cold or shock, he couldn't be sure.

He brushed her hands aside and began opening the buttons with quick
impatient movements.

"This is not the time to be worrying about modesty ," he told her
brusquely when she murmured a protest.

He stripped the dress off her shoulders, fighting the wet fabric that
clung to her skin.  If it hadn't been the only garment she had, he
might have been tempted to cut it from her.  The sun was dropping
rapidly and the temperature with it.  He wanted to reach the cave
before dark.  They needed the warmth of a fire and something hot to
drink.

The dress yielded at last, dropping to the ground around Liberty's feet
with a sodden thump.  The tapes on her petticoats resisted his fingers.
Growling his impatience, Matt drew his knife and slashed through them.
He pushed the water-laden layers of fabric down over her hips.

Since that first halfhearted murmur, Liberty had offered not a word of
protest.  She might have been a statue if it hadn't been for the
shivering that grew worse with every passing moment.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Matt was aware of the delicate
curves of her.  The thin chemise and pantalets would have offered scant
modesty when dry.  Wet, they were little more than a tantalizing veil
drawn over peach-tinted flesh.  Cold had drawn her nipples into taut
peaks, their darker color clearly visible beneath the wet cotton.  At
another time and place, he might have bent to taste those dark buds.

But here and now, his awareness of her as a woman was a distant thing,
hardly noticed amid the need to care for her health.

He put his hands on her waist, planning to lift her away from the heap
of wet clothing at her feet.  But the moment his palms pressed against
her, she cried out in obvious pain, her face losing what little color
it had held.

Startled, Matt jerked his hands away, only to grab for her shoulders as
she swayed.  He caught her against his side as her knees buckled.
Supporting her without effort, he stared at his left hand, at the
crimson stain that marked his palm.

The right side of her chemise was similarly marked.  He pulled up the
garment, exposing her bare skin and the long ugly gouge that scored her
side.  Obviously, they hadn't been as lucky as he'd thought in their
encounter with the Kiowa.

Matt's hand, covered with her blood, clenched slowly into a fist.  He
lifted his head and looked around the empty clearing.  They were miles
from decent shelter and more than a hundred miles from the nearest
settlement.  He had only what food was in his saddlebags , one horse
and an injured girl on his hands.

And he wouldn't have taken even money on their chances at this
moment.

Chapter Three

It seemed to Liberty as if she'd spent half her life on the back of the
roan, seeing the world framed between his ears.  Perhaps it was because
the world she'd known had disappeared forever since this morning when
Matt offered to give her a ride back to camp.  Life could never be the
same again.  Everything had changed, even more than it had the day they
left Pennsylvania.

She closed her eyes to try to shut out the thought of so many people
dead.  Good people, people with hopes and dreams now unfulfilled.  And
the children.  God, the children.  She opened her eyes and deliberately
focused on the pain in her side.  It hurt less than the pain in her
heart.

Matt had examined the injury, seeming relieved by what he found.  One
of the Kiowa's bullets had grazed her side, leaving a long, shallow
wound.  The morning 's events had left her in shock, shutting her off
from the pain she would ordinarily have felt from the injury.  It was
unfortunate that, once the shock wore off, the pain was still there,
eager to make its presence known.

Matt had bound the wound with a strip torn from her petticoat and told
her not to worry.  But Liberty had seen the concern in his eyes and
knew he was worried about infection.  She couldn't help but remember

Bill Pettygrove, who'd cut himself while repairing a wagon axle not far
out of Fort Kearny.  The wound had putrefied, and Sam Larson, who was
the closest thing they'd had to a doctor, had amputated Bill's arm.
He'd died two days later.

Liberty knew Matt was remembering the same thing.  A strong, healthy
man, dead and buried on the prairie because of a cut no worse than the
wound in her side.

After binding the wound, Matt had wrapped her in the buffalo coat and
then fetched her shoes from where she'd left them by the stream.  When
he returned , he lifted her into the saddle and mounted behind her.

The roan was tired and the pace he set was slow.  Liberty was grateful.
Even that much movement made her side hurt more, a dull ache that
nagged like a sore tooth.  She wanted nothing more than to put her head
on a soft pillow and sleep until all the pain was gone.  Maybe when she
woke up, she'd find that all of this was nothing more than a
nightmare.

But she knew that wasn't going to happen.  The events of the day were
real, and if she slept a hundred years, nothing would have changed. She
and Matt were the only survivors from the wagon train.

If she hadn't wanted to see the sunrise this morning , she would be
lying back there with the rest of them.  If Matt hadn't followed her,
she might have stumbled into the massacre or been left alone on the
prairie, which would have meant death as surely as if she'd been with
the train.

Matt.  She could feel the width of his chest against her back, the
strength of his arms holding her.  He'd saved her life.  If the roan
hadn't been carrying double , Liberty was sure he could have outrun the
Indian ponies.  She'd heard Mr.  Miller talking about the scouYs horse
being one of the fastest he'd seen in a long time.

Slowed by the extra weight his horse was carrying, Matt had been forced
to turn and fight.  He could have been killed.  And if he'd died, she
would have died.  She didn't have to close her eyes to remember the
Kiowa's savage face over hers, the tomahawk drawn back for a killing
blow.

The memory sent a convulsive shiver through her.  Matt's arms tightened
in response.

"We're almost there," he told her, his breath brushing against her
ear.

"I'm all right."

She wasn't all right.  She didn't think she'd ever feel all right
again.  IWventy-four hours earlier, she'd been wondering if there were
any young men on her uncle 's ranch, daydreaming about meeting a
special man who'd make her heart beat faster.  Those dreams seemed a
thousand years ago.

"There."  She followed the direction of Matt's pointing finger,
narrowing her eyes to see through the gloom.  As the sun set behind the
mountains, it had grown increasingly difficult to see, especially with
the trees crowding close around them.

At first, all Liberty saw was what seemed to be a bulge in the side of
the mountain.  But as they drew closer, she could make out the dark
outline of a cave mouth.  This was what Matt had been looking for.

He drew the roan to a halt a few yards away from the cave and swung
down.  Liberty clutched the saddle horn with both hands, watching as he
approached the cave, studying the ground for any tracks that would
indicate that it was home to a grizzly or a cougar After a few minutes,
he returned to the horse.

"Looks clear," he said, taking hold of the bridle.  He led the mustang
up to the mouth of the cave and then reached up to lift Liberty down.

Careful to avoid her injured side, he put his palms against her rib
cage, lifting her easily from the saddle Loss of blood and long hours
in the saddle had left her legs unsteady.  She stumbled and would have
fallen if she hadn't caught hold of Matt's arm.

"I'm sorry," she said, trying to stiffen her weak knees.  Whether or
not Matt heard her apology, she couldn't be sure.  With one smooth
movement, he lifted her against his chest.

Even through the heavy buffalo coat, Liberty could feel the strepgth of
his arms around her.  He carried her as easily as if she'd been a
child, seeming not to notice her weight.  If the day's events had
drained his strength, she could see no evidence of it.  " "Stay here
while I get a fire going: He set her down on a fallen log next to the
cave entrance.

" " I can help."

"Just stay put," he ordered.

He disappeared into the cave before she could offer a protest.  Liberty
stared after him, feeling a stir of annoyance at his brusque tone.  But
it faded immediately To tell the truth, she wasn't at all sure her legs
would hold her for more than a step or two.  He could probably prepare
a campsite more quickly alone than he could with her inexperienced
help.  If his tone had been a little abrupt, well, no doubt he was as
tired as she was.

She reached up and thrust her fingers through the heavy mass of her
hair.  It was still damp underneath.  It had been foolishness to wash
it as she had, but she couldn't regret it.  She didn't think her sanity
would have survived another minute with the sticky feel of blood on her
skin and in her hair.

She hugged the thick coat closer around herself, aware of her near
nakedness beneath it.  Matt had allowed her to retain her chemise and
pantalets, but only because the cotton was thin enough to dry quickly.
Her dress and petticoats had been wrung out with a ruthless force that
had left them hopelessly wrinkled and tied to the back of the saddle.
She wore her shoes and socks.

When Matt had fetched her out of the stream and then stripped her
sopping clothes from her, she'd been dazed, hardly conscious of what
was happening.  Thoughts of modesty had been far from her mind.  Now,
it occurred to her that Matt Prescott had seen her more nearly naked
than any man had since she was a little girl.  And she had the uneasy
feeling that he planned on tending her wound as soon as they were
settled into their camp.

Sliding one hand under the coat, Liberty lightly pressed her fingers
over her side.  Reluctantly, she admitted that it would be awkward for
her to clean and bandage the injury.  She'd have to twist her torso to
get to it, which would undoubtedly break it open again.

Sighing, she let her hand drop away.  She might as well resign herself
to Matt's ministrations.  Picturing the strong set of his jaw, she
suspected he was perfectly capable of applying physical force if she
was so foolish as to argue with him about it.  " "All clear."

She'd been absorbed in her thoughts and hadn't heard Matt's approach.
At the sound of his voice, she jumped and then bit her lip against a
gasp of pain as the movement jarred her side.

"There's a fire laid ready," he continued.  "I'll get you settled and
then take care of the horse.  Once I've got some water boiled, I'll
take a look at your side."

"I can walk," Liberty said firmly, putting her hand out to stop him
when he moved to pick her up.  " "Take care of the horse.  He's earned
it."

"That he has, but I'll see you settled first: '

Briefly, Liberty considered refusing the hand he held out to help her.
Pride demanded that she rise on her own.  Common sense suggested that
she not be foolish In truth, she was grateful for the easy strength
with which he pulled her to her feet.

It was only a few yards to the cave but it felt like miles.  She'd
walked most of the way from St.  Joseph-nearly seven hundred miles-but
she didn't think the entire journey had been as difficult as the few
steps required to reach the cave's mouth.

Matt stayed next to her, ready to catch her when she fell, which seemed
likely.  Stubborn little fool He felt both irritation and admiration.
Damned if she wasn't too stubborn for her own good.  Any fool could see
she was no more steady than a newborn calf.  He should just pick her up
and carry her.  And so he would at the first sign that she was going to
fall.

Sheer pride and stubbornness were all that were keeping her on her
feet.  But pride and stubboroness were things he understood.  He had
more than a goodly share of both himself.

Firelight flickered on the walls of the cave, softening the harsh edges
of the rock.  Unfortunately, the unsteady light failed to reveal the
shallow ridge in the floor before Liberty's foot connected with it. The
small bump was all that was necessary to upset her already shaky
balance.

Matt caught her even as the startled gasp left her.  He swept her off
her feet as easily as if she were a child, lifting her against his
chest.  Even in his hurry, he was careful to avoid putting pressure on
her injured side, cradling her in his arms with a gentleness at odds
with the scowl on his face.

"Little fool," he said gruffly, carrying her the few feet to the
fire.

"Thank you," she said, the tartness showing even though her voice was
weak.

She saw one corner of his mouth kick up as if in appreciation, but he
didn't respond to her sarcasm.

Which was just as well, she admitted.  At the moment , she was far from
ready for a battle of wits.  " "I'm going to bring in the horse," he
said as he settled her on a drift of leaves and pine needles.  " "Do
you think you can stay put?"

"I'll stay put."  She could make the promise without hesitation.  What
little strength she'd had had been used up in the short walk.  Unless
it were a matter of life and death, she didn't plan on moving.  Even
then, she wasn't sure she could stir a muscle.

Matt led the roan into the mouth of the cave and stripped the saddle
from his back.  He rubbed the big horse down with a handful of dry
grass, while water was heating in a battered pan over the fire.  By the
time the horse was cared for, the water was bubbling.

Liberty had been watching Matt work through drowsy eyes.  But she came
fully awake when he crouched next to the fire and lifted the pan from
the coals.  She was still wrapped in the buffalo coat and her fingers
drew the front protectively tighter.  " "That wound needs to be
properly cleaned, " Matt said.  He picked up her petticoat and drew his
knife from its sheath.

"I can take care of it: She watched him cut her second-best petticoat
into neat strips.  No, it was her best petticoat now.  It was the only
one she owned.  In fact, all she owned in the world now was the clothes
she'd donned this morning.  And Matt was busy cutting up her
petticoat.

"You can't reach the wound," Matt told her.  He slid the knife back
into its sheath.  "If you're worried about your modesty, don't be.  I'm
too damned tired measure.  But it wasn't the knowledge that he would to
care what you look like," he said bluntly.  probably force her if he
had to that made her loosen

Liberty felt herself flush.  It wasn't a matter of her grip on the
coat.  It was the tiredness around his whether or not he cared what she
looked like.  It was a eyes, the deep lines that bracketed his thick
musmatter of propriety.  She'd never in her life allowed a tache.  man
to see her in her undergarments.  And she'd ex- Even in the soft
firelight, he looked exhausted.  It pected that to remain true until
the day she married.  struck her suddenly that this day had been as
hard on Even then, it was a bit daunting to think about stand- him as
it had been on her.  Worse in some ways since ing before a man with so
little to protect her modesty.  he'd been burdened with the
responsibility for her.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," he said more She kept her gaze focused
somewhere near his colgently " "If we were in town, you'd let a doctor
take a larbone as he eased the coat off her shoulders and then look at
you, wouldn't you?"  drew it away completely.  Despite the fire, the
cave was

"Yes."  She didn't need him to tell her she was be- chilly, and Liberty
shivered as the cool air touched her ing foolish.  This day had surely
taken them past the bare arms and shoulders.  point of worrying about
details like modesty.  After all, Matt had wrapped a strip of petticoat
around her he'd already seen her wearing nothing but her chq waist to
hold the makeshift bandage in place and now mise and pantalets, and
they'd been wet at the time, no he reached around her to unwind it. The
movement doubt leaving little to the imagination.  brought him so close
that she felt the brush of his hair

"Out here, I'm the only doctor you've got," Matt against her shoulder.
She closed her eyes, trying not to continued.  He dropped a square of
white cotton into think of the intimacy of their situation.  the
scalding water.  "We're just going to have to make She was being
foolish, she told herself.  There was do.  Now, I'm going to help you
get that coat off and certainly nothing wrong with what he was doing.
He then I'll see what I can do with that wound: was right.  If he'd
been a doctor, she wouldn't have felt

His tone left no room for argument.  Liberty guessed this uneasiness.
But he wasn't a doctor and no amount that if she didn't give in
gracefully, he was capable of of imagination could turn him into one.
holding her down and tending her injury, anyway.  Color flooded her
face as she felt his hands on the

Using a folded piece of fabric to protect his hand, bare skin of her
waist.  She had to bite her lip to keep he carried the pot over to
where she sat and crouched from protesting.  beside her.  "Doesn't look
too bad," he said, after inspecting

He reached for the coat.  Her fingers tightened over the wound.  "The
bullet just grazed you.  If infection the thick fur and her eyes lifted
to meet his.  What she doesn't set in, you should be good as new in a
couple saw was understanding and determination in equal of days. You're
lucky."

"Yes."  She sucked in a quick breath as he cleaned It must be the blood
she'd lost that made her feel the wound light-headed.  She wished
suddenly that she hadn't

"Done," he said a few minutes later.  noticed that he was injured.  Or
that she'd believed him

"Thank you: Liberty quickly tugged her chemise , when he said it was
nothing.  down, covering the bandage.  She reached for the but- He'd
cared for her, she reminded herself sternly.  The falo coat again as
Matt stood up, but the movement least she could do was to return the
favor.  She blinked was not completed.  and focused her eyes on the
long scratch that skated

"You're hurt!"  For the first time, she noticed the across his rib
cage.  tear in the soft buckskin shirt as well as the dried blood "It's
hardly worth noticing," Matt said somewhere that stained it.  over her
head.

"It's nothing."  Matt bent to pick up the pan of wa- "It should be
cleaned," she said, her tone brisk.  ter, intending to throw it outside
but Liberty grabbed "Even a small cut can be dangerous."  hold of his
arm.  "I've had cuts worse than that on my eyeball."

"Let me look: Matt would have protested-it was "Really?"  Startled, her
head jerked up, her eyes nothing more than a scratch-but he realized
that, for meeting his.  The laughter in his made her realize how the
first time since the massacre, Liberty was focused foolish she'd
sounded.  on something besides the tragedy.  If letting her tend an "
"It's not nice to make fun of someone who's trying injury that didn't
need tending would help her to for- to help you, Mr.  Prescott."  Her
words were stern but get, he'd put up with it.  her eyes smiled.

He knelt on the hard floor in front of her.  Taking "Sorry, ma'am," he
said meekly.  Her mouth was hold of the bottom of his shirt, he drew it
up and over tucked up all prim and proper, and he had the sudden his
head.  Despite her concern for his injury, Liberty urge to kiss it
until her lips softened beneath his.  drew back a little, her eyes wide
and startled.  It was She dipped a clean piece of cloth in the warm
water the first time in her life she'd ever been so close to a and
began washing the dried blood from his skin.  man's bare chest.  She'd
seen her father once or twice Matt felt his stomach muscles tighten,
not in reaction without his shirt, but her father's pale skin and narto
the water but in reaction to the feel of her hand on row shoulders were
nothing like the body in front of his body.  her.  The firelight cast a
reddish glow over her skin and

MatYs chest was broad and tanned and liberally hair.  Her hair, dry
now, lay in a thick silver-gold sheet dusted with curling black hair.
Muscles rippled as he down her back, falling almost to her hips.  In
her con tossed the torn shirt in the direction of the saddle- cern for
him, she'd apparently forgotten all about her bags, which he'd placed
against one wall of the cave.  own scanty attire.  The modest white
cotton chemise and pantalets were more alluring than if she'd been
wearing black lace and satin.  He wished suddenly that she'd put the
coat back on.

He looked away from her, trying to focus his thoughts on other things.
Like what had to be done to ensure their survival.  They'd made it this
far but they'd had a good share of luck.  He couldn't count on that
luck holding.

Her skin was milky white, and he knew now that it was every bit as soft
as it looked.  He could see the sway of her breasts beneath the thin
cotton and he curled his fingers into his palms to resist the urge to
reach out and touch them.

Gritting his testh together, he forced himself to look away again.  He
knew what was happening.  He'd nearly died today.  He'd killed three
men to save this woman.  And some primitive part of him wanted to claim
her as his reward.  Having faced death, his body was anxious to
reaffirm life.  He probably would have felt the same desire for any
woman in reach.

But looking at the gentle curve of Liberty's cheek, feeling the soft
touch of her hands as she cleansed the knife wound, Matt couldn't quite
convince himself of the truth of that.  " "There.1'hat should be
better."  Liberty tilted back her head to give him a shy smile, and
Matt had all he could do to keep from burying his hands in her hair and
drawing her mouth up to his.

"Much better," he said, his voice husky.  He cleared his throat,
focusing on the innocence in her eyes, reminding himself that this was
not some dance-hall girl he'd rescued.  This was an innocent, virginal
girl.

Exactly the sort of girl he'd been avoiding for the past fifteen years.
This was the sort of girl a man married, not the sort he bedded when
the urge took him.

"Thank you."  He stood up suddenly.  "You'd better wrap up in that coat
again.  I don't want you catching a chill."

Liberty flushed at his abrupt tone and reached for the heavy coat.
Funny how she'd forgotten her lack of attire until now.  Obviously,
Matt hadn't done the same.  He probably thought her completely lacking
in propriety.

There was little conversation between them after that.  Matt heated
fresh water in the pot and shaved some jerky into it to make a simple
broth.  He had a tin cup in his saddlebags, even more battered than the
pan, but it was functional.  They shared the broth and the cup.

By the time the scanty meal was finished, Liberty's eyelids were
drooping and she offered no argument when Matt suggested that she try
and get some sleep.  He'd supplemented her bed with several pine boughs
broken off the trees nearby.  Still wrapped in the buffalo coat, she
lay down, and the sharp, fresh scent of pine floated up around her.

Liberty was sure she wouldn't be able to sleep.  There was too much to
worry about, too many dark images waiting to jump out as soon as she
closed her eyes.  But exhaustion won out.  She slept almost
immediately.

Matt sat near the fire, though not directly in its light.  He'd
checked, and the way the cave curved into the mountain made it
impossible to see the fire from outside, but habit kept him back from
the flames, just as habit kept him from looking directly into the fire.
A man who stared into a fire was blind for an instant when he looked
away.  Only an instant, but often enough that was all the time there
was between being alive and being dead.

The roan stood between them and the mouth of the cave.  He'd run wild
before Matt caught and broke him and his senses were sharper than any
man's.  He'd let them know if they had visitors-human or animal.
Indians weren't the only thing they had to worry about.  There were
wolves and grizzlies in the area.  But most animals would avoid the
scent of man if they could.

Behind him, Liberty stirred, whimpering softly in her sleep.  Matt set
his fingers on her shoulder.  The whimpering stopped but he left his
hand where it was.  If the truth be told, he wasn't adverse to a little
bit of human contact at the moment, himself.

They were a long way from any chance of help.  And they couldn't expect
anyone to come after them.  Even if someone stumbled across the wagon
train and took word of the massacre to one of the forts, it would be
assumed that he and Liberty had died along with everyone else.

No, he couldn't count on help coming from either Bridger or Laramie.
His hand tightened on Liberty's shoulder for a moment and then dropped
away.  If he'd been alone, he wouldn't have worried.  He'd hunted and
trapped his way through most of the west over the past fifteen years.

But with an inexperienced girl and only one horse between them, it was
a different story.  Not to men Temptation that the winter he'd warned
the immigrants about was not far away.  The air was still warm during
the day, but there had been frost on the grass the past two mornings
and there was a crispness in the air that spoke of colder weather to
come.

He shook his head and got up.  He tossed a blanket over the mound of
pine boughs he'd brought in earlier There'd be time enough to worry in
the morning.  One thing there was always plenty of time for and that
was worry.

He unbuckled his gun belt and set it where he'd be able to reach it at
a moment's notice.  He tugged off his boots and then stretched out on
the thin bed.  It wasn't a feather tick but he'd slept in worse places
in his time.

Tilting his hat over his eyes, he settled in to get what sleep he
could.

Chapter Four

qO

The first thing Liberty was aware of when she woke was the scent of
roasting meat.  Her eyes weren't even open yet when her stomach let it
be known that too much time had passed since her last solid meal.
Still, she resisted waking up.

If she'd hoped for a merciful period of forgetfulness where she didn't
remember what had happened the previous day, she was disappointed.  All
the memories were there, vivid and intact, the moment she woke.  She
pulled the buffalo coat tighter around her shoulders, her dark brows
coming together over her nose as she tried to push away the thought of
all the people on the wagon train and all the dreams they'd never
fulfill.

The memories didn't go away and neither did the hunger that gnawed
insistently at her belly.  It seemed crassly insensitive that she
should be so hungry when all those people were dead, but the smell of
food couldn't be ignored.  Groaning, she sat up and pushed the hair out
of her eyes.

" " I thought the smell of food might wake you.  It was that or firing
a shot next to your ear."  Matt grinned at her from across the fire.

Liberty blinked at him, thinking he looked much too wide-awake for such
an early hour of the morning It surely couldn't be much past dawn.  " "
It's closer to dinner than breakfast but if your stomach is as empty as
mine, I'd guess you won't have much trouble eating for two meals at one
sitting."

"Dinner?"  She narrowed her eyes at the wedge of sunlight just visible
past his shoulder.  It did look too bright for early morning.  "I never
sleep so late," she said, as if saying it would make the clock turn
back to her accustomed hour of rising.

"Sleep was the best thing for you.  I hope you like rabbit."

"Rabbit?"  She lowered her gaze to the fire and found the source of the
smell that had awakened her.  He'd arranged some green wood to form a
spit and was roasting a rabbit over the fire.  The smell made her mouth
water but she still felt a twinge of guilt.  Was it completely
insensitive to be thinking about food at a time like this?

"Going hungry isn't going to bring any of them back to life," Matt said
bluntly, reading her thoughts in the clear green of her eyes.

"I know: She sighed unhappily.  "It just doesn't seem fair."

"Lots of things in life aren't fair.  Only a fool thinks that's going
to change."  He pressed a finger against the meat.  "This is just about
done.  If you've anything you want to tend to before we eat, do it now:
'

Liberty was glad he didn't look at her as he spoke.  At least he didn't
see the color come up in her face.

When she returned to the cave a few minutes later, Matt had removed the
rabbit from the spit and disjointed it.  A crude plate made of bark lay
in front of her bed, several pieces of browned meat in the center of
it.

Liberty seated herself on the pine boughs, curling her knees to one
side and tucking the coat securely around them.  Her dress lay draped
across a rock only a few feet away.  It was probably dry by now, if
incredibly wrinkled.  Briefly, she'd considered putting it on before
she ate, but her hunger discouraged that idea.

Liberty hesitated only a moment before following Matt's example and
picking up the rabbit with her fingers.  Biting into the succulent
meat, she was sure that she'd never tasted anything so delicious.

They ate without speaking.  There was plenty to discuss, decisions to
be made.  But for the moment, it was enough to savor the food.

"That was wonderful," she said, sighing as she unashamedly licked the
last of the juices from her fingers

"Hunger tends to whet the appetite."  Matt picked up the knife he'd
used to cut up the rabbit and wiped it against the leg of his pants
before sliding it back into its sheath.  "How is your wound?"

"Fine," she said hastily, afraid that he might insist on looking at it
himself.  "I'd hardly even know it was there."

Matt's brows rose, making it clear that he doubted the accuracy of her
claim.  In truth, her side throbbed annoyingly, but to her relief, he
didn't pursue the question.

"Probably best to leave it undisturbed for now.  I'll take a look at it
when I get back: '

"Get back?"  Liberty's head jerked up, her questioning eyes fastening
on his face.  "Where are you go

"I'm going back to the wagon train.".

"You mean in case there were other survivors?"

"I mean in case the Indians left any supplies."

"But some of the others might still be alive," she insisted, reluctant
to let go of that hope.

"Not likely," he said bluntly.  "We're only alive because we were away
from the train: '

"Someone else might have been away."

"Maybe: But his tone made it clear that he wasn't holding out any hope.
"We're going to need food.  We'll hole up here for a few days, give the
pony a chance to rest, give your wound a chance to heal.  Then we'll
make for Fort Bridger."

Though he didn't say as much, Liberty sensed that he had his doubts
about their chances of reaching the fort.  Despite the warmth created
by the fire, she shiverecq and drew the heavy coat close around her.

"My uncle's at Fort Bridger.  He might send out a rescue party."

"Even if they find out about the massacre, they've no way of knowing
there's anyone left alive," he said gently.  "Winter's coming on,
earlier than I'd expected They'd be running the risk of getting caught
by the snow: No one's going to come looking for us, Liberty.  We're on
our own: '

Matt wondered if he should have been so honest with her.  Would it have
been better to leave her something to cling to?  There was comfort to
be had in the idea that people would be looking for them-that rescue
might lie just beyond the next hill.

But there was a danger in it, too.  Such thinking could make you
careless, could take away the edge of fear that might help keep you
alive.

Liberty was silent for several seconds, her eyes blank as she absorbed
his words.  Matt waited, hoping he hadn't overestimated her strength.
After a moment she looked up at him, her chin set.

"Think how surprised everyone will be when we ride into the fort."

Matt's worried look dissolved in a broad grin.  "That they will: '

If Liberty's answering smile tended to shake a little around the edges,
he pretended not to notice.  Better to let her retain the illusion of
confidence.

He stood up and dusted his hands on the seat of his pants.  "I'd better
get going."

Liberty rose to her feet and followed him as he picked up his saddle
and carried it outside to where the roan was picketed on a patch of dry
grass.

"How long do you expect to be?"  She was proud of her level tone. There
was nothing to give away the terror she felt at the thought of him
riding off and leaving her alone.

"I'll make better time than we did yesterday," he said as he swung the
saddle up on the roan's back.

"It'll be after dark, no doubt: He tightened the cinch and turned to
look at her, his expression doubtful.  "I put aside some of the rabbit
and I'd some beans in my saddlebag.  You can boil up a mess of those
for your supper.

"There's a stream about fifty yards that way."  He nodded his head to
indicate the direction.  "You can get drinking water there, if you need
to.  Best if you stay as close to the cave as possible.  This is
Shoshone land-Chief Washakie's tribe.  They've steered clear of trouble
with whites so far, but a woman alone might be a different proposition:
'

He drew a gun from his waistband.  "Ever fired a gun?  "

"My father's once."

"Point it like you would your finger and pull the trigger."  She took
the gun from him, trying to look more confident than she felt.  "Don't
worry too much about hitting what you're shooting at.  If it's a man,
he's probably not going to stick around to give you a chance to correct
your aim.  If iYs an animal, the sound alone will most likely run them
off."

"I probably won't need it at all: '

"Probably not."  He eyed her uneasily, reluctant to leave now that the
moment had arrived.  "I wouldn't go, but if there are any supplies left
on the wagons, we need them.  It was a raiding party, moving fast. They
may have missed some things: '

"I'll be fine," she assured him.  Seeing the doubt in his eyes made her
determined to show him that she wasn't quite the helpless child he
apparently thought her.

" "Sure."  He hesitated a moment longer, wishing there was some way
around the necessity of leaving her alone.  Maybe the trip back to the
train was a waste of time.  Certainly, if the Kiowa had taken all the
food, it was going to be a long ride for nothing.  But anything they'd
left behind would be a help.  And despite his words to Liberty earlier,
he needed to be sure that there were no survivors.

Still, he was reluctant to go.  Leaving a young woman, inexperienced
and injured, alone in the midst of a hostile country, with winter not
far off, did not sit well.

With a muttered curse, he turned away from her and swung himself into
the saddle.  The sooner he left, the sooner he'd return.  He reined the
roan around, stopping next to Liberty.  She looked so small, her
slender figure all but smothered by the weight of his coat.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and solemn, her chin set to show
that she wasn't afraid.  But he could see the fear in her eyes.  He
brushed the back of his fingers over her cheek.

"I'll be back: The words were a promise.

"I know: She nodded and forced a small smile.  "I'll be here."

Her smile faded as he nudged the roan into a canter and moved off down
the hillside.

She turned away before he was out of sight.  The gun he'd given her
clutched in her hand, she forced back frightened tears.  He'd said he'd
be back, and she knew that nothing short of death would stop him from
keeping that promise.

* * *

The hours seemed to drag by, yet darkness fell all too soon.  Liberty
filled the time as best she could.  She put on her blue calico dress,
shuddering at the faint traces of rusty stain that marked the once
crisp white collar.  She brushed futilely at wrinkles so set in they'd
probably never come out.  But considering the bloodstains and the
bullet hole in the side, she supposed the wrinkles were the least of
her worries.

Using a pine bough for a broom, she swept the floor of the cave and
then spent some time arranging their meager household goods.  She
brought in more branches to make thicker beds, one on each side of the
fire.  Since she had no matches, she was careful not to let the fire go
out, feeding it bits of twig to keep the coals glowing.

Whenever she left the cave, she took the gun with her, the heavy weight
of it making her feel less alone.  Though she'd always been inclined
toward taking solitary walks and had thought herself quite comfortable
with only her own company, she realized that she'd never until now
known what it felt like to be truly alone.

In Pennsylvania, there was always a farmhouse or village over the next
hill or the hill beyond that.  And the woods and fields were full of
sound-the calls of birds, the rustle of a rabbit or mouse in the fallen
leaves, the clop of a horse's hooves on a road just out of sight.

Even traveling from St.  Joseph across the vast prairies , the silence
of the land had been broken by the creaking of wagon wheels, the steady
plod of the oxen's hooves, an occasional shout from one of the drivers
or the laughter of a child.

There was none of that here.  No voice to break the stillness, no
rustle of life beneath the dark pines, only rarely the call of a
bird.

She stood watching an eagle soar overhead.  With one hand shading her
eyes, she watched him ride the wind currents, hardly seeming to move.
She wondered what it would feel like to float so high above the earth,
to see the mountains and prairies laid out beneath like a vast map.

Her breath caught when, with shocking suddenness , the eagle swooped
down, disappearing behind the shoulder of the mountain.

Shivering, she turned away, feeling a strong kinship with whatever
small animal it had claimed as its victim.  At the moment, she felt
very small and very vulnerable.  She patted the outline of the gun
where it rested against her side, its awkward bulk reassuring.

When darkness began to fall, she retreated to the cave, which had begun
to feel very much like home.  She'd soaked the beans and then simmered
them most of the afternoon.  Now she built up the fire and thrust a
piece of rabbit onto a long stick so that she could hold it over the
flames.  She ate one piece but saved the other for Matt.  He'd be
hungry when he returned.

She wasn't as hungry as she had been earlier in the day.  Uneasily, she
checked the bandage and saw that the wound had bled again.  Perhaps
she'd tried to do too much.  It might have been better to have spent
the day resting instead of trying to tidy their crude shelter She'd
also brought in more wood than they were likely to use in a week, but
at least she didn't have to worry about being forced to sit in the
dark.

By the time she'd finished eating, she was so tired she could hardly
keep her eyes open.  Yet sleep proved impossible.  At first she curled
up on the buffalo coat and closed her eyes.  But every sound-real or
imagined -brought her lids up, her eyes straining to see into the
darkness beyond the fire.

She finally managed to doze but woke with a start, terrified that the
fire was going to go out and leave her in darkness.  For a while she
gave up trying to sleep and sat up, the gun in her lap, her senses
tuned for any sound that might indicate MatYs return.

Where was he?

Despite her uneasiness, Liberty fell asleep at last.  Outside, a coyote
slunk past the opening to the cave, pausing to sniff at the mingled
scents of wood smoke and human.  It cocked its head, ears pricking
forward at a sound from down the slope.  Identifying the sound, it
darted off, disappearing into the trees just as a horse and rider
appeared from below.

Liberty came awake suddenly, starting up so quickly that pain shot
through her injured side.  Gasping, she pressed her left hand to the
wound, her right groping for Matt's gun.

There had been a noise, something beyond the usual night sounds.  Her
fingers clenched around the gun's grips, Liberty stared toward the
mouth of the cave, straining her ears for a repeat of the sound that
had awakened her.

en's hooves, an occasional shout from one of the drivers or the
laughter of a child.

There was none of that here.  No voice to break the stillness, no
rustle of life beneath the dark pines, only rarely the call of a
bird.

She stood watching an eagle soar overhead.  With one hand shading her
eyes, she watched him ride the wind currents, hardly seeming to move.
She wondered what it would feel like to float so high above the earth,
to see the mountains and prairies laid out beneath like a vast map.

Her breath caught when, with shocking suddenness , the eagle swooped
down, disappearing behind the shoulder of the mountain.

Shivering, she turned away, feeling a strong kinship with whatever
small animal it had claimed as its victim.  At the moment, she felt
very small and very vulnerable.  She patted the outline of the gun
where it rested against her side, its awkward bulk reassuring.

When darkness began to fall, she retreated to the cave, which had begun
to feel very much like home.  She'd soaked the beans and then simmered
them most of the afternoon.  Now she built up the fire and thrust a
piece of rabbit onto a long stick so that she could hold it over the
flames.  She ate one piece but saved the other for Matt.  He'd be
hungry when he returned.

She wasn't as hungry as she had been earlier in the day.  Uneasily, she
checked the bandage and saw that the wound had bled again.  Perhaps
she'd tried to do too much.  It might have been better to have spent
the day resting instead of trying to tidy their crude shelter She'd
also brought in more wood than they were likely to use in a week, but
at least she didn't have to worry about being forced to sit in the
dark.

By the time she'd finished eating, she was so tired she could hardly
keep her eyes open.  Yet sleep proved impossible.  At first she curled
up on the buffalo coat and closed her eyes.  But every sound-real or
imagined -brought her lids up, her eyes straining to see into the
darkness beyond the fire.

She finally managed to doze but woke with a start, terrified that the
fire was going to go out and leave her in darkness.  For a while she
gave up trying to sleep and sat up, the gun in her lap, her senses
tuned for any sound that might indicate MatYs return.

Where was he?

Despite her uneasiness, Liberty fell asleep at last.  Outside, a coyote
slunk past the opening to the cave, pausing to sniff at the mingled
scents of wood smoke and human.  It cocked its head, ears pricking
forward at a sound from down the slope.  Identifying the sound, it
darted off, disappearing into the trees just as a horse and rider
appeared from below.

Liberty came awake suddenly, starting up so quickly that pain shot
through her injured side.  Gasping, she pressed her left hand to the
wound, her right groping for Matt's gun.

There had been a noise, something beyond the usual night sounds.  Her
finger clenched around the gun's grips, Liberty stared toward the mouth
of the cave, straining her ears for a repeat of the sound that had
awakened her.

It could be Matt.  But what if it wasn't?  What if it was a grizzly
that had decided this would make a good winter's den?  Or an Indian?
Remembering the Kiowa , she shuddered.  Maybe she'd been seen today.
She should have stayed in the cave, as Matt had told her to do.

If asked why an Indian who'd seen her during the day would have waited
until the dead of night to return , Liberty couldn't have given an
answer.  Her fear wasn't a rational thing.  It was a fear born of
exhaustion and darkness.

She heard the sharp click of a hoof against the stone and lifted the
gun, aiming it shakily toward the mouth of the cave.  She wouldn't
shoot until she was sure of her target.  A tall silhouette appeared
behind the fire and Liberty felt her heart stop.

"It's Matt," he said quietly.

Relief flooded her.  Matt.  He was back.  She hadn't let herself
realize until that moment just how frightened she'd bean that he
wouldn't come back, that she'd be left alone in the wilderness.  "
"Matt!  "

Without thinking, she rose to her feet and hurried forward, skirting
the small fire, which had died down to embers.  Matt caught her as she
all but threw herself against him.  With his strong arms close around
her, Liberty felt all her fears drain away.  She wasn't alone
anymore.

Matt held her, feeling her body tremble.  He knew he'd never forget the
sight of her sitting across the fire the gun pointed at whoever was
approaching, her eyes reflecting both fear and determination.  She had
grit,

there was no denying that.  He didn't doubt that she'd have fired if
her visitor had turned out to be someone other than himself.

"You're here.  You're all right: She pressed her face against the soft
buckskin of his shirt, content to savor the reality of him.

"I told you I'd be back, and I'm not one to be breaking a promise made
to a lady."

Easing her away, Matt reached up to brush the heavy weight of her hair
from her forehead.  Her face was flushed, her eyes a little too bright.
Setting his palm flat against her forehead, he felt his heart bump
uneasily.  She was feverish.  Not a high fever, he judged, but any
fever could be dangerous.

"I thought you were going to shoot me there for a minute.  And with my
own gun, too."  He took the forgotten gun from her hand and shoved it
beneath his belt.

"I didn't know it was you," she said, taking hold of his arm as if she
needed the contact to be sure he was really there and not the product
of some dream.

"Who were you expecting?"  he chided gently.  He urged her back to her
bed.

"I don't know."  She gave him a shaky smile.  "Just about anyone from
the devil to Archangel Gabriel coming to rescue me."

"Well, I don't claim to be an angel but not many would accuse me of
actually being the devil."  Matt's grin hid his concern.  "Sit down
before you fall down "

Liberty obeyed, surprised to find that her knees felt weak.  She
watched as Matt moved away.  He disappeared for a moment and then
returned, leading the roan.  The horse stood with weary patience while
Matt lifted the saddle from its back.

"You reached the wagon train," Liberty said.  She noted that the
saddlebags, empty when he left, were now partially full.

"Yes."  The clipped response seemed to be all he had to offer.  She
didn't ask about survivors.  The fact that he'd returned alone told its
own story.  He began rubbing down the pony with a handful of dry grass.
Leaning forward, he added wood to the fire, feeding it slowly into the
embers.

She balanced the pan of beans carefully on two rocks at the edge of the
fire to heat.  Matt was bound to be hungry.  And tired.  The lines
around his eyes were etched deep with exhaustion as he finished caring
for the roan and came over to the fire.  He sat a little back from it
but held out his hands to the flames.

"Nights are cooling off," he said abruptly.  "There's snow in the high
country already."

"So the wagons really wouldn't have made it through before winter: " "
Not unless the oxen grew wings "

"All those dreams," Liberty murmured, as much to herself as to him.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, the warmth of the fire scant
protection from the chill inside.  Neither of them had been very close
to any of the people on the train but they still felt a sense of loss.
And an awareness that their own escape was little short of a miracle.
There was something humbling in the knowledge that death had spared
only the two of them out of so many.

"I'd better take a look at that wound."  Matt broke the silence
abruptly, his voice seeming unnaturally loud.

"It's all right: Her words were automatic.  In truth the injury
throbbed painfully.

"You've a fever," he said roughly, stilling any additional protest she
might have offered.

A fever?  Foolishly, she put her hand to her forehead It felt no warmer
than the rest of her body.  But then, even if she did have a fever, she
wouldn't be able to feel it herself.

"It's not high," Matt said, seeing the fear in her eyes.  "But it
wouldn't hurt to bathe the wound.  We don't have to discuss the
proprieties again, do we?"  His mouth quirked with a humor that failed
to disguise his determination.

"I suppose it would be pretty foolish at this late date."  Her fingers
went to the buttons on her dress.  " "After all, as you pointed out, it
isn't as if you haven't seen a woman's chemise before."

He just wished this one weren't filled with such a tempting woman, Matt
thought a moment later as he helped her ease the dress from her
shoulders.  He was bone-deep tired.  He wanted nothing more than food
and sleep.  Yet he couldn't help but notice the softness of her skin
beneath his hands, the warm, sunshine scent of her hair.

He unwrapped the bandage from her waist and eased it away from her
side.  Liberty sucked in a quick breath as the fabric clung to the
bullet wound.  A film of dried blood caked the injury.  Matt poured
water from his canteen onto a cloth and carefully bathed the area.  The
skin surrounding the wound had an angry red flush to it but there was
no swelling that he could detect and no smell that might indicate the
wound had begun to putrefy.

"How does it look?"  There was the faintest of tremors in her voice.

"Like it hurts," Matt said, pressing a clean cloth to it and securing
it.  " "You broke it open today: '

"Maybe I did too much," she admitted as he helped her slide her arms
back into her dress.

"Well, I'd say there's enough wood here to last us most of the winter,"
he said dryly, nodding to the stack against one wall of the cave.

"I couldn't just sit here," she protested weakly as she quickly
buttoned up her dress.

"Well, it doesn't look too bad.  There's no swelling and it smells
clean enough.  If you can stay put for a little while, I think it will
heal."

He sounded more confident than he felt.  The fever worried him.  There
were those who said a fever was a healing thing, but in his experience,
it could kill as easily as it could heal.

"You must be hungry," Liberty said, breaking into his thoughts.
"There's beans, and I saved a piece of the rabbit for you.  IYs not
much but it'll help take the edge off your hunger: '

"Thanks.  I'll get it," he said when she moved to lift the pot from the
fire.  "You just lie back and rest."

Liberty obeyed his orders, curling up on the buffalo coat, her hands
tucked under her cheek, her eyes heavy as she watched him.  Maybe it
was lack of sleep or a fever-induced delirium but it seemed to her that
there was something almost domestic about the scene.  If she narrowed
her eyes just a little, the open fire became a fireplace and the bare
stone walls could be the walls of a little house.

Matt was speaking and Liberty blinked, trying to focus her thoughts on
his words.

"I found some food," he was saying.  "They were in a hurry and didn't
take time to search all the wagons completely.  There's not a lot but
it will help.  There were a few other things..."

He stopped, letting his voice trail off as he looked at Liberty.  She
was sound asleep.  Her lashes lay in dark crescents against her
fever-flushed cheeks.  Her breathing was slow and deep, her slender
body completely relaxed.

Feeling a wave of emotion he couldn't quite put a name to, Matt laid
down the fork he'd been using and moved over to her.  He drew the edge
of the thick coat up over her shoulder, careful not to disturb her. She
sighed, her mouth curving in a sweet smile.

Matt brushed back a lock of hair from her forehead , lingering when it
curled around his finger, a silken shackle.  The pale gold contrasted
with the bronze of his hand.

Studying her face as she slept, Matt felt worry mixed with admiration.
She looked so delicate, seeming as if she'd break in the least wind,
but she'd shown a core of iron these past couple of days.

Remembering how hard she'd worked during the weeks the train had been
traveling across the prairies, he realized he should have known there
was a strength in her that belied her fragile exterior.

He'd rarely seen her without some task at hand, whether it was minding
the children or helping with one of the endless tasks that went along
with keeping a home, whether it was a building with four walls and a
roof or a wagon crossing the plains.  A time or two, he'd even seen her
walking beside the wagon, dividing her attention between the path and
the scraps of fabric she was sewing together for a quilt.

When the Millers had agreed to let her travel with them in exchange for
help on the journey, they'd made a better deal than they could have
known.

Matt's features tightened.  The Millers were dead now, dead and buried.
He'd dragged all the bodies into a gully not far off the trail and
caved in the sides to cover them.  It wasn't much but it was the best
he could manage with neither tools nor time available.  The needs of
the living had to come first.

He tugged the coat a little higher around Liberty's shoulder and
returned to his side of the fire.  All he had to do now was see that
they stayed among the living.

Chapter Five

Matt woke abruptly, all his senses alert.  Something wasn't as it
should be.  He was reaching for his Colt even as his eyes opened, his
muscles tensing as if for an attack.

Across the nearly dead fire, Liberty stirred restlessly , muttering in
her sleep.  Matt's fingers relaxed on the gun as he recognized the
sound that had awakened him.  But the tension didn't leave him.  Dark
brows hooked together as he rose from his rough bed.

His stockinged feet made no sound as he crossed the stone floor of the
cave and crouched next to Liberty's bed.  Fear as great as any he'd
ever known shot though him.  Her face was unnaturally flushed.
Reluctantly, he put his palm on her forehead, his heart sinking at the
heat he felt there.

Her fever had climbed during the night.  He sat back on his heels and
stared at her, trying to decide the best course of action.  Whatever he
did in the next few hours could determine whether or not she survived
the day.

He tried to remember talk around campfires about what might be done to
bring down a fever.  In a place and time when doctors were a rarity,
folks learned to do for themselves, treating ailments with herbs and
remedies handed down for generations or learned from the native
peoples.

Matt himself had set broken bones, once setting his own leg after a
fall from his horse.  He'd then ridden fifty miles to town only to have
the doctor there tell him he'd done all that needed to be done.  A
broken bone he could have set, a cut he could have stitched up.  But
this was neither.

"Matt?"  While he'd been studying the problem, Liberty had awakened.
She looked up at him with wide green eyes bright with fever.  "I'm so
hot."

"You're a little feverish," he told her, brushing the hair back from
her forehead.

"I'm thirsty."  She ran her tongue over her lips.  "So thirsty."

Matt recalled hearing that you gave fever victims all they'd take to
drink, otherwise they ran the risk of dehydration.  He reached out to
snag his canteen from its place near the saddle bags.

"Here."  He slipped one arm under her shoulders, raising her as he held
the canteen to her lips.  She drank thirstily and he let her have all
she wanted, thankful that water was not one of their problems.

He laid her back down on the buffalo coat and gave her a quick smile.
"Better?"

"Yes.  Thank you: Her tone was as polite as a child's in Sunday school.
She looked up at him, her gaze too bright but completely lucid.  "I'm
going to die, aren't I?  "

"No!"  The denial was sharp.  He'd buried forty people the day before.
He wasn't going to let Liberty become the forty-first.  "You're going
to be fine," he added more quietly.

"I have a fever, don't I?"

"That doesn't mean you're going to die.  You just need some rest.
You'll be fine."

She looked at him a moment longer and then closed her eyes, as if
accepting his reassurance.  Or it could have been simply that it was
too much effort to keep them open any longer.

Matt screwed the cap on his canteen and stood.  Staring down at
Liberty's slender figure, he vowed that she wasn't going to die.  Not
if he had to march all the way to the gates of hell to drag her back.

There were times in the following days when he half thought that such a
march could have been no more difficult than the constant watching and
worrying.  By afternoon of the first day, her fever had climbed until
her skin seemed to burn to the touch.

In desperation, Matt stripped her clothing from her and bathed her in
cool water he'd carried from the stream.  She seemed a little more
comfortable after that, her sleep more peareful.  Twice in the next few
hours, she woke to ask for water and he held the canteen to her lips
while she drank.

Sometime in the gray hours before dawn, her fever started to climb
again and Matt brought more water from the stream and stroked a damp
cloth over her feverish body.  She'd been unconscious but she came
awake suddenly, sitting up so abruptly that her head nearly collided
with his.

"No!"  Her eyes wide and terrified, she stared at him, seeing some
demon he could only guess at.  He jerked back, avoiding the clumsy blow
she aimed at him.  She swung again and he caught her hands in his. 
When she continued to struggle, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling
her against his body.  With a sob, she went limp, her body trembling
with exertion.

He stroked his hand over her hair, murmuring softly to her, his words
less important than the quiet tone of his voice.  When the last of the
tension drained from her, he eased her down onto the makeshift bed. Her
eyes were closed, her breathing ragged.

His face grim, Matt picked up the folded piece of petticoat and dipped
it in the cool water.  He stroked it methodically over her body,
starting with her face and then working his way down to her feet.  When
he'd completed the pattern, he turned her onto her stomach and started
it over again.

He was barely aware that the body he was tending was a young, beautiful
woman's.  His only concern was to fight the fever that was draining the
life from her.

At dawn, with Liberty sleeping quietly, he dared to lie down himself.
It seemed he'd barely closed his eyes when he woke, the sound of her
cry echoing in his mind.  He was beside her in an instant.

She was sitting up on the bed, her arms held stiffly out from her sides
as she stared down at herself.

"Blood," she whispered hoarsely.  "I've got to get the blood off.  I
have to get clean."

"Hush."  Matt caught her hands in his, drawing them to his chest.  "The
blood is all gone."  Her eyes met his, but he couldn't be sure she was
really seeing him.  "You washed all the blood away, Liberty, remember ?
"

"All gone?"  she questioned childishly.

"All gone."  He made his answer definite.

She blinked, and for a moment her eyes were completely rational and
aware.  "Matt."

"I'm here."  " "I'm hot."

"You've got a fever but you're getting better."  He only wished he
could be sure of the truth of that.  "Here.  You need to get some water
down: He held the canteen to her lips and she drank obediently.

"You won't leave?"  She clung to his hand as he lowered her back onto
the coat.

"I'll be here.  For as long as you need me, I'll be here."

The promise seemed to reassure her.  She closed her eyes and fell into
a more peaoeful sleep.  She dozed off and on all day.  She rarely
seemed aware of him as anything more than a vague presence, but there
were no more bouts of delirium and Matt began to hope that her fever
was starting to go down.

But as darkness fell, the fever began to climb.  In the hours between
twilight and midnight, Matt bathed her constantly but nothing eased her
discomfort.  Several times she called out for her mother and twice she
lashed out at him, thinking him an attacker.

Her skin felt fiery hot beneath his touch.  Her lips were cracked and
dry, and when her eyes were open, she saw only her own demons.

In desperation, Matt swept her up in his arms.  Holding her cradled
against his chest, he carried her from the cave to the stream, the path
clear in the light of a full moon.  He set her down just long enough to
strip off his clothes.  Naked, he picked her up and carried her into
the water.

Kneeling near the center of the stream, he lowered Liberty into the
cold water.  She cried out as it hit her feverish skin, and she tried
to lunge from his hold.  Matt ground his teeth together and held her in
place, cradling her against his body as if he could absorb some of her
pain.

He didn't know if what he was doing was going to cure or kill her.  But
he knew the fever would surely be fatal if something didn't bring it
down.  He held her in the water until her skin felt cool and his teeth
began to chatter.  He made his way to the bank of the stream and
gathered up his clothes.  Wrapping Liberty in his shirt, he carried her
back to the cave.

By his best estimate, she slept peacefully for two hours or more and
then started to toss and turn as the fever began to climb again.  Matt
watched with something approaching despair.  Did he dare take her back
to the stream?  The cold water had seemed to bring down the fever, at
least temporarily.

She whimpered as if the heat were burning her from the inside out. Matt
reached for her, intending to carry her back to the stream.

Her skin was damp.

Exhaustion had made his thoughts slow and stumbling He drew back his
hand and stared at it before reaching out to touch her again.  His
first thought was that she was still damp from her earlier immersion,
but that wasn't possible.  Only minutes ago, her skin had been hot and
dry.

He stared at her, blinking stupidly at the sheen of moisture that
coated her pale body.  Sweating.  She was sweating.  The fever had
broken.

Matt was too tired for elation.  Instead, he felt a slow swell of
relief.  Her fever had broken.  She was sweating He reached out to take
her hand, wondering if it was possible that her skin felt cooler
already.

Fumbling with exhaustion, he bathed the dampness from her skin, forcing
himself to remember that a fever could break, only to return again. But
not this time.  Not with Liberty.  She was going to recover.  He could
feel it in his bones.

When the sweating seemed to have stopped, he bathed her again and then
refolded the coat so that she was lying on a dry surface.  He draped
the blanket from his bedroll over her.

He dozed and woke to check for fever and then dozed again and woke
again.  When dawn began to break and there was still no sign of the
fever returning , he let the creeping exhaustion take him and fell
heavily asleep, one hand on Liberty's arm, the feel of her cool skin
following him into sleep.

The cave was bathed with sunlight when Liberty woke.  Because of the
way it angled into the mountainside , very little direct light reached
past the entrance, but the light reflected from the sandstone walls to
cast a warm ivory glow into the cavern.

She lay staring at the wall for a long time, aware that her entire body
ached.  She felt as if she'd been cruelly beaten-every joint, every
inch of skin felt bruised and sore.

She turned her head to the side, finding it almost more than her
strength would allow.  Why was she so weak?  Blinking to clear the
blurriness from her vision , she found herself looking at Matt.  He was
slumped against the wall, his chin resting on his chest.  His jaw was
shadowed by a heavy growth of beard and there were hollows around his
eyes.  Deep lines were etched on either side of his thick mustache,
making him look gaunt and worn.

She realized that he was holding her wrist, his hand pinning it against
his knee as if shackling her to him.  It took more effort than she'd
have believed possible to move her arm.

He jerked awake the moment she moved, his eyes snapping toward her.
Liberty was startled by the intensity of his look, followed a moment
later by a blazing relief.  He reached out to put his hand on her
forehead, his lean face breaking into a grin when he felt the coolness
of her skin.

"Welcome back," he said, still grinning.  " " Where have I been?"  "
"You've been sick.  Feverish."  Matt sat back on his heels, seeming
content to just look at her, absorbing the miracle of her recovery.  "
"How long?  "

"Three, four days."  He shrugged.  "I lost track of time."

Three or four days ?  Liberty frowned, trying to remember She shook her
head, unable to call up more than vague images.  "I don't remember."

"Just as well."  Matt touched her forehead again, as if to be sure the
fever really was gone.

She started to sit up and then fell back, clutching the much too thin
blanket at her throat.

"Where are my clothes?"  she asked, panic making her voice sharp.

"Over there."  Matt nodded to where her dress lay, her undergarments
brazenly folded on top.  "I had to bathe you to get your fever down and
I couldn't do it with your clothing on."

"Oh."  She avoided looking at him.  She could feel the color coming up
in her face until she was sure it must look as if her fever had
returned.  She was completely naked under the cover.  It had been
embarrassing enough when he'd seen her in her undergarments, but they'd
provided at least some small amount of modesty.

"You were very sick," he said, offering her what consolation he
could.

"Yes.  I know: She swallowed, telling herself not to act like a silly
little fool.  What was needed was acertain calm acceptance-an
acceptance of the necessity of his having seen her without her
clothing.  She swallowed again, forcing her eyes toward him.

"Thank you," she whispered, unable to bring her gaze above the level of
his collarbone.  "I... I don't remember, but I know I'm indebted to you
for my life and I thank you: " " I only did what had to be done."  She
saw his wide shoulders lift in a shrug.  "It's thanks enough to see you
doing better."

Silence fell between them.  Matt couldn't remember the last time he'd
been so bone-deep tired.  The few hours' rest he'd had hadn't been
enough to make up for the several days of short sleep rations that had
gone before.  For the moment, he was content to just sit and think of
nothing but that he'd won the battle with the fever.

During the long hours when he'd watched over Liberty, he'd come to view
her fever as a personal enemy to be faced and vanquished, a battle to
be fought with cool water and determination.

He caught the anxious little glaqnces Liberty was darting toward her
clothes and shook himself, trying to dispel the urge to close his eyes
and sleep a lifetime or two.  He rose to his feet, arching his back to
stretch the ache from his bones.

"I should look to the horse.  Will you be all right if I leave you
alone?"

"Yes " She didn't know whether she'd be all right or not.  But she
desperately wanted some privacy to don at least her chemise and
pantalets.  If she had to crawl to where they were, she was going to
regain at least that much of her modesty.

As if he'd read her thoughts, Matt stopped and picked up her clothes.
Just the sight of his large, callused hand against the white cotton of
her undergarments made Liberty flush.  It looked so intimate,

somehow.  Well, it's not as if he isn't already intimately acquainted
with my person, she reminded herself and felt her flush deepen.

"You can put these on but don't tire yourself."  He tossed the garments
onto her lap.  " "You're likely to be weak as a kitten."

Liberty clutched the garments to her chest, her eyes following them as
he picked up his hat and left the cave.  As soon as he was out of
sight, she pushed back the blanket, shivering as the cool air hit her
bare skin.

She'd thought to scramble into her clothing as quickly as possible, but
she soon found that Matt's prediction about her strength was accurate.
Just pulling the chemise over her head left her arms trembling.  The
pantalets proved almost more than she could manage.  By the time she'd
struggled into them, she was panting as if she'd just run a race.

She lay back down, frightened by her weakness.  How ill had she been?
She remembered so little.  Matt had gone back to the wagon train and
she'd waited here for him.  The last clear memory she had was of the
night he'd returned.  They hadn't talked much.  She'd been so tired,
almost light-headed.  She must have fallen asleep while he was
eating.

And after that?

Liberty closed her eyes, trying to remember.  There was a picture of
Matt's face, his eyes dark and worried He was holding her so that she
could drink from the canteen.  And then another time, she had been so
hot, as if she lay in the midst of a bed of coals.  She'd been burning
up and then there'd been the cool stroke of a damp cloth over her
heated skin, soothing the fire that had threatened to consume her.

That must have been Matt, she thought drowsily.  He must have carried
water from the stream to bathe her.  Later, when she wasn't so sleepy,
she'd no doubt be terribly embarrassed by the thought of his handling
her so intimately.  But right now, caught in the twilight between
waking and sleep, she felt cherished.

He'd saved her life so many times.  Wasn't there a story that some
primitive tribes believed, that when someone saved your life, some part
of you belonged to them forever after?  To belong to Matt Prescott...
Her mouth curved in a soft smile as she drifted off to sleep.

The days that followed had an odd quality to them-a peacefulness that
contrasted vividly with the turmoil that had gone before.

Liberty's recovery was slower than she had expected For the first
couple of days, it seemed as if she spent more time asleep than awake.
Matt pointed out that the blood she'd lost, as well as the fever, had
drained her body's reserves.  It was no wonder she had so little
strength.

Even when she was awake, she was content to do nothing more taxing than
stare at the shadows on the walls or read from the battered volume of
Plutarch's Lives that Matt carried in his saddlebag.  She'd been
surprised when he'd handed it to her.

He shrugged.  " "A man spends a lot of time alone out here.  A good
book can help to pass the time."

Three days after her fever broke, Liberty sat watching Matt carefully
hone his knife, stroking the blade over the sharpening stone with
smooth rhythmic movements.

Outside, darkness had fallen.  Somewhere in the distance, a wolf
howled, a rising note of inquiry in the call.  The weather had taken a
sharp turo toward winter , with the grass crisped by frost each
moroing.  Matt had built up the fire until it snapped briskly.  He'd
speculated that one of the cracks in the stone ceiling must serve as a
natural vent to the outside that drew the smoke up and out.  If so, the
cave would probably provide a damp shelter during a rain.

But it wasn't rain they had to worry about.  The mountains above them
had already had their first snowfall.  Matt had seen the gray haze
around their peaks created by the first snow of the winter.  It
wouldn't be long before the lower elevations also had their first
dusting of white.

Liberty wasn't thinking about the possibility of snow.  Her eyes
drifted to Matt's chest.  The lacings on his shirt allowed just a
glimpse of tanned skin.  She remembered seeing him without his shirt,
the muscled width of his chest, the dusting of curly black hair, the
strength of his shoulders.

Drowsy, she let her eyelids drift half-shut.  She remembered the feel
of those muscles against her shoulder, against the side of her breast.
His arms had been so strong beneath her, holding her.  She'd felt safe,
even though the water had been painfully cold on her hot skin.  Matt
had held her, cradled her against his bare body, trying to ease her
suffering.

His bare body.

Liberty's eyes flew open.  She stared at him, frantically replaying the
memories in her mind.  She'd been feverish, imagining things, she told
herself.  Matt had said she'd been delirious.  This must be some fever
induced dream.

But it was so vivid.  And he had bathed her in water from the stream to
try to bring her fever down.  Was it so impossible that he'd also
bathed her in the stream itself?  And to do that, wouldn't he have had
to carry her into the water, removing his own clothes before he did
so?

She felt the color rise in her cheeks.  She'd forced herself to accept
the fact that he'd seen her without a stitch of clothing, that he knew
her body nearly as well as she did herself.  There'd been no one else
and she wasn't so missish as to think that he should have let her die
rather than try to save her life.  Generally, she simply tried not to
think about the intimacies he'd taken.

Really, this should be no different, she told herself briskly.
Immersing her in the stream was no different from bathing her with a
wet cloth.

But he'd at least had his clothes on then.

"I'm tired," she said abruptly.  "I think I'll go to sleep now."

"Fine."  Matt glanced up from his task and nodded'I'll be doing the
same before long."

Liberty smiled without looking at him and, turning her back, lay down,
drawing the heavy coat over her shoulder.  Staring at the back of the
cave, she listened to the rasp of Matt's knife over the stone and tried
to banish the mental image of the two of them, naked in the stream
together.

Matt raised the knife from the sharpening stone and held it up in the
firelight, testing the blade with his thumb.  Satisfied, he slid the
knife back into its sheath and put the sharpening stone into his
saddlebag.  Behind him, near the mouth of the cave, the roan shifted
its weight, one hoof scraping against the rock floor.

Matt leaned forward to add a small branch to the fire.  The nights were
getting colder.  He'd been keeping the fire going all night.  He didn't
dare risk Liberty catching a chill, especially not with her strength
still low after the fever.

They needed to be on their way.  They were more than a hundred miles
from Fort Bridger.  Not bad country overall.  There was grass for the
horse and water.  Tomonow, he'd go out and see if he could bring down a
deer.  If they jerked some of the meat, it would be sufficient to get
them to the fort.

But it wasn't lack of food or water that was the real enemy.  It was
the weather they had to fear now.  Autumn was fading all too swiftly.
Winter was hard on its heels, so close he could almost smell it.  Game
was growing scarce.  He'd only snared one more rabbit since the
first.

If it started to snow... He frowned, letting the thought trail off.  If
they had two horses, they could try to beat winter to the fort.  But
with only one horse, they couldn't hope for speed.  He was going to
have to walk and lead the horse, sparing him as much as possible.  They
might need a quick burst of speed, if they stumbled across another
raiding party.

No, the trip to Fort Bridger would be a slow one.  Worrying about it
wouldn't make it any faster.

He reached in his pocket for the makings of a smoke.  Narrowing his
eyes through the tobacco smoke, he stared at Liberty's sleeping
figure.

He'd never spent so much time with a woman before , not since his
mother died.  He'd always been moving on, traveling over the next hill.
There had never been time for more than a smile, a night or two of
pleasure if the lady was willing, and then he'd be gone.

Liberty Ann Ballard was different from most of the women he'd known.
He'd always made a point of avoiding women like her.  They weren't the
sort who allowed a man to steal a kiss-or more-and then were content to
wave him on his way.

Liberty was of a different mold altogether.  But these past few days,
he'd found himself thinking about what it would be like to see those
big green eyes warm with passion.  To feel her mouth soften under
his.

Muttering under his breath, he dragged his eyes from her sleeping form.
He'd been doing his damnedest to forget the shape and feel of her. He'd
tried to treat her as he might a younger sister.

Too bad his feelings for her weren't in the least brotherly.

He got to his feet and left the cave, making a quick check of the area.
The cold night air served to cool his warm blood.  Not only the chill
of it but what it portenderi Matt drew a deep breath, tasting the
scarcely perceptible bite of snow.  Not tonight, perhaps.  But soon.

Chapter Six

when Liberty woke the next morning, Matt was gone and the fire had
burned down to coals.  Shivering, she reached one arm from underneath
the coat and fed twigs into the coals until flames flickered up around
them.  She stayed huddled under the coat waiting for the fire to take
some of the chill from the air.

Though it seemed as if summer lay only a moment behind, there could be
no doubt that winter had nearly arrived.  Matt had said there could be
a light snowfall, followed by another spell of warm weather before
winter truly set in.  But she knew he feared a heavy snow.

Liberty slipped out from under the coat.  Despite the fire, the air was
still cold and she reached quickly for her shoes and stockings.  She'd
slept in her dress, as much for warmth as for modesty.  Though,
considering all that had passed between her and Matt, modesty seemed a
foolish concern at this point, she admitted.

For the most part, she tried not to think about how intimate her
acquaintance with Matt Prescott had become Just thinking about him
seeing her without a stitch of clothing was enough to make her whole
body flush with embarrassment.

And it was no good telling herself to think of him as if he were a
doctor who'd treated her when she was ill.  The truth was that the
feelings Malt Prescott roused bore no resemblance to the way she'd felt
about Dr.  Carter back home in Pennsylvania.  Of course, Dr.  Carter
was five feet tall and nearly the same around.  His hair wasn't
tobacco-brown, worn just a little longer than it should have been.  He
didn't have golden-brown eyes and a thick mustache that gave him a
wickedly rakish air.

And Dr.  Carter had never knelt in a mountain stream with her naked
body held in his arms, trying to draw a fever from her.

Just thinking about it made her skin warm and brought a strange tingly
feeling to the pit of her stomach No matter how much she tried to put
the image from her mind, it lingered.  She found herself trying to
recall a clearer memory, trying to brush aside the fever induced veil
that lay between her and that night.

But no matter how she pushed and tugged at the curtain, there was no
getting past it.  All she had was the vague remembrance of sun-darkened
skin stretched over hard muscles, the feel of that crisp mat of hair
against her breasts and hands that had been at once gentle and
implacable holding her in the water.

He'd talked to her.  She remembered hearing his voice, clinging to it
as the icy water rushed over her heated skin.  But she couldn't recall
his words.

Liberty shook her head and stood, favoring her injured side.  If she
had any proper sensibilities at all she'd be trying to forget the
incident, not remember it.

It was just the enforced intimacy of their situation that was making
her curiosity run in directions it had no business going.

There were cold biscuits and some bacon left from last night's supper.
The Kiowa had taken most of the food from the wagon train, but in their
hurry, they'd dropped a small sack of flour.  It had broken open, but
Matt had scraped the spilled flour from the ground and added it to
their meager supplies.

Chewing on a biscuit, Liberty tried not to wonder what would happen
when those supplies were gone.  Perhaps Matt had gone hunting and would
bring back some game.  Just the thought of fresh meat made her mouth
water.  A thick venison steak, perhaps, sizzling hot from the pan, with
biscuits and gravy.

After breakfast, she swept out the floor of the cave using a pine bough
as a broom.  Matt had raised his brows in silent commentary the first
time he'd seen her doing the housewifely little chore.  Remembering his
amused look, Liberty flushed and set her chin.  Perhaps it was silly to
be sweeping the floor of a cave but it occupied a few minutes of her
time and it gave her the feeling that she was contributing something,
however unimportant.

The daylight hours passed slowly.  Matt had waroed her to avoid going
outside the cave any more than necessary.  He'd seen no sign of Indians
in the area but there was no sense in taking any chances.  As he'd told
her once, it was the Indians you didn't see that you had to worry
about.  Remembering the massacred wagon train, Liberty didn't have to
be told twice.

So she ignored the inviting call of the crisp weather and did her best
to occupy herself.  The hours dragged by, each seeming slower than the
rest.  She supposed it was a good sign that she was well enough to be
bored, feeling too healthy to sleep the afternoon away.  But it was
scant consolation as the sun crept slowly across the sky.

As the afternoon wore toward evening, worry became an unwelcome
distraction.  Matt had been gone since early morning.  Surely, if he'd
expected to be gone so long, he would have wakened her to let her
know.

Liberty stood in the mouth of the cave, her worried eyes going from the
darkening sky to the empty slope in front of her.  What if something
had happened to him?  He could have fallen or been bitten by a
rattlesnake Worse, he could have run into an Indian.  Remembering the
Kiowa brave's fierce face, she shuddered.  Matt had said that the
Indians in this area offered little threat, but they could change their
minds.

"Don't let your imagination run away with you," she told herself,
hearing her mother's voice repeating the same admonition over the
years.  "He's simply been delayed.  No need to get yourself in a fidget
about it: '

The sound of her own voice helped calm her careening thoughts.  Matt
had spent most of his life in the west.  He was no greenhorn.  He knew
how to take care of himself.  Still, accidents could happen to
anyone.

Her fingers gripped the sides of her gown, setting yet more wrinkles
into the blue cotton.  Her eyes strained anxiously into the twilight
for some sign of the roan horse.

She was rewarded at last by a sound that could have been a hoof
clicking on stone.  Matt!  Her heart lifted.  She moved a step forward
and then stopped as common sense reasserted itself.  It could just as
easily be an Indian.

Liberty eased back into the cave until she was hidden by the bend in
the rock.  She listened, ears straining Still, Matt appeared in the
mouth of the cave without her having heard another sound.

His broad figure loomed up out of the gathering darkness.  Her heart
bumped with fright even as she recognized him.  Hearing her gasp, Matt
turned, his hand dropping automatically to his gun.

Liberty hardly noticed the movement.  Her relief on seeing him safe and
uninjured was so great that she moved automatically, her feet flying
over the rough floor.  " "Matt!  "

Matt's arms came up automatically, circling her slender back as her
hands clutched his shoulders.

"What's wrong?"  he asked sharply, feeling her tremble in his hold.

"I thought something had happened to you.  I was so worried."  She
pressed her face against the soft buckskin that covered his shoulder.

How long had it been since someone had worried about him?  Matt felt
something stir in his chest, a warmth he'd never felt before.  His arms
tightened around her.

"I was hoping to get a deer," he said.  Her hair smelled of sunshine
and wood smoke.  It had never occurred to him to think of those two
smells as sensual but it occurred to him now.

"I'm sorry."  He felt Liberty gathering herself, nudging her control
back into place.  Her hands pushed against his chest.  Reluctantly, his
arms loosened , giving her room, even as his hands lingered on her
back.

"I didn't mean to be such a little idiot," she said.  With her back to
the fire, her eyes looked more black than green, deep mysterious pools
in the pale oval of her face.

"You're not an idiot," he said automatically.  Unconsciously, his
fingers moved against the soft cotton of her dress, remembering the
much softer feel of the skin beneath.

As she'd recovered, the intimacy of their living arrangements had made
it more difficult to remember just why it was that she was off-limits.
He lay awake at night, listening to her quiet breathing, and reminded
himself that a woman like Liberty was the sort a man gave a wedding
ring.  And wedding rings weren't in his plans-not for a long time to
come, if ever.

It was a difficult thought to keep in mind when she was practically in
his arms, her mouth all soft and inviting and oh so close.  His hands
tightened, drawing her subtly closer.  Liberty stared up at him, her
eyes questioning.

Behind him, the roan shifted, nudging him impatiently in the back,
reminding Matt that it was time to remove the annoying saddle and rub
the sweat from the horse's back.

Matt's hands dropped away from Liberty as if she'd suddenly caught
fire.  She took a quick step backward , hiding her shaking fingers in
the folds of her dress.  She wasn't sure what it was she'd seen in
Matt's eyes or what might have occurred if the pony hadn't taken a hand
in the proceedings.  And she wasn't sure whether the interruption was a
relief or a disappointment , though she knew which it should have
been.

Matt turned to tend the horse and she moved quickly to the fire,
stirring up the beans she'd set to cook earlier, trying to pretend that
the task took every bit of her attention.

They didn't speak again until Matt had finished rubbing down the horse.
He sank down near the fire and accepted the plate she held out to him,
careful that their fingers didn't touch.

When he spoke, it was of the day's failed hunting.  If it hadn't been
for the fact that he seemed to avoid looking at her, Liberty might have
thought she'd imagined those odd, tense moments earlier.  But imagined
or not, they were best forgotten.

Which was easier said than done, she thought later.  She watched
restlessly as Matt cleaned his guns.  The flickering firelight made
reading difficult, and Matt was clearly in no mood to talk.  There was
nothing to do but watch the subtle ripple of muscle beneath the soft
buckskin shirt and try to forget the feel of those same muscles under
her fingers.

Annoyed with the direction of her thoughts, Liberty looked around for a
distraction.  Her eyes hesitated as they fell on a worn metal box that
sat at the foot of her pine-bough bed.

One of the few things Matt had brought back from the wagon train, other
than food, was her sewing box.  By some stroke of luck, the Kiowa had
missed it when they rifled the wagons.  And though it was scorched from
the fire that had burned most of the Millers' wagon, Liberty had
cradled the metal box to her when Matt presented it, her fingers
caressing the battered sides as if it contained gold.

But gold wouldn't have meant half as much to her.  She'd brought very
little with her when she left her home in Pennsylvania.  There'd been
scant room in the Miller wagon, even before they'd agreed to allow her
to travel with them.  Liberty had sorted through her belongings as well
as those left her by her dead parents and had taken only those that
were most precious

In the midst of the devastating loss of life, the loss of her few
treasures had seemed a small thing.  But the sight of the sewing box,
which had belonged to her mother, had brought a sharp pain to her
chest, and it had taken all her self-control to keep from crying.

She'd set the box aside, unable to bring herself to open it right away.
Now she reached to pick it up, feeling the familiar weight of it.
Setting it on her lap, she ran her fingers over the scorch marks,
knowing she'd never look at them without thinking of the

Millers and all their kindnesses to her, as well as the dreams they
hadn't lived to fulfill.

Hesitantly, she lifted the lid, smiling at the familiar array of
thimbles, her precious packet of needles, the scissors that had
belonged to her mother, her pins.  Though she knew it had to be her
imagination, it almost seemed as if the box smelled of home.  If she
closed her eyes, she could see her mother sitting by the hearth, her
needle flashing in and out of a length of cloth as she stitched some
garment for her daughter or herself or worked on one of the quilts that
had been her pride and joy

Those quilts were gone now, all given to neighbors and friends, except
for two that Liberty had brought with her.  No doubt they'd burned with
the wagon, or perhaps they were now being used in an Indian lodge.
Liberty wondered if the Indian women would marvel at her mother's fine
stitchery, at the care with which she'd set each piece of fabric.

Her smile trembled as she reached out to lift the scraps of fabric
she'd cut before leaving home.  She'd cut out the quilt and brought the
pieces with her, thinking she'd have plenty of time to sew them
together during the long days of riding on the wagon.  There had been
less time than she'd expected, and she hadn't finished more than a few
blocks in all these weeks.

Her fingers smoothed over a piece of rose-colored muslin, remembering
the dress it came from.  She'd just turned fifteen and she'd been so
proud that her mother was finally going to allow her to put up her
hair.  And the coarser blue cotton was from one of her father's work
shirts.  Her hand trembling, she reached for another piece, feeling an
ache in her chest as she lifted the swatch of lavender silk from
beneath a piece of pique.

Matt made it a point to focus his attention on the guns he was
cleaning, though it was a task he could have performed in his sleep.
But keeping his eyes on what he was doing prevented him from looking at
Liberty.  Unfortunately, it didn't stop his thoughts from turning her
way.

He'd nearly succumbed to the urge to kiss Liberty earlier.  Perhaps
that wouldn't have been such a terrible thing.  But what if it hadn't
stopped with just a kiss?

He'd always avoided innocent girls and not only because it was the
wisest course.  He preferred dealing with women of experience, women
who understood the transitory nature of the encounter as well as he
did.  Young women had a nasty habit of expecting to exchange their
virginity for commitment.  It was not a trade he'd ever been interested
in making.

But there was something about Liberty Ballard that drew him in a way
he'd never known before.  He wanted her.  That much he understood. With
that fall of white-gold hair and jade eyes, what man wouldn't want her?
What he didn't understand-and didn't like-was the feeling he had that
he wanted to protect her, to keep her safe.

Frowning, he fed bullets into the chamber on the Colt Navy revolver and
snapped it into place.  It was no doubt the enforced intimacy of their
situation, he thought, unknowingly echoing Liberty's thinking.  After
all, it wasn't every day that a man handled a woman's naked body-and a
delectable body, at that-and yet had to try and maintain a respectable
distance from her.

A day, perhaps two, and they'd start the journey to Fort Bridger.  Once
they were on their way, there wouldn't be time to worry about much
beyond survival And once they arrived safely at Bridger, he'd deliver
Liberty into her uncle's hands and take his own leave.

Matt slid the revolver into its holster, satisfied that he'd dealt with
the problem.  He reached for the rifle but his fingers had just closed
over it when a sound from Liberty brought his head up.  Looking across
the fire to where she sat, he saw that she was fingering a square of
fabric, her hand trembling.

"What is it?"

She lifted her head to look at him, and he was shocked to see her eyes
brimming with tears.  " "A piece of the dress my mother wore when she
and my father were wed," she said slowly.  "She gave it to me to put in
a memory quilt.  It's all I have left.  My grandmother's clock, the
quilts Mama made for my wedding chest, the miniatures of her and
Papathey 're all gone, stolen or burned."  The tears spilled over onto
her cheeks.

Matt set down the rifle, but he didn't move from where he was.  "You
lost a great deal," he said quietly.

"I know they were only things."  Her breath caught as she tried to hold
back the tears.  "But they were all I had left of my family, my
home."

Despite her struggle for control, new tears slipped from her eyes.
Matt's fingers slowly curled into his palms.  He battled the urge to go
to her, to hold her.

"You have your memories," he offered in awkward comfort.

"I know."  Her fingers curled over the swatch of silk.  "I'm a selfish
fool to be crying over a few worthless things when all those people are
dead."  She stopped, struggling for control.  When she lifted her eyes
to his, Matt could see her soul-deep feeling of loss.  " "It's just
that I'm so alone," she said on a whisper

He was hardly conscious of rising to circle the fire until he found
himself crouched in front of her.  He reached out, catching a tear on
his fingertip.  It was the first time he'd seen her cry.  She'd
weathered death and terror and illness without shedding a tear.  Until
now.

"You're not alone," he said, his voice husky.  "I'm here "

"You told me that when I was sick, didn't you?"  Liberty turned her
cheek into his hand.  "I remember being frightened and then you said
you'd be here as long as I needed you.  And I wasn't frightened
anymore"

She looked at him.  Her eyes were wide green pools, mysterious and
inviting.  Matt's fingers brushed over her cheek, feeling the dampness
of her tears and the incredible softness of her skin.

" "As long as you need me, " he said softly, wondering if it was
possible to drown in her eyes.  His hand moved without conscious
direction, his thumb brushing across her mouth.

Liberty's eyes widened as she felt the sudden shift in the atmosphere,
the sudden change in Matt.  With his back to the fire, his face was all
shadowed angles, but she could feel the heat of his eyes, warming her
more deeply than the fire ever could.

His thumb stroked across her mouth again and her lips parted, the
invitation as clear as the innocent hunger in her eyes.  Matt leaned
forward, drawn to her like a moth to candle flame.

He told himself that it was only a kiss.  There could be no harm in one
kiss.  He was only going to see for himself if her mouth was as
impossibly soft as it looked.  One kiss to offer comfort and then he'd
go back to his own side of the fire, his curiosity satisfied.

Liberty's breath caught in her throat as Matt leaned toward her.  His
hand slipped to the back of her neck.  Wide-eyed, Liberty watched him
draw closer.  He was so close that she could see the golden flecks that
made his eyes more amber than brown.

He was going to kiss her.  She should offer some protest, she thought,
trying to grab hold of her scattered thoughts.  A good girl didn't just
let a man kiss her, not when there'd been no talk of commitment between
them.

Her eyelids slipped downward as she felt Matt's breath on her skin, and
then his mouth touched hers and the small voice of propriety trailed
off, recognizing defeat.

When Billy Joe Sauderton had stolen a kiss behind his father's barn,
she'd felt nothing but distaste at the sensation of his damp mouth on
hers.  It hadn't made her particularly anxious to sample such forbidden
fruits again.  At least, not until recently.

She'd thought about what it might be like if Matt Prescott kissed her,
thought about it more than she had any business doing.  But her
imagination hadn't even come close to preparing her for the reality.

This was nothing like Billy Joe Sauderton's unwelcome salute.  Matt's
mouth was dry and firm, not damp and flaccid.  There was nothing
tentative in Matt's kiss, nothing furtive.  He simply claimed her mouth
for his own.

And she surrendered to that claim without so much as a whisper of
protest.

Matt had told himself that he was only going to kiss her once, just
taste the softness of her mouth, then draw back.  A simple, innocent
kiss that would serve to distract her from her hurt and at the same
time satisfy his own need.

As soon as his mouth touched hers, he realized his mistake.  Her lips
were even softer than he'd dreamed, softer and more welcoming.  Her
hands came up to rest against his shirt, her fingers curling into the
soft buckskin.  Matt felt heat rise in his gut at her open response

Liberty shivered in startled pleasure as his tongue came out to trace
her full bottom lip.  Matt took advantage of her shallow gasp, his
tongue slipping between her lips to touch hers, a quick, light touch
that shocked her and yet left her wanting more.

Her hands slid up his chest, feeling the ripple of muscles beneath her
fingers.  She had a sudden image of him without his shirt, the
sun-darkened skin stretched over work hardened muscles, the mat of
curling hair that covered his chest before arrowing across his flat
stomach.  Her fingers flexed against his chest as if feeling the warm
skin beneath his shirt.

His hand slipped to the back of her neck, tilting her head to deepen
the kiss.  Liberty responded instinctively , opening her mouth to him.
With a groan, Matt accepted her innocent invitation, his tongue sliding
deep inside her mouth, finding and tangling with hers.

Liberty's head fell back, sending an unconscious message of surrender.
Her fingers gripped his shoulders , clinging to him as the world seemed
to disappear beneath her.

Feeling her open response, Matt slid his hand deeper into her hair. Her
hairpins had been long since lost and her hair spilled over his forearm
like moon-washed silk.  His other hand settled on her hip.

He knew her body as intimately as he knew his own.  He'd cared for her,
bathed her, seen every silken inch of her.  Though he was touching only
the dusty blue calico, his mind presented him with a vivid memory of
pale skin and soft curves.

His hand moved upward, testing the indentation of her waist, the
outward flare of her rib cage, finally coming to rest against the side
of her breast.  He felt her stiffen but he didn't move his hand.  He
drew back , meeting the uncertain green of her eyes.

Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her fair skin flushed, her eyes
deep jade.  Matt had never seen any woman look more desirable.  He
wanted her.  Momentarily, there was no other thought in his head.  He
wanted her.  Needed her.  Had to have her.

Holding her eyes with his, he deliberately shifted his hand, letting
his fingers trail lightly over the mound of her breast until he was
touching her nipple with the tip of one finger.  He heard the breath
catch in her throat and her eyes widened in shock at his bold touch.
But she didn't move to push his hand away.

His gaze locked on hers, Matt caught the tender bud between his thumb
and forefinger, plucking it lightly until it stood up taut and hard
beneath the protective fabric of dress and chemise.

Liberty felt as if she had been turned to stone, all her muscles locked
in place, preventing her from moving so much as a finger.  But surely,
if she were stone, she'd never have been able to feel the wild
sensations that were rioting through her motionless body.  Her skin
tingled.  Her legs felt weak, and she knew that if she'd been standing
she would surely have sunk to the floor in a boneless heap.

Somewhere inside, she knew she should push Matt's hand away.  No doubt,
she should deal him a ringing slap, too.  It was wrong to sit here and
let him touch her as he was.  Wrong to feel her breasts grow heavy and
aching.  She felt the ache inside, too, lodged deep in her belly, a
throbbing kind of hurt that made her press her legs together as if to
alleviate the strange emptiness she felt.

Still, she didn't move, couldn't move.  She could only sit there,
watching as if from outside herself as he drew his right hand away from
the tangled silk of her hair and reached for the buttons that marched
so primly down the front of her dress.  With his left hand still
teasing the nipple, he unbuttoned her dress with quick efficiency.

She offered not a word of protest.  In fact, she felt a quick,
shameless rush of regret when his fingers left her, though it was only
long enough to open her bodire His eyes left hers at last, but only to
drop to the bounty he'd bared.

The cotton chemise offered only the thinnest of shields, and Liberty
felt his gaze as if it were a touch.  Shuddering, she closed her eyes,
hushing the frail voice of protest in her mind.

This was Matt, the man who'd saved her life more than once.  He knew
her body intimately.  She could feel no real shame at having him look
at her, at having him touch her.

And then his hand closed over her breast, cupping the heavy globe and
lifting it gently.  His thumb dragged across her nipple, the touch so
much more acute with only her chemise between them.  Liberty felt the
touch all the way to her toes.

"You are beautiful."  Matt's voice was hushed, almost awed.  He bent
close and she felt the soft brush of his mustache against her closed
eyelids.

"So soft," he whispered, kissing his way along her jaw.

"So warm."  His mouth slid down her throat, trailing fire every where
it touched.

Liberty's head fell back, her breathing quick and shallow.  Matt's lips
teased at the pulse that beat so frantically at the base of her throat.
Then he kissed the soft skin of her shoulders, first one and then the
other.  And all the while, his fingers continued to tease her taut
nipple, drawing a response from her as if he were a musician and she
were his instrument.

She shivered as she felt his mouth touch the upper swell of her breast.
Her fingers dug into the leather of his shirt, clinging to the hard
muscles beneath as the cave seemed to rock beneath her.  And then his
lips closed over her nipple, drawing the tight bud into his mouth,
chemise and all.  " " Matt!  " His name escaped her on a startled gasp,
her eyes flying wide with shock.

Matt's arm swept behind her, his hand pressing against her lower back,
arching her so that her breasts thrust upward, offering a pouting
invitation.  His cheeks flexed as he drew on her.  Liberty felt the
drawing at her breast and again, like an echo, deep inside, tightening
the ache in her stomach.

Liberty could only cling to his shoulders as sensation after sensation
rocketed through her.  She'd never imagined a man wanting to touch her
breasts.  Her innocent wondering about what might happen between a man
and woman had never gone any further than the necessity of taking off
her dress, a difficult enough idea.

But she felt no hesitation with Matt.  She felt nothing but an intense
pleasure and a feeling of rightness that made it impossible for her to
question the wisdom of what was happening between them.  If he chose to
lay her back on the bed of pine boughs and leaves and make love to her,
she wouldn't lift a finger to stop it from happening.

Matt dragged his mouth from the soft temptation of her breast, kissing
his way up her throat before claiming her lips in a deep kiss that only
added to the hunger burning in his gut.  Their tongues met and
separated only to meet again in a duel as old as time.

Liberty whimpered as he drew her onto her knees, pulling her forward
until her breasts were crushed against his chest.

She was his.  She didn't have to say the words.  He could feel it in
the pliant curve of her body, in the way she welcomed him into her
mouth.  She'd welcome him into her body as well.  The knowledge brought
an aching edge to his desire.  He had only to strip the rest of her
clothing away and lay her back and take her.

She wanted him as much as he wanted her.  He could ease the throbbing
in his loins, soothe the burning need he'd felt almost from the moment
he'd first seen her; a need that had only grown stronger when they'd
been forced into such intimacy after the attack on the wagon train.

In her body, he'd find release.  In her sweet welcome , he'd find
completion.

And what would she find?

Matt shoved the question away, slipping his hand into the heavy fall of
her hair, tilting her head to deepen their kiss.  But the thought
wouldn't go away.

He would find completion.  But what about Liberty?

Oh, he knew she'd find physical satisfaction.  He had never been a
selfish lover.  V'u'gin or no, he didn't doubt that he could bring her
young body to trembling completion.

But what about afterward?  What about when the burning need faded and
she realized what she'd done-what she'd let him do?  How would she feel
then?  And what would happen to her later, once he was gone?

Matt dragged his mouth from hers and pressed his lips to her forehead,
his brows drawing together as he tried to push the unwelcome questions
out of his mind.

Take her, his body demanded.  Ease the want you both feel.  Tomorrow be
damned.  You could both be dead.

And if they weren't?  the cool voice of reason asked.  If they made it
to Fort Bridger despite the odds ?  Then what ?  How would Liberty feel
then ?

She'd feel shamed and confused, his conscience answered with unwanted
clarity.  She'd have every right to expect a commitment he didn't want
to give-to her or any woman.

And what if she became pregnant?

The thought hit him with the force of a blow.  His own father had left
his mother without a backward glance, apparently never giving a thought
to the consequences of his actions.  Matt had always sworn that he'd
never be so careless, never leave a woman alone to bear his child.

Liberty, her senses still spinning with urges she only half understood,
could sense the abrupt change in Matt.  There was a sudden tension in
him that had nothing to do with passion.  The hands that had wrung such
a shameless response from her were now still and tense on her back.
Confused, she drew back, looking up into his face, seeking a reason for
the change.

"Matt?"  She couldn't have said what it was she was asking.  Her body
ached with a need she'd never felt before.  But Matt's withdrawal had
given her mother 's years of teaching a chance to be heard.

Staring up into his taut features, Liberty suddenly saw herself as he
must see her.  Kneeling in front of him, her bodice lowered to her
waist, the fabric of her chemise clinging damply to her swollen
nipples.  Her hair tumbled down her back in wanton disarray, and she
knew her skin must be flushed.

"This has to stop," Matt said reluctantly.

A deeper flush rose slowly in her cheeks.  But this flush had nothing
to do with passion and everything to do with shame.  What on earth had
happened to her?  She didn't know herself anymore.  She couldn't
possibly be kneeling half-naked in front of Matt, offering herself up
to him in a completely shameless fashion.

She pulled her hands away from his shoulders as if she'd been burned.
Lowering her head to avoid the contempt she was sure she'd see in his
eyes, she fumbled with the bodice of her dress.

What on earth had she been thinking of?  She hadn't been thinking at
all, of course.  From the moment Matt had taken her in his arms,
intending only comfort, she'd ceased to think and had only felt.  And
it had felt so right to have him hold her, touch her.

But it had been wrong.  She drew up her bodice, clutching it together
over her breasts, wishing he'd move away.  Wishing she could just die
right on the spot rather than have to look at him ever again.

"Liberty: His voice was husky and she shivered, closing her eyes
against the urge to hurl herself against him.  "Look at me."

Matt didn't wait to see if she'd obey the quiet order Instead, his
fingers cupped her chin, tilting her face up to his.  Liberty opened
her eyes reluctantly, expecting to see contempt in his gaze.

"Don't look so shattered," he said softly.

There was nothing in his expression that suggested he thought any less
of her.  "I don't know what came over me," she whispered,
half-surprised that she could get a voice past the huge lump in her
chest.  "I've never... never done anything like... like that: '

"I know that.  But you haven't committed any terrible crime."  He let
his hand drop from her chin, easing back on his heels, putting a few
inches between them.  "You were upset.  You wanted some comfort.
There's nothing wrong with that.  It just got a little out of hand: His
mouth twisted ruefully at his own understatement

"Out of hand" didn't begin to describe the flames that had nearly
engulfed them both.  Even now, it would take only a touch to set the
fire raging again.  He could feel the need in her, see it in the soft
flush that tinted her skin.  And God knew, his own body ached for the
release he could find in her arms.

But he couldn't do that to Liberty.  She was young and innocent, with
her whole life ahead of her.  He wasn't going to be the one to steal
that innocence and then leave her to deal with the result.

He rubbed his hands on his thighs, wishing he could rub away the memory
of how she'd melted so sweetly at his touch.  She'd lowered her head
and was fumbling with the buttons on her bodice.  Catching a glimpse of
white cotton against her pale skin, Matt swallowed hard and pushed
himself to his feet.

"I'll go make a check outside," he said.  He turned away and then
hesitated, glancing back down at her kneeling figure.  "Are you all
right?"

"Yes."  Her voice was hardly more than a whisper.

Matt sought something he could say that would ease her embarrassment,
something to reassure her that a few stolen kisses were not quite the
sin she'd probably been raised to believe.  But nothing came to mind.
With an inaudible sigh, he walked away, leaving Liberty alone in the
cave.

Once he was gone, Liberty fumbled the remaining buttons back through
the appropriate slots and then ran shaking hands over her hair,
smoothing away the tangles put there by Matt.

She stopped suddenly and pressed her fingers to her cheeks, squeezing
her eyes shut.  Somehow-and she couldn't imagine how-she had to forget
the past few minutes.

Miles of wilderness lay between them and civilization Miles during
which she had to depend on Matt Prescott for her survival.  She had to
force herself to remember only that she needed him to survive and to
forget the way his mouth had felt on hers.

Chapter Seven while forgetting proved impossible-for both of

them-Liberty and Matt did manage to put aside what had happened and rub
along reasonably well together Or, at least, so they told themselves.

If they didn't look at each other any more than was absolutely
essential; if they were careful not to allow even the merest brush of
fingertips; if Matt left before

Liberty was awake and didn't return until dark then it was possible to
pretend that neither of them gave a thought to those passionate moments
they'd shared.

Though Liberty would have sworn that she hadn't slept a bit, she must
have dozed off sometime before dawn.  When she woke, Matt was gone, for
which she was devoutly grateful.  Lying awake, her ears tuned to every
move Matt made, she'd determined to treat their unfortunate embrace and
her even more unfortunate -not to mention enthusiastic-participation in
it as if it had never happened.

A sensible decision but one that would be considerably easier to stick
to if she didn't have to look at

Matt.  Even without him there, she found her memory all too clear.  She
had to guard her thoughts carefully to prevent them from turning in
directions she was determined they would not go.

She did her best to keep herself occupied, tidying up their living
quarters, bringing in a few fresh pine boughs to replace those that had
grown dried and brittle.  It occurred to her that, when she'd imagined
herself taking care of her first home, she hadn't pictured it being
under quite these circumstances.

Instead of airing feather ticks, she was laying out pine branches.  Her
meal preparations were severely limited because there was only one pan
available, not to mention a frighteningly low store of food to cook.

After tidying up, she broke her night's fast with a cold biscuit.  She
wasn't particularly hungry but it was important to keep up her
strength.  She was almost back to normal and she didn't want anything
to delay her recovery.  The sooner they left the cave the better.
Judging by her actions the night before, it was more than time for her
to get back to civilization lest she forget everything she'd ever
learned about proper behavior But she'd already decided not to think
about that-or about Mr.  Matt Prescott.

Easier said than done.  When she went to the stream to get water, she
thought of Matt bathing her fevered body in its waters.  When she ate a
small plate of beans at noon, she thought about Matt crouched on the
other side of the fire, carefully cooking pieces of rabbit the first
day they'd spent in the cave.

How long ago that seemed.  Liberty picked at her dinner, a faint frown
pleating her forehead.  How long had it been since the massacre?  Two
weeks?  Three, perhaps?  Her perception of time had been skewed by the
period when she'd been ill.  There were no clocks or calendars to mark
the passing hours and days.

By now, word of the massacre must have reached Fort Bridger.  Her uncle
would surely believe her dead.  Would he be sorry or simply relieved
not to be burdened with her?  She hadn't seen Harland and Marybelle
Swanson since they'd moved west, more than ten years ago.  She
remembered her uncle as a slightly round gentleman who smiled a great
deal and his wife as an even rounder woman who tended to flutter at the
least disturbance.

They'd invited her to live with them, but there was no way of knowing
whether it was duty or desire that had led them to do so.  She sighed
and addressed herself to her meal.  There was no sense in worrying
about it now.  Though Matt hadn't said as much, she could guess that he
had serious doubts about his ability to take them both safety to Fort
Bridger.  She could have survived the massacre only to die in the
wilderness that lay between them and the fort.  Only she wouldn't die
alone.

Which brought her thoughts full circle to Matt again.  She shook her
head and stood, reining her thinking to another direction.  She just
needed to keep herself busy, give herself something else to think
about.

Liberty was only marginally successful in disciplining her thinking for
the rest of the day.  True, she frequently went as much as half an hour
without thoughts of Matt intruding, but intrude they inevitably did.

It was absurd to feel relieved when the object of her thinking returned
in the late afternoon, but somehow , having Matt there in the flesh was
better than spending quantities of time trying not to think about him.
At least now she had a legitimate reason to allow him back into her
thoughts.

"Got a deer," Matt offered by way of greeting as he entered the cave.

"Thank heavens."  The news made Liberty's mouth curve in a genuine
smile.

"We'll dry and smoke the meat as best as we can.  It may be enough to
get us to Bridger.  We should leave as soon as possible," he continued.
"The first snows will be here before you know it: '

Unspoken between them was the thought that cold weather was no longer
their only concern.  Ironically, the fire that had been kindled last
night was nearly as dangerous as the snow that could block their path.
" "How soon do you think we can leave?  " Liberty asked without looking
at him.

"A week.  Ten days at most.  I want to make what preparations we can
for the trip."

"Yes."  Liberty nodded her agreement.  She turned to add more wood to
the fire, preparatory to cooking supper.  Behind her, she heard Matt
leave and she allowed a relieved breath to escape her.  The difficult
hurdle of facing him for the first time had been successfully
negotiated.  From now on, it would be easier

* * *

The next few days were busy ones.  There was meat to be cut and smoked,
and smoking required plenty of firewood.  Since the windfalls nearby
had been largely depleted, gathering wood meant ranging farther from
their camp.  Matt was no longer as worried as before about their
presence being discovered by Indians.  Now, the weather was the enemy
he was most concerned with.

Matt had brought back the meat in chunks that he'd bundled in the
animal's hide.  While Liberty was busy cutting the meat into strips and
hanging it on the framework Matt had built over a fire pit he set to
work to cure the hide.

Since she was now uncomfortably cold even during the day unless she was
standing in direct sunlight, Liberty didn't have to ask why he was
working on the skin.

Matt made another framework out of saplings he'd cut down and stretched
the hide on it, using sinew to pull it taut.  Then he set to work
carefully scraping the bits of fat and flesh from the surface.  He'd
chipped an edge on a fist-sized rock and used that as his scraping
tool.

Liberty tried not to let her eyes linger on him as he worked, tried not
to notice how the muscles in his shoulders rippled beneath the soft
buckskin of his shirt.  She knew just what those muscles felt like
beneath her hands, just how strong his arms had felt around her.

Sensing her gaze, Matt looked up.  Golden-brown eyes met jade green.
The distance was too great for her to read his expression but she
feared her own thoughts must be written bold as brass on her face.

Flushing, she dragged her eyes back to the strips of meat, aware that
her fingers were not quite steady.  So far, her resolution not to think
about the kisses they'd shared was a rousing failure.  It might have
been some consolation if she'd thought Matt was having an equally
difficult time forgetting, but she doubted that was the case.

As he'd told her once, she didn't have anything he hadn't seen before.
To him she was, no doubt, nothing more than one of many women he'd
known.  The thought stung but she forced herself to confront it
squarely.  Only a fool blinded herself to the truth just because it
hurt.  And contrary to her recent behavior, she was not a fool.

Matt probably saw her as little more than a burdensome female who was
slowing him down.  Once he'd delivered her safely to her uncle, he'd
walk away without a backward glance and probably never give her another
thought.  Undoubtedly, he'd dismissed their embrace as simply a
momentary weakness on his part and had all but forgotten the incident
already.

Actually, Matt would have given much to be able to forget it as easily
as she expected.  Instead, he had only to look at Liberty's mouth to
remember how soft it had felt under his.  He found his gaze falling to
her breasts and his fingers would curl into his palms, remembering the
sweet weight of them in his hands.

Never in his life had a woman lingered in his thoughts the way Liberty
was doing.  Generally, he had no trouble banishing any woman from his
thinking almost as soon as she had left his bed.  But Liberty wouldn't
be so easily banished.  Perhaps if he'd actually bedded her, she'd be
easier to forget, he thought cynically.

But there was a niggling little voice of doubt that suggested it wasn't
that simple.  The trouble with respectable young women was that they
were too much trouble.  He'd made the right decision and he didn't
regret it for a minute.  But knowing that didn't ease the twisting ache
of desire he felt every time he looked at her.

Grinding his teeth together, he finished scraping a section of hide and
shifted it on the frame so that he could reach a fresh area.  A quick
gust of wind blew through the small clearing, cold enough to remind
Matt that he had more important things to worry about than the
unaccountably strong attraction he felt to Liberty.

He glanced up at the sky, finding no reassurance in its cloudless blue
arc.  It might not snow today or tomorrow , or even the next day, but
it would soon.  He bent to work on the hide again, his face tight with
worry.

If they'd had two horses, they could have tried to race the coming
winter to Fort Bridger, using speed as their defense.  But that option
was closed to them, so they were forced to delay their departure longer
than he liked in order to prepare for the cold that would almost
certainly catch up with them somewhere between here and Bridger.

With care and a helping of good luck, they'd make it

It was nearly ten days before Matt decided they'd done the best they
could to prepare for the trip.  It had been a busy time, with survival
taking precedence over the awareness that still hummed between them.

The deerskin had been fashioned into a crude coat for Liberty.  Matt
had cut the scraped hide, following Liberty's directions, and she'd
sewn it together into something resembling a Mexican poncho.  The
venison had been smoked and packed into Matt's saddlebags , along with
the few remaining supplies from the wagon train.

They left early in the morning before the sun had completely revealed
itself.  The roan had cropped most of the grass that grew in front of
the cave but what remained was coated with a thick layer of frost, a
crystalline reminder of the winter now hovering over their shoulders
like a chill specter.

Looking at the gold-rimmed gray sky, Liberty suddenly thought of the
morning she'd slipped away from camp to watch the sunrise.  She'd
watched the sky lighten in the east without any idea that her entire
life was about to change forever.

Shivering, she wrapped her arms around her waist and turned away from
the sunrise.  Matt was gathering the last of their things from the
cave.  Liberty wasn't concerned that she might have left anything
behind.  Other than her sewing box, she was wearing every belonging she
had in the world.

Looking at the cave mouth, she stifled the urge to go back inside and
suggest that they just stay where they were.  It wasn't simply that she
was frightened of the journey that lay ahead, though certainly that was
part of it.

More than that, she felt as if she was leaving behind everything that
was familiar.  In some odd way, the cave had become home and she'd lost
too many homes this past year to give up even so crude an example
without a pang.

First, her parents' death had taken from her the home in which she'd
grown up.  Then, during the long weeks of travel west, the wagon had
become a home; the other members of the party forming something nearly
approaching a little village, albeit one that never rested in one place
for more than a day or two.  She'd started to think of the Millers as a
sort of family , and had settled into her place in their ranks,
enjoying the security of belonging.  But the attack by the Kiowa had
left her without home and family yet again.

Spending these past few weeks with Matt, she'd begun to think of the
cave as a home-primitive and lacking any civilized amenities but
providing shelter and protection.  Now, she couldn't help but feel a
tug of regret at leaving behind its comforts, scant though they were.

Leaving the cave behind didn't frighten her as much as the fact that
their going brought closer the day when Matt Prescott would walk out of
her life.  That thought brought with it a chill that had nothing to do
with the temperature.

"That's everything."  Matt strode toward her, his boots crunching on
the frost-coated grass.  He cast a quick look at the sky.  "We'll ride
this morning and then walk as much as we can," he announced.

"I don't mind walking now," Liberty told him, determined not to be a
burden.  " "We might as well ride while the horse is fresh, " he
said.

Liberty moved to the horse, uncomfortably aware of her most
unconventional attire.  Her dress had been turned into a riding garment
by the simple expedient of splitting the skirt down the middle and then
stitching each side together to form a sort of pant leg.

It had been Matt's suggestion and she couldn't argue its practicality,
but she still felt awkward and exposed in the new garb.  But she had to
admit that it was considerably more sensible than riding with her skirt
tucked immodestly up around her knees.

Matt swung into the saddle behind her and reached around her to lift
the reins from where they'd been looped about the saddle horn. Clicking
his tongue, he nudged the roan with one heel.

Liberty resisted the urge to crane her head around for one last glimpse
of the cave mouth.  They were on their way, and the only sensible
direction to look was forward.

She'd been injured and in shock on their swift journey from the site of
the massacre to the shelter they'd found in the mountains.  Her
memories of that trip were vague impressions of what had seemed a
nearly endless ride.  Over the following days, she learned the meaning
of "endless."

They traveled at a steady but not too rapid speed.  Matt didn't want to
risk an injury to either themselves or the roan, so he set a pace that
covered ground but didn't push either animal or humans to the point
where exhaustion might lead to a misstep.  An injury to any one of them
could be fatal to all three.

At first, Liberty tried to keep her spine rigidly straight, determined
not to lean back against Matt.  He tolerated this for a few miles and
then he flattened his hand against her stomach and pulled her back
against his chest.

"Relax.  I'm not going to bite."

It wasn't him she was afraid of, she thought uneasily With the hard
wall of his chest pressed to her back, the muscled length of his thighs
against hers and his arms circling her, he was practically embracing
her.  'qhe intimacy of their position stirred uneasy remembrances of a
time when they'd been even more intimate Matt might be able to ignore
her even when she was all but plastered against him, but she was not
quite so disciplined.

But after a few hours, discomfort had pushed her awareness aside.  Her
legs ached from the unaccustomed strain of riding astride.  MatYs
saddle had not been designed to hold two people and her spine ached
from the awkward position.  She was grateful when Matt announced that
it was time to stop.  Walking would be a relief.

That first night, dusk found them out in the open, with no obvious
shelter in sight.  Matt found a place where a flash flood had cut a
gully in the land.  He worked to deepen a natural hollow, providing
some shelter form the wind that cut across the open prairie, carrying a
bitter chill with it.

When he'd deepened the area as much as was practical , he stood up and
dusted the dirt from his hands.  He turned to look at Liberty, who
stood nearby, all but swaying on her feet from exhaustion.  She'd
walked with the wagon train but it had traveled at a slower pace.
Between the morning's ride and the afternoon 's walk, it seemed as if
every muscle in her body was making its unhappiness known.  " " I don't
want to risk a fire, " Matt said slowly.  " " It would be too easily
seen."

Liberty nodded, too tired to speak.  She stumbled forward and crouched
in the shelter he'd made.  Just being out of reach of the wind made her
feel warmer.  She huddled her arms under her deerskin wrap.

Outside, Matt unsaddled the roan and rubbed him down thoroughly before
picketing him where the bank of the gully would provide some shelter.
Carrying the saddlebags and the buffalo coat, he ducked beneath the
overhang, dropping on his heels beside Liberty.

She'd been half-asleep but she roused enough to open her eyes and blink
sleepily at him.  Looking at her, seeing her tiredness, the pallor of
her skin, Matt changed his mind about a fire.  True, there was some
danger if anyone should happen to see it.  But there was a greater
danger in letting their physical reserves drop too low.

Without a word, he went out and began gathering what fuel he could find
in the short time left before darkness fell completely.  Once back
beneath the overhang, he built a small fire and then nudged Liberty
awake.  Her hands stretched eagerly toward the heat.

They had no coffee but Matt heated water and dropped some of the smoked
venison into it, creating a sort of weak broth with chunks of meat.
Liberty ate first, more because he insisted than because she felt
hunger.  The hot food warmed her from the inside out.

The meal over, Liberty became aware of the cold again.  She wrapped the
deerskin closer around her shoulders and drew her knees up to her
chest, huddling for warmth.

"We'll sleep together tonight," Matt announced abruptly.

She blinked.  Together?  What did he mean?  She watched him spread a
blanket on the ground at the back of their shelter.

"Come here."  He held out his hand and Liberty reached to take it
automatically, letting him draw her forward.  She balked as she
suddenly realized just what he intended.  " " Together?  " Her voice
rose questioningly.  She tugged her hand from his, her green eyes
slanting from the blanket to his face, revealed in the soft glow from
the fire.  "That's not necessary," she said, scooching back hastily.
"I'll be just fine over here."

"No, you won't: Matt caught her hand and pulled her toward him.  "I'm
going to put out the fire and you'll freeze.  The temperature's going
to drop below freezing tonight, and that hide isn't enough to keep you
warm.  Shared body heat is one of the best ways to stay warm."

Of course what he was saying was completely right, completely
practical.  But Liberty hung back, uneasily aware that she wasn't as
reluctant to share a bed with him as she should have been.

"Look, I'm not going to ravish you," Matt said bluntly.  "I just want
to make sure that neither of us freezes solid before morning: '

"I know: She let him pull her forward and onto the blanket.  He put out
the fire before joining her there.

Liberty had curled up facing the dirt wall of their shelter and she
couldn't.prevent herself from jumping when she felt his hard body,
against her back.  She closed her eyes, concentrating on keeping her
breathing slow and steady so that Matt wouldn't sense her
disturbance.

He stirred around for a moment, tugging the buffalo coat over the two
of them.  She'd almost managed to convince herself that she'd been
foolish to be disturbed by the idea of sharing a bed with him when his
arm came around her waist, pulling her back against his chest, his
thighs coming up beneath her own until they were curled together spoon
fashion.

All her sleepiness had vanished from the moment she'd realized that
they were going to be sleeping together Now she stared at the blackness
of the wall in front of her, her eyes wide, her entire body tense.

"Relax."  Matt's breath brushed her ear.  He flattened his palm against
her stomach, settling her more comfortably into the cradle of his body.
"This is just for warmth."

Warmth ?  Feeling the flush that seemed to cover her entire body,
Liberty half wondered if her fever had returned.  At the moment, warmth
was the least of her problems.  She certainly could never fall asleep
this way.

Behind her, Matt felt her relax.  Beneath his hand, he felt her
breathing slow and steady as she drifted off to sleep.  He lay awake
for a long time, feeling her heartbeat beneath his fingers.

Chapter Eight

Matt and Liberty kept to the pattern they had set that first day.  They
rode in the morning, not stopping until it was time to take a short
break for the noon meal.  After a cold dinner, they walked, with Matt
leading the roan.

As the sun started to sink, Matt would look for a likely spot for the
night's camp.  If he located a place with fuel and shelter to prevent a
flame from being seen, they heated water and boiled some of the smoked
venison to make a primitive soup.

If he couldn't find a place that offered enough shelter, then they
dined on cold smoked venison and water from his canteen.  By nightfall,
Liberty was generally too exhausted to care what she ate, but the heat
of the fire was a welcome respite from the cold.

It seemed as if winter had followed them down from the mountains,
nipping at their heels as if taunting them for being foolish enough to
think they could escape its clutches.  Though the sun shone during the
day, the temperature didn't rise enough for her to get truly warm
except at high noon.

Liberty had difficulty separating one day from another Each was much
like the one before.  She no longer hesitated about sleeping in Matt's
arms.  As he'd said, it was the most practical way to keep warm.  And
sleeping in Matt's arms, it was possible to believe that everything was
all right.  In fact, she couldn't remember anything ever feeling quite
so right as being in Matt's arms.

She'd lost track of how many days had passed since their journey began.
It seemed as if she'd been traveling forever, though she knew it
couldn't have been more than a few days.

She glanced over at Matt, who was leading the roan and saw him looking
at the sky, his face tight and expressionless Following his gaze,
Liberty felt her stomach drop.  The sky that had been a clear pale blue
when they stopped at noon was now iron-gray.  The sun had disappeared
behind the heavy clouds bearing down from the north.

"Snow," Matt said flatly, the single word as bleak as the sky above.

Liberty shivered and drew her deerskin coat closer about her.  She
didn't need Matt to tell her what snow could mean to them.  They were
perhaps two days, maybe less away from Fort Bridger, but that estimate
was based on dry ground.  A heavy snowfall could double or triple that
time.

Or it could ensure that they didn't reach the fort at all.

"There's a cabin a few miles from here," Matt said.  "Or there was
three or four years ago.  I hadn't planned to go there because it's out
of our way, but if we get more than a flurry or two, we'll be better
off there than out in the open."

They mounted the roan and Matt nudged him into a trot.  As if the storm
had only been waiting for them to recognize its presence, the
temperature started to drop, though no snow fell.  Matt opened the
buffalo coat and drew Liberty back against him, shielding her as much
as possible from the chill wind that had kicked up.

He estimated they were only a mile from the cabin when the first white
flakes began to drift from the sky.  Muttering a curse under his
breath, he resisted the urge to nudge the pony to a faster pace.  By
the time they reached the ramshackle building, the snow had increased
to the point where visibility was limited.

"Get inside," he told Liberty as he lowered her to the ground.  "I've
got to take care of the horse."

Liberty didn't need to be told twice.  She hurried into the shack.
Years of abandonment had left the little building in disrepair.  But
the walls were sturdily built of stone and served to block the wind.
There were only two small windows that might have been covered with
isinglass at one time but had since been boarded over, leaving the
interior black as night.

Once her eyes had adjusted to the dimness, she saw that there was a
fireplace on the wall opposite the door and the remains of a table and
two chairs under one of the boarded-up windows.  Everything was covered
with a thick layer of dust.

When Matt came in, he had the saddlebags slung over one shoulder and a
bundle of wood in his arms.  It wasn't long before he had a fire going
in the fire Temptation place, which still drew quite well.  The fire
took the worst of the chill from the air but it was still cold enough
that Liberty kept her poncho on, though Matt shrugged out of the heavy
buffalo coat.

They talked little as they ate a hot meal of broth and venison.  Though
this was the most comfortable accommodation they'd had since leaving
the cave, neither of them could find much joy in that thought.

Twice Matt got up and went to the door to stare out into the night. The
grim set of his expression told Liberty that it was still snowing. The
longer it snowed, the more difficult travel would be.

Liberty spread out the blanket at a little distance from the fire and
sat on it, watching the flames while Matt paced restlessly back and
forth behind her.  He was like a caged animal, seeking a way out of a
trap.  " " Pacing isn't going to make the snow go away," she said at
last, when she could bear his restlessness no longer.

Matt stopped in front of the door, glaring at the hand-hewn panel, as
if he could see the snow through it.

"Maybe it will only snow a little while," Liberty said.  " "Maybe."  He
realized that his actions could only be adding to her anxiety and
turned away from the door.

Seeing the deep lines that bracketed his mouth, the bleakness of his
eyes, Liberty felt her heart ache for him.  She was frightened but her
fear was softened by a gut-deep belief that Matt would take care of
her.  Matt had no one to ease the burden he carried.

She wanted to smooth the lines from beside his eyes.  She wanted to put
her arms around him and tell him not to worry.  She wanted to tell him
that she loved him.

The thought slipped in so quietly that it took a moment for its
implications to strike Liberty.  She caught her breath, staring at Matt
as if seeing him for the first time.

Of course she was in love with him.  How could she not have realized it
sooner?  She'd worried about her shameless response when he'd kissed
her, had wondered how she could behave like such a wanton.  But it had
felt so right to have him kiss her, touch her.

And why not?  She'd loved him even then.  That was why she'd welcomed
his touch and felt a guilty sense of loss when he'd been the one to
pull back.

Matt moved to the door again, his hand reaching for the latch before
the fingers curled into his palm and his arm dropped to his side.  He
turned away, his frustration palpable.

"Come to bed."  Liberty heard the suggestiveness of her words and
flushed but she didn't lower her eyes from his.  Matt's brows rose as
if he sensed something of the change in her.  With a last glance at the
door, he crossed the dirt floor to where she'd spread the blanket

"We might as well try to get some sleep," she said, trying to sound
calm and unemotional and not as if she'd just come to the shattering
realization that she'd fallen in love with him.

"You're right: He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.
"Watching it fall isn't going to stop it."  He set one of the chairs in
front of the door.  It wouldn't prevent anyone from entering but it
would make a racket if the door was opened.

He crossed the dirt floor to where she sat, pausing to add a few more
pieces of wood to the fire before he unbuckled his gun belt and laid it
on the floor next to the blanket.

The past few nights, sleeping in Matt's arms had grown to feel so
natural that Liberty barely gave it a thought when the time came to
settle in for the night.  Tonight, she thought about it.  She thought
about it while she watched Matt tug off his boots.  She thought about
it as he lay down and automatically turned on his side to gather her
close.

She lay there, eyes wide, staring at the flickering shadows on the
stone walls.  Nothing was different tonight , she reminded herself.
Nothing had changed.  But everything was different and everything had
changed.

She'd managed to suppress her awareness of him as a man, to pretend
that she didn't feel anything when he touched her, when he held her in
his arms.  But realizing her true feelings for him made that pretense
impossible.

A gust of wind rattled the door.  Liberty shivered in response to the
sound, thinking of what it must be like outside.  Matt's arm tightened
around her, offering silent reassurance.

What if it was still snowing in the morning?  She'd heard stories of
the fierce blizzards that could rage across the western lands.  If this
was the beginning of such a blizzard, they wouldn't be able to travel
until the storm abated.  And perhaps not then if the snow was too deep.
How long would their meager supplies last?

They'd come so far, survived so much, yet they could still die here in
this forgotten little cabin.  Since they'd undoubtedly been presumed
killed with the others on the wagon train, no one would ever know what
had truly become of them.

She was eighteen years old, and in the past year she'd lost both
parents and her home.  She'd ventured westward, full of dreams,
traveling with people who had dreams of their own.  In the course of an
hour, she'd seen all those people die and their dreams with them. She'd
been shot and nearly died from the resulting infection.

She'd learned something of the passion that resided in her own body but
she might not live to taste the full range of that passion.  The man
she loved lay pressed against her back.  She didn't know how Matt felt
about her, though she was not so foolish as to believe that, just
because she'd realized her love for him , he had to feel the same. They
could both die in the next few days, victims of cold or hunger.

Something stirred inside her, an angry denial of that possibility, a
hunger to know something more of life before she faced the thought of
surrendering it.

Uncertain of just what it was she was seeking, Liberty shifted
tentatively until she was lying on her back.

"Can't sleep?"  Matt came up on one elbow and looked down at her.
Liberty was vividly aware that the hand that had rested on her hip was
now lying on her stomach.  She could feel the imprint of it burning
through her dress.

"I don't seem to be very sleepy."

"Worrying isn't going to make it quit snowing, any more than my glaring
at the door would " Matt's mouth curled in a smile.

"No."  She lifted one hand to brush back the lock of hair that had
fallen onto his forehead.  "Your hair needs cutting," she murmured,
hardly aware of what she was saying.  She let her fingers slide into
his hair, looking at the way her pale hand contrasted with his dark
hair.

"Liberty."  Matt's smile faded.

"Kiss me, Matt," she whispered, her eyes meeting his.

"You don't know what you're asking," he told her huskily.  She felt his
fingers move cares singly on her stomach.

"Yes, I do.  Please, Matt.  Kiss me and I won't ask for anything
more."

The trouble was that her eyes were already asking for a great deal more
than a kiss.  And God help him, he wasn't sure he could stop at a kiss.
How many sleepless nights had he lain awake thinking about what it
would be like to hold her, to feel her skin heat at his touch?

He leaned toward her, telling himself he'd only brush a kiss on her
mouth.  He could offer her that much comfort.  He realized his mistake
the moment his lips touched hers.  Her mouth softened under his, her
fingers curling into his hair to draw him closer.

Matt was lost.  His hand slid under her, flattening against her back
and arching her into his embrace.  His lips opened over hers, his
tongue sliding into the honeyed welcome of her mouth.

He could no longer remember a time when he hadn't wanted her, when
thoughts of her hadn't haunted his sleep.  She felt like heaven in his
arms, soft and warm, melting at his touch.

Her hunger matched his own, and he could no more stop himself from
taking what she so sweetly offered than he could have sprouted wings to
fly them safely to the fort.  All his commonsense arguments as to why
he should keep his distance from her faded, unwanted and unheard.

This time he was listening to the gut-level instinct that said that
this was what was right.  This was what was meant to be.

In a matter of minutes, she lay bare beneath him, the light of the fire
dancing over her body, painting shadows and highlights as if she were a
canvas for its artistry.

But if she was a canvas to be filled, Liberty knew that Matt was the
one who could make her complete.  Only Matt could fill the emptiness
she felt inside, both physical and emotional.

She felt no shame in lying naked beneath him; no doubts about the
wisdom of what she was doing.  This was what was meant to be.  And
whether they reached Fort Bridger or died here in the wilderness, she
would not regret taking this night.

And then Matt's hands cupped her breasts, and rational thought
evaporated like dew before a bright summer sun.  He stroked and
caressed her, sweeping her senses away with every touch.

She twisted beneath him, hungry for something she couldn't have defined
but only knew she had to have.  With every kiss, every caress, the
hunger built until it threatened to consume her.

When he pulled the buckskin shirt off over his head, Liberty's fingers
buried themselves in the thick mat of hair on his chest, feeling the
ripple of hard muscle under his skin.  Her fingers found his flat
nipples, brushing over them.  She felt the muscles in his stomach jerk
in reaction to the light touch.  She lifted her eyes to his face, which
was all hard planes and angles in the firelight.

"Witch," he murmured, his voice thick.

Liberty smiled, liking the sound of that.  She liked the thought of
bewitching him.

The slow sensuality of her smile hit Matt like a kick in the gut.  God,
was it possible that he'd ever wanted anyone else?  Certainly he'd
never wanted another woman the way he wanted her, not with this
soul-deep need that drove him past the bounds of reason.

His finger unsteady, he stripped off his pants, and settled back
against her.  Liberty's eyes widened when she felt him against her hip,
hard and hot.  He could see no fear, no hesitation, but he retained
just enough sanity to give her a chance to change her mind.

"Are you sure, Liberty?"  he whispered, his hand unconsciously tracing
soft patterns on her flat stomach

"I'm sure."  Her fingers moved restlessly on his shoulders as her hips
arched upward.

Looking into her wide green eyes, Matt heard a small voice inside,
telling him he should stop this before it went any further.  Even if it
meant spending the night in the lean-to with his horse, he should put
some distance between himself and Liberty.

But he smothered the nagging words.  Never in his life had anything
felt more right.  He'd never been much of a believer in fate, but at
this moment it seemed as if his entire life had been leading to this
place, this instant, this woman.

He rose above her and Liberty parted her legs in instinctive welcome.
She felt no fear, no uncertainty about giving herself to this man. This
was what was right.  This was what was meant to be.

If there was pain, it was only for a moment and the pleasure that
followed soon made tHe pain a rapidly fading memory.  With Matt's
possession, she was complete in a way she'd never dreamed possible.

Matt gritted his teeth, feeling her innocent response jeopardize his
control.  She fit him so perfectly , as if she were made for him alone.
There was an honesty in her response that he'd never experienced
before.  She didn't hold back anything, didn't pretend to feelings that
weren't there.  She was all fire and passion , taking everything he had
to offer and returning it with sweet abandon.  He held back, wanting to
prolong the delicious torment, needing to see her reach complete
fulfillment.

Liberty trembled beneath him, her body racked with feelings she'd never
known, never imagined.  The heat inside her increased with Matt's every
move.  Her fingers clung to his shoulders, feeling the sweat dampened
muscles shift and ripple.

She felt herself rushing toward some goal she couldn't quite see, some
deep fulfillment that would assuage the burning ache that had begun
deep inside and slowly spiraled out to encompass her entire body.  She
felt as if she were going to shatter into a million pieces before she
could attain that unseen goal.

And then she found that the shattering was the goal.  She arched
against Matt, her nails biting into his shoulders, her body taut, her
eyes flying wide with shocked pleasure.

Matt felt the delicate inner contractions caressing him and allowed his
own control to slip, following her into the spinning vortex.

It was a long time before Matt could gather the strength to roll to the
side.  Liberty murmured a protest that trailed off when he swept one
arm beneath her to draw her close against his side.  She rested her
head on his shoulder, liking the feel of his hard body the length of
hers.

She felt warm and relaxed, completed in ways she'd never known before.
She felt no regret about what she'd done, no uneasiness about what the
future might bring.  Whatever happened, she knew she'd made the right
choice.  If Matt were to disappear tomonow, she wouldn't regret what
had happened.  She rubbed her face against his shoulder, letting the
warm contentment lull her into sleep.

Matt felt her slip into slumber, her slender body lax against him. Even
now, she felt like heaven on earth.

He'd never known such completion, never lost himself so completely in a
woman's body.

He frowned up at the darkened ceiling.  Unlike Liberty, he couldn't
quite forget tomorrow.  She'd come to him so sweetly tonight, eager and
sensuous and innocent.  She'd been sure of what she wanted and he'd
wanted her so much he'd managed to shut out the voice of caution.

He laid his forearm over his eyes.  How would she feel tomorrow?  And
if-no, when-they made it to the fort, how would she feel then?

Matt stifled a groan.  He didn't even know how the hell he felt.  How
could he possibly guess what Liberty would think or feel?

Beside him, Liberty slept the sleep of the innocent while Matt lay
awake long into the night.  His thoughts circled restlessly until his
body's need for rest finally overrode his mind's need to worry the
problem and he fell asleep sometime before dawn.

Outside, a stiff wind kicked up, swirling the fallen snow into low
drifts.  Overhead, the clouds departed with sullen slowness.  They'd
served their purpose.  They'd announced the change of seasons.  Winter
had arrived.

Matt was gone when Liberty woke.  Though she felt neither regret nor
shame for what she'd done, she was glad to have a few moments of
privacy in which to struggle into her awkwardly altered dress and to
run a comb through her tangled hair.  Tangled by Matt's fingers, she
thought.

Her own fingers grew suddenly clumsy as the door was pushed open and
Matt entered on a wave of cold air.  Past his shoulder, she saw a slice
of pale blue sky.  " "The snow has stopped!  "

Startled that those should be her first words, Matt glanced over his
shoulder as if needing to confirm their truth.

"Sometime last night," he said, shutting the door behind him.

Liberty suddenly realized that there were, perhaps, other things she
should have said to the man who was now her lover.  But the moment had
passed and she was abruptly overcome with shyness.

"That's good," she mumbled, lowering her head to hide the blush that
had come up in her cheeks.  She fumbled with the leather thong he'd
given her to tie back her hair and sought for something intelligent to
say.

"Here.  Let me do that," Matt said gruffly.  He took the thong from her
and moved to stand behind her, gathering her hair at the nape of her
neck and securing it there with the leather strip.

"Thank you."  Liberty raised her eyes to meet his, dismayed by the grim
set of his features.  Was he regretting what had passed between them ?
Did men regret such things ?

Matt's eyes skimmed over her face, seeing the slight trembling of her
mouth, the flush of color in her cheeks and the soft uncertainty of her
eyes.  Damn, but she was beautiful.  And he'd been a fool to take
her.

"You're not to worry about last night," he said abruptly.

"I'm not worried."  She set her hand on his forearm , feeling the
knotted muscles there.  "I thought you might be regretting it: '

He wanted to regret it.  It had been wrong.  He'd had no business
taking an innocent girl, no matter how sweetly she'd offered herself,
no matter how achingly he'd wanted her.  He should have had more
control.

The hell of it was that he still wanted her.  Looking down into her
jade-green eyes, Matt acknowledged the truth.  He wanted her as much as
ever.  And if he didn't get her out of this cabin, he'd no doubt
compound his sins by pulling her down onto the blankets and taking her
up on the invitation he wasn't even sure she knew she was offering.

"I don't regret it," he said softly, knowing he was probably damning
his soul to hell with the admission.  He brushed a stray lock of hair
back from her forehead'I should," he admitted, his mouth twisting
ruefully.  "But I don't "

"And you're not to think that I'll expect .  anything from you if we
reach Fort Bridger," she told him awkwardly.  " " When we reach Fort
Bridger, " he corrected her.  Before she could pursue the question of
her expectation , he bent to kiss her, a slow, hungry kiss that made
Liberty forget what she'd been about to say, just as he'd intended it
to do.

When he lifted his head, she blinked up at him, her eyes smoky green
and filled with an innocent hunger that Matt felt in his gut.  He
swallowed hard and forced himself to move away from her before he gave
in to the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her properly.

" " We need to get on our way."  He crouched beside the fire, and for
the first time Liberty realized venison was bubbling in broth on the
hearth.  "The sky's clear now," he continued, "but it smells like
another storm might be on the way."

Liberty settled on the floor and accepted the mug of thin soup he
handed her.  She wasn't really hungry.  She was too conscious of what
had happened between them, too aware of Matt only a few inches away.
But she drank the broth and then fished the pieces of venison out with
her fingers.

She chewed doggedly, trying not to notice the smoky taste of the meat.
Glancing up, she caught MatYs eyes on her, something in them she
couldn't quite define.  Swallowing, she gestured with the mug.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to truly enjoy venison again," she
said lightly, hoping to ease the strained silence.

"It does get a bit tiring," Matt agreed.  He looked at her a moment
longer and then stood abruptly.  Muttering something about wanting to
check on the horse, he told her to meet him outside when she was
done.

Liberty watched him go, wishing she could fathom something of his
thoughts.  Shaking her head, she popped another piece of venison in her
mouth.  She hoped Matt had believed her when she'd told him that she
felt no regrets about last night.  Whatever the future might hold, she
couldn't be sorry that Matt had been her lover.  It was impossible to
regret something that had felt so right.

A few minutes later, she'd scattered the embers inside the fireplace,
knowing that the fire would die out soon enough once it no longer had
anything to feed on.  Matt had rolled up the blanket they'd shared the
night before and removed every sign of their presence except the pan
and mug she'd used and her deerskin wrap.

Liberty drew the hide over her head and picked up the utensils.  She
paused at the door to look back on the shabby little cabin.  The walls
were plain stone, the floor was dirt and the windows were boarded over.
But she'd remember the place as beautiful.  Smiling at her own fancy,
she stepped out and pulled the door carefully closed behind her.

Matt strode toward her, looking bigger than ever in the thick buffalo
coat.  He took the utensils from her and moved to where the roan stood.
Shoving the items in the saddlebags, he turned back to Liberty.

"There's a cloud bank to the north that looks like trouble," he said
abruptly.  "I think yesterday's storm was just a warning."

Seeing the lines that pleated his forehead and bracketed his thick
mustache, Liberty cast a worried glance northward.  There were clouds
piled up over the mountains.  She didn't see anything to indicate that
they offered any particular hazard but she didn't doubt Matt's
concern.

"Should we stay here and wait it out?"  she asked.  The stone cabin
suddenly seemed like a wonderfully safe haven.

" "No."  Matt was already shaking his head.  " " We don't have enough
supplies to sit out a real storm.  We're going to try to beat it to
Bridger."

"But you said it was another two days to the fort: Liberty put her foot
in the stirrup even as she offered the protest.  Matt boosted her up
into the saddle before swinging up behind her.

"Two days at the pace we've been going.  We'll ride straight through.
We won't stop for anything short of an entire Indian tribe blocking the
path."  " "Do you think we might run into Indians?  " Liberty asked,
clutching at the saddle horn as he nudged the roan into motion.  " "Not
likely.  They're able to read the signs as well as anybody.  Most
Indians are too smart to be caught out in the open with the heavy snow
coming: '

"But it might not snow?"  she questioned hopefully

"Might not but I'm not taking any chances."  He urged the pony into a
fast, ground-eating walk and pointed it south.

Liberty could never remember the ride that followed with any real
clarity.  If she'd thought the previous days of travel were tiring,
this day gave new meaning to the word.  "Ihie to his word, Matt didn't
stop the roan.

He kept the pace steady throughout the morning.  The noon pause was
only long enough to allow her to stretch her legs and retreat to the
privacy of a rock outcrop for a moment.  When she returned, Matt gave
her a handful of smoked venison and boosted her back into the saddle.
Liberty bit her lip against a groan of pain as her body protested.

If they made it to the fort, she was never getting astride a horse
again as long as she lived.  But she didn't voice her complaint to
Matt.  She could feel his tension where her back rested against his
chest.

Late in the afternoon, the roan slowed as tiredness set in.  Matt
didn't push him to a faster pace but Liberty felt his urgency.  The
clouds were still behind them, though they'd drifted closer throughout
the day.  As if they cast a kind of shadow ahead of them, the
temperature had dropped rapidly.  When a sharp wind kicked up, Liberty
couldn't prevent a shiver.

Without a word, Matt unfastened the buffalo coat and drew her back
against him, drawing the sides of the coat as far around her as they'd
reach.  Liberty snuggled back, warmed as much by his concern as she was
by the protection of the coat.

When dusk approached and they'd not yet sighted Fort Bridger, Liberty
was sure Matt would stop and they'd camp for the night.

"It's a full moon tonight," he said, as if reading her thoughts.  "As
long as the clouds hold back, there'll be light enough for the pony to
see."

It might have been light enough for the mustang roan to see, but
Liberty's eyes were certainly not up to the challenge.  To her, the
landscape was all treacherous shadows once the last of the daylight had
faded.  The clear moonlight only seemed to make everything look more
mysterious and otherworldly.

But the pony picked his way carefully through the shadows, his pace
slowed as much by tiredness as by the lack of light.  Several times,
Matt leaned around her to stroke the roan's neck, murmuring to him.
Whether it was Matt's encouragement or that the horse didn't want to
spend another night out in the cold, Liberty couldn't guess.  But he
kept moving.

Though she wouldn't have believed it possible, she must have dozed off,
or more likely, passed out from exhaustion.  She didn't know how long
she'd been unconscious when an exclamation from Matt brought her
awake.

"What is it?"  She lifted her head.

"We made it, by God!"  Matt's voice was hoarse with exhaustion.  " " We
did?  " Liberty blinked stupidly at the lights she could see ahead of
them.  Lights in buildings, she realized after a moment.  " "Just a few
more minutes, sweetheart."  In the midst of realization, neither of
them noticed the endearment

"Fort Bridger?"  she questioned, hardly able to believe in the reality
of it.  How long had it been since she'd set out from Pennsylvania with
this as her goal?  Years seemed to have gone by.

"Fort Bridger," Matt confirmed, his tone laced with triumph.  As if
sensing that they were nearly at the end of their journey, the
exhausted pony suddenly picked up his pace to a jolting walk.

Liberty watched the buildings approach, trying to take it in.  She was
here.  They'd really made it.  When Matt drew up the horse in front of
one of the oneqstory buildings, she could only sit and stare stupidly
at the light spilling from its windows.

Matt reached up to lift her down but her knees gave out the minute her
feet touched the ground.  She clutched at his arms, trying to force
strength into her joints but Matt didn't bother to wait.  He swung her
up in his arms as if she weighed no more than a feather and strode up
to the door.  He opened it by the simple expedient of putting his boot
to the panel.

Matt stepped into the room and Liberty was immediately assaulted by
both light and warmth.  The light seemed much too bright and the warmth
made her frozen cheeks burn.  Also, there seemed to be a hundred
startled faces turned in their direction.

After so much time with Matt her only companion, Liberty felt the
impact of their gazes like blows.  Afterward, she learned that there
were really only half a dozen men at the sutler's when she and Matt
made their dramatic entrance.

"What the hell!  " That exclamation came from a big blond man sporting
a straggly beard.  He lunged up from a table, his hand automatically
dropping to his gun, though it was obvious that there was no danger.  "
"ThaY s a woman !  " he added, in case anyone else might have failed to
notice the length of pale blond hair that spilled over MatYs arm.

With a muffled whimper of fright, Liberty turned her face into the
shelter of Matt's chest and let exhaustion sweep her away into the
welcoming darkness

Chapter Nine

cc

Now, Liberty, I'm really not at all sure you should be getting out of
bed so soon."  Marybelle Swanson waved her hands in delicate little
fluttering motions, indicating distress.

In the past thirty-six hours Liberty had learned that her aunt also il
uttered when she was happy or when she felt strongly about something.
Truthfully, Aunt

Marybelle seemed to have a flutter for every occasion And Liberty loved
every one of them.

It was impossible not to love her aunt.  After ten years in the west,
Marybelle managed to look as if she had just stepped out of an elegant
drawing room in some eastern city.  Her clothing was not more than a
year or two behind the very latest fashions.

Her graying blond hair was styled in fashionable ringlets that made her
look like a rather plump, aging shepherdess.  Her skin was lily-white
and smooth as a i baby's bottom; clearly the hot western sun was never
allowed to shine on her unprotected face.

She spoke in quick breathless bursts and her hands were constantly in
motion.  If they weren't occupied with some of her endless tatting,
they were fluttering aimlessly in front of her, lending even the most
commonsense remarks a slightly helpless air.

Any concerns Liberty might have had about whether her aunt and uncle
truly wanted her had evaporated in the warmth of their welcome.  They
took her to their hearts immediately, seeming to regard her more as the
daughter they'd never had than as a niece.

"I'm fine, Aunt Marybelle."  Ignoring her aunt's uncertain little hand
movements, Liberty pushed back the covers and swung her legs over the
side of the bed.

"I do think you're rushing things, Liberty, dear.  After all, you went
through quite an ordeal.  It's never a good idea to hurry a recovery,
you know."

"I wasn't ill.  Only tired," Liberty pointed out reaching for the
wrapper that lay across the foot of the bed.  "I slept for nearly
twenty-four full hours after we arrived, and you've scarcely allowed me
to set foot out of bed in the day and a half since then.  The only
thing wrong with me is that I'm getting too much rest."

"Well, if you're sure."  As always, Marybelle was quick to surrender to
a stronger will.

"I'm sure."  Liberty gave the older woman a reassuring smile as she
rose and tied the wrapper at her waist.

Though she would never admit it, she still felt quite weak, and she
didn't protest when her aunt insisted that she be seated while
Marybelle brushed her hair.

Seated on a plain stool, Liberty stared at the bare wall opposite and
let her thoughts wander.  She'd been at the fort two and a half days.
Though the accommodations were stark by the standards of more setTempta
tled areas, after weeks on the wagon train and then in a cave, she
found them almost luxurious.

The room she was in now was in the home of one of the fort's officers,
who'd graciously given up his quarters so that Liberty and her aunt and
uncle would have a place to stay.

Out the window, she could see a patch of clear blue sky.  The
threatened snow that she and Matt had raced to the fort had turned out
to be nothing more than the lightest dusting of powder.  By the time
Liberty had awakened from her twenty-four-hour sleep, the sun had been
shining as if it planned never to stop.

Matt.  An uneasy frown creased her forehead.  She hadn't seen him since
she'd so foolishly fainted in his arms the night of their arrival.  Her
aunt had told her that Matt had refused to get any rest himself until
he'd been assured that she was only asleep and not ill.  Marybelle also
said that when Matt woke from his own much needed rest, the first thing
he'd done was to check and make sure that Liberty was all right.

Surely, he must know that she was awake, she thought.  But he hadn't
been to see her.  If it hadn't been for her aunt's reassurance, she
might have thought that Matt had left the fort without bothering to say
goodbye.  But Aunt Marybelle said that Matt was still at the fort.

Liberty tugged restlessly at the sash of her wrapper, which belonged to
her aunt.  Her nonexistent wardrobe had been the cause of much
distressed muttering on Marybelle's part, though there was a gleam of
pleasure in her eye when she began to discuss the need for a whole new
wardrobe.

Liberty was not particularly concerned with her lack of attire.  She
was more interested in the reason Matt hadn't come to see her.  Surely,
he didn't think that she would cling to him or beg him to marry her.
She'd made it clear that she had no such expectations.  She'd made her
choices with her eyes wide open and she had no regrets.  And so she'd
tell Matt, if only she got the chance.

"Brandy, Mr.  Prescott?"  Harland Swanson lifted the decanter
questioningly.

"Thanks."  Matt nodded.  His expression held a touch of wariness as he
watched Liberty's uncle pour the amber liquid into two snifters.

Bathed and shaved, his thick mustache trimmed, Matt looked considerably
better than the trail-battered man who'd ridden into the fort two days
before.  The sutler had provided fresh clothing, and Matt now wore a
soft blue bib-front shirt, tucked into his own Levi's , which had been
washed by one of the laundresses who lived in shanties at the edge of
the fort.

But he still felt a great deal like a wolf who'd tumbled into a trap.

"I'm sure the captain won't mind if we make use of his liquor cabinet.
He's already loaned us his house."  Harland's smile was just a little
too hearty, and Matt felt the wariness increase.

He swirled the brandy absently, keeping his eyes on the aimless
movement.  When he'd gotten the message from Harland asking him to come
to the house the Swansons were occupying with their niece, he'd had a
pretty good idea what it was the older man wanted to discuss.  He'd
been more than half expecting the summons since he woke from the
twelve-hour sleep that had claimed him as soon as he'd been assured
that Liberty was all right.

But expecting it and being prepared for it were two separate things.
Just how was he going to respond to the questions he could see in
Swanson's eyes?

"Well."  Harland cleared his throat uneasily.  "Well, well."  He paused
again, his round features distinctly unhappy.  Matt waited, neither
encouraging nor discouraging

"Well, first of all, I'd like to thank you again for what you did for
my niece, Mr.  Prescott.  I don't mind telling you that my wife and I
were devastated when we heard that the Indians had wiped out the wagon
train.  Liberty is our only surviving relative and when we thought
she'd been killed by savages we were heartbroken Absolutely
heartbroken: He shook his head, his face drawn into lines of heartbreak
that sat oddly on his cheerful features.

"It must have been difficult.  I regret that we couldn't have reached
the fort sooner and saved you some of that pain."

"No, no.  You did all you could, Mr.  Prescott."  Harland seemed
distressed by the idea that he might have sounded in some way critical.
"You've done nothing to regret."

Matt let the statement lie, though he wasn't as positive of the truth
of it as his host seemed to be.  He took a sip of brandy, letting the
ice and fire of it burn his throat.

"My wife and I are both grateful to you, Mr.  Prescott.  More grateful
than I can express.  The Lord didn't see fit to bless us with children
of our own.  When Liberty wrote to tell us that her father had died and
that my dear sister had followed him only a short time later, we knew
immediately that the good Lord intended her to come to us, to be the
daughter we might have had."

Harland stopped, his voice choked with emotion.  Matt felt something
akin to panic stir in his gut.  Damn, did the man have to be so nice?
He knew what was coming, but he'd been braced for anger and demands ,
not gratitude and near tears.

"I know Liberty-Miss Ballard," Matt corrected himself, annoyed at the
slip, " "was looking forward to joining you: Actually, he suspected
Liberty had had more than a few doubts about her welcome, but those
doubts must surely have been eased by now.

He'd asked around about the S Wvansons, and so far, he'd heard nothing
to make him think that Liberty wouldn't be happy with them.  The worst
anyone could say about them was that they were Easterners, not having
adopted the more casual speech and manners of most Westerners.  That
was hardly a damning flaw.

He swallowed more of the brandy and told himself that he could leave
Liberty with her aunt and uncle and ride away with a clear
conscience.

That same conscience reared up in protest.  Was he a man like his
father, then?  Anxious to walk away from his responsibilities?

There was more to be considered here than the fact that Harland and
Marybelle Swanson were nice people who were eager to welcome their
orphaned niece into their home.  That night in the cabin had left a
great deal more to be considered.

Grimacing down at the remaining brandy, Matt realized that Harland was
speaking again.  He forced his attention back to the conversation.

"Liberty has told us most of what happened, of course, " he was saying.
" " But I was hoping that I could hear it in your own words "

"I don't think I could add much to what Miss Ballard has said," Matt
said cautiously.  Just what had Liberty said to her aunt and tcncle ?

"Indulge me, if you would."  Harland's smile was friendly but there was
a surprising amount of steel in his tone.

Matt realized he'd underestimated the other man.  A foolish thing to
do.  It should have been obvious that there had to be more to Harland
Swanson than his jolly looks and precise way of speaking had led him to
believe.  A man didn't live ten years in the west and keep both his
scalp and his land without having a considerable amount of iron in his
backbone.

Matt lifted the snifter and tossed off the last of the brandy, setting
the snifter on a side table before he spoke.  He kept his voice even,
almost in a monotone, as he related how he'd seen Liberty leave the
wagon train and had followed her to make sure she was safe.  The
massacre and the ensuing fight with the Kiowa were dealt with in quick,
dull sentences.

Harland listened without comment, his gaze on his own brandy-brandy he
hadn't touched, Matt noted.

It wasn't until Matt mentioned Liberty's fever that he showed any
interest.

"Liberty mentioned that.  Said she would have died if it hadn't been
for you taking care of her: '

"I did what had to be done," Matt said, shrugging

"My mother died of a fever," Harland said.  "Be interested to know what
you did for Liberty."

Matt saw the trap yawning wide at his feet and ground his teeth
together.  But there was no way to avoid it, short of refusing to
answer.  And he was damned if he'd do that.  He'd done nothing to be
ashamed of-at least not then.

"I bathed her in a stream to try to bring the fever down," he said
evenly.

"Ah."  The word could have meant anything or nothing.  "I imagine that
would have been awkward to manage with her clothes on," he said to no
one in particular.

"I imagine it would have been, if I hadn't taken them off."  Matt's
gaze held the other man's steadily.

"Ah: Harland didn't seem to have anything to add to that.  His eyes
dropped to the snifter.  Aimless movements set the brandy swirling in
amber patterns inside the glass.

Matt let the silence stretch, determined that he wouldn't be the one to
break it.  He didn't answer to Harland Swanson for his actions.  If
anyone had the right to take him to task for what he'd done, it was
Liberty.

But Harland was responsible for Liberty now, his conscience nagged.
Didn't he have a right to question what might have happened ?

"Why don't you say what's on your mind, Mr.  Swanson?"  he said
abruptly, tired of the cat-and mouse game they were playing.

"All right."  Harland set down the untouched brandy and fixed Matt with
cool green eyes-eyes remarkably like his niece's, Matt suddenly
realized.  "Since the death of my sister and brother-in-law, my wife
and I are Liberty's only relatives, the closest things to parents that
she has.  I don't want to see her hurt, Mr.  Prescott."

"And you think I've hurt her?"

"I don't know.  My wife thinks that Liberty's in love with you: '

"Did Liberty say that?"  Matt asked.

" "No."

The answer didn't ease the tightness in Matt's chest.  Though he'd been
reluctant to admit as much to himself , he knew Liberty's aunt was
right.  Liberty was in love with him or at least she thought she was.
She wouldn't have given herself so sweetly if she didn't feel deeply
for him.

"Now, I've never had daughters of my own " Harland said.  "But I'd be a
fool if I thought that, just because Liberty thinks she's in love with
you, it means she really is.  She's young and you saved her life-more
than once.  It's only natural that she should fancy herself in love
with you: '

"Why do I get the feeling that there's more on your mind than whether
or not your niece loves me?  "

Harland grinned but the expression didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Because there is, Mr.  Prescott.  There is, indeed ."

But he didn't seem in any hurry to expand on what else there might be.
Reaching into his shirt pocket, he drew out a pipe and a leather
tobacco pouch.  He tugged open the pouch and dipped the pipe into it.

Matt watched impassively while the older man closed the pouch and
dropped it back in his pocket before he began to carefully tamp the
tobacco in the pipe.  Swanson's movements were slow and deliberate He
might have nothing more important on his mind than getting his pipe
ready to light.  Matt knew better and his reluctant admiration
increased.  The older man knew how to play a waiting game.  But he
wasn't the only one.

Matt waited, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his Levi's, his
expression calm.  He looked the picture of ease.

Harland's eyes met his over the flame of his match and Matt saw a gleam
of something that could have been amusement.  In a moment, the pipe was
lit and fragrant smoke wafted into the air between the two men. Harland
puffed a few times to make sure the tobacco was properly lit.

"Do you smoke, Mr.  Prescott?"  " " I picked up the habit of rolling my
own while I was in Sante Fe," Matt admitted, not protesting the
diversion

"My wife thinks it's a filthy habit," Harland said with a sigh.  "1
daresay she's right."  He puffed again.

Matt waited, determined that he wouldn't be the one to force the
conversation back to the real subject matter.  Shooting Matt another
quick glance from those disconcertingly aware eyes, Harland took the
pipe from his mouth.

"I'll be frank with you, Mr.  Prescott."

"I'd appreciate that, Mr.  Swanson " This time it was Matt's smile that
failed to reach his eyes.

"My wife is worried about Liberty."

"She's not sick, is she?"  Matt's sharp question brought a gleam of
satisfaction to the older man's eyes-a gleam he quickly concealed by
lowering his gaze to the pipe.

"No.  Physically, she seems to be in excellent health, a fact for which
we are well aware we have you to thank: '

Matt shrugged, uneasy with Swanson's gratitude gratitude his conscience
insisted that he didn't really deserve.  He might have kept Liberty
alive but he'd taken unpardonable advantage of her vulnerability.  And
the fact that she'd wanted him to make love to her was no excuse.

"Quite honestly, my wife has expressed some concern about the length of
time you were alone with Liberty."

It was no more than Matt had expected, and now that the moment was
there, he felt surprisingly relaxed and completely clear about what he
had to do.  But that didn't mean he had to tell Harland Swanson his
decision quite yet.

" "It was a little difficult to come up with a chaperon stopped the
game then, but Harland was already under the circumstances, Mr.
Swanson."  The words speaking again.  were dry, revealing nothing of
his thoughts.  "What I'd like to hear from you, Mr.  Prescott, is a

"True enough.  Even Marybelle has admitted as reassurance that nothing
happened between you and much, and I don't mind saying that my wife
isn't al- my niece that need cause her aunt and myself any ways the
most practical of women, especially when it worry."  There was hard
demand in the look he shot comes to proprieties.  She holds suchlike
quite dear."  Matt.  Matt didn't doubt that he had a shotgun handy,

He stopped to puff on his pipe, the smoke veiling his ready to protect
Liberty's honor if necessary.  genial features-deceptively genial, Matt
acknowl- "have you asked Liberty?"  edged ruefully.  He could have
ended the conversation " "She tells her aunt that you were a perfect
gentley g there and then b tellin the other man that he d de- man and
that there's not a thing for us to concern cided to marry his niece.
But he had to admit to acer- ourselves with : tain curiosity about
Harland's approach to the "You don't believe her?"  subject.  "I
believe she'd lie to protect you, Mr.  Pnscott."

But Marybelle was willing to admit that it would yqq she would, Matt
thought, feeling something be unreasonable to hold the lack of
chaperoning close to pain in his chest.  The little fool, telling them
against either of you, the circumstances being what there was nothing
to be concerned about.  Had she they were."  " "Then I fail to see the
problem, " Matt said coolly.  consididq the possibility that she might
be carrying

"The problem is my niere's feelings for you, Mr.  his chi wasn t likely
that she knew otherwise.  Prescott."  Harland's eyes narrowed, the
geniality Harland grew impatient with his silence.  " q "Bluntly, Mr.
Prescott, I'd like your reassurance fading.  A girl who thinks she s in
love will do some , that you didn't touch my niece."  foolish things.
One who thinks she s in love and also thinks she and the man she loves
may not live to reach

Matt's first instinct was to protect Liberty, to tell her
civilization..  : He shrugged.  "Well, there's just no uncle that he
hadn't laid a finger on her.  But if he then telling how something like
that could overset her suggested marriage, would Harland go along with
it?  common sense."  Or would the man want better for his niere than

Though Matt's expression didn't change, inside he drifter with little
more than a good horse to his name?  flinched from the blow Harland had
wittingly or un- "I can't tell you that, Mr.  Swanson," Matt said at
wittingly delivered.  Her uncle had hit on exactly what last.  He saw
anger flare in the other man's eyes.  Anger Liberty must have felt. And
he, like a callow boy, had but no surprise, he noted.  taken advantage
of those feelings.  He would have "You'll marry her, by God!"

"Yes."  Matt didn't add anything to the flat agreement -no excuses, no
apologies.  Any excuses and apologies he had to make belonged to
Liberty.

"Make the arrangements."  He started toward the door but Harland
stepped in front of him with surprising agility in one of his bulk.

"You'll be there."  The words were more threat than question.

"I'll be there," Matt said coldly.  He didn't like having his word
questioned.  But then he could hardly blame the man for doubting his
honor.  An honorable man would have turned away from the sweet
temptation

Liberty had offered.

Without another word, Matt left the small house, stepping out into the
crisp air.  He'd picked up his denim jacket on the way out and now,
standing on the narrow plank porch, he shrugged into it.

He'd just agreed to get married.

Staring unseeingly at the low buildings that comprised the fort, he
waited for the impact of the words to strike him.  When they didn't
seem about to knock him to his knees, he left the porch and strode
toward the building where the roan was stabled.

As he walked, he startled to whistle.  Odd, but he suddenly felt
something remarkably close to relief.  He'd been wrestling with his
conscience for days now.  Every time he'd almost managed to convince
himself that he could simply ride away without a backward glance, two
images had come to mind: Liberty's wide green eyes looking at him with
such trust, and the shame his mother had lived with after his birth.

Until Will Prescott had married her and taken her six-year-old son as
his own, there wasn't a day went by that Addie Bellar hadn't paid for
the sin of having a child out of wedlock.

If Liberty was pregnant, his child would bear his name.  And if she
wasn't pregnant?  Matt paused to lean against the roan's flank.  If she
wasn't, he couldn't honestly find it in him to regret his decision to
marry her.

True, he'd never really planned to wed, but perhaps that was a foolish
boy's notion.  As he'd told Liberty before the Kiowa attacked the wagon
train, the people who sank down roots and built something worthwhile
were the ones who were going to truly settle this land.

He'd roamed the west for ten years now and had nothing to show for it
but a worn-out saddle and more close calls than he cared to remember.
He owned a ranch in Arizona that he'd never seen, won in a poker game
in San Francisco two or three years back.  He'd started out to see it
more than once but always managed to get sidetracked before he got
there.  For all he knew, it could be nothing but desert, but there was
some good land in Arizona, places a man could raise horses, some
cattle.

The idea held more appeal than he would have believed a few short weeks
ago.  Matt shook his head and threw a blanket over the roan's back
before picking up his saddle.  Seemed like just the idea of getting
married tended to tame a man.

But a man could do worse than settle down with a woman like Liberty.
She had spirit and fire, as well as a gentleness of spirit.  She'd come
west, uncertain of her welcome but determined to build a good life for
herself.  It looked as if they'd be building it together.

"But I don't understand, Uncle Harland.  Why didn't Matt stay to talk
to me?"  Liberty linked her hands in her lap, making a conscious effort
to prevent her fingers from twisting together.

Only a short while ago, she'd been wondering why Matt hadn't been to
see her.  Now her uncle was telling her that Matt had been here while
she was with her aunt, and that during that brief visit he'd said he
wanted to marry her.  And now he was gone without her getting so much
as a glimpse of him.

"He was riding out with a hunting party, Liberty," Harland said
soothingly.  "I'm sure he'd have stayed to talk with you if he hadn't
been needed elsewhere."

Liberty dropped her gaze to her hands, trying to sort out her thoughts.
For almost two days, she'd been wanting to see Matt, while at the same
time dreading that he might stop by only to say goodbye.  Despite the
current spell of good weather, winter was so close, even she could
smell it.  No doubt he'd want to be on his way before snow made travel
difficult.

She'd been braced to say goodbye and not to lose her dignity while
doing it.  Instead, here was her uncle telling her Matt wanted to marry
her.  Marry her!  When not a word of such a thing had been spoken
between them!

"Did Matt say why he wanted to marry me?"  she asked at last, lifting
her eyes to her uncle's face.  But it was her Aunt Marybelle who
responded first.

"What kind of foolish question is that, Liberty Ann?  " Marybelle
Swanson's tatting shuttle never faltered as she lifted pale blue eyes
from her work and fixed her niece with what should have been a stern
look.  Since she was very nearsighted and much too vain to wear
spectacles, the sternness was largely dissipated by her squint as she
attempted to bring Liberty's blurry figure into focus.

"What reason should he have for wanting to marry you except the one
most men would have for wanting to marry a charming, beautiful girl?"

"None."  Liberty realized that she'd begun to knot her fingers together
and forced her hands to stillness.  She could hardly explain that she
was afraid Matt might have offered to marry her because he felt guilty
about making love to her.  Aunt Marybelle would probably have a heart
attack at the very thought.  And Uncle Harland, for all his mild
seeming ways, just might take after Matt with a shotgun, making her a
widow before she became a bride.

A bride.  She lifted her hands to press them to her suddenly flushed
cheeks.  Married to Matt Prescott.  The thought started a fluttering
low in her belly.  How many times had she fantasized about just that?

Even before that night in the little stone cabin, hadn't she sometimes
thought that they were living much as a husband and wife?  Even before
the Kiowa raid had thrown them into each other's company, the man in
her secret little dreams about the future had started to change.

He had no longer been a gallant but faceless presence in her fantasies.
He'd taken on shape and form ,

grown taller, harder.  His hair had darkened to a rich tobacco brown
and his eyes were no longer sky blue but brown tinged with gold.  He'd
grown a thick mustache and taken to wearing buckskins and smiling at
her quite wickedly.

The past few weeks had made those dreams seem pathetically childish,
but they'd also served to replace the harmless fantasy with a more
dangerous reality.  Matt was much more than she ever could have
imagined And what she felt for him was considerably more than the
gentle emotion she'd always imagined love to be.

Marriage.  She hadn't even really let herself think of it as a
possibility.  But she didn't want it if it wasn't marriage for the
right reasons.  She didn't want a husband who'd married her because he
thought he had to.  She was young, but she was old enough to know that
a marriage based on duty was doomed before it began

"Did Matt say anything to you, Uncle Harland?  Anything about... about
his feelings for me?"  She flushed as she asked the question but her
eyes remained steady.

Harland Swanson tamped tobacco into his pipe while he debated his
answer.  Had Matt Prescott said anything about his feelings for her?
Well, that all depended on whether you only listened to what a man said
with words or if you also listened to his actions.

Though he hadn't been at the fort to see Matt carry Liberty into the
sutler's, there had been plenty who were anxious to tell him the story;
anxious, too, to tell him about how Matt had refused to get any rest
himself until he was assured that Liberty was all right.

And he'd seen the look in Prescott's eyes when he'd mentioned that
Liberty's aunt was worried about her; he'd heard the sharp bite of fear
in Prescott's voice when he'd asked if she was ill.

He didn't know all that had gone on between the two of them, but he was
no fool and he could probably guess most of it.  Two healthy young
people, isolated from the usual constraints of society, left to depend
on each other... Well, he would certainly be the last to cast any
judgment on them.

As long as he saw his niece safely wed, it didn't much matter that
they'd no doubt anticipated the wedding night.

But looking at his niece, he knew he had to weigh his answer carefully.
In the set of her chin, he saw more than a trace of the stubbornness
that had made him love his sister, even as he sometimes cursed her
strong nature.  He should have guessed that Ann's daughter would have
her strength.

Ann had been capable of spitting in the devil's eye if she believed it
was the right thing to do.  And heaven help the poor soul who tried to
convince her to do something she thought was wrong.

He didn't doubt that Liberty loved Matt Prescott.  And he strongly
suspected that Matt felt the same way about her, though he doubted the
boy had the good sense to recognize that fact.  But if Liberty thought
that Matt had offered to marry her out of guilt which he damn well
should have done, Harland thought with a flare of anger-then nothing
short of binding and gagging her would get her to the wed- Blessing his
wife for seeing the proper way to handle things, Harland accepted her
lead.  "I never saw a

"Matt doesn't strike me as a man to reveal his feel- man more concerned
than he's been about you , ings easily, Liberty," he said at last. "But
he also Liberty.  Sometimes, you have to judge a man's feel doesn 't
strike me as a man who'd do something he ings more on what he does than
on what he says.  And didn't choose to do."  it's not likely he'd tell
me how he felt, now is it?"

That was certainly true enough, he thought, pleased "No," she agreed
slowly.  She tried to think clearly, with the way he'd managed to avoid
the question, an- knowing that the decision she made in the next few
swering without answering.  minutes was going to affect the rest of her
life.  She

"But did he say anything of what he felt for me?"  wanted to marry
Matt, but only if it was truly what he

Damn, but she reminded him of her mother when wanted, too.  she was the
same age.  Beautiful and stubborn.  The "But why didn't he ask me?  Why
did he ask you thought reminded Harland of how much he missed his and
then leave without even talking to me?"  sister and hardened his
determination to see that her "I am your guardian," Harland reminded
her.  "IYs daughter was properly cared for.  proper that Matt should
ask my permission.  I think he

"He didn't have to say anything of how he felt," wanted to get
everything settled before he left on this Marybelle chimed in.  "Any
fool could see it in his hunting trip.  I had the feeling that perhaps
he had a eyes.  The boy's in love with you: reason to think you'd
accept him," he added slyly.

The novelty of hearing Matt referred to as a boy Her color deepened and
her eyes dropped back softened the impact of her aunt's announcement.
But down to where her fingers were once again knotted only for a
moment.  together in her lap.  Yes, she supposed Matt did have

"Do you really think so, Aunt Marybelle?"  good reason to think she'd
accept.  From the way she'd

"Of course, dear."  Marybelle looked up from her all but thrown herself
at him, he couldn't have had tatting and squinted at her niece.  "It
was as plain as much doubt about her feelings.  the nose on your face."
"The hunting party should be back day after to Since

Harland suspected his wife couldn't even see morrow.  I thought that
would be a fine day for a the nose on Liberty's face, he considered
this a poor wedding."  Harland had calculated his words care choice of
comparison.  But Liberty didn't seem to fully, hoping to switch her
attention to plans for the agree.  Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes
were wedding, rather than worries about whether or not smoky green with
a mixture of hope and uncertainty.  there would be a wedding.

"If I could be sure," she murmured, half to her- q "Day after
tomorrow!"  Liberty and her aunt both self.  voiced the same
exclamation.

" " But what will I wear?  "

At Liberty's age-old feminine question, Harland relaxed and took a
contented puff of his pipe.  There would be a wedding.  If he hadn't
believed that Matt Prescott would make his niece a good husband, he
wouldn't have forced the issue.  On the other hand, he suspected that
if Matt hadn't been willing to marry Liberty, no force could have been
brought to bear to make him.

The two of them would do just fine together.

Chapter Ten

;

In all her girlish daydreams, Liberty had never imagined her wedding
day quite as it turned out.  She'd thought her parents would be there,
of course, and her friends.  She'd be wearing a dress that she and her
mother had made together and her father would be waiting to give her
away.

The ceremony would be in a church-in spring.

She'd have flowers to carry, something sweetly scented.  And afterward,
she and her new husband would take a short wedding journey, perhaps
only a day or two but long enough to cement their identity as a
couple.

None of her dreams had included a stark little ceremony in a small
four-room house that was about the best the fort had to offer.  Her
parents were dead and buried a thousand miles away.  Her friends had
also been left behind.  The only family she had to stand up with her
was an aunt and uncle she barely knew, though they'd taken her to their
hearts as if she were their own.

As for the groom... well, he bore little resemblance to her vague
imaginings.  Matt wasn't a fairhaired , blue-eyed knight on a white
steed.  But that image paled in comparison to the reality.  Matt was
real and vibrant, a man unlike any other she'd known.

And she loved him.  If she was nervous and jittery, that was just
because everything had been so rushed.  It wasn't because she had any
doubts about marrying Matt.  How could she doubt the rightness of that
step?  She'd given not only her heart, but her body to him.  When she'd
offered herself to him in the little stone cabin, she'd made a
commitment as strong as any vows spoken before God.

If only she'd had a change to talk to Matt before the ceremony, she
thought.  Her hand trembled on her uncle's arm as they walked down the
short hallway.  She could hear the slightly scratchy sound of a fiddle
-the only instrument the fort had to offer besides a trumpet.

Liberty bit her lip, uncertain whether she wanted to laugh or to cry.
She'd never pictured herself getting married to the sound of a fiddle.
The door loomed up ahead and her shoes suddenly seemed to be filled
with lead, weighting her footsteps.

What on earth was she thinking of?  How could she possibly marry Matt
Prescott?  She barely knew the man.  She'd spent weeks alone with him,
shared intimacies she could certainly never share with another man, but
that didn't mean she could commit the rest of her life to him.

"I can't do it," she whispered suddenly, coming to a stop.

"Of course you can, my dear."  Uncle Harland's hand patted her fingers.
"You're just feeling a perfectly natural nervousness."

"I have to talk to Matt," she said.  "I have to be sure this is what he
wants, that it isn't just because he feels guilty over what
happened."

She was unaware of how much her words revealed.  Her only thought was
that she needed to talk to Matt.  What her uncle heard was a
confirmation of what he'd already suspected.  Matt Prescott had saved
Liberty's life but he'd also taken her innocence.  Harland's
determination to see her safely wed hardened.

"Of course this is what he wants," he told her firmly.  "He loves you:
'

"How can you be sure?"  Liberty's eyes, wide and uncertain, looked at
him, asking for reassurance.  Reassurance her uncle gave her without
hesitation.

"He said as much, my dear.  I saw him only this morning and he said as
much.  Now, I don't think he changed his mind between then and now, do
you?"  he said with a twinkle in his eye.

"No," she breathed.  "He said he loved me?"

She didn't seem to require a response, for which Harland was grateful.
Having uttered the lie once, he was not particularly anxious to repeat
it.

Seeing the radiance bloom in his niere's face, he told himself he'd
done the right thing.  After all, he was nearly positive that Matt did
love her.  Was it such a terrible thing to stretch the truth to
reassure her?  The important thing now was to get the two of them
married If, nine months from now, he was to become a great-uncle, there
would be no reason for anyone to count on their fingers and come to any
unpleasant conclusions.

"Your groom is waiting," he said, smiling down at her and smothering
the niggling twinges of his conscience

"Yes."  Feeling new confidence, Liberty moved toward the door and the
future that awaited her beyond it-a future as Matt's wife.

Matt stared out into the darkness, his fingers drumming restlessly on
the windowsill.  There was nothing to be seen beyond the windowpane but
the slow drift of the falling snow.  But he wasn't really interested in
scenery at the moment.

He was married.

He reached up to loosen his collar, though he knew that the choking
sensation had less to do with the heavily starched linen shirt than it
did with the ceremony that had taken place a few hours before.

Married.

Thrusting his fingers through his hair, Matt turned away from the
window.  Liberty was in the bedroom just across the narrow hall,
preparing for her wedding night.  Matt crossed the room with quick
strides.  Picking up the heavy decanter that sat on a low table, he
poured himself a stiff shot of Scotch.  Lifting the glass, he downed
the contents in two swallows, feeling the liquor burn its way down his
throat.

Shuddering, he rolled the empty glass between his palms, debating the
wisdom of a second drink.  But getting drunk on his wedding night was
hardly the best way to start off his marriage.  Besides, what was he so
nervous about?  Wasn't it the bride who was supposed to be jittery?

Glass met table with an annoyed snap.  Shoving his hands in his
pockets, Matt turned away from the table , intending to go back to the
window.  But he stopped with the movement only half-completed.  His
bride stood in the doorway and Matt felt his breath, as well as most of
his wits, desert him.

How was it possible that her beauty could still surprise him?  He'd
thought she looked beautiful in the ivory silk gown she'd worn as a
wedding dress, a garment of her aunt's that had been quickly altered,
she'd told him shyly when he'd commented on it after the ceremony.  But
seeing her now, wearing a simple white cotton wrapper, was like seeing
her for the first time all over again.

Her hair spilled over her shoulders like a moonlight -colored cape. The
light wrapper hinted at curves he knew only too well.  Matt felt desire
rise in him, wiping out any doubts he might have about finding himself
a married man.

He didn't love Liberty, but he wanted her as he'd never wanted any
woman in his life.  He couldn't imagine the time ever coming when he
didn't want her.  Marriages had been based on less.

The look in Matt's eyes sent a nervous shiver up Liberty's spine.
During the brief ceremony that had made them husband and wife, she'd
stolen glances at him, searching for some sign that he loved her, as
he'd told her uncle he did.  All she'd seen was a rather stern
expression that had made her wonder if he was already regretting the
step they were taking.

But seeing the way he was looking at her now, she felt her doubts melt
away.  Too inexperienced to know that desire and love did not
necessarily go hand in hand, she saw the warmth of Matt's gaze as
confirmation that he loved her.

When Matt crossed the room to take her hands, her eyes skittered away
from his, unable to sustain the burning heat of his gaze.  His look
made her feel like a particularly succulent sweetmeat that he was
thinking about devouring.

"You look beautiful," he said, his voice husky.  " "Thank you.  One of
the officers' wives gave me the wrapper as a wedding gift.  She seemed
to think it most improper that I had nothing to wear on my wedding
night, " she added.

"That sounds even better to me."  Matt's hand slid up her arms, drawing
a tingling awareness in their wake.  " "I thought you might feel that
way."  She cleared her throat, suddenly doubting the wisdom of what
she'd done.  "That's why I left the nightgown off," she admitted in a
voice so low he had to strain to hear it.

She felt the sudden tension in the fingers on her shoulder, heard the
quick breath Matt sucked through his teeth.  Fearing he might be angry,
might think her too bold, Liberty dared a quick glance at him through
her lashes.

His eyes were closed, his expression almost pained.  But when his
lashes lifted, it wasn't anger they revealed Liberty felt her knees
buckle under the burn Temptation ing heat of his look.  His eyes seemed
more gold than brown, their touch almost physical as they drifted
downward to where the wrapper closed over her breasts.

Trembling, she kept her gaze on his face as his hands slowly slid down
the collar of the wrapper to where the belt looped about her narrow
waist.  She felt the brush of cool air on her skin as the belt dropped
to the floor and the wrapper fell open.  But then Matt's hands were on
her, cupping the soft weight of her breasts and she felt anything but
cool.

Liberty's hands settled on Matt's lean hips, clinging for support as
his thumbs brushed over her nipples , teasing the sensitive buds to
hardness.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered against her throat.

"I love you: The words simply couldn't be held back a moment longer.
Saying them was as necessary as breathing, as right as the feel of his
ring on her finger'I love you: '

She felt a sudden stillness in Matt, as if he were surprised She
waited, hardly breathing, for his response He hadn't given her the
words before, but now that he knew she loved him just as he loved her,
he'd say what was in his heart.

But whatever was in Matt's heart, he didn't seem inclined to let her
know.  For the space of several heartbeats, he didn't move, hardly
seemed to breathe.  And then, so suddenly that Liberty felt the breath
catch in her throat, he bent to sweep her up in his arms.  Liberty's
arms clung to his neck as he carried her across the hall into the
bedroom and laid her on the bed.

He tugged the wrapper open until it lay on the bed around her, a soft
frame for her slender body.  His eyes were like molten gold pouring
over her, his hands tracing the path scarcely a heartbeat behind his
look.

Stunned by the sudden rise of passion, Liberty arched into his touch.
Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out the small voice that
questioned his lack of response to her words of love.

"I want you," he whispered against her breast.

The tiny voice of doubt was stilled.  He said he wanted her.  What she
heard was that he loved her.  Only two hearts fully in tune could
produce the sensations rioting through her.

Matt's clothing was stripped away, tossed to the floor and forgotten.
He'd planned to make their lovemaking last all night.  After all, she
was his wife now.  They had all the time in the world.  But then she
lifted her arms to him and looked at him with those incredible eyes
full of love, and all he could think of was the need to be a part of
her, to confirm that she was his.

He retained enough control to keep from plunging his aching hardness
into her.  Though she was no longer a virgin, she was far from
experienced.  He eased into her slowly, the pace a sweet torture that
left him burning with hunger.

A hunger only she could satisfy.  She clung to him as he began to move,
her hips lifting in the rhythm he'd taught her.  Her hands moved up and
down his back, seeking something to cling to as the world started to
spin around them.

Matt watched her face, seeing passion's flush warm her cheeks, the
heavy-lidded need in her eyes.  The sight, he discovered, was nearly as
powerful an aphrodisiac as the feel of her holding him, drawing him
deeper into her.

He felt a new tension enter her and knew she was nearing her peak.  He
increased the pace, clinging to his thinning control, needing to see
her reach her own fulfilhnent as much as he needed his own.

Liberty's eyes suddenly snapped wide open, her fingers digging into his
shoulders as she arched against him.  Matt felt the delicate
contractions ripple around him, felt his climax approaching, but still
he held back, wanting-needing-something more.  Something he couldn't
define.  " " I love you " The words came out on a cry as she shuddered
beneath him.

As if that was the signal he'd been awaiting, Matt released the last
tenuous hold on his control and let the powerful waves of completion
wash over him.

When Liberty woke the next morning, she was aware of a feeling of
contentment unlike anything she'd ever known before.  It was more than
simply the physical relaxation of a body that had been very well loved.
It was the deep contentment that came with knowing that Matt's ring was
on her finger.

Smiling, she stretched, aware even without opening her eyes that Matt
wasn't in the bed.  But he'd been there last night.  Her smile took on
a sensuous curve.  He'd awakened her twice, bringing her to shuddering
fulfillment almost before her eyes were open each time.  He'd been
insatiable.  " "You look like a cat who's just had a big saucer of
cream ."

At the sound of Matt's voice, Liberty's eyes flew open.  She sat up in
bed, hardly noticing when the covers fell down around her waist.  But
Matt noticed.  His eyes dropped to her breasts.  Her hair, tangled from
sleep and loving, fell over her shoulders, creating a partial veil for
her sleep-warmed body.

Despite the promise he'd made himself to keep his distance from her,
Matt felt his loins tighten.  God, what was it about her that tied his
gut in knots and made him forget everything but the need to hold her?

"Is that coffee?"  Oblivious to the picture she presented , Liberty
referred to the cup Matt held.

"Yeah."  Matt made a conscious effort to drag his gaze from her body.
"I thought you might like some."  " "Thank you: '

Because she was looking at him expectantly, he crossed the room.  He
was just going to hand her the coffee and then walk away, he told
himself.  He knew exactly how things would end up if he stayed close to
her.

But when he handed her the cup, she lifted her face expectantly.  Of
course he had to kiss her goodmoroing It would only hurt her feelings
if he didn't.  Her mouth softened under his, her lips parting.  Matt
sank down on the bed.  One arm came around her back to draw her closer,
and he felt her breasts press against his chest, seeming to burn
through the fabric of his shirt.

Left sitting on the floor, the coffee grew cold.

* * *

More than an hour later, Matt stood in front of the dressing table
preparing to shave.  He could see Liberty in the mirror as she buttoned
up her dress.  It was another garment given to her by the wife of one
of the officers at the fort, and it was a little too big for her
slender frame.  He saw her faint moue of annoyance as she tugged at the
loose waist.

Actually, he was somewhat grateful for the gown's poor fit.  He seemed
to have lost his self-control when he'd slipped a ring on her finger.
Or was it when he'd heard her say she loved him?  Frowning, he dragged
his gaze back to his reflection and dabbed shaving cream on his
cheeks.

The words didn't really mean anything, of course.  She was young.  He
was her first lover-her only lover, he thought possessively.  It was
natural that she should think she was in love with him.  Women had a
tendency to think that physical fulfillment and love went hand in
hand.

That wasn't necessarily the case, but there was no need to explain that
to Liberty.  They were married now and it made no difference if she
thought she was in love with him.  Just as well, really.

Matt frowned at his reflection, hearing the passion in her voice when
she'd told him how she felt, seeing it in her eyes.  To tell the truth,
he liked hearing her say it.  Absently, he dabbed more shaving cream
over the layer already on his face.

He liked it more than he particularly wanted to admit The words seemed
to speak to something deep inside him, some part of him he'd never
known was there.  Just hearing them made something strong and warm well
up in his gut.

Yeah, lust, you idiot.  You want her, that's all.  And who wouldn't?
She's a beautiful woman.  And she's yours.

Matt's gaze drifted again to Liberty's reflection in the mirror.  She
was making the bed, humming a soft tune to herself as she worked. She'd
pinned her hair up on top of her head.  The soft style suited her,
bringing out the delicate bone structure of her face.

Matt felt some emotion he couldn't quite define.  A mixture of
possessiveness and need.  He wanted to protect her and he wanted to
throw her back on the bed and make love to her again, to hear her cry
out his name, hear her say she loved him.

He realized that Liberty was looking at him, her eyes meeting his in
the mirror, their expression questioning Suddenly aware that he was
standing there like a statue, the razor clutched in his fingers, Matt
looked away from her and dipped the blade in the bowl of steaming
water.

It must be getting married that had temporarily addled his brain.  For
a moment there, he'd almost started to wonder if he could be falling in
love with his wife.

Chapter Eleven

draped across the bed.

Liberty watched Matt begin to shave, feeling wonderfully content.
Glancing down at her left hand, she admired the way the sunlight caught
on the plain gold band that adorned her left hand.  The ring had
belonged to Matt's mother.  She'd been surprised and touched when he
told her where it came from.  It i seemed an oddly sentimental gesture
for him to have kept it all these years.  She didn't think sentiment
came easily to Matt.

Which was no doubt why he hadn't yet told her he loved her.  She tried
to ignore the little ache in her chest.  She was being foolish to even
think about it.  As

Uncle Harland had said, you just had to read some men's feelings from
their actions, not their words.

And Matt's actions had surely proved that he loved her.  A man couldn't
make love to a woman the way he'd made love to her the night before
unless he loved her.  Still, it would be nice to hear the words, she
thought wistfully.  Perhaps what he needed was an opening.  She reached
for her stockings, which she'd

"It's stopped snowing: As a prelude to coaxing a declaration of love
from her husband, it seemed safe enough.

"Yes."  Matt stroked the razor down his cheek.

"You know, everything happened so quickly, we haven't had much time to
talk: " "Umm: Matt rinsed the blade and carefully shaved around a side
burn

"I mean, we haven't talked about anything," she persisted.  "I don't
know where we're to live or how we're going to get there.  Nothing at
all."

"I've got a ranch in Arizona," Matt said slowly, almost as if reluctant
to part with the information.  " "I haven't seen it myself.  Could be
nothing but desert , but it could be decent range."

"Is there a house?"  Liberty asked, already arranging her kitchen in
her mind.

"I'd guess there's some kind of house but I doubt it's much."

"It can always be fixed up: '

Liberty pulled one stocking over her foot and then stopped and looked
at him again.  She didn't really want to talk about their house,
appealing as that topic was.  What she really wanted to talk about was
how he felt about her.  Obviously, she needed to try another angle.  "
"When Uncle Harland told me that you'd asked to marry me, I didn't know
what to think: If Liberty hadn't been watching him so closely, she
might have missed the expression that flickered across Matt's face. 
She might not have seen the quick, involuntary jerk of surprise, gone
almost before it happened.

"I'm relieved you made up your mind," Matt said, after a barely
perceptible pause.  His fingers were steady as he stroked the razor
down his cheek.  " "You did ask Uncle Harland if you could marry me ,
didn't you?"  she asked, wishing the words unsaid as soon as they left
her mouth.

"We discussed it," he said evasively.  Matt's eyes met hers in the
mirror for an instant before he bent to rinse the razor in the bowl of
water before him.

In that quick glance, she read the truth he hadn't said.  Their
marriage hadn't been his idea.  It must have been her uncle's.  Which
meant Uncle Harland had lied to her, by omission if not directly.  And
if he'd lied about that, what else might he have lied about?

I,et it go, you little fool, she thought.  You 're married What
difference does it make how it came about?

Liberty finished pulling up the first stocking, trying to ignore the
sudden flood of unwelcome thoughts.  So many things were suddenly made
clear.  Her uncle saying that Matt hadn't taken time to ask her to
marry him because he had to leave and wanted everything settled before
he went.  The fact that he hadn't made any effort to see her before the
wedding.

Of course he hadn't asked her to marry him.  Because he hadn't wanted
to get married at all.  And why should he worry about seeing her before
the wedding ?  He'd known he was going to be stuck with her for the
rest of his life.  Why see her any sooner than he had to?

Her fingers were shaking by the time the second stocking had been
smoothed over her calf.  She didn't have to close her eyes to hear
Uncle Harland telling her that Matt had said he loved her.  Words Matt
had yet to speak himself.

Because it wasn't what he felt, she thought bleakly.  He hadn't married
her for love.  He'd married her out of guilt and perhaps even because
of some threat from her uncle.  Uncle Harland must have guessed what
had happened between them, not a difficult feat, really.  A blind man
could have seen how she felt about Matt.

So her uncle had made sure that she and Matt were married, worried no
doubt about the possibility that she might be pregnant.  And he'd
sensed that she wouldn't marry Matt unless she believed he loved her ,
believed that he wanted to marry her.  So Harland had told her what she
wanted to hear and she'd fallen for it like the veri est child.

Liberty closed her eyes, feeling hurt and humiliation well up inside.
Her tumble from sweet contentment to despair was made all the harder by
the sense of betrayal she felt.  She'd trusted her uncle and he'd lied
to her.

But worst of all was what Matt had done.  Oh, he'd never said he loved
her.  But he'd let her go on and on like a lovesick fool, when all the
while he'd known he didn't care for her.

Her chest ached as if a fist had closed over her heart and was
squeezing the life from it.  In her mind's eye, she saw herself as
she'd been last night, wild with passion , melting in his arms.

And prattling about love like a stupid child.

I love you, Matt.

God, how many times had she said those words?  And when he hadn't
offered vows of love in return ,

she'd told herself it was just because he was a man and found it
difficult to express what he felt.

Fspecially when he didn't feel anything at all.

Liberty picked up a shoe and jerked it on with force enough to nearly
rip the leather.  What an idiot he must have thought her.  Protective
anger started to well up, smothering the hurt.  He'd let her make a
fool of herself , encouraged it, really.  It must have amused him no
end to listen to her prattling on about love.

Maybe he'd even been glad to hear the words , thinking it might make
her a more biddable sort of bride, less likely to argue with him.  She
jerked on the other shoe, feeling her temper climb.  No doubt, he
thought he'd married a silly little female, one who had no more sense
than to fall in love with a man who didn't care a fig for her.

And why shouldn't he think as much?  she asked herself furiously. She'd
all but thrown herself into his arms, nearly begged him to make love to
her.  Of course, she'd thought that they were probably going to die,
but that didn't make her feel any less the fool.

"It wasn't your idea to get married at all," she said bleakly.  " "Was
it?  "

Matt was patting his face dry and he didn't bother to lower the towel
to see her expression before he answered If he had, he might have
chosen a different response than the one he did.

"What difference does it make whose idea it was?  It's done."

His words reflected nothing more than a normal male reluctance to hash
over events that couldn't be changed.  To Liberty, it sounded as if he
were saying he was resigned to his fate.

Her temper flared hotter.  How dared he make marriage to her sound one
step above a prison sentence!  As sure as she had been moments ago that
she loved him, she was now equally sure that she'd never hated anyone
the way she hated Matthew Prescott.

Somewhere inside she knew that her anger was unreasonable After all, it
was her uncle who'd lied to her, not Matt; her uncle who'd said Matt
wanted to marry her, that he loved her.  It wasn't Matt's fault if
Harland Swanson had said he felt things he didn't.

But she wasn't in love with her uncle.  She was in love with Matt.
She'd married Matt thinking that he loved her.  The pain of finding out
how wrong she'd been cut deep and hard.  Her anger was a protective
measure against the pain.  If she got angry, maybe it wouldn't feel
quite so much as though her heart had just broken into a hundred
pieces.

"Whether the wedding was your choice or not makes a difference to me,"
she said evenly.

This time, Matt caught the tightness in her voice.  Dropping the towel,
he turned to face her.  Though she looked as cool as the snow outside,
something in the stillness of her expression warned him that a wise man
would choose his words carefully.

"Your uncle brought it up first," he admitted.  "But the thought had
been in my mind: '

"Why?"  Matt had been reaching for his shirt, but the stark question
made him stop and turn to look at her.  "Why what?"

" " Why did you think about marrying me?  " Liberty had risen from the
bed and she now stood next to it, her hands linked together in front of
her, her eyes steady on his.

"What difference does it make why I thought about it?"  Matt asked, his
voice taking on an irritated edge.  In his mind, there was no reason to
discuss why they'd gotten married.  " " I want to know why."

A glance at the stubborn set of her jaw told Matt she wasn't going to
let the topic go without a fight.  Annoyed, he picked up his shirt and
jerked it on.

"I think it should be obvious why I was thinking about it," he told her
shortly.  God, why was it that women always had to make things so
complicated?

"Because of what happened in the cabin?"  Her tone made it half
statement, half question.

"That's right."  Matt buttoned his shirt, hoping she would just let the
whole subject go.

"I told you then that you didn't have to feel obligated to me."  " "You
thought we were going to die.  Hell, I thought we were going to die."

"So the only reason you ... made love to me was because it wouldn't
matter if we were both about to die?"

"Well, it wouldn't have made any real difference if we were going to
freeze to death, now would it?"

Something in her tone made him feel as if he were on the defensive, a
position for which he had no liking.

The feeling put an edge to his tone that he hadn't really intended.

"If I'd had the sense of a prairie chicken, I would have slept in the
lean-to with the horse," he muttered , tucking his shirt into his
Levi's.

"And then you wouldn't have had to marry me " , she finished.  This
time, the hurt showed through the anger.  Hearing it, Matt felt
something twist in his chest.

"Look, I don't know why you're ragging at this " , he said.  "We're
married.  Isn't that enough?"  He reached to take her hands but Liberty
drew back as if stung.

"I thought the marriage was your idea."  " " It would have been if your
uncle hadn' tgotten to it first: Matt made an effort to keep his
impatience from showing in his voice.

"I told you I loved you," she said accusingly.  "And you let me!  "

"What should I have done?"  he asked.  He watched her, his eyes
unfathomable.

If Liberty had held out any hope that he might say he loved her, it
died beneath that cool look.  He couldn't possibly look at her like
that if he cared for her.  The ache in her chest was almost
unbearable.

"You let me make a fool of myself," she cried.  She skirted the bed,
wanting to put more distance between them.  "You must have been
laughing at me all the time."

"No."  Matt rejected the idea that he'd found her declaration of love
amusing.  "I wasn't laughing: '

If Liberty hadn't been blinded by pain, she might have heard the
protest in his voice, might have seen the gentleness in his eyes as he
reached for her.  But her hurt went too deep to allow her to see
anything beyond it.  " "Don' ttouch me!  " She jerked away from his
touch , stumbling past the corner of the bed.

"Fine."  Matt's arms dropped back to his sides, his expression
shuttered.

"I wouldn't have married you if I hadn't thought you cared about me."

"Of course I care about you," he said impatiently.  " " I married you,
didn't I?  "

"Because you thought I might be pregnant," she snapped.  "You wouldn't
have married me otherwise , would you?"

"Why worry about what I might have done?"  he asked, trying to sidestep
the gaping hole she'd opened at his feet.  "We're married now: '

" "Would you have wanted to marry me if you hadn't thought I might be
carrying your child?  " she asked , her voice like iron.

For the space of several heartbeats, the room was dead quiet.  Liberty
waited for Matt's response, hope flickering in her, despite the anger
that stiffened her spine.  If only he'd say that he loved her... Matt
knew exactly the words that would heal the breach between them.  All he
had to do was to say yes.

Yes, he'd have married her one way or another.  But it would have been
a lie.  And he didn't like the way she'd backed him into a corner,
hammering at him as if he'd done something to feel guilty about.

She was his wife.  That should be enough.  He wasn't going to go down
on his knees and beg her to forgive him for lies he hadn't told.

" " No."  The word fell into the silence like a stone into a pond. "No,
I wouldn't have married you if there was no possibility of a child: '

Though she'd already known it, Liberty felt the words strike her with
the force of knives.  The pain was so sharp, she wouldn't have been
surprised to ses blood flowing from half a dozen wounds.

She closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them again, they
were as bleak as the snow bleached landscape outside.  " " Get out: The
words were flat and expressionless and had more impact than if she'd
shouted them.

"We are married, Liberty," Matt told her, trying to rid himself of the
feeling that he'd just destroyed something very precious.  "You're my
wife.  You could be carrying my child.  What difference does it make
why we wed?"

"It makes a difference to me.  I was stupid enough to think you loved
me.  But you can't even like me if you'd just let me make a fool of
myself the way I did last night."

"I didn't think you were making a fool of yourself ," he snapped.  "I
thought you were... That it was... ni.  " The bland word hardly began
to describe the way he'd felt when she'd said she loved him.  " "I'm
sure it was very nice to think you'd married a lovesick little fool
who'd be happy to do your bidding and expect nothing in returo but a
few scraps of your attention: '

"ThaYs not what I thought " Matt realized that he was nearly shouting
and stopped.  Thrusting his fingers through his hair, he tried to
understand how evTemptation erything had changed so quickly.  It wasn't
that long ago that she'd been melting in his arms.  Now she looked as
if she hated him.

"I don't care what you thought," she said, even as her heart whispered
that she was lying.  "I want you to go away.  I don't want to see you
ever again " She half turoed away as if the sight of him was more than
she could stand.

Time, Matt thought.  Time apart was the best thing right now.  And more
than a few hours, he decided, looking at her set profile.  This was
more than a simple snit that she was going to recover from in an
afternoon The hurt went deep.

He rubbed one hand over the back of his neck, feeling suddenly very old
and very tired.  A short while ago he' dbeen holding a warm and very
willing woman in his arms.  He'd just about decided that marriage
wasn't such a bad thing overall and was starting to look forward to
taking Liberty to Arizona, to building something there together.

"I'll go for now," he said at last, his voice as weary as he felt.
"I'll go to Arizona, check out the ranch.  I'll come back in the
spring: " "Don't bother: " "You're my wife, Liberty."

"Yes.  But I won't live with you.  There's no reason for you to come
back: Liberty could feel her heart breaking with every word she spoke.
Part of her-the part that loved him no matter what-wanted to say that
it didn't matter if he loved her.  Her love would be enough for both of
them.

But her hurt and anger were stronger.  She felt humiliated and
betrayed.  The knowledge that he didn't feel anything more than regret
when she felt as if acid were eating into her vitals only added to her
rage.  She wanted-needed-him to feel just a small portion of her
pain.

"What if you are carrying my child?"  Matt asked evenly.

"Then I won't be for long," she said, her tone all the more harsh for
the pain the question caused her.  If she'd hoped to get a reaction
from him, she was successful.  Matt moved as quickly as a striking
diamondback , his fingers hard on her upper arms as he jerked her to
face him.

"What are you talking about?"  " "There are ways for a woman to rid
herself of unwanted burdens, " she said recklessly.  She had no idea if
it was true.  She just wanted to hurt him.

She got her wish.  She saw the impact of her words in the way his eyes
darkened, in the way the skin tightened over his cheekbones.  He looked
as if he'd been struck.  She was glad if she'd hurt him, she told
herself.  Glad.  Which didn't explain the fact that she seemed to be
dying inside.  " "If I thought you meant that, I'd take you with me and
keep you chained to my side " " "I do mean it !  " But something in her
eyes must have given her away.  Matt's bruising hold eased on her arms.
Shaking his head slowly, he released her and took a step back, visibly
regaining control of his temper

"No, you don't: He shook his head.  "You don't mean it, but if you were
hoping to make me go, you've got your wish."  " "Good: '

Matt picked up his hat, his tight hold creasing the brim.  "You're hurt
and you're angry," he said, turning to look at her.  " "But you're
still my wife.  I didn't plan on getting married but, having done it, I
don't plan on having a wife who lives apart from me, either"

"Then you'll have to change your plans," she flung at him.

"No.  I'll be back in the spring.  If you're pregnant, we'll wait here
for the birth before heading south.  But pregnant or not, you're my
wife and I'll be back to claim you: '

"I won't be here," she threatened, feeling panic well up inside.

"Then I'll come find you," he told her flatly.  He settled his hat on
his head and fixed her with a cool look.  "You're my wife, Liberty. And
I'll be back for you "

He strode from the room without another word.  Liberty listened to the
sound of his boots in the hallway and then the opening and closing of
the front door.

She stood there for a long time.

Chapter Twelve

Six Years Later

Though the calendar said it was spring, the weather held more of
winter's bite than spring's soft caress.  Matt swung down from the
roan's back and looped the reins over the hitching rail in front of the
saloon.

A breeze cut around the corner of the false-front building, causing him
to hunch his should en under the worn denim jacket.  Boot heels echoing
on the wooden slats, he crossed the boardwalk and pushed open the
saloon's door.

It was the middle of the afternoon and the clientele consisted of two
old men playing a desultory game of poker at a table near the
potbellied stove, a drunk passed out at another table and half a dozen
men standing at the bar.  There was a piano in the corner, and Matt
guessed that the place would be pretty lively once the sun went down.

He wasn't particularly interested in lively at the moment.  All he
wanted was a shot of whiskey to warm away the chill of a long ride, and
some information.  T'hough, to tell the truth, he wasn't quite sure
just what he'd do with the information if he got it.

Six years was a long time.  If he had any sense, he'd have his drink,
get back on his horse and head south, back to a place where spring
didn't have such a bite to it.

But for six years, a pair of jade-green eyes had lingered in his
dreams.  Six years, and he still couldn't forget the woman who'd been
his wife for less than twenty-four hours before she'd thrown him out of
her life.

He wouldn't think of her for weeks and then he'd see something that
would bring her image to his mind as sharp and clear as if he'd seen
her only the day before He couldn't have said what it was that had made
her so difficult to forget.  She'd made her wishes clear enough on that
long-ago winter day.

He'd told her he'd be back and he'd meant it, but he hadn't expected to
take six years to fulfill that promise Or had it been a threat?  he
wondered ruefully.  A little of both, perhaps.  He'd been nearly as
angry as she that day.  Her anger had been born of hurt.  And his?
Well, no man liked to hear his bride of one day telling him to get out
of her life.

Shaking his head, Matt downed the last of the whiskey and signaled for
another.  He'd planned to come back that spring, just as he'd told her
he would.  Had she looked for him?  Had she been just the smallest bit
disappointed when he hadn't shown up?  Or had she felt nothing but
relief?

He cupped the fresh drink between his palms.  If war hadn't broken out
in the east, would he have come back for her?  Or would he have decided
to take her at her word and stay out of her life?  It was impossible to
say now.

War had broken out, and he'd traveled to Pennsylvania to enlist, to
fight for the preservation of the Union, a cause that had meant little
to him until its existence was threatened.  He'd spent some time in
uniform, but his skills as a tracker and scout had been deemed more
valuable than his presence in a regimental lineup.

Five years of fighting.  The Union had been saved, but Matt was no
longer sure the cause had been worth the terrible price it had cost.
He'd mustered out after Lee's surrender and headed west, going home,
though there was nothing that really deserved that name waiting for
him.  A year of wandering and somehow he'd found himself heading north
with the spring, chasing after a dream he didn't want to admit he
had.

Grimacing at his foolishness, Matt downed the second whiskey in two
gulps and set the glass on the bar.  There was no sense in delaying.
Either he was going to ask if she was still in the area or he was going
to go out and get on the roan and head south.

"I'm looking for Liberty Prescott," he said, to no one in particular.

There was a moment of silence while the others digested the piece of
information.  One of the old men playing poker looked up from his hand,
squinting rheumy blue eyes at Matt.

"There's a Liberty Prescott runs a place north of here.  The Swanson
place."  " " She runs it?  " Matt wasn't sure whether to be glad or
sorry that his question had been so easily answered

"Has since her uncle was bushwhacked a year or more ago.  Though she
did a lot of work around the place afore that "

"What about her aunt?"

"Went back east right after they buried Swanson.  Said she'd only
stayed because of him, anyway.  Heard she tried to get the niece to go
back with her, but she wasn't havin' none of it.  Said her uncle
wouldn't have quit and neither would she.  Done a right good job of
things, too, from all I hear."  " " How would I get to the Swanson
place?  " Matt asked, half thinking that he could still turn and ride
away.

"I wouldn't bother going out there."  That was one of the men at the
bar, a slender young man with eyes that seemed too old for his face.

"Why is that?"  The look Matt turned on him was cool and
disinterested.

"Liberty Prescott's going to marry John Randall , and he's not likely
to appreciate strange men turning up on her doorstep."

Matt had been reaching into his pocket for the money to pay for his
drinks but the other man's words made him freeze for an instant.
Slowly, he withdrew his hand and tossed the necessary coins on the
bar.

"I don't think so," he said pleasantly.

"You don't think what?"  the other man demanded

"I don't think she's going to marry John Randall or anybody else," Matt
said calmly.  " "And why not?  Just who the hell are you to be saying
that?"

Matt settled his hat more firmly on his head and gave the man a cool
glance.  "I'm Matt Prescott.  Her husband: '

Matt got the directions he needed from the hostler at the livery
stable.  Though common sense suggested that he find a place to spend
the night and think about what he wanted to do next, he ignored it. The
doubts he'd had about seeing Liberty had vanished the moment he heard
someone say that she was engaged.

What the hell was she doing getting engaged when she still had a
husband?  Did she think he was dead?  Did she think that, after six
years, it no longer really mattered?

Wanting to reach the ranch by nightfall, he nudged the roan into a slow
canter.  Really, he had no right to be angry, he told himself.  He was
the one who'd disappeared for six years.  If Liberty had assumed
herself to be a widow, he had only himself to blame.

But that didn't change the fact that she was far from being a widow.
And she had no right to get herself engaged.

If it occurred to him that his anger was out of proportion to the
crime, Matt dismissed the idea.  Just as he'd consistently refused to
look too closely at the reasons she'd haunted his dreams, even after
six long and bloody years.

The sun was low in the sky when Matt turned the roan onto the roughly
marked road that should lead to the Swanson ranch.  The word road was
an exaggeration It was little more than a vaguely defined set of ruts
in the grass.

He'd gone less than half a mile when the trail curved around an outcrop
of rock.  Matt drew the horse to an abrupt halt when he saw the rider
waiting in the middle of the path.  It wasn't the presence of the man
alone that impqessed itself on Matt.  It was the rifle that was resting
across his thighs, its muzzle pointed with deceptive casualness right
at Matt's gut.

Matt was careful to keep his hands in plain sight.  Something in the
way the other man held the rifle, as well as in the cool gray of his
eyes, said that he wouldn't hesitate about firing.

They studied each other in the light of the dying sun.  Matt saw a man
who was probably not yet twenty-five but looked ten years older.  His
hair was sandy and cut short over his ears.  He wore a sheepskin -lined
denim jacket and blue uniform pants, tucked into worn black boots.

"Is this the way to the Stqranson place?"  Matt asked at last, when it
seemed as if the other man was content with the silence.

"It could be."  The words held the slow drawl of Georgia.

"I'm looking for Liberty Prescott."

"You got any reason in particular?"

" "She's my wife."

If Matt had hoped for a quick change in attitude, he was disappointed.
Other than a slight widening of those cool gray eyes, there was no
reaction at all.

"Well, I suppose that's reason enough to want to see a lady," he said
after a while.  "She didn't say anythin about expectin' you, though:
'

"Should she have?"  Matt asked coolly.

"Well, I reckon she would have, seein' as how I'm her foreman."  The
other man pushed his hat back on his head and gave Matt a slow smile
that didn't come near his eyes.  Matt also noticed that the rifle
barrel didn't move.  " "Do you also screen her visitors?"

"Not exactly.  I just try to make sure we don't get too many unwelcome
surprises.  Saw you comin' from up on the ridge," he said, nodding to
the north.  "Since we weren't exlstin' anybody, thought it wouldn't
hurt to mosey on down and see what you were doin': '

"Well, I thought I was coming to see my wife " Matt said.  q'I suppose
there's nothin' wrong with that," the man said, with another of those
cool smiles.  "I'll just ride along and make sure you don't get lost:
'

It wasn't a suggestion and Matt didn't mistake it for such.  He nudged
the roan forward, aware that the other man had fallen in just slightly
behind him and to the right.  The muzzle of the rifle was now pointed
at his spine.  They rode in silence for a mile or two.

"Are you just naturally suspicious, or has there been trouble?"  Matt
asked conversationally.

"A little of both: The foreman didn't seem inclined to expand on the
statement and Matt decided not to push.  He could add it to the growing
list of questions he had for Liberty.

"You have a name?"  he asked after a while.  "I always like to know the
name of someone who's pointing a gun at me."  " "A right understandable
feelin'.  Hank Benteen, late of the Second U.S. Volunteers."  " "A
Galvanized Yankee, " Matt said, recognizing the name of the regiment.
The Second was one of two regiments recruited from among Confederate
prisoners Given the promise that they wouldn't be asked to fight
against their former comrades, many Southerners had chosen to join the
army and had been sent west to deal with the Indians.

"That's one name I've been called," Hank said agreeably.  "Did you join
in the late conflict?"  " " I was a scout under Grant: '

"It seems a long way away out here."

"That it does: '

No more needed to be said.  Whatever might occur between them in the
future, the fact that they'd fought on opposite sides in the war
Detqsreen the States would not be a factor.  That time was over and
done, and they, like most of the country, wanted only to put it behind
them.

It was nearly dark when Matt saw the lights of a house ahead.  He and
Hank had spoken little since that one brief spate of conversation.  The
Southerner seemed a man of few words, which suited Matt just fine.  The
closer he came to seeing Liberty again, the more he doubted the wisdom
of it.

Seeing her again could only make the memories sharper, could only
imprint her more deeply in his thoughts.  When he heard she was
engaged, he should just have ridden south and put her out of his mind
once and for all, the way she'd obviously done with him.

The house was a low, onqstory building, simply but solidly built.  Matt
could make out other buildings in the twilight-a barn, a bunkhouse, a
couple of sheds.  Even in the poor light, the place gave off a feeling
of being clean and well run.

The door opened as their horses stopped in front of the house.  A
woman's figure was momentarily silhouetted against the light and then
the door shut, leaving her a shadow against the bulk of the house.  " "
Hank?  Is everything all right?  " The sound of her voice ran down
Matt's spine like liquid gold.  His doubt about the wisdom of coming
vanished beneath the need to see her.

Ignoring Hank and the rifle that still pointed in his direction, he
swung down off the roan.  The movement must have made her realize that
the foreman was not alone.  He saw her head turn his way as he walked
toward her.  His boot heels drew a hollow sound from the wooden planks
of the porch.  He stopped in front of her and reached up to take off
his hat, hearing the sharply indrawn breath that said she'd recognized
him.  " "Hello, Liberty."

Matt!  Liberty felt her senses spin, and she shut her eyes,

for one moment close to fainting.  It wasn't possible.  She'd long
since given up any thought of seeing him again.  She'd more than half
believed him dead.  But when she opened her eyes again, he was still
standing in front of her.

"Matt" His name was a whisper.  "Is it really you?"

"In the flesh."  One corner of his mustache kicked upward in a half
smile, the expression sweeping her back six years.

A jumble of memories flooded over her-Matt smiling at her, worried over
her injury, relieved when she woke from the fever.  And then, sharper
still, the look in his eyes as he leaned over her in the firelight, the
feel of his muscled shoulders under her hands, the soft brush of his
mustache on her skin.

There were so many thoughts tumbled together in her head that she could
only stare at him, trying to absorb the reality of his presence.  Matt
didn't seem inclined to speak but only stood there, watching her with
hooded eyes, his expression unreadable.  It was left to Hank to break
the silence.

"Saw him comin' up the road," he said, still sitting his horse.  "Said
he was your husband: '

Liberty blinked and dragged her eyes from Matt's face to look at the
foreman.  He was little more than a silhouette in the darkness.

"Yes," she said slowly.  "Yes, he is: '

Beside her, she sensed an infinitesimal easing of tension in Matt and
wondered if he'd thought she might deny his claim.  To tell the truth,
she'd been so shocked by his presence that it hadn't even occurred to
her.

"Then I reckon the two of you have some catchin' up to do," Hank
drawled.  "I'll see to your horse, Mr.  Prescott."  Hank reached over
and un looped the reins from the saddle horn.

"It's Matt.  And thanks."

Just hearing his voice made Liberty feel as if she'd stepped back in
time.  It felt almost as if the past six years hadn't happened.  But
that wasn't the case.  Time had passed and she was no longer a girl of
eighteen.  She was a woman of twenty-four, a woman who'd been
single-handedly running a ranch for nearly a year.

Reminding herself of all that had changed helped her regain her
control.  No matter how incredible it seemed, Matt was standing here in
front of her, real and solid.  When she'd come out to greet Hank, she'd
thrown a wool wrap over her shoulders as protection against the chill
in the air.  Now she drew the shawl tighter, seeking to wrap her
accustomed self-control about herself along with it.

"You might as well come in," she said, the words sounding more grudging
than she'd intended.

Liberty sensed, more than saw, Matt's brows go up, but she chose not to
soften the tone.  After all, he'd arrived on her doorstep without so
much as a breath of warning.  After six long years of silence, he
couldn't really expect her to do a jig over his arrival.

She pushed open the door and stepped into the hall, aware of Matt
following her.  She hesitated in the entryway, uncertain which
direction to turn.  Finally, she went right, toward the kitchen.

"There's coffee," she said, moving toward the stove.  "And bread and
meat left from supper, if you're hungry."

"Coffee sounds fine," Matt said.

Liberty got a cup from the cupboard and poured coffee from the pot that
always sat on the back of the stove.  Though she avoided looking at
him, she was aware of Matt's every move.  He hung his hat on one of the
hooks near the back door and then moved to the big oak table that
served as both work and dining surface.

Liberty set the cup in front of him and then sat down across the table.
She stared at her fingers, linked together on the tabletop, and tried
to think of something to say.  Just what did you say when the husband
you hadn't seen in six years suddenly appeared out of the night?  She'd
be willing to bet that even Aunt Marybelle would have been stumped by
that question of etiquette.

"You've changed."  It was Matt who broke the silence

"Yes."  Liberty lifted her eyes, really looking at him for the first
time.

In the light of the kerosene lantero, it seemed at first as if he
looked just the same as he had six years ago.  But looking more
closely, she could see that the fine lines at the corners of his eyes
were deeper.  And the lines that bracketed his mustache were harsher,
making him look older, more stern.

There was a scar high on one cheekbone that hadn't been there before
and acertain weariness in his eyes that she didn't remember.  When he
bent his head to blow on the hot coffee, she saw that silver now
threaded the tobacco-brown hair at his temples.

Matt glanced up, his eyes catching hers.  She looked away, feeling her
cheeks warm.  But she didn't have to look at him to know that he was
studying her with as much interest as she'd studied him.  She curled
her fingers together, resisting the urge to reach up and check her
hair.

Matt could have told her that her hair looked fine.  He'd said she'd
changed and it was no more than the truth.  But he could also have
added that she was even more beautiful than he'd remembered.  He'd
hoped to exorcise her from his thoughts by seeing her again.  But if
the girl she'd been had proved difficult to forget, he knew the woman
she'd become would be impossible to forget.

Her hair was the same pale, moonlit gold he remembered , though he'd
most often pictured it tumbling over her bare shoulders and it was now
drawn back from her face and confined in a thick braid that trailed
down her back almost to her hips.

The face that had been lovely six years ago had matured into real
beauty.  Her eyes seemed bigger than he remembered, the jade color a
striking contrast to her fair skin.  She was wearing a plain dress of
dove gray that covered her from throat to wrist but the severe style
only served to make her beauty more obvious.

Looking at her, the coffee forgotten in his hands, it came to Matt that
he'd been an almighty fool to leave her six years ago.  He'd told
himself it was because he didn't love her, but he'd had.a long time to
question the truth of that belief.  He still couldn't say whether or
not he loved her, but she'd proved unforgettable, something no other
woman had ever been.

But perhaps he'd been as big a fool to come back as he had been to
leave.  This wasn't a woman a man could walk away from twice.

"You've changed, too," Liberty said suddenly, needing to break the
silence.  " "You mean this?  " He reached up to touch the scar on his
cheek.

"I waSn't thinking of that, exactly.  You look older."

"Six years."  His eyes skimmed her face, a look that might almost have
been hunger in their depths.  "You've grown more beautiful," he said
quietly.  "I didn't think that was possible."

Liberty looked away uncertainly.  She might be a grown woman now, but
he could still make her tremble with no more than a look from those
golden-brown eyes.  The realization made her angry.  She was not a
foolish girl anymore.  This was her ranch, her kitchen, her table he
was sitting at, and she wasn't going to let any man overset her
balance, not even Matt Prescott.  Most especially not him.

"Why are you here?"  Her eyes met his, making no apology for the
abruptness of the question.

Matt let the question lie for a moment, choosing an answer.  "I don't
exactly know," he said at last.  "You've lingered in my mind: " "And I
have all your letters to prove it, " she shot back.  She refused to
admit to the twinge of pleasure his words brought her.  She certainly
had no interest in lingering in his mind.  None at all.

"I suppose I should have written," Matt acknowledged

"It didn't matter," she lied, shrugging.

"Considering the way we parted, I can't say I thought you'd be all that
anxious to hear from me."

"I wondered a little when you didn't come back that spring: Not for
anything would she admit the way she'd watched for him, nor how she'd
cried when she'd finally had to accept that he wasn't coming for her. 
" "Your uncle wrote and told me there was no child "

Liberty's head jerked up, her surprise obvious.  "Uncle Harland wrote
you?"

"He didn't tell you?"

She shook her head.  "He never said a word "

"Maybe he thought you wouldn't care."  " " Why would he write to you? 
" she asked, sidestepping the question of whether or not she'd cared. 
" " Because I asked him to."

" "I wanted to know if there was a child before I went east and
enlisted."

"Oh: Liberty traced aimless patterns on the table with the tip of one
finger, keeping her eye on the movement.  "He told me that he'd heard
you'd enlisted ," she said finally.  "When I didn't hear from you
again, I thought..  : '

"That I'd been killed?"  Matt finished the sentence for her.  " "It
occurred to me."

There was nothing in her tone to suggest that the thought of his death
had caused her any real grief.  Matt stared at the dregs of coffee in
his cup, thinking again that he'd been a fool to come here.

"I'm glad you're all right," she said quietly.

"Are you?"  MatYs mouth curved in a rueful smile his eyes lifting to
hers.

"Yes."  The smile she gave him was shy, reminding him of the girl he'd
married.  "I was angry with you six years ago but I never wished you
dead."

Liberty reached across the table to touch the back of his hand.  She
jumped when he moved, catching her fingers in his.

"Thank you "

She liked the feel of his hand on hers, she admitted to herself.  It
made her feel as if she wasn't alone anymore As if there was someone
she could depend on, someone who could help shoulder some of her
burden

But she was thinking like a foolish girl again, not a grown woman. Matt
had shown up out of the blue.  He could disappear against just as
quickly.  She tugged her hand away and tucked both of them safely into
her lap.

"You're welcome to stay the night," she said, trying to pretend that he
was nothing more than a casual visitor.  " " Only the night?  "

She glanced at him and then away.  " "Of course not.  You're welcome to
stay as long as you want.  I just assumed ."  She let a shrug finish
the sentence.

"That I'd traveled all this way to say hello and then leave again?"  he
questioned, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

"I don't know: She suddenly felt weary.  "I don't know how far you've
come.  Or how long you planned to stay.  Or why you're here at all: '

When Liberty stood, Matt rose also, and the kitchen seemed suddenly
much too small.  Unless she wanted to dart out the back door as if she
was running away, she'd have to brush past him to leave.  She'd almost
forgotten the breathless feeling that just being in the same room with
him could bring.

"I'd answer that question if I could, Liberty," Matt said quietly.  "I
don't know why I'm here.  Except maybe that you're my wife.  I can't
quite forget that "

"You didn't have any trouble forgetting it for six years," she
snapped.

"I never forgot."

"You can't come here and expect to pretend that you've been here right
along " Despite her determination to seem in complete control, she
found herself edging a little away from him.

"I don't expect that.  I don't expect anything.  I just want-" He broke
off and thrust his fingers through his hair, groping for words.  But
how could he find the words to tell her what he wanted when he didn't
even know what it was himself?  " "You want what?"  She was watching
him uneasily , her green eyes suspicious.

"I don't know," he admitted.  He shook his head.  "I don't know.  War
changes a man, Liberty.  It makes him look at where he's been and where
he might be going.  I had plenty of time to consider both.  And I
realized that a man should have more to show for his life than the
miles he's traveled."

"The war's been over for a year."  Liberty had to steel herself against
letting his words soften her toward him.

"True enough.  It took me a while to admit that something was pulling
me back here.  We've unfinished business between us, Liberty.  Whether
you want to admit it or not."

He'd moved toward her as he spoke and now stood much too close for her
peace of mind.  He smelled of sun and leather and horse.  She'd moved
as far back as she could; further retreat was blocked by the edge of a
counter.  Unless she wanted to start moving sideways , there was
nowhere to go.

Liberty looked up at him, seeing the man she'd married, the man she'd
loved.  He was older, harder perhaps, but he still set her pulse to
racing.

"I don't know of any unfinished business between us," she said, wishing
she didn't sound quite so breathless.  " "Unless you want to annul the
marriage."

"We can't annul it.  It was consummated, remember ?"

Remember?  It wasn't something she was likely to forget.

"Divorce, then," she suggested.  "We can't have anything else to
discuss."

She started as he reached out and caught her left hand in his.

"You're still wearing my wedding band.  The marriage must mean
something to you: He rubbed his thumb over the gold band, his gaze
holding hers.  "Would it be so impossible to be my wife?"  he asked
softly.

Liberty felt as if she were suffocating.  The intensity of his look
made it difficult to breathe.  Impossible to be his wife?  At the
moment, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.  With him
standing in front of her like this, holding her hand, looking at her as
if she meant the world to him, it was possible to believe that no time
at all had passed since they'd been together

"Yes."  She pulled her hand away and edged around him, no longer as
concerned with seeming to retreat as she was with putting some distance
between them.  Once safely on the other side of the kitchen, she turned
to face him again.

"Yes, it is impossible.  You can't just ride in here and pretend that
the past six years didn't happen.  I'm not the same foolish child I was
then."

"I never thought you were foolish," Matt said quietly

"No?  Well, I was.  I was foolish enough to give my heart to a man who
didn't want it.  Foolish enough to marry a man who was only marrying me
because he had to.

"I haven't fought in a war but I've changed, too, Matt.  I've grown up,
gotten the stars out of my eyes."  Her hands curled into fists at her
side and she lifted her chin, her eyes challenging.

"Maybe we do have unfinished business.  But I'm not rushing into
anything.  You can stay here, if you want to.  I'll not deny your right
to share a house with me.  But that's all we'll share."

"Agreed."  He nodded, biting back a smile as he watched shock flicker
over her face.  She'd been braced for an argument but he had no
intention of giving her one.

"You can sleep in the bedroom my aunt and uncle used," she said after a
moment.  There was a touch of belligerence in her words, as if she was
still expecting a protest.

"Fine.  It's been a long time since I slept in a decent bed."  He gave
her an easy smile, enjoying the quick play of emotions across her
face.

"I'll get some linens," she muttered.

Matt's smile faded with her departure.  He still didn't know exactly
what it was that had drawn him back here.  But he wasn't going anywhere
until he either got Liberty out of his system once and for all.

Or made her his forever.

Chapter Thirteen

Knowing Matt was sleeping just across the hall made sleep elusive.
Liberty tossed and turned, determined not to let his presence disturb
her.  But when she heard her aunYs precious mantel clock strike twelve,
she gave up the pretense.  It was foolish to pretend that MatYs arrival
meant nothing.

For the first time since her wedding night, she was sharing a house, if
not a bed, with her husband.  A husband she'd more or less assumed was
dead.  A husband she'd certainly never expected to ses again.

With a sigh, Liberty sat up.  Drawing her knees up to her chest, she
stared broodingly at the door.  Why had he come back?  He'd said it was
because he couldn't get her out of his mind.  Was he telling her the
truth?  Was it possible that he'd found her as difficult to forget as
she'd found him?

Lord knew she'd tried to forget him.  When she'd sent him away six
years before, she'd been sure that she hated him, that she never wanted
to see him again.  Yet she'd shed bitter tears when she found out she
wasn't pregnant.  And still more tears when she'd finally had to accept
that he wasn't coming back for her as he'd promised-threatened really,
she thought.

Of course, he'd had no reason to think she'd welcome his return-if, as
he'd said, Uncle Harland had seen fit to tell him that he didn't have
to worry about abandoning a wife and child.  Only a wife who'd said she
never wanted to see him again.

Woccld it be so impossible to be my wife ?

She shivered and closed her eyes.  Impossible?  What had proved
impossible was forgetting she was his wife.  Opening her eyes, she
stared at the gold band on her left hand.  How many times had she told
herself she was going to take it off, going to put her foolish marriage
behind her?  After all, she'd been married less than twenty-four hours
when her husband left.  Why should she stay tied to a man who'd clearly
forgotten her?

But she'd never gotten around to removing the ring.  Just as she'd
never managed to forget Matt the way she'd told herself she should.

How was it possible to forget the man who'd saved her life, who'd
nursed her through a fever, who'd been the first man she loved?  The
only man she loved.  Who'd been her first and only lover.

Liberty had asked herself a thousand times what would have happened if
she hadn't found out so soon that he didn't love her, if she hadn't
felt the need to try to prod him into confessing what she'd thought he
felt for her?  Would she have gone off to Arizona with him, happy with
her false belief that he loved her?  How long would it have been before
she realized that the love was all on her side?

She sighed and lowered her chin to rest atop her up drawn knees.  By
then, she might have been carrying his child.  She might have come to
terms with what he could give her.

Love might have grown between them, given time.  Six years older and
wiser, she no longer believed that love had to strike like a bolt out
of the blue.  It could be like a seed planted in warm ground and
carefully tended, finally growing to be a strong, healthy plant.

If she'd been a little older, if she hadn't lost so much in such a
short span of time, perhaps she wouldn't have been so quick to feel
betrayed, or quite so quick to speak angry words.

But she had been young and hurt.  And she'd felt a deep betrayal.  And
she'd struck out, wanting to hurt Matt as deeply as he'd hurt her.  And
he'd gone, just as she'd told him to.  He'd gone from her life. Forever
, she'd thought.

But here he was again, saying that he hadn't been able to forget her
any more than she'd been able to forget him.  And she wanted to believe
him, she admitted Alone in the darkness, she was able to acknowledge
just how much she wanted to believe him.

Woccld it be so impossible to be my wife ?

The question implied that he wanted her to be his wife, that he'd come
back to see if they could make their marriage something more than a
piece of paper.

If that was what he wanted, he was going to have to work for it, she
thought on a wave of anger.  It was all very well and good for him to
walk back into her life and announce that he'd never forgotten her, but
she was not going to open her arms-or her bed-to him until she had
reason to believe that they could build something deep and lasting
together.

Liberty slid back down between the covers.  Six years was a long time
and he wasn't the only one who'd changed.  She was willing to have him
stay.  Willing to entertain the idea of a real marriage with him.  But
he needn't think that she was simply going to fall back into his arms,
grateful that he'd returned.

And so she'd tell him, first thing in the morning.

But she didn't get the chance.  By the time she'd dressed-in what just
happened to be a particularly flattering outfit-Matt was already up and
gone.  If it hadn't been for the few dishes on the counter that showed
he'd made himself breakfast and the fresh pot of coffee keeping warm on
the back of the stove, he might have been a figment of her
imagination.

Maybe he'd left, she thought, feeling her heart bump with something
that came perilously close to panic.  The thought had her hurrying back
down the hallway to thrust open the door of the room she'd prepared for
him.

The bed was made, but the clothing Matt had worn the day before lay in
a heap on the floor.  His razor was on the fine maple dresser her uncle
had brought west for his wife-a touch of home, he'd said.

Liberty leaned in the doorway, relief making her knees weak.  Matt
wouldn't have left his things behind if he was gone for good.  He was
probably down in the barn or out somewhere with one of the hands.  She
straightened slowly, shaken by the intensity of her reaction.

For someone who was determined not to rush things, she was letting her
feelings get out of hand.

Liberty didn't see Matt until halfway through the morning.  She'd
changed out of the soft lavender dress into her more accustomed garb of
crisp white shirt paired with a full split skirt of dark brown.
Calf-high boots and a flat-brimmed black hat completed the outfit.

Aunt Marybelle had been scandalized the first time she'd seen her niece
in the costume, but Uncle Harland had only chuckled indulgently and
taken her out on the range with him.  It was a long time since Liberty
had given any thought to what others might think of the outfit.  But
when she set the hat on her head and looked at her reflection in the
mirror, she suddenly wondered what Matt would think.

As soon as the thought popped up, she dismissed it with a toss of her
head.  Her wardrobe was certainly no concern of Matt PrescotYs.  And so
she'd tell him if he mentioned it.

Matt had just finished rubbing down the roan when he sensed Liberty
approaching.  He lowered the hoof he'd been checking and straightened
as she swept into the barn.  She came to an abrupt halt when she saw
him.  " "Hello: Matt offered an easy greeting and bent to lift another
of the gelding's hooves, glad to have something to look at besides his
wife.  Was it possible that she'd grown more beautiful overnight?

" "Hello."  Liberty hesitated in the doorway a moment before continuing
into the barn.  "That's the same horse you had six years ago, isn't
it?"

"Yup."  He released his hold on the gelding's hoof and straightened.
"We've been through quite a bit together " He patted the roan on the
neck and received a rough nudge in return.

"He oertainly saved our lives six years ago."  Liberty came to stand in
front of the roan and held out her hand.  He looked at her, his ears
twitching inquiringly and then stretched his neck to snuffle her palm.
"Do you suppose he remembers me?"  she asked a little wistfully.

"Of course he does.  He'd never forget a beautiful woman: Matt patted
the gelding on the rump and sent him trotting through the open barn
door and into the corral beyond.

"You were up early this morning," Liberty said.

"I think the bed was too comfortable.  I had a hard time sleeping."  He
grinned and shrugged.  "I guess I've gotten used to sleeping on the
ground: " " I could scatter a few rocks on the sheets, " Liberty
suggested.  "Make it seem more what you're accustomed to."

"That's all right.  I'll try to adjust."

She was surprised to find herself returning his smile.  This wasn't how
she'd pictured their next meeting.  The last thing she'd expected was
to find herself smiling with him.

"Are you going riding?"  he asked, nodding to her clothing.

"Yes.  Hank and I are going to check the north pasture He's saddling a
horse for me now."

Matt hooked his thumbs in his back pockets and rocked back on his
heels, his eyes in shadow as he looked at her.  Liberty shifted
uneasily under that enigmatic regard.  " "That outfit looks better than
the one you wore into Bridger six years ago."

She'd been braced for him to voice some complaint Instead, his words
brought back memories of the calico dress that had been turned into a
crude riding skirt.  The memory made her smile.

"It wasn't exactly high fashion, was it?"

"It looked good to me."  He reached out, catching a lock of her hair
between his fingers.  "I used to wonder if I'd dreamed the color of
your hair," he said softly.

When had he moved so close ?

"Did you?"  The only reason she wasn't moving back was that she didn't
want him to think that he intimidated her, she told herself.  And it
was annoyance that made her pulse a little too fast.

"The color of corn silk: His voice was husky.  He was so close that she
could feel his breath on her forehead " " I could remember the way it
spilled through my hands like silken moonlight: '

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, reminding herself that she
didn't intend to let him back into her life so easily.

He released her hair and his fingertips settled on her cheek.  She
could feel the roughness of calluses.  It swept her back six years to
the feel of his hands on her breasts.

"I was a fool to leave."  Matt's words were hardly more than whisper.

Liberty's lashes lifted, her smoky-green eyes staring up at him.  How
could she have thought to keep him at a distance when the lightest
touch of his hand was enough to set her pulse pounding and scatter her
resolve to the four winds?

Did he lower his head or did she rise toward him?  All she was sure of
was that his mouth was hardly more than a whisper away from hers.  His
fingers were cupping the nape of her neck.  Her hand rested against his
chest, feeling the strong beat of his heart through the cloth of his
shirt.

All thoughts of keeping distanoe between them were forgotten.  Years of
loneliness were about to come to an end.  Her mouth softened in
anticipation of his kiss.

"Got your horse ready, Mrs.  Prescott."  Hank's voire was like a dash
of ice-cold water.  Liberty's eyes, which had been drooping shut, flew
open.  She stared up at Matt for a shocked instant, suddenly aware of
what had almost happened.

She dropped back down on her heels, only then realizing that she'd
risen on her toes to get closer to Matt.  Her hand jerked back from his
chest as if she'd been burned.

When Hank stepped into the shadowy barn, Matt was bending over to scoop
Liberty's hat up from the floor and Liberty stood still as a statue
staring down at him.  Hank's gray eyes shifted from one to the other,
seeing more than either of them would have wished.

"You ready to go, ma'am?"  was all he said.

Liberty turned toward him, her eyes not quite focused' Yes Yes, I'm
ready."

"Don't forget this: Matt held up the hat she didn't remember dropping.
She took it from him, her gaze meeting his for a fleeting moment before
she turned away.

"Thank you," she whispered.  She walked toward Hank, suppressing the
urge to run from Matt as if the devil were chasing her.

Obviously, it wasn't going to be as easy as she'd thought to keep him
at a distance.  Her own senses were too quick to betray her.

Matt leaned back against a shelf of rock and looked at Hank.  He'd
worked with the other man for the past week and had learned a great
deal about the ranch.  It was not a large operation but it was well
run.

Besides the foreman, there were three hands.  One of the men was
married and his wife did the cooking, preparing meals in the big ranch
house kitchen for Liberty and the men.  He'd learned that the men
respected

Liberty and felt no uneasiness about working for a woman.

He'd also learned that Liberty worked as hard as any of them, spending
most of her days in the saddle.  She was just as likely to be pulling a
new calf from a mud hole as she was to be overseeing the work.  He
frowned and reached for his tobacco pouch.  She worked harder than she
should, doing work that was not only strenuous and dirty but
occasionally dangerous

Matt tapped tobacco into a neat line on the paper.  He understood that
she'd earned the men's respect with her willingness to turn her hand to
any task.  But now that she had it, wasn't it time for her to retire to
more suitable pursuits?

Only yesterday, he'd seen an old mossy horn steer turn on her when she
was trying to haze it back into the group they were moving to summer
pasture.  If her pony had been a little less quick, she could have been
badly injured.

"How long have you worked the Rocking S?"  Matt asked Hank, his voice
breaking the comfortable silence ""Bout a year, I'd guess," Hank said.
He reached up to tilt his hat farther back on his head.  "Swanson hired
me when I mustered out."

"So you knew Liberty's uncle?"

"I'd been here a month or two when he was killed.  Good man.  The
missus wouldn't stay without his bein' here.  Said she'd only stayed
for him.  Tried to get Liberty to go east with her.  Sell the place." "
"She wouldn't go?"

Hank shook his head.  "Said she didn't belong in the east anymore. Told
Mrs.  Swanson she'd run the place for her.  She'd worked with her uncle
and knew the ranch purty near as well as he did.  She's got grit: '

Matt caught the look the other man slid him and felt a stab of
irritation.  He didn't need the foreman to tell him Liberty had grit.
She'd had it six years ago-more grit than he'd have expected to find in
a girl of eighteen

"What happened to Swanson?"  he asked, changing the subject.

"Bushwhacked."  Hank reached out and pulled a blade of grass.  Pleating
it between his fingers, he stared out across the valley.  "Shot in the
back."  " "Any idea who did it?  "

"I've got my own opinion: Hank shrugged.  "No proof so there was no
arrest."

"Who was it?"

"Fella by the name of John Randall: He caught Matt's surprised look.
"You heard of him?"

"More or less."  Matt stubbed out the cigarette.  "The night I rode
into the fort, I stopped for a drink and asked after Liberty.  A man at
the bar took it on himself to warn me away from her.  Said she was
going to marry a John Randall."

"Young fellow with fair hair and hard eyes?"  Hank asked.  "Slim, not
too tall?"

"He fit that description," Matt agreed.  "When I told him Liberty
wasn't likely to be marrying John Randall or anyone else, he demanded
to know who I was: He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug.  "I told
him: '

"I'd have given a month's pay to see his face " , Hank said.  For the
first time since they'd met, Matt saw his lean features break into a
grin.  "Sounds like John's boy, Curly.  He's young but he's mean clear
through.  He and his old man moved into the area round about three
years ago, from what I hear tell.  Started buyin' up land or just usin'
if it was available.  They've got a big spread north and east of
here.

"But Swanson, he filed on some of the best land hereabouts-good water
year round, grass to cut for winter.  He knew what he was doing.  When
Randall had spread about as far as he could go, he ran smack up against
Sevanson's land.  He tried to buy, but the old man wasn't interested in
sellin': '

"Then Swanson turned up dead," Matt finished for him.

"I ain't got proof."  Hank shrugged.  "Randall, he come to the funeral
and he drew his face down real regretful-like.  But that son of his
didn't look regretful Matter of fact, he seemed right pleased with
himself

"Right after the funeral, Randall came to the house and offered to buy
the ranch from Mrs.  Swansonsaid he knew she wouldn't want such a
burden."

"And she refused to sell?"  Matt asked.  " "It was Liberty who refused
him.  Told him her uncle wouldn't sell and neither would she.  Mrs.  S
Wvanson let her have her way."

Matt stared into the distance, picturing the scene in his mind.  Yes,
he could easily imagine Liberty standing up to Randall, telling him the
ranch wasn't for sale.  He felt admiration mixed with a touch of anger.
Had she considered what could have happened to her?  If Randall had
killed her uncle, who was to say he'd draw the line at killing a
woman?

"So Randall backed off?"  " "Not exactly.  After Mrs.  Swanson went
back east, he took to comin' around every so often, said he was just a
conoerned neighbor."  Hank's tone made it clear what he thought of that
excuse.  "Truth is, he came courtin' Liberty."

"And how did Liberty take that?"  Matt was surprised to hear how calm
he sounded.  Inside, his blood was simmering at the thought of another
man "courting" his wife.  Not that he had any business getting hot and
bothered, he admitted.  He hadn't been here to protect her.  " "She was
polite but she made it clear she wasn't interested He keeps comin'
around, though.  Figurin' to wear her down, I guess."

Hank slanted Matt a speculative look.  "Of course , I guess that'll
change.  Now that you're here.  If you're stayin', that is: '

Matt met the other man's eyes, his own hard.

"I'm staying "

Any thoughts he'd had of leaving had vanished, replaced by a
determination to persuade Liberty to be his wife in fact as well as in
name.  He wanted more than his wedding ring on her finger.  He was
hungry to have her in his bed.  But he also wanted her standing beside
him, looking toward a future they'd build together

"Why don't you stay at the ranch house today?"

MatYs question made Liberty lift her eyes to his face.  They were
sitting across the kitchen table from each other, just as they had
every moroing for nearly a week.  They shared breakfast before the
day's work began, but that had been about all they'd shared.

Other than a polite exchange of greeting each morning, they'd barely
spoken.  For a man who'd said he wanted their marriage to be more than
words on a piece of paper, he didn't seem in any hurry to change
things.

She'd expected to have to resist his advances.  Instead, she'd hardly
seen him.  Aside from the fact that he slept in the main house instead
of the bunkhouse , he might have been one of the hired hands, rather
than her husband.  But the look he was giving her now was very
husbandly.  She'd seen her Uncle Harland give Aunt Marybelle that same
frowning look more times than she could remember.

"Why would I stay at the house?"  she asked, puzzled' We going to start
moving the cattle onto the summer range today."

"The men and I can handle it," Matt said irritably.  "There's no reason
for you to be out on the range."

"I always go out with the men," she said.

"That doesn't mean you have to go today."  Matt pushed back his chair
and stood, his frown deepening' There must be things you could do
around here."  He glanced around the kitchen as if looking for a likely
project.

"I suppose there are," Liberty said slowly.  "But they'll have to wait
"

"There's no need for you to go out: '

"Why don't you want me to go out with the men today?"  She stood and
faced him across the table.  " " I don't think it's necessary."

"Yocc don't think it's necessary?"  she asked.

Matt caught the edge of temper in her voice and his jaw tightened.
"There's no reason for you to work like one of the hands now that I'm
here."

"So, now that you've decided to grace my life with your presence again,
you expect me to do as you say?"  Her tone was ominous, but no more so
than the fire that had started to simmer in her eyes.

"I'm not ordering you-"

"How nice," she murmured sweetly.

"I'm asking," Matt said, though his gritted teeth made it seem
something less than a polite request.

"How dare you!"  Liberty spun away from the table , her split skirt
swirling around her booted calves.  She spun back just as abruptly.
"Who are you to ask me anything?"

"I'm your husband: Matt's temper rose to meet hers.

This past week had been as close to torture as he ever hoped to come.
Seeing her during the day, so sweetly desirable and so out of reach was
nothing compared to sleeping in the same house with her, knowing she
was only a few feet away.  He hadn't had a decent night's sleep since
his arrival.

"My husband?"  Liberty repeated contemptuously.  "You're not my
husband.  You're a man I shared a bed with for a couple of nights when
I was younger and considerably more foolish: '

She spun toward the door, but Matt moved with a speed she hadn't
expected, catching her hand and spinning her to face him.

"If that's all I am, then why are you still wearing this?"  he
demanded.  He raised her left hand until the wedding band was in front
of her eyes.

Seeing it, Liberty thought of all the foolish dreams she'd had when he
slipped that ring on her finger.  And the even more foolish tears she'd
shed over it when she'd thought he was dead.

"Stupidity," she snapped.  "That's the only reason I'm still wearing
it: She wrenched her hand away and began tugging on the ring, intending
to snatch it off and throw it away, just as she should have done years
ago.

"Don't: MatYs hands caught her wrists, jerking her forward.  Off
balance, she stumbled against him.  " "Let go of me!  " She threw back
her head to glare up at him.

"No.  We're going to get this all out of the way.  Go ahead and tell me
how angry you are that I left.  Tell me what a fool I was to stay away
so long."

"You're certainly a fool," she said, tugging uselessly against his
hold.  "But I wasn't angry when you left.  And I didn't care if you
ever came back."

"Liar."  Matt's anger had gone, leaving him feeling nothing but regret
for the years he'd wasted.

His calm only added fuel to the fire of Liberty's temper.  How dared he
look so cool when she felt anything but?  This wasn't about whether or
not she should work with the men.  It was about the years he'd been
gone and the tean she'd shed.

He'd said he'd been a fool to leave, but words weren't enough to soothe
the hurt he'd dealt her-first by not loving her and then by not coming
back for her.  It had taken her years to get over that pain, and he'd
brought it all rushing back.

And then he stood there looking at her so coolly, making her feel like
a foolish, hot-tempered child.  If only he'd felt half the hurt she
had.

"The only reason I continued to wear that ring was because I thought
you were dead," she spit.  She gave up the futile struggle to free her
hands and glared at him.  "IYs a pity I was wrong."

The words fell between them like stones dropped into a pool.  Liberty
saw the ripple of their impact wash over Matt.  The lines around his
mouth deepened Pain flared in his eyes for an instant before being
quickly concealed.  His eyes became dark mirrors that reflected nothing
but her own image back at her.

Triumph washed over her.  Finally, she'd gotten some of her own back.
If only for an instant, Matt knew something of the hurt she'd felt when
she realized he didn't love her.

He released her wrists and took a step back, putting distanre between
them.  There was an odd pallor under his suntanned skin.

And she suddenly knew she'd made a terrible mistake

Hurting Matt wasn't going to change what had happened between them six
years ago.  If she were honest, she had to admit that the source of her
anger was more the fact that he hadn't loved her than the years that
had passed.

She was still angry with him over something that couldn't be helped. He
couldn't love her just because it was what she wanted.  Any more than
she could stop loving him just because her mind told her heart it was
the best thing to do.

He turned away and she knew he was leaving, not just the room, but the
house.  And her.  She'd told herself that was what she wanted.  All she
had to do was stay still and he'd be gone again.

"Matt."

He stopped in the doorway but didn't turn.  The rigid set of his
shoulders was less than encouraging.  Liberty bit her lower lip.  She
took a step toward him and then stopped.

"I didn't mean that," she said finally.

"There's no reason you shouldn't mean it: He kept his back to her.  "No
reason at all."

"I was angry."

"You've reason enough," he said flatly.

"Perhaps.  But that doesn't excuse what I said: '

He shrugged as if to say it didn't matter.  But he still didn't turn to
look at her.

Liberty stared at his broad back, her teeth worrying her lower lip.
Something in the set of his shoulders told her that her apology held
less weight than the words that had gone before.  He shifted, as if to
continue his exit.  If he left now, he'd never come back.  She wasn't
sure what she wanted but she knew she didn't want him to leave.

Without giving herself time to change her mind, she covered the
distance betwesn them with hurried steps.  Though she didn't doubt that
he'd heard her approach , Matt didn't turn toward her.  She had to move
around him to look up into his face.

What she saw there made her heart ache.  His expression was bleak and
empty, full of hard loneliness.  There was regret in his eyes but no
anger.  She realized suddenly that, as much anger as she felt toward
him, it was no more than he felt toward himself.  If she'd wished him
dead, he felt it was no more than he'd earned.

"Matt, I never wished you dead."

For a moment, she thought it was too late, that her words had bitten
too deeply.  Slowly, some of the tension eased from his shoulders.  His
eyes grow less bleak.

"When I decided to come find you, I didn't give much thought to how you
must have felt," he admitted'I only knew I couldn't get you out of my
head."  He lifted one hand to touch her cheek.

Liberty felt that light touch shiver down her spine, trailing awareness
in its wake.  It had been six years, but she hadn't forgotten the feel
of his hands on her skin; the way it had been when she was in his arms.
Never before or since had she felt so completely alive, so wholly
female.

She swallowed and forced her thoughts into focus.  " "You can't have
thought that we would simply pick up where we left off," she said.  The
words lacked any real force.

"I didn't expect anything: His fingers edged along her j aw.  " "And if
we were picking up where we left off , we wouldn't be sleeping in
separate bedrooms," he reminded her pointedly but without heat.

His thumb settled at the base of her throat, feeling the pulse that
pounded there.  She saw awareness flare in his eyes.

"Your heart's beating too fast," he said softly.

"I..."  She stopped, groping for something to say to defuse the tension
that suddenly lay between them.  But her mind was blank.

When Matt's head started to lower toward hers, she raised her hands and
set them against his chest-to push him away, she told herself.  But
somehow her fingers were curling into the fabric of his shirt, clinging
to him as his mouth settled on hers.

It was everything she remembered and more.  It was as if the years that
had gone before were no more than the blink of an eye.  It couldn't
possibly be six years since he'd held her like this, six years since
he'd kissed her.

She'd told herself that she'd gone on with her life, put Matt where he
belonged-firmly in the past.  Yet, he had only to touch her for her to
realize that she'd lied to herself.  She hadn't really been living.
She'd only been marking time, waiting for this moment.

Feeling her response, Matt slipped his arms around her, one hand
flattening on the small of her back, pressing her closer.  His head
tilted, his mouth hardening over hers, demanding a response she was
more than willing to give.

Liberty's hands slid up to his shoulders, her fingers digging into the
hard muscles there as she opened her mouth to him, inviting him to
taste the sweet warmth of her response.

It wasn't what either of them had expected.  So much time had passed,
it didn't seam possible that the fire still lay so close to the surface
that a single kiss could send it blazing to life.

How far that kiss might have taken them was something they weren't
destined to discover.  Matt's fingers had just tangled in the thick
braid of her hair when someone began to pound on the front door.

The moment was shattered.  Matt lifted his head and stared down into
her eyes for a moment, his own dark and searching.  Liberty looked
away, half-afraid of what he might find.  Her hands left his shoulders
to press against his chest, forcing some distance between them.

"Someone's at the door," she said, when he didn't seem inclined to
release her.  A second round of knocking punctuated her words.

Matt's hands dropped to his sides, leaving her standing on her own.
Though it was what she'd wanted, Liberty felt suddenly bereft.  She
moved back a step, smoothing her hands over her hips, her eyes focusing
somewhere to the side.

She should say something, she thought.  Something light and witty to
show that she didn't think the embrace they'd just shared meant
anything.  The problem was that she seemed to be fresh out of light,
witty remarks.

"Mrs.  Prescott?"  The voice was Hank's, coming through the solid wood
of the door.

Drawing a quick breath, Liberty moved past Matt and into the foyer. She
was aware of Matt following.  Pulling open the front door, she hoped it
wasn't obvious that she and Matt had just been locked in each other's
arms.

But looking at Hank's face, the grim coldness in his pale eyes, she
knew she had more to worry about than whether he knew she'd been
kissing her husband.  Glancing over his shoulder, she felt her stomach
sink as she saw her neighbor, John Randall, and his son, sitting on
their horses just beyond the porch steps.

Chapter Fourteen

cc

Hello, Liberty."  Randall doffed his hat and bowed from the saddle.

"Mr.  Randall."  Though he'd asked her to call him John on more than
one occasion, Liberty had no desire to share even such a small intimacy
with him.  The man had made her flesh crawl even before she'd had
reason to suspect him of killing her uncle.

There was nothing in his square-jawed features to hint that he was
anything other than what he appeared -a successful rancher who was
carving his success out of a hard land.  With his thick dark hair and
ready smile, she supposed there were those who'd even consider him a
handsome man.  But the chill blue of his eyes was what she always
noticed about him.

"Just thought we'd stop and make sure you were all right," Randall
continued when neither Liberty nor Hank moved to break the silence.

"Is there reason to think I'd be anything but fine?"  Liberty asked
coolly.  " "Now, don't get your back up, Liberty.  I know you pride
yourself on being able to take care of yourself."

Randall chuckled richly.  Beside him, his son's mouth curved in a smile
as cold as his eyes.

"I've done quite well, so far."

"Of course you have.  I wouldn't dream of implying otherwise.  No doubt
you'd skin me alive if I did: '

Liberty didn't bother to return his indulgent smile but only watched
him out of cool green eyes.  Hank stood a few feet away, one hand
resting on his hip, only inches away from his holstered Colt.  Matt
hadn't stepped out of the house.  She could sense that he was just
inside the door, watching and waiting.

When she didn't respond, Randall's smile faded.  For a moment, anger
flickered in his eyes and then was quickly smoothed over.  His
expression became serious and concerned.

"The truth is, Liberty, I had cause to be worried about you.  Curly was
at the fort a few days back when a stranger rode in.  This man asked
after you and when Curly asked his business, the fellow claimed to be
your husband: '

"Why would your son feel it was any concern of his who might be coming
to see me?  " Liberty asked.

The icy question was not what Randall had been expecting, and it threw
him momentarily off balance.

"Well, naturally, knowing of our connection, he knew I'd want to know:
'

"Our connection?"  Liberty raised her brows.  "Do you show equal
concern for all your neighbors, Mr.  Randall?  "

"Of course not: Randall stopped and drew a slow breath, easing the
anger from his features and voice.

"You are a woman alone.  Of course, I'm concerned for your safety."

"That's very kind of you but unnecessary.  I have several men who work
here and give me any assistance

I need.  "

"I'll rest easier knowing that," Randall got out, his polite tone
strained.  " "About this man Curly saw at the fort," he continued.  "It
was my understanding that you were a widow."

"Was it?"  Liberty offered nothing beyond that.  Knowing that Matt was
just behind her, for the first time, she felt comfortable in letting
her dislike for Randall and his reptilian son become plain.  "I'm very
busy, Mr.  Randall.  Did you call for a reason beyond inquiring into my
marital status?"

Randall stiffened, his hands tightening on the reins, making his horse
dance uneasily a moment before he brought it under control again.

"There's no need to take that tone," he snapped.  "You'd do well to
remember that out here neighbors need to depend on one another."

"The way my uncle depended on you?"  The question was delivered in a
pleasant tone, no hint of her suspicions allowed to color it.

Randall's face paled beneath his tan, his big body stiffening.  But the
reaction was gone as quickly as it came.

"I'd like to think your uncle knew he could count on me."

Liberty drew her gloves from her pocket and began pulling them on,
giving herself time to control her anger She wanted to scream at him
that she knew he was responsible for Harland Swanson's death.  She
wanted to snatch Hank's gun from its holster and shoot Randall from the
saddle.  But she had no proof that Randall had had anything to do with
her uncle's death.  Nothing but instinct.  And instinct wasn't reason
enough to kill a man.

She finished smoothing her gloves into pl are and sure that she had her
expression under control, she lifted her head to look at Randall.  " "
Was there anything else?  "

Randall cleared his throat.  "We still haven't resolved the question of
this man who was claiming to be your husband: " " Perhaps I can resolve
that for you "

Liberty turned as Matt pushed open the screened door and stepped onto
the porch.  He moved to stand beside Liberty so that he and Hank were
flanking her.

"I'm Matt Prescott."

"That's the man I saw, Pa " Cqrly Randall spoke for the first time.
"That's the one that said he was married to her."

From the expression on John Randall's face, he'd sooner have seen a
grizzly bear come out of the ranch house than Matt.  Remembering what
Hank had told him about Randall's apparent plans to marry Liberty, Matt
could understand the other man's annoyance.  A husband was an awkward
complication to his plans.  Plans he'd probably thought all but in the
bag, from the way his son had announced his father's engagement

"You and Liberty are married?"  Randall got out, his voice strained.

"That's right.  Is there any reason for that to be a concern of yours?"
Matt's tone fell something short of cordial.

"As I just said, I thought Liberty was a widow.  Naturally, when I
heard that there was a stranger claiming to be her husband, I wanted to
be sure she was all right."

"As you can see, she's fine."

"Glad to see it," Randall said heartily.  "And I'm glad to meet you,
Matt."  He moved as if to swing down from his horse and approach Matt
for a handshake Perhaps it was the proximity of Hank's hand to his gun
or the chill in Matt's eyes, but he appeared to think better of the
notion and settled back into the saddle.

"I imagine you'll be taking Liberty back to your own place.  When you
go to sell the Rocking S, be sure and contact me.  I'll give you a good
price."

"The Rocking S isn't for sale," Liberty snapped, her face warm with
anger at the way Randall was bypassing her to talk to Matt.

"Well, now, your husband may think differently on that subject,"
Randall said, giving Matt a man-to-man look.

"It's my ranch and it's not for sale."  Liberty jerked loose from the
restraining hand Matt had put on her arm.  "Not to you, Randall.  Not
now.  Not ever: '

She stepped forward.  Her hands gripped the porch railing, the leather
of her gloves stretched taut over her knuckles.

"Get off my ranch, Randall.  You're not welcome here."

"Now, really.  There's no cause to throw a fit," Randall said.  "I
understand that you're fond of the place but I'll offer you a good
price.  Your uncle was on the verge of selling to me before his
unfortunate accident."

"Accident!"  Liberty felt the last shred of control desert her.  "My
uncle was murdered.  Shot in the back by a sniveling, yellow-bellied
coward who didn't have the guts to face an old man head-on."  She fixed
Cqrly Randall with blazing eyes.  "Someone who's good with a rifle and
who's a spineless skunk: '

"Why, you little..  : Cqrly's hand moved toward his gun.  Before he
could draw, both Matt and Hank had him covered.  His finger froze on
the butt of his gun, his eyes blazing, not with fear but with
frustration.

"Get your hand away from your gun, Curly," his father snapped.

"We gonna let her get away with that?"  Curly's hand lifted away from
his holster.

"Get away with what?"  Randall's smile was tight and hard, his eyes as
cold as marble.  "Naturally, all of us were very upset by what happened
to Harland.  Even more upset that the killer is unknown."

"Oh, he's known, all right," Liberty said.

"That's enough, Liberty."  That was Matt, his low voice holding a
warning.

"No, it's not.  It's not nearly enough."  She broke off when he reached
forward and caught hold of her upper arm, drawing her back from the
railing.  She turned to snap at him to get his hands off her, but the
warning in his eyes stopped her.

She'd let her temper override her common sense.  She'd all but come out
and accused Curly Randall of killing her uncle.  Not to mention telling
them both to get off the ranch.  But she wasn't going to take it back,
not a word of it.  " "My wife asked you to leave, " Matt said
pleasantly He slipped his gun back in the holster, aware that Hank's
was still drawn.

John Randall looked from one man to the other and saw no give in
either.  His mouth tightened into a thin, hard line, his eyes going
cold as ice.  He was smart enough to know that the time for friendly
talk was at an end.  Without another word, he tightened his big hands
on the reins, the bit sawing at the horse's mouth as he turned the
animal.

Curly Randall waited a moment, his eyes going from Matt to Hank and
finally settling on Liberty.  The cold threat in that look sent a
shiver down her spine.  They both knew he was the one who'd killed her
uncle His stare told her that he wouldn't forget the names she'd called
him.

Stiffening her back, she tilted her chin upward and returned look for
look.  Not for the world would she let him see that she was afraid of
him.  The feel of Matt's hand resting on her shoulder made the facade
easier to maintain.

It wasn't until Curly reined his horse around and followed his father
that she allowed herself to draw a breath.  She felt almost
light-headed now that the confrontation was over.

"Always nice to see neighbors," Hank murmured.  He slid his gun back
into its holster and glanced at Liberty.  "He'll make a bad enemy,
ma'am: " "He was an enemy before this," she said.  " " It' sjust out in
the open now: '

"True enough: Hank nodded.  He looked after the two men with narrowed
eyes.  "That Curly, now, he's a killer.  Had a man like that in my
regiment.  He enjoyed the kinin' a mite too much for my comfort.  Young
Randall's like that.  He'd as soon kill you as look at you: '

"Sooner," Matt said, thinking of the look in the younger man's eyes.
Like Hank, he'd known men who enjoyed killing.

"You still want to go out today?"  Hank asked Liberty.

She hesitated a moment, remembering her argument with Matt;
remembering, too, just how that argument had ended.  He wanted her to
stay at the ranch house.  After the confrontation with Randall, she
wouldn't have minded staying close to home.  But if she did that, Matt
was going to think it was because he'd told her to.

"Yes."  She flicked a quick sideways glance at Matt but could read
nothing from his expression.  "I'll just get my hat," she told the
foreman.

"I'll meet you down at the barn "

Liberty turned and went back into the house, aware of Matt following
her.  Her hat was in the kitchen.  As she stepped into the room, she
was vividly aware of the kiss that had taken place there only a short
time ago.

She didn't have to look at Matt to know that he remembered it, too.

For those few moments, she'd forgotten the years he'd been gone,
forgotten all the reasons she had to be angry with him and her
determination to hold on to that anger, to use it as a shield between
them.  When she was in Matt's arms, all she'd thought of was how right
it felt to be there.

But she wasn't in his arms now and she had no intention of being there
again.  At least, not until a few things had been resolved between
them.

She lifted her hat from the back of the chair on which she'd hung it
and turned to look at Matt, her chin raised in unconscious challenge.

Matt looked at her, wondering if she had any idea just how beautiful
she was.  He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her until he saw
that slumberous look return to her eyes.  He wanted to feel her melting
, soft and sweet against him, her arms twining around his neck to draw
him close until not even a shadow could slip between them.

But the wary look in her eyes made it clear that she wasn't interested
in picking up where they'd left off.  The interruption had given her
plenty of time to remember all the reasons she had to keep him at arm's
length.  Equally clear was the fact that she expected him to mention
the embrace.

"You may have started something by challenging Randall so openly," he
said, his tone neutral.

Liberty blinked, trying to shift her thinking.  "I know he killed Uncle
Harland.  Or at least that son of his did.  I've put up with his visits
this past year be cause I had no proof.  But when he actually said that
Uncle Harland had known he could depend on him, I couldn't bear to look
at him another moment.

"I suppose you think I shouldn't have told him to get off the ranch "

"No.  You've a right to throw anyone off your property you see fit." He
shrugged.  "I just think you should warn the men to expect trouble. If
Randall did kill your uncle, there's no saying that he'll stop at one
murder.  Especially now that you've made it plain that he won't get his
hands on the ranch by marrying you: '

"Marrying me!"  Liberty's eyes flashed at the thought.  "I'd sooner
marry a rabid wolf.  Probably be safer, too.  I've given him no reason
to think I'd marry him," she added, wanting him to have no doubt about
that.

"When I asked after you at the fort, Curly was there.  He told me quite
plainly that I shouldn't bother to look you up.  Said you were to wed
John Randall: '

"And you believed him?"  she asked indignantly.  " "You thought I'd
marry another man, even though I had a husband?"

"You had no reason to think I was still alive," Matt said with a shrug.
He was careful to keep his satisfaction from showing in his face.  So
she'd continued to think of herself as married.  She hadn't forgotten
him any more than he had her.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't have married him " , Liberty said again.
She turned her hat between her fingers.  "Did it bother you7 To think
that I might have been planning to marry another man?"  Her tone was
casual, but the look she gave him from under her lashes told him that
his answer was important.

Matt covered the distance between them in two long strides.  Before she
had a chance to do more than draw in a startled breath, his long
fingers caught her chin, tilting her face up to his until their eyes
met.

"I wanted to tear him apart with my bare hands," he said huskily.

"Oh:' Under that fierce golden-brown gaze, Liberty couldn't manage
anything more than that soft exclamation.

Matt held her a moment longer, his fingers lying on her skin like a
warm brand.  Just when she was sure he was going to kiss her again and
equally sure that she'd melt at his touch, he released her.  His hand
dropped away and he stepped back.

"I want you to be a little more cautious from now on," he said.

"Cautious?"  She drew a shallow breath, forcing herself to remember
what they'd been discussing.  "Because Randall may try something?"  she
asked.

"Yes."

"Surely he wouldn't dare harm a woman."

"That all depends on how badly he wants the Rocking S. If he wanted it
badly enough to kill your uncle..."  He finished the sentence with a
shrug.  "If something happened to you, your aunt would probably sell to
him, wouldn't she?"

"Yes."  Liberty's hand crept to her throat as she tried to absorb the
idea that Randall might want the ranch enough to kill her.  "I never
said anything to Aunt Marybelle about my suspicions.  She was so up set
over I7ncle Harland's death, there didn't seem any point in upsetting
her more."

Seeing her white face, Matt felt something tighten in his chest.  He
wanted to put his arms around her and tell her that she didn't have to
be frightened-he'd never let anything happen to her.  But he couldn't
be with her every minute and she'd be safer if she was on guard.

"I just can't believe he'd risk killing a woman," she said slowly.  "If
anyone found out, he'd be facing a lynch mob: '

"You're probably right: '

Matt had his doubts, but there was nothing to be gained by frightening
her any more than he already had.  Seeing the uneasiness that lingered
in her eyes, he reached up to catch the thick plait of hair that lay
over her shoulder.

"Chances are, Randall will turn his sights elsewhere after the way you
sent him off," he said.

"Yes."  Liberty wished his eyes were as sure as his words.

They stood together, linked by Matt's hold on her braid.  His eyes
skimmed her face, lingering on the softness of her mouth.  For the
space of a heartbeat, Liberty thought he was going to kiss her.  Not
that she wanted him to, of course.  She'd already decided that the
earlier kiss had been a mistake-one she was not going to repeat.  Any
second now, she'd turn away.

But it was Matt who drew away.  Just when she was sure that he was
going to bend down to kiss her, he blinked and seemed to shake himself.
Dropping her braid, he took a step back.

"If we're going to take a look at the north pasture, we ought to get
started."

"The north pasture?"  So much had happened in the past hour that she
had a hard time remembering that she'd started the morning with
specific plans.  It seemed as if half the day must have passed since
she and Matt were sitting together at breakfast.

"I'd guess Hank has the horses saddled by now," Matt said, turning to
lift his hat from a hook near the back door.

"Yes, of course."  Liberty settled her own hat on her head and tried to
look as if being kissed had been the last thought on her mind.

She strode briskly from the kitchen, aware in every fiber that Matt was
only a step behind her.  Somehow, at the moment, the Randalls didn't
offer as much threat to her peace of mind as Matt's immediate and
rather large presence in her life.

For the next few days, Liberty and Matt were careful to circle the
issue of their marriage and its future.  It wasn't as difficult as it
might have been.  Spring was a busy time on the ranch, with calving to
tend to, as well as moving the cattle onto the summer range.  There was
more than enough work to occupy the daylight hours.

By the time the sun went down, Liberty was tired enough that it was
possible to keep her thoughts from dwelling on Matt.  Well, at least,
she managed not to think about him all the time.

Before he'd kissed her, she'd been able to tell herself that any
feelings she'd had for Matt were dead.

Certainly, they were still tied together by the vows they'd exchanged.
And it was only for the sake of those vows that she was willing to
entertain the thought of making their marriage a reality.

But the moment she'd felt Matt's arms around her she'd been forced to
admit that she'd been lying to herself.  She'd melted like butter left
in the sun as soon as he kissed her.

The years that he'd been gone had been nothing more than mist,
dissolving under the heat of his mouth.  She'd forgotten her hurt and
her anger.  Forgotten everything but how right it felt to be in Matt's
arms, to feel the hard strength of his body against hers.

She wanted to believe that she'd felt that way because he was her
husband.  After all, it was natural proper even-that she should respond
to the man she'd married.

But she hadn't been thinking about her marital obligations when she'd
been clinging to him.

Sighing, Liberty turned away from the window and reached down to pick
up her gloves from the dressing table.  She'd been standing there
staring aimlessly out the window for more time than she cared to admit.
Lately, it was hard to keep her mind focused on anything other than
Matt's reappearanoe in her life.

During the day, she avoided Matt.  At night, she tried to avoid
thinking about him.  The more she tried not to think about him, the
more she couldn't get him out of her mind.

Maybe, instead of avoiding him, she needed to spend time with him. He'd
asked her if it would be impossible for her to be his wife. Before she
could answer that question, she had to get to know him.  Not the Matt
Prescott she'd known six years ago, but the man he was now.

Liberty pulled her gloves restlessly through her fingers , staring
unseeingly at her reflection in the mirror over the dressing table. She
was his wife in the eyes of the law.  And though she'd tried to pretend
otherwise, in her heart she'd never stopped thinking of herself as a
married woman, not even when she'd half believed he must be dead.

Her chin firmed.  She'd buried her head in the sand long enough.  It
was time to take the bull by the horns and stop pretending that Matt's
arrival hadn't changed her entire life.

"I'll ride up the creek and see what the problem is," Matt said.  He
tightened the cinch on the roan's saddle and then straightened to look
at Hank over the animal's back.  ""Any sign of trouble from Randall?"

"Nope.  Sal's been keepin' an eye on his place and he says there's
nothin' out of the usual run goin' on: '

Matt frowned at the barn beyond Hank's shoulder.  "Randall's not going
to hire an army.  If he does try something, he'll likely go for another
ambush.  It worked the last time-or would have if Liberty hadn't talked
her aunt out of selling.  He obviously didn't count on that."

"Well, he knows better now," Hank drawled.  "She sent him off with
quite a flea in his ear."  He gave a slow grin.  "That's a woman with a
fine spirit: '

"That she is."  Matt's grin was reminiscent.  "If I were Randall, I'd
keep a considerable distance from her."

"I doubt he'll do that."  Hank's grin faded.  "The man's as much a
killer as his son, he's just had more practice hidin' it.  He prefers
fists to guns.  I've heard him boast that he's killed two men with his
bare hands and crippled more than that."

Remembering the man, Matt found the boast an easy one to believe.
Though he'd only seen him on horseback, he'd seen enough to know
Randall was a big man, stocky but with not an ounce of fat on him.  And
he had solid, beefy hands that could probably break a man in two if
given the chance.

Shaking his head, Matt reached out to gather up the reins.  "I've no
intention of brawling with the man.  I just want to be sure he's no
danger to Liberty."

"Reckon you might have to kill him to be sure of that," Hank said.

Matt had been about to mount but he paused, his eyes hard and cold as
they met the other man's.  "If that's how it has to be..  : He didn't
bother to finish the thought.  He didn't have to.

"You decide to start a war, you can count me in " , Hank said coolly.

"Count you in for what?"  Liberty's voice preceded her.

Matt swung toward her, feeling her beauty catch at his throat.  All the
years she'd haunted his dreams, he'd told himself that time had gilded
her image, that she couldn't possibly be as beautiful as he remembered.
He'd been wrong, and it hit him every time he saw her.

"Poker in the bunkhouse," he heard Hank say, answering

Liberty's question.

"Be careful playing poker with Hank," Liberty warned Matt lightly.
"I've heard the hands complain that he's got the devil's luck."

"I'll keep that in mind," Matt murmured.  It was as much conversation
as they'd exchanged in several days.  Since the day the Randalls showed
up-the day he'd kissed her-she'd shown a definite tendency to avoid his
company.  " "Dave told me you were going to ride up the creek and see
what's happened to cut the flow," she said.

"I was."

She drew a quick breath as if she needed it to get the next words out.
"I'd like to go with you."

Matt stared at her, wondering if he'd heard her right.  Surely, there
was something he'd misunderstood But she was standing there staring at
him, waiting for his response.  As the silence stretched, her chin
lifted slightly, contrasting with the uncertainty that flickered in her
eyes.

"Unless you'd rather go alone, of course," she said sharply.

"No."  Mattshookhishead.  "No, ofcoursenot.  I'd thought of asking
you," he lied.  "But I didn't think you'd want to go."

"Well, I do want to go," she said with a just a touch of belligerence,
as if daring him to think it strange that she was suddenly seeking out
his company.

"I'll saddle the pinto for you, Liberty."  That was Hank, breaking the
tension that had suddenly sprung up between the other two.

By the time the pinto was saddled, Liberty had had plenty of time to
decide that the whole idea of riding out alone with Matt was a bad one.
There was no telling how far they'd have to ride before finding
whatever it was that was obstructing the little stream's normally
dependable flow.

As she swung into the saddle, it occurred to her that they might even
be forced to spend the night out on the range.  The thought made her
fingers tighten on the reins, causing the little pinto to toss her head
nervously Liberty automatically calmed the animal, wishing her own
uneasiness could be as easily soothed.

Chapter Fifteen

Spring seemed to have finally managed to elbow winter aside.  The sun
shone down from the clear blue arc of sky.  The land was awash with the
fragile green of new grass.  By the middle of summer, everything would
be an overall tan, showing green only where there was year-round
water.

Harland Swanson had chosen the site of his ranch with considerable
care, locating it where water and grass were plentiful.  Liberty
thought there could be no place more beautiful on earth, especially in
the spring when the whole world was fresh and new.

Pennsylvania's rolling green fields might be prettier , but they seemed
cramped and stingy in comparison to the vast sweep of land ahead of
her.  If her parents hadn't died when they did, she'd probably have
lived out her life without traveling more than a hundred miles from her
birthplace.  No doubt, she'd have been content with that.

But once she'd seen the magnificent emptiness of the west, she'd never
have been able to go back.  She'd always have been haunted by memories
of jagged purple mountains that cupped lush green valleys, of the
vastness of the prairie.

"During the war, I'd sometimes think about this kind of country, " Matt
said quietly.  " " Sometimes, I half believed I'd imagined it.  It
didn't seem like anything could be so wide open and peaceful."

His words so closely matched her own thinking that Liberty shot him a
quick look, wondering if it was possible that he'd read her thoughts.
But Matt's eyes were skimming the land before them, a sort of hunger in
their depths that told her how much he'd meant his words.

He'd said little about the years he'd been gone nothing about the
things he'd sesn and done.  She'd thought about him more than she liked
to admit, wondering where he was, what he might be doing.  She'd
devoured every tidbit of news that filtered to them, trying not to
think that he might have been killed in one of the battles she was
reading about.

"We got reports, of course," she said.  "It didn't seam possible that
so many men could be dying.  Was it as bad as it sounded?"

"Worse."  The flat word and his bleak expression conveyed as much about
what he'd gone through as any long speech could have done.

Liberty would have liked to ask him more, to know more about what had
happened to him during the years he'd been away.  But something in his
face told her that it was a wound that had yet to heal-perhaps never
would heal completely.

They spoke little after that but the silence was not an uncomfortable
one.  Liberty had decided to try to get to know the man who was her
husband, but for the moment, it was enough to simply ride next to him
and enjoy the warm spring air.

She felt a subtle easing of the tension that usually lay between them.
It had been foolish to pretend that avoiding Matt was going to solve
any problems.

They'd gotten a late start and it was midafternoon when they reached
the souroe of the blockage.  In a place where the stream had cut
through the side of a small hill, the bank had caved in, tumbling a
mound of rocks and soil into the stream.  The cave-in was no more than
a couple of days old, but a shallow pond had already formed behind
it.

"If the flow were a bit stronger, it would probably have already worked
its way through this," Matt said.

"In the middle of summer, it's little more than a trickle, but there's
always some water.  The cattle depend on it."

"Well, it's going to take more than one man with a pry bar to break
that loose."  Matt reached into his pocket for the makings of a smoke
and studied the problem.

"We can come back with the men tomorrow and break it loose.  I've some
beef and bread in my saddlebags It seems a long time since breakfast."
Liberty looked around for a good place to spread the blanket she'd
brought.

Perhaps the informality of a simple picnic would give them a chance to
talk.  She still wasn't sure just what it was she hoped to gain from
seeking out Matt's company.  Maybe a little clarification of what he
wanted from her.  Perhaps, then, she'd understand what she wanted.

"Seems odd, the bank caving in like that."  Matt narrowed his eyes at
the mound of dirt and rocks, his tobacco pouch forgotten in his hand.

"What's odd about it?  The water undercut the bank and it collapsed."

"That's the one place where a cave-in would be likely to collapse," he
said.  "And why would it collapse just now?  There's been no rain to
weaken the bank."

"What difference does it make?"  she asked impatiently

She wasn't interested in analyzing the reason for the bank's collapse.
She was more concerned with getting at the real purpose of this
expedition.  Now that she knew what had stopped the water's flow and
could see that it was an easily solved problem, she was more interested
in the less simple problem of their marriage.

"I just don't like the look of it," Matt said.  He slipped the tobacco
back into his pocket and looked around uneasily.

They were in hilly country and there were too many places where a man
with a rifle could lie low and have a pretty good shot at anyone near
the dam.  The cavern would have been easy enough to cause.  And it was
obvious that someone from the Rocking S was bound to check on the
stream's sudden reduction.

There would have been no way for Randall to know that Matt and Liberty
would be the ones to come, but maybe he hadn't really cared.  Maybe
Liberty's death wasn't essential to his plans to gain title to the
land.  He didn't have to kill her if he could make it clear that the
price for keeping the land would be a high one.

Liberty might be willing to risk her own life to keep the ranch, but
Matt knew she wouldn't feel the same about risking the lives of her
men.  If Randall wanted to send a clear message to the Rocking S, all
he'd have to do was position a man somewhere overlooking the area of
the cave-in and then wait for one of the hands to show up.

Liberty's presence could turn out to be a real bonus

"Head toward that brush over there," he said abruptly.  He was already
turning the roan.

"Why?"  Matt's tone had Liberty obeying the order even as she
questioned it.

Before he could answer, he caught a flash of light from the corner of
his eye-the reflection of sunlight off a rifle barrel.  " "Yhah !  "
Matt leaned out of the saddle to slap Liberty's mare on the rump.
Startled by the blow as well as by his shout, the little pinto gave a
leap that nearly unseated her rider.  A bullet kicked dust just beyond
where the mare had been, the report following a heartbeat later.

Hearing the rifle shot, Liberty realized instantly what had happened.
The cave-in had been caused specifically to get someone to come look
for it.  And when they did, they'd be a sitting target.  Matt had
realized that, and that was why he'd questioned the timing and
placement of the blockage.  If he hadn't slapped the mare when he had,
that bullet might have found its target.

Liberty crouched low over the pinto's neck, letting the little horse
run all out.  A glance over her shoulder showed her the roan keeping
pace with her horse.  The big gelding's longer strides could have taken
him past the pinto easily.  Matt must be holding him back, keeping
between her and the ridge where the shooting seemed to be coming
from.

There were more shots, and they seemed to be coming from more than one
place, but it was impossible to be sure.  Surely, she and Matt must be
almost out of range, she thought.

As if to prove her wrong, she heard the whistle of a bullet and saw it
kick up dirt only a few feet ahead of the pinto.  Instinctively, she
tightened her fingers on the reins, swerving the mare to one side,
trying to make a more difficult target.  Just a little farther.

The pinto's hoof came down in a shallow hole.  Ordinarily, she could
have adjusted her stride to compensate for the irregularity, but
running flat out as she was, there was no time for adjustments.  With a
frightened whinny, she stumbled.  Liberty felt her start to fall and
kicked her feet loose from the stirrups.

Behind her, Matt saw the mare stumble and knew she was going down.  The
fall might not injure Liberty but she was certain to be momentarily
stunned.  The seconds it would take her to recover could cost her her
life.  As if to emphasize that point, he felt something tug at his
sleeve and heard the ugly thwap of a bullet hitting a rock nearby.

He slammed his heels against the roan's sides, and the big horse
responded with a burst of speed that brought him level with the pinto
just as Liberty kicked her feet out of the stirrups.  Leaning out of
the saddle, Matt caught Liberty's waist in one arm, sweeping her off
the mare just as she tumbled to the ground.

The breath knocked from her, Liberty threw her arms around Matt's neck
and clung for dear life.  Behind them, she saw the pinto scramble to
her feet and trot a little ways before stopping, seeming unharmed by
her fall.

"Try to get your foot in the stirrup," Matt said.  His arm was like an
iron band at her waist, but it was obvious he couldn't hold her like
that for very long.

Liberty moved her foot, seeking the stirrup.  She found it without too
much trouble.  Matt had pulled his foot out of it and Liberty slid her
boot into place.  His arm eased around her waist as he felt her take
some of her own weight.

There'd been no more shots since the pinto's fall, but Matt kept the
roan at a fast trot, not slowing until they'd put several miles between
them and the site of the cavqin.  When he finally stopped, Liberty's
leg was trembling with the effort of balancing herself against the
horse's side.  " " Swing up behind me, " Matt said as he lowered her to
the ground.  What she really wanted to do was collapse on the ground,
but she drew a deep breath and took the hand he held down to her.

With her seated behind him, her arms circling his waist, Matt nudged
the roan into a quick walk.  The ambushers had been between them and
the ranch house, forcing them to run away from the safety it could
offer.  On the other hand, the broken, hilly country they were in now
offered them more concealment than the flat prairie nearer the ranch.

"Do you think it was Randall?"  Liberty asked.

"Unless you've got enemies you haven't mentioned"

"No.  No other enemies."

She still found it hard to believe that Randall would try to kill her.
Even after what had just happened, it didn't seem possible.

"How could they have known I'd come out to check the cave-in?  " she
asked suddenly.

"They couldn't.  They probably had orders to shoot whoever showed up.
Randall probably thinks that killing one or two of the hands might
persuade you to change your mind about selling to him."

The way Liberty's arms tightened around Matt's waist told him that
Randall was probably right.

"When we showed up, maybe they just considered it a bonus," he said.

"There was more than one, wasn't there?"  " "Iqvo.  Both pretty good:
'

"They missed us."

"It was a difficult shot.  Besides, they didn't miss entirely, " Matt
said ruefully.

"What do you mean they didn't miss entirely?  Are you hurt?  Where?"

"My arm.  And it's just a crease."

"I.et me take a look at it," she demanded, trying to get a look at the
injury.

"When we stop."

"You can't just let it bleqd."  She'd managed to catch a glimpse of his
blood-soaked sleeve.

"It's almost quit by now.  I don't want to stop yet.  We need a place
we can defend."

"You think they'll come after us?"  The thought was enough to
momentarily sidetrack her from his injury.

"Maybe.  They know we're on one horse.  They may not have orders to
kill you specifically, but they may just decide it's an opportunity
they shouldn't miss."

"I hadn't thought of that.  So what are we going to do?"

"We're going to try to keep from getting killed.  If we're not back by
morning, Hank will come looking : '

"And after the trouble we had with Randall, he'll come loaded for
bear."  She laughed suddenly.

"Being shot at amuses you?"  Matt's voice showed he questioned her
sanity.

"I was just thinking that we've been here before.  Six years ago.  The
two of us, looking for a place to hole up.  Only one horse between us.
It was even the same horse."

Matt chuckled.  "He must be getting a little tired of this."

"I can't say I blame him."

Liberty could have added that there were other similarities between the
two times.  Just as she had six years ago, she felt safe with Matt.
Though she was older now and well able to take care of herself, there
was something about his presence that made it easier to believe they'd
come through this intact, just as they'd beaten much greater odds six
years ago.

There was purpose in the way Matt guided the roan.  It was obvious that
he had a specific destination in mind, so Liberty allowed her head to
rest against his back and closed her eyes.  Sleep was impossible, but
she could almost pretend that there was nothing to worry about beyond
the fact that they'd missed supper

"We'll stay here tonight."

She must, in fact, have dozed off, because she came awake with a start
when Matt spoke.  Peering around his shoulder, she felt her heart give
a startled bump.  Was it possible that time really had spun backward?

Sitting in front of them, as solid and plain as it had been then, was
the little stone cabin where they'd taken shelter from the snow six
years ago.  Liberty closed her eyes, feeling almost dizzy.  But when
she opened them again, it was still there, gray and squat, the windows
covered over.  She couldn't remember when she'd ever seen anything that
looked half so wonderful.

"Give me your hand and I'll help you down."  Matt's voice was calm,
reflecting none of the shock she felt.  Of course, he'd obviously known
they were coming here.  Was it possible that he didn't remember what
had happened here?

But when he dropped to the ground beside her, his eyes met hers and she
knew his memories were as vivid as hers.

"Looks like we've come full circle," he said, one side of his mouth
kicking up in a half smile.

"Looks like."  She turned to look at the cabin.  "I didn't realize this
was where it was: '

"It seemed like a good place to spend the night," he said.  She could
feel his eyes on her profile, trying to gauge her reaction.

"Yes," she said slowly.  "It seems like a good place."  She shook
herself and forced a smile.  "I'll go see what shape it's in.  Do you
think it will be safe to start a fire?  "

"If the wood's dry enough."  Matt cast a considering look at the sky.
Following his gaze, Liberty was surprised to realize that it was nearly
dusk.  "It will be dark before long.  If they followed us, they'll have
to make camp."

"Do you think they'll follow us this far?"  Liberty glanced over her
shoulder, as if half expecting to see gunmen ride into sight.

"I don't know.  Depends on how well paid they are."  " "Randall
wouldn't have to pay his son.  He'd come after us just for the pleasure
of it."  Her shoulders twitched in a convulsive shiver.

"Well, unless he's part wolf, he can't track us after dark," Matt
said.

"True."  Liberty glanced down at his arm, her dark brows drawing
together at the sight of his bloodstained sleeve.  "That needs to be
tended to," she said, touching him with gentle fingers.

"After I've seen to the horse.  I think he's earned a rest."  He gave
her a quick smile and brushed his fingers over her cheek before leading
the roan past her.  Liberty stared after him, her heart beating faster
than it had any business doing.

While Matt saw to the roan, Liberty gathered a few armfuls of dry wood
and then coaxed a fire to life.  With that done, she swept the worst of
the cobwebs from the corners, using a pine bough as a broom.  At least
she didn't have to worry about sweeping the dirt floor, she thought
with wry humor.

By the time Matt strode into the cabin, she'd about run out of tasks
with which to occupy her time.

"I brought water from the well.  The bucket leaks a bit," he said,
setting it down near the door.  He reached up to lift his saddlebags
from where they'd been draped across his shoulder.  He gave the table a
dubious look and then wisely chose to set the bags on the floor.

"There's some jerky in there," he said, nodding to them.  "You must be
hungry."  " " I had beef and some fresh bread in my saddlebags ,"
Liberty said.  She made no move to get the jerky.  She should be hungry
but she wasn't.

"I didn't come so well prepared."  He moved forward into the
firelight.

"You've broken the wound open again," she exclaimed , seeing dampness
on his sleeve.

"Yes."  He glanced at the injury without much interest

"Here.  Sit down and let me take a look at it: She hurried forward and
took hold of his good arm to lead him closer to the fire.

It occurred to Matt that it was the first time she'd touched him
voluntarily since his return.  He could hardly count the way she'd
clung to him on horseback -that had been a matter of survival.

If he'd been alone, he probably wouldn't have paid much attention to
the injury.  It was little more than a shallow burn, hardly worth the
effort of looking at it.  But Liberty obviously didn't feel the same.
And he wasn't going to protest if she wanted to fuss over him.  If
nothing else, it would give her something to think about besides the
attack this afternoon.

He obligingly handed her his knife when she asked for it and then
watched with unconcealed interest as she used it to tear several strips
off the bottom of her petticoat.  He'd wondered if she was wearing
anything beneath that split skirt.  " "It seems as if every time we're
together, you end up losing a petticoat," he commented.

Liberty looked up, half-smiling as she remembered the way he'd
ruthlessly cut up her second-best petticoat all those years ago.  "
"They're easily replaced."

She went to the water bucket and dipped one of her new rags into it.
Funny how she didn't feel any tension at all.  A few hours ago, if
asked, she'd have said that she'd rather walk barefoot across a cactus
patch than be in such an intimate situation with Matt.  She'd expected
to be alone with him.  She hadn't expected to be alone with him in the
cabin where they'd first made love.

Yet now that they were here, it felt almost inevitable that they should
be here.  Full circle, Matt had said.  Maybe that was just what had to
happen.  Somehow, here, she found herself remembering all the good
things about their time together-the way he'd protected her, kept her
safe.  He'd made her laugh when it seemed as if there couldn't possibly
by anything to laugh about.  And he'd never treated her like a child.

The anger she'd held for him all these years didn't seem quite so
strong suddenly.  Perhaps it was because they'd both come close to
death today, but it was easier to remember the good times than it was
to remember the hurt and anger.  It was easier to remember how much
she'd loved him than how close she'd come to hating him.

She shook her head and wrung the excess water out of the cloth.  Maybe
she should have taken time to eat, after all.  She was starting to have
the strangest thoughts.

Liberty turned away from the bucket and then stopped, feeling her
breath catch in her throat.  Matt had taken off his shirt-a perfectly
reasonable thing to do.  What wasn't reasonable was her own reaction.
It had been six years since she'd seen him without a shirt.  She'd
almost managed to forget the tanned width of his shoulders and the
broad muscles of his chest.  The sight of them now made her feel
unexpectedly light-headed.

She drew in a slow breath and told herself not to be foolish.  It was
lack of food that was making her feel dizzy, not the way the muscles
shifted beneath Matt's skin or the mat of hair on his chest that
tapered to such an intriguing line across his stomach before
disappearing beneath his belt.  She swallowed hard, trying not to let
her memories take her any further.

"I wish the light was a little better," she said, as she sank to her
knees beside him.

"Here."  Matt shifted his torso, angling his injured arm toward the
fireplace.  "Does that help?"

"Yes."  If what he'd been trying to do was increase her pulse, it
helped a lot.

She cleared her throat and forced her attention to his injury.  Once
the dried blood was washed away, it was easy to see that the bullet had
done nothing more than carve a nasty gouge in the flesh of his upper
arm.  The wound was not deep nor was it long.

Living on a ranch, Liberty had learned to deal with minor injuries.
She'd even been known to stitch up a cut a time or two.  She'd
certainly seen injuries a great deal worse than the one in Matt's arm.
But none of them had affected her the way this one did.  This wasn't
one of the hands.  This was Matt.

As she wound a strip of petticoat around his arm, she tried not to
think of the fact that, if the bullet had hit just a few inches farther
in, it would have gone through his shoulder.  He could have bled to
death long before they'd reached safety.qShe could have lost him again,
this time forever.

She hadn't realized until now that she'd never really believed he was
dead.  She'd told herself she did, but desp inside, she hadn't accepted
it.  She couldn't.  She'd needed to believe that he was in the world
somewhere.  Because if he wasn't, the world was an empty place.

She still loved him.  She'd always loved him, even when she almost
hated him.

"There.  I think that should hold it," she said, trying to keep the
turmoil she felt from showing in her voice.  Obviously, she was not
completely successful.

"Don't look so worried.  I've had cuts worse than that on my eyeball,"
Matt said, intending to make her smile.

But Liberty remembered him saying the same thing when she'd cared for
the cut on his stomach-the cut he'd gotten while saving her life.  And
now, six years later, he'd been hurt again while protecting her.

Maybe it was the stress of running for her life.  Or the tension she'd
felt ever since Matt's return, a tension caused as much by her own
stubborn denial of her feelings as by anything else.  Or perhaps it was
the sudden realization of those feelings.  Whatever it was, Liberty
felt something crumple inside.

"Hey, that was a joke," Matt said, startled to see tears well up in her
eyes.

"You could have been killed," she said, her voice trembling.

"Not by that wound.  It's hardly more than a scrape."

"But what if their aim had been a little better?"

"It wasn't: He reached up to brush a solitary tear from her cheek,
feeling the softness of her skin under his fingers.  "Don't cry, honey.
I'm not worth it, even if I'd died."

"Don't say that!  "

That first tear was followed by a second and a third, each one burning
into Matt's heart.  He cupped her face between his palms.

"Don't cry," he whispered.  "It breaks my heart to see."

When the tears didn't stop, he lowered his head to kiss them from her
cheeks.  At the soft brush of his mustache against her face, Liberty
gasped softly.  She closed her eyes and tilted her face upward, her
mouth brushing his.  She heard Matt's indrawn breath and felt him
still.

"Liberty?"  The husky question shivered over her.  Slowly, she forced
her eyes open and looked up at him.  " "Kiss me, Matt.  Make love to
me.  I need to feel us both alive."  The look in her eyes was an
invitation to heaven on earth.

"Are you sure?"  The blood was pounding in his head, making it
difficult to think.  He wanted her desperately He'd spent years wanting
her.

"I'm sure."  There was no doubt in her eyes, only a need that echoed
his own.

He should draw back.  Their brush with death had left her feeling
vulnerable.  He shouldn't take advantage of that vulnerability.  But
only a saint could turn away from the need in those green eyes.  And
he'd been called many things over the years but never a saint.

Liberty's eyelids drifted shut as Matt's mouth closed over hers.  She'd
been waiting for this, aching for it ever since he came back.  The one
kiss they'd shared had only deepened the hunger she'd refused to admit
she felt.

She opened her mouth to him, just as she'd opened her heart years ago.
His tongue traced her lower lip before delving inward to taste the
honeyed sweetness of her mouth.  Her tongue came up to fence with his,
touching and withdrawing in an ancient competition.

Matt felt her response run over him like the sweetest of fires.  All
the sleepless nights that he'd lain awake aching with need for her had
honed his hunger to a razor edge.

His hands dropped away from her face, one flattening against her back
to draw her closer, the other boldly cupping her breast through the
soft fabric of her blouse.  Liberty shuddered and pulled her mouth away
from his to stare up at him.  Cursing the need that had made him move
too quickly, Matt started to lower his hand but Liberty caught his
wrist and drew him to her again.

Watching her face, Matt dragged his thumb over her nipple.  Her eyes
were half-closed, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed with desire.  He
caught the taut peak between thumb and forefinger, plucking gently, and
she shuddered again, her breath leaving her on a soft whimper.

She reached for the buckle of his belt at the same moment he reached
for the buttons on her blouse.  He'd intended to take it slow and easy,
to drag the moment out.  But with the blood pounding wildly in his
veins and her trembling with a hunger as deep as his own, he was
incapable of slowing the pace.

Clothing disappeared as if by magic, leaving them bathed in firelight.
Liberty lay back on a bed made of their discarded clothing and lifted
her arms to him.  With a groan, Matt came to her, his hips cradled by
her soft thighs.  He had just enough control left to slow the headlong
pace, entering her body slowly, giving her time to adjust.

It was as if it were the first time again.  Liberty groaned, arching
her hips to take him deeper.  He filled the emptiness in her body, as
well as the emptiness in her soul.  She'd never knowu true completion
except in Matt's arms.

Her hands lifted to cling to his shoulders as he began to move within
her.  The slick friction generated a pleasure that filled her to the
very depths of her soul.

It was too powerful to last as long as they both wanted.  There'd been
too many years alone, too many nights of dreaming for the pleasure to
be long denied.  Liberty shuddered beneath him as she was spun headlong
into fulfilhnent.  Matt's climax came only a heartbeat later, driving
her higher still.

I love you.

Liberty heard the words, but she couldn't have said whether they were
his or hers or only in her mind.  For the moment, it didn't matter. All
that mattered was that they were together and she was whole at last.

Chapter Sixteen

It was a long time before either of them had the strength to move. Matt
shifted at last, lifting his weight from her and rolling to the side. 
Liberty had to swallow a moan of protest at his leaving.  She didn't
want to be left alone again.  But Matt's arm was already sliding
beneath her, drawing her close against his side.

The firelight flickered over their entwined bodies, painting them in
patterns of shadow and light.  Matt brought up his hand to sift his
fingers through her moonlight-pale hair.

"I used to dream about your hair," he said huskily

"Did you?"  Liberty curled her fingers into the mat of hair on his
chest.

"God, I was such a fool to stay away."  The whispered words were nearly
a groan as he thought of all the time he'd thrown away.

For the first time, Liberty felt no anger at the reminder of the years
they'd been apart.  With her head pillowed on his shoulder and her body
flushed and warm from his loving, nothing could completely shake the
feeling that her world was in order.

"Why did you stay away?"  she asked softly.  For the first time since
he'd returned, she was really ready to listen to his answer, to try to
understand.  Perhaps to forgive.

"I asked myself that a thousand times."  Matt rolled onto his back and
set his forearm over his eyes.  "Everything seemed right at the time.
It was only later that it began to seem like a mistake."

"Was it because of what I said-about hating you?  About not wanting
your child?"  She could hear her hurtful words echoing down through the
years.

"That was part of it," Matt admitted.  He slid his arm from beneath her
and leaned on his elbow, looking down at her.  The fire cast light over
one side of his face and left the other side in shadow, making him look
mysterious.  " " I was angry when I left, " he said slowly.  " "
Furious I'd done the right thing and married you and you'd turned me
out, said you never wanted to see me again."

"I didn't want you to marry me because it was "the right thing."  "

"You made that quite clear," he reminded her without rancor.  " " I
wouldn't really have done anything to hurt your child, if I'd been
pregnant."  She wasn't quite ready to tell him how she'd cried when she
found out there was no baby.

"I think I knew that, even then."

" "Then why did you leave and why didn't you come back?"

"Because I was a fool."  He reached up to brush the hair from her
forehead, his mouth twisted in a rueful smile.  "I left because I
thought spending the winter apart would give you a chance to cool off.
I thought you'd be grateful to see me come back.  I was a jackass"

Liberty lowered her eyes, afraid he might be able to read just how
right his guess had been.  By spring, her anger and hurt had been
replaced by a determination to make him love her.  Only he hadn't
returned.

"As for staying away..  : Matt sighed and shifted his gaze to the fire.
"When war broke out, I felt it was only right to enlist.  I believed in
the Union, in keeping the country together.  It all seemed very simple
at the time.  There'd be a few months of fighting and then it would be
over and everyone would go home again.  Only it didn't work out that
way."

Watching his face, Liberty wondered what images he saw in the flames.
Nothing pleasant if his bleak expression was anything to go by. Wanting
to erase the pain from his eyes, she reached up to touch his cheek.

Matt blinked and looked down at her.  Seeing the concern in her eyes,
he felt the memories fade.  For a moment, he'd almost been able to
smell the blood and despair that had filled so many years.

"The longer I stayed away, the harder it seemed to come back," he said
slowly.  "You'd been so young when I left and you were pretty
convincing when you told me not to come back.  I told myself you were
better off without me.  You'd give me up for dead and marry someone who
could offer you something more than I ever could."

"Then why did you come back?"  she asked.  Her eyes searched his face,
trying to read what it was he felt for her.

"I kept thinking about you: He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug.  "I
finally decided to come and see you.  I figured once I'd done that, I'd
be able to get you out of my mind."

"And now?"  She held her breath, waiting for his answer.  After what
they'd just shared, he couldn't possibly be thinking of leaving.  And
if he was, she'd just have to change his mind.

If there was one thing she'd finally realized, it was that her heart
had never let go of him.  If he didn't love her now, she could change
his mind.  Love could grow, if given a little care.

When he hesitated over his answer, she smiled at him from under her
lashes and stretched slowly, her breasts brushing against his chest,
her thigh rubbing over his.

"Do you think you can get me out of your mind now?"  she asked him. She
lowered her head and let her fingers dance boldly along the hardening
length of him.

Matt's thoughts scattered in a hundred directions.  He wasn't sure what
he'd intended to say next.  Had he been going to tell her that he'd
stopped fighting the hold she had over him?  Or had he been going to
say that he loved her-had probably loved her six years ago and had
simply been too blind to see it?  He couldn't quite grab hold of either
thought.

"I think you're a witch," he said thickly.  His hand came up to cover
her breast and he lowered his head to kiss the smile from her mouth.

Tomorrow would be soon enough to tell her how he felt.  At the moment,
there were more urgent matters to attend to.

When Liberty woke, she could see the sun coming in through the crude
boards that covered the windows The wood was nearly rotted through,
allowing the sun to slant through onto the dirt floor.

Who had built this cabin and why had they abandoned it?  she wondered
lazily.  But she didn't really want to know the answers.  If she knew
too much, it would spoil some of the fantasy.  She had the fanciful
thought that perhaps the cabin wasn't really there at all.  That maybe
it only appeared for her and Matt and vanished as soon as they were out
of sight.

The thought made her smile.  But really, was it any more fantastic than
the fact that she was lying here in Matt's arms, in the very place
where they'd first made love?

Liberty tilted her head until she could see Matt's face.  He was still
sleeping, giving her the freedom to let the love shine in her eyes.
Last night had been the fulfilhnent of a dream.  Or nearly so.  The
dream wouldn't be completely fulfilled until she was sure that he loved
her.  But that would come with time.

Matt might not love her but he wanted her, and she was old enough to
know that wanting could turn to love.  He'd come back because he
couldn't forget her.

And he'd made it clear that he was interested in making their marriage
a real one.

Would it be so impossible to be my wife ?

The remembered question made her smile.  What was impossible was for
her to be anything else.  It had been foolish of her not to recognize
that her hurt and anger toward Matt had lasted so long and run so deep
because her love for him was just as strong and deep.

Moving carefully, she eased out from under the arm that lay across her
stomach.  Matt stirred but didn't wake.  Liberty rose to her feet and,
moving quietly, she dressed, blushing when she found her chemise in the
far corner of the cabin.  Matt had not been patient in removing her
clothes.  But his impatience had been no greater than hers.

She combed her hair with her fingers but didn't bother trying to find
any of her pins.  Matt had scattered them over the floor in his
eagerness to see her hair tumbling into his hands.

She glanced at MatYs still form one last time before easing open the
door.  The contents of the water bucket had leaked out overnight,
creating a muddy patch near the door, which Liberty avoided as she
lifted the bucket and took it out with her.

The weather reflected her optimistic mood.  The sun was shining.  The
sky was blue.  And Liberty was sure she'd never seen a more beautiful
day.  Yesterday's danger seemed a long way away.  The gunshots, the
wild flight to safety-it didn't seem real anymore.  It was almost as if
it had all been staged just to give her and Matt an opportunity to
patch up their differences

The fanciful thought made her smile as she approached the old well. The
Randalls still had to be dealt with, she reminded herself.  But not
right now.  She knotted the length of rope around the bucket's handle
and then lowered it into the well.  Right now, she didn't want to think
about anything but Matt.

But it seemed that wasn't meant to be.  She lifted the half-full bucket
and untied the rope before turning away from the well.

Standing not fifteen feet away, with a pistol pointed straight at her
heart, was Curly Randall.  There was another man with him but Liberty
was only peripherally aware of him.  All her attention was for Curlythe
gun he held and the evil grin that lit his features.  The bucket
dropped from her suddenly nerveless fingers

Matt awoke suddenly, reaching for his gun even as his eyes opened.  He
was aware of several things at once.  He'd slept more deeply than he
had in years.  Liberty was not in the cabin.  And something was very
wrong.

He rolled to his feet and reached for his pants, jerking them on and
then stamping his feet into his boots.  There was no sound out of the
ordinary, nothing to explain the feeling of trouble.  He didn't know
what had awakened him.  A sound, perhaps?  Had Liberty cried out?

Gun in hand, Matt approached the door as carefully as if it had been
mined with dynamite.

"Where's Prescott?"  Curly asked.

"He's dead."  Liberty's answer was instinctive.  As far as she knew,
Matt was still asleep.  If they burst into the cabin, he'd be
vulnerable.

"Dead?  You hear that, Joe?  She says he's dead."

"Didn't see no body," Joe grunted.

"Perhaps you didn't look in the right place," Liberty suggested
haughtily, fixing Joe with a contemptuous look.

"I don't think she likes you, Joe."  Curly grinned, his pale eyes
glittering with amusement.

"I could teach the hoity-toity little bitch some manners."  Joe leered
at her, making his meaning clear.

Liberty tilted her chin, refusing to give in to the nervous quaking
that was threatening to take hold of her knees.  She had to stay calm
and think of a way to warn Matt.  She could raise her voice but Curly
was no fool.  If she suddenly began shouting, he was going to know
exactly why she was doing it.  The important thing was to warn Matt in
some way that wouldn't be obvious.

"I'd hate to call a lady a liar," Curly said conversationally' But I'm
just not at all sure I believe you.  Prescott doesn't strike me as the
sort to die easy."

"I don't care if you believe me."  Liberty allowed a note of hysteria
to creep into her voice-not a difficult task under the circumstances.
"He's dead.  There was so much blood," she moaned.  "Blood everywhere I
tried to stop it but I couldn't.  I couldn't.

"I rolled his body into a wash and then came here.  I thought I'd be
safe here.  But now the two of you are going to kill me."  Her voice
had been slowly rising, the control disappearing from it as she spoke.
"Go ahead," she shrieked.  "Kill me!  Get it over with!"

She hoped Curly wouldn't be prompt in taking her up on her invitation.
He was watching her with narrowed eyes, as if not quite convinced of
the authenticity of her performance.

"Prescott?"  He raised his voice, dividing his attention between
Liberty and the cabin.  "You in there , Prescott?"

"He's dead.  I told you he was dead."  Liberty sank to her knees,
lowering her fare as her shoulders shook with sobs.  Shielded by the
folds of her skirt, her fingers groped on the ground for a weapon of
some sort.  Anything at all that might give her an advantage.

Matt was surely awake now and knew the situation He knew there were two
of them, even if he couldn't know their exact position.

"Prescott?  If you're in there, you'd better come out, else I'll have
to shoot your wife.  Nothing fatal," Curly promised conversationally.
"Busted kneecap, maybe.  Mighty painful but not likely to kill her "

"I don't know why you won't believe me," Liberty sobbed.  "I told you
he was dead."

"For your sake, I hope you're lying.  I'd hate to bust your kneecap for
nothing " He grinned at Liberty.  " " Stand up: '

"No!  No, I won't: The fear in her voice was effortless' Just kill me.
You're going to do it, anyway.  Get it over with !  "

"I don't like to rush things.  I like to take things slow and easy.  A
man makes fewer mistakes that way.  Get her on her feet," he said to
his companion.

"Seems a waste to shoot her," Joe grumblerl as he approached.

"You're not going to need her kneecap," Curly said.  "Prescott!  You've
got till the count of three."

Joe dragged the sobbing Liberty to her feet.  Neither man noticed that
her right hand was clenched into a fist.

"One."

There was no response from the cabin.  If Litqerty hadn't known better,
she would have believed it empty.

" "Two."

Gqrly cocked the gun and aimed for her knee.  She appeared to be near
to fainting, forcing Joe to support most of her weight.  " "Three!  "
Curly Randall grinned demonically and started to tighten his finger on
the trigger.

And the clearing exploded with action.  With a shriek, Liberty came to
life.  Her hand came up, hurling dirt in Joe's eyes at the same moment
that she threw herself away from him.  The bullet that would have
shattered her knee hit the stone wall that surrounded the well and
ricocheted off with a vicious whine.

At the same moment, the cabin door exploded outward with force enough
to tear it from its hinges.  Matt left the cabin in a rolling dive,
hitting the ground shoulder first.

Curly reacted with the speed of a wild animal, spinning toward Matt and
triggering his gun as fast as he could.  Bullets kicked up dust around
Matt, but he came to his feet unharmed.

His first bullet caught Curly in the shoulder, the second slammed into
his throat.  Curly's finger was still twitching on the trigger as he
fell, but he was dead by the time he hit the ground.

"Matt!  Look out."  He spun at Liberty's warning to see Joe drawing his
gun, his eyes still red and watery from the dirt she'd hurled.  Liberty
didn't wait for his reaction.  The heavy wooden bucket, swung with all
the force she could muster, thunked against the back of Joe's skull.
His eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed like a felled ox.

It had all taken place in the space of less than a heartbeat.  An
instant before, the clearing had been filled with the sound of gunfire.
Now the silence was thick.

Liberty stared down at Joe's unconscious form as if uncertain of how
he'd come to be there.  Her fingers loosened on the bucket, which slid
to the ground with a thud, rolling onto its side.

"Are you all right?"  Matt's voice was low and urgent ; the hands that
caught her shoulders gripped painfully tight.

"Yes."  Slowly, she lifted her gaze to his face, feeling the tears
she'd only pretended to burn at the backs of her eyes.  She looked past
Matt to where Curly Randall's body lay sprawled in the dirt.  "I didn't
hear them come up: '

"They must have left their horses somewhere and come up on foot."  Matt
drew her to him, his arms circling her back, holding her so tightly,
the breath was almost crushed from her.

"I tried to warn you," she said.

"I know.  I already knew something was wrong.  I woke up and you were
gone and I knew you were in trouble.  When I heard Curly- " He broke
off.

"We can use this one to put Randall out of commission ," he said,
nudging Joe's limp body with the toe of his boot.  "I know his type.
He'll be happy to talk.  Once it gets out that he tried to have you
killed, Randall will have to move on: '

"So it's all over," she said slowly.

"The trouble with Randall should be.  The man's smart enough to know
when he's beaten."

He eased her just far enough away from him to put his hand under her
chin, tilting her face up to his.  Golden-brown eyes examined every
inch of her, as if that was the only way he could be sure she was
safe.

"If I'd come out sooner, he'd just have killed us both," he said.  " "I
know.  I was so afraid he'd kill you: She rubbed her cheek against his
hand.

"As long as he didn't hurt you: Matt bent to kiss a single tear from
her cheek.  "I couldn't go on without you."

"You couldn't?"  Liberty looked up at him, her breath catching at the
expression in his eyes.

"I'd only be half-alive."

"Matt.  Do you..  are you saying that..  you care?"  She stumblerl over
the question, feeling as if her whole life depended on his answer.

"I'm saying that I love you," he said softly.

"Oh, Matt."  She didn't have to say the words.  He could read them in
her eyes.  "I love you, too.  I never stopped loving you: '

The last word was smothered by the pressure of his mouth on hers.  She
rose on tiptoe and threw her arms around his neck, giving herself
wholeheartedly to the kiss.

Out of near tragedy had come joy.  She had the ranch.  She had her
life.  And she had Matt.  She could never ask for more.