Bloodlines

Anne Manning

Rocket ISBN 1-58608-052-0
© copyright August 1998 Betty Kasischke
Cover art by Eliza Black

New Concepts Publishing
4729 Humphreys Road
Lake Park, GA 31636
http://www.newconceptspublishing.com

Other books by Anne Manning from New Concepts Publishing:

The Raven’s Lady
Presidential Liaison

For my husband, David.
I have never regretted binding my life with yours.
Many thanks to all my writing friends, to whom I owe more than I can ever repay, especially Kathryne Overton, my critique partner and romance writer extraordinaire, and my fellow EPICureans.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Carroll County, Maryland

March, 1843

Father Tracy raised the bread above his head, offering it for consecration. Colter Ahern knelt by his mother, trying hard to keep his mind on the commonplace miracle of the Mass.

But, begorrah, he could smell her. Above the incense, above the packed mustiness of the parishioners, he could smell the lavender scent he knew so well.

A row ahead of him on the other side of the church, she knelt, hands delicately clasped, bowed head covered by her bonnet. Under that hat he knew her hair was the color of sable, a rich dark brown, thick and wavy and soft. Unpinned it hung to her waist. Colter knew that because he often made her take it down when they were alone. Under the elegant sweep of her dark brows, her eyes were big, clear, and gray green. When she was angry, they darkened, like a storm at sea. He'd seen that sight often, too, sometimes goading her, just a little, to see the lightning flash in those stormy eyes.

The stained glass filtered the light of the morning sun to highlight the fine lines of her nose, her cheekbones, her chin. As though God himself had molded each one, every feature was perfectly formed, as well known to Colter as his own.

His fingers tingled with the remembered feeling of her skin. His lips parted in memory of her kiss.

Kitty. Even her name was precious.

And she loved him. Colter smiled. Tonight he'd tell her. After all, she had to give her consent to her part in his plans. He was sure she would be as excited by the prospects for their future as he was.

"Corpus Domini nostri Jesu Christi," Father Tracy intoned to the first communicant.

Colter's mother, Maeve, jabbed him in the ribs to get him moving to the rail for Communion.

He stepped out into the aisle and stood back to let his parents and sisters go first. His father, Patrick, gave Colter a wink. "Keep your mind on Church, boyo," he whispered with a grin.

Colter returned the smile. Da knew what it was to be in love.

As he passed by the pew where she waited her turn to go to the rail, he dared a quick look.

Their eyes met. A warm blush crept up her face and a tiny smile tipped the corners of her full, pink lips.

Mother of God, he thought with a gulp, as his body forgot where he was and reacted to her. He'd better keep his eyes forward and his mind on proper things.

Colter knelt at the rail.

"Corpus Domini nostri Jesu Christi," said Father Tracy in his solemn monotone, holding the host before Colter's face, "custodiat animam tuam in vitam aeternam."

"Amen," Colter responded, accepting the dry, tasteless bread and crossing himself, then he rose and followed his parents back to their seats, glancing at her as he passed by. She again rewarded his attention with a smile.

Colter tried to keep up an appearance of piety while he watched her. Kitty was a tall girl, and though only seventeen, she looked like a queen.

She knelt at the rail, her mother on one side.

His enjoyment in watching her was ruined when he recognized the person making up the rest of the picture.

Look at the gall, Colter fumed silently, straining to restrain the foul curses that rose to his lips.

On Kitty's other side, kneeling a bit nearer than necessary, was none other than the fine young Mr. Dexter.

Kinda close there, aren't you, Anson? Begorrah. I already told him to stay away from her.

"Ow," Colter exclaimed at the sudden pain in his right shoulder. It felt like a vise had clamped down on him. He looked past his mother, but not before he noticed the smile she tried to suppress, to his father. Patrick held Colter in a grip that forced him to sit still. His father shook his head and mouthed the words, patience, boyo.

Even with Patrick's admonition, not to mention the pressure from his strong hand, Colter nearly came out of his seat when Dexter took Kitty's elbow, helping her rise from the kneeler.

"Colter," Maeve said in a barely audible whisper, her tiny hand on his knee, the gentle pressure stopping him just as effectively as Patrick's crushing hold, "mind yourself."

"Ma, did you see that? She didn't need any help. It was just an excuse to touch her."

On Colter's other side, his brothers, Michael and Seamus, snorted in amusement.

The snorts died at Maeve's stern look.

"But, Ma." His rough whisper was a sorry substitute for the roar he had ready.

Maeve turned her Emerald Isle green eyes on him. He shut his mouth.

Anson Dexter held Kitty's elbow until she was once more safely in her seat. Colter's smoldering rage burst into a full flame as Anson passed by on the way to his own seat, a smug smile on his face.

That banker's brat is going to get a whallopin', Colter promised himself.

Everybody knew Kitty was his girl. Everybody knew they were going to get married just as soon as he had prepared himself for a wife and family.

Suddenly, the thought occurred to Colter that when he left, there would be nothing in Dexter's way. Kitty would be alone to face the pressure her dragon of a mother would put behind Anson's case.

The old priest raised his arms to give the benediction. Colter bowed his head to receive the blessing, but he also prayed.

"Holy Mother, please, keep her safe for me while I'm gone."

Kitty was ashamed. She'd not heard a single word of the whole Mass. All of her responses had been rote, all her attention directed toward Colter.

He'd been watching her. She could feel his gaze, almost as though his hands were actually touching her.

Mercy, what would Mother say? She already held it against Colter that he wasn't from an old family. Her mother could claim distant familial ties to the Carrolls of Carrollton. The Forbes family, her father's people, had been in Maryland for nearly three centuries. The Aherns had arrived from Ireland barely twenty years ago.

And Colter worked with his hands. Mother could never understand why Kitty wanted a man who worked on a farm.

Anson was more Mother's type, Kitty thought with a grimace.

Kitty’s own father was a man much like Anson Dexter. Albert Forbes was a banker, a partner with Anson's father in the Farmers' and Merchants' Bank. Anson was like them, proud, ambitious, doing a clean job that didn't cause sweat or strain. Work that didn't put calluses on his hands. Work that didn't take him out into the sunshine to brown his skin to a warm gold. Work that wouldn't broaden his shoulders or build rippled muscle.

Kitty felt the blush creep up her face. What in the world was the matter with her to let her mind wander like that? In Church, yet!

She followed her parents out, past the warm handshake and greeting from Father Tracy, her eyes searching for Colter.

He was waiting for her, leaning against the rail where he'd tied his horse. His right cheek dimpled in a smile when he saw her coming toward him.

"Mother, I'll be home before very late," Kitty said over her shoulder as she started toward him.

Halfway there, a hand squeezed her elbow. She stopped and whipped around, irritated at the lack of manners.

Anson Dexter didn't give her a chance to deliver the stinging reproof that sat on the tip of her tongue.

"Kitty, I'd like to take you for a drive after dinner. Have you seen my new carriage and horse? They're the best in the county." His usually serious expression was softened by a charming smile. But his charm was spoiled by the tight grip with which he seized her hand. "I already asked your father."

She pulled her hand away and glanced past him, glaring at her father. He'd known her plans and still encouraged Anson to ask her. When were they going to just give up and get used to it?

"I'm sorry, Anson. I'm having dinner at the Aherns."

There, she thought with a bit of smug satisfaction, her father finally had the grace to look a little ashamed of his interference. She returned her attention to young Mr. Dexter.

"And I really don't think it's appropriate for a young man to reach out and put his hands on a young lady. Especially when that young lady has an understanding with another young man."

"Really, Kitty, you aren't actually intending on marrying Ahern."

Kitty could have spit. "Why not?"

It was a good thing, she supposed, that her mother hustled up to them. Anson showed every indication that he was about to give her several reasons she shouldn't marry Colter.

Any one of them would surely have started a fight.

However, her mother's motivation had nothing to do with preventing a fight. People were looking.

"Katherine, must you make a display of everything? I could hear you all the way across the churchyard."

"I'm sorry, Mother." Kitty really tried to calm down. "Anson, I apologize for being so curt with you. It's just that," she made a conscious effort to speak in a more ladylike tone, "I've made my choice."

Anson's gaze moved past her, to Colter. The look that flashed across Anson's eyes frightened her a little. Was it anger? Hate?

Sometimes she felt guilty for being the reason the two men were no longer friends. But she was also irritated that Anson didn't seem to understand the word no.

"Perhaps you should offer your regrets to the Aherns and stay at home today, Katherine."

"Is that a suggestion, Mother, or is it an order?"

"Stop making a scene, young lady."

"Me? Mother, he's the one who grabbed me right here in the middle of the churchyard like I'm a...." She couldn't think of anything appropriately cheap to describe how his treatment made her feel. "Talk to him about making a scene."

Kitty turned on her heel and strode straight to Colter. He leaned against the rail, his shoulders shaking with mirth. She tried to spill some of her annoyance over onto him, the arrogant thing. But she could never manage to stay angry with Colter for very long.

Accepting his outstretched hand, Kitty allowed him to lead her to his parents' carriage. When he looked back with a smirk of triumph at Anson, she glanced behind her and saw Anson's eyes narrow and his mouth tighten in a thin line.

The old saying, if looks could kill surely fit this sight. If the fire in Anson's eyes had been real, both she and Colter would be nothing but a pile of cinders right now.

Could you curse a person with only a look? A shiver whipped through her.

"You shouldn't taunt him, Colter. There isn't any reason for you to be jealous."

"Jealous? Of the banker boy?" Colter's voice was loud and his laugh derisive. "Sure'n they'll have a blizzard in hell before that happens." He helped her into the carriage where she took her place beside his mother.

"I wish you'd try to make up with him. He was your friend."

"The important word there, my Kit, is was." He turned away before she could answer that and went to get his horse.

Maeve shook her head. "He's bound to start something with young Dexter. Men." She puffed a breath of disgust. "Sometimes I'd not give a ha'pence for the lot of 'em."

"Woman, what would you do without us to fuss at the whole day through? You'd go daft with boredom." Patrick climbed into the driver's seat and took the reins.

Kitty smiled at their banter. Making her part of this family was another reason she loved Colter. But as much as she loved all the Aherns, she'd have taken Colter even if he'd been a penniless orphan.

"Oh, Kitty, don't be lookin' at the boy that way," Maeve squeezed her hand and smiled. "He's already got a big enough head on him."

Kitty laughed, knowing her heart was in her eyes.

Colter came alongside the carriage on a big black stallion that pawed the ground and tugged at the reins. Kitty felt a thrill at the easy way he maintained control, yet didn't try to stifle the spirit of the animal.

"See you at the house, Da. We're going to go across the fields. He needs a good run."

"Colter, don't be racing the horse with your good clothes on."

"Ah, Ma, we're just going on a little pleasure ride. Take good care o' me girl, Maeve Ahern." He grinned at them both and winked at Kitty before he leaned over the horse’s neck. "Come, boyo, let's see what you got."

"Take care with that animal, Colter. He's got the makings of a champion."

"You're right about that, Da." He gave the horse a little of the reins and they were gone.

Dinner was over by three o'clock and the kitchen was finished by four. Kitty, as usual, had pitched right in to do her part. Colter paced around in the parlor, occasionally striding out into the hallway and glaring down toward the kitchen. Why did women always take so long, no matter what it was they were doing?

Laughter and giggles drifted down the hallway. He frowned.

Come on, Kit, he commanded, wishing as he often did that she could hear his thoughts. Sometimes he wanted to say things to her, but the words just wouldn't come. If she could hear what was on his heart, his announcement would be easier for her to take. He wasn't so sure anymore she'd be as excited as he was about it.

"Colter, come on, boy." Patrick stood at the door. "The pit is all raked and ready. Time to do a bit of pitching." Every Sunday, Patrick and his sons pitched horseshoes. Some traditions had to be honored.

"Da, do you suppose we can take 'em off the horse today?" Seamus's voice drifted in from the porch.

"Sure 'n you're gettin' soft, Seamus, if you're needin' some special help. Take 'em off, leave 'em on. I'll still beat any o' you young bucks."

Colter smiled at the old joke, then found himself getting lonely for home already, and he hadn't even left yet. He followed his father out onto the wide front porch, stopping on the top step and leaning against one of the thick white posts.

The rolling acres of Connemara stretched before him.

The early-March air was unusually warm and full of the scents of life and fertility. There were buds on the trees and just the slightest hint of nectar in the air. Colter breathed deeply, trying to pull it all into himself.

Patrick often said he'd settled out here because of the color of the grass. He claimed it was the greenest he could find, though a pale imitation of the emerald turf of Eire. The horses didn't seem to know it was inferior and grew fat and healthy.

Whitewashed fences crisscrossed the land, enclosing pastures, the three-quarter mile training track, and the stables. One stable sat near the track. The other, set closer to the property line, far from the bustle of the farm, was for the brood mares and foals. The little ones gamboled in the paddock under their mothers’ care.

Colter smiled. That was the best part of the business.

Turning, he gazed past the pastures where the Meadow Branch entered the property to twist and wind its way to the Monocacy River, toward their place. His and Kitty’s. It was just a hillock, topped by oak and pine trees and surrounded by blackberry hedges. It was a hidden place where two young people could sit and talk and, sometimes -- he shifted against the post a bit -- kiss and touch, getting a taste of what was in store.

Colter would miss Connemara, his home, nearly as much as he would miss Kitty, his love.

The clanking of the shoe around the post and the shouts of congratulations to Patrick for his ringer sounded in Colter's ears, bringing him out of his reverie. He smiled.

One day, it would be his. Colter had grown up wanting the responsibility of seeing Patrick's dream carried on. Neither of his brothers was suited for the business, though they loved horses as all Aherns, indeed all Irishmen, did. But Colter had it in his blood. Though he might live for a time in the land of his ancestors, he would return to Connemara. And Kitty.

Just before dusk, Kitty pulled her shawl over her shoulders and stopped at the front door.

"Good night, Maeve. Thank you for having me."

"You're one of the family, Kitty. This is your home, too." Maeve kissed Kitty's cheek. "Good night, love."

With a knowing smile, she touched her son's cheek. "Mind yourself, Colter."

"Yes, Ma." Colter dropped a kiss on top of his mother's head. When Maeve had closed the door after them, he took Kitty's hand and led her off the porch. "Come keep me company while I get the carriage, Kit."

"Wait, Colter," Kitty said. "Let's walk. It's such a beautiful night, it would be a shame to waste it on a carriage ride. Besides, it's too early to go straight home. Could we go out to our place and talk for a bit?"

He smiled. "That would be grand, darlin'." He reached for her hand, lacing her slender, white fingers between his and marveling that such a beautiful and delicate girl could love him. Sometimes when he was with her he felt like such an ox.

And he wanted her so badly he ached with it.

He acknowledged with a silent self-amused groan that it was this ache of his that was one of his reasons for putting some distance between them until he could marry her proper. It wouldn't do to have things get out of hand. He couldn't shame her by taking her before they were wed and he wouldn't take her from her father's care until he was able to provide for her. She deserved the best a man could do and then some.

Kitty squeezed his hand and smiled into his eyes.

The ache, sweet torture it was, grew stronger.

Aye, the best a man could do. He promised her and himself he'd do better than any man ever had.

They walked together through Maeve's rose garden, past the race track, straight across the open pasture toward the woods. Following the Meadow Branch, he glanced out toward the fishing pond. He'd bring their sons here, teach them to fish, just like his own father had. He'd tell them the things that boys ought to hear from their fathers.

"What are you thinking about?"

Colter raised her hand and kissed the back of it. "Our children."

Kitty laughed out loud. "Colter Patrick Ahern. How scandalous." She shot him a sideways glance. "Were these all boy children? How many? What did they look like? No, forget that one. If they're boys, they'll all look like you."

Colter smiled and swept his arm forward.

"Here we are, my lady." He spread his jacket on the ground and helped her settle down on it, then sat beside her on the grass.

She breathed deeply and smiled. Her sweet pink lips turned upward, then they parted, revealing her small, white teeth. So like pearls, they were.

"I love it up here. It always smells so clean." She leaned back on her elbows and stretched out her legs, crossing her ankles. It might have been a decidedly unladylike pose, but Kitty managed somehow to remain a lady nonetheless.

She was a lady that was approachable, touchable....

Saints, he squirmed. Better stop that, boyo, unless you're wanting to get in trouble out here. He moved a little further away from her.

Kitty noticed his movement. "What's wrong, Colter? Why did you move away from me?"

"My darlin', I had to or...."

"Or what?"

"Kitty," he whispered, failing to keep the moan of desire out of his voice.

She creased her forehead and looked into his eyes. He made no effort to hide what he wanted. Then her eyes opened wide and her lips parted in surprise. Or was it shock?

Well, she can read my mind, he thought.

Kitty blushed crimson. "Oh," she breathed. Then she leaned toward him. "Do you really feel that way about me, Colter? Do you really want me like that?"

He felt his jaw drop. "Katherine, you know perfectly well how I feel about you."

"I know." Satisfaction dripped from her voice. "I just want to hear you say it." Her smile faded a little. "But, we've managed to be so good that sometimes I think it's not hard at all for you to keep your distance."

"Girl, you don't know how hard it is." His laugh was completely involuntary. Kitty didn't get the joke.

"What's so blasted funny? I just told you how I feel and you're laughing. Braying jackass." This last was whispered.

"Are you angry with me, Kit?" He moved closer, ignoring the warning voices in his head, and whispered in her ear. "I love to see you angry. Your eyes get all stormy and dark. They make me feel all wantin' inside."

She cut a look from the corner of her eyes, but she didn't move away from him. "They do? What is it you're wantin'?" She pronounced the word as he had, though her brogue was terrible.

He leaned forward and his lips grazed her cheek and moved across to her ear. His nose nuzzled into her hair and he drew a deep breath. "You said it smelled good out here, all clean? All I can smell is you." He breathed again. "In church today, all I could smell was you. Whenever I smell lavender, all I think of is you."

Kitty closed her eyes and sat still. None of her mother's warnings seemed appropriate here. There was no feeling that this was bad, that it would lead to something terrible and sinful. Colter put his hand against the back of her neck and pulled her to him. She went willingly. His lips, so full, so sweet, brushed hers lightly, over and over. She wanted more.

Such a wanton, she thought as she put her hands on the sides of his face and held him for a more proper kiss. Last Sunday night he'd kissed her in such a way that she'd never have guessed people actually did. It had made her stomach flutter and she'd felt warm all over. She wanted that again.

Kitty parted her lips and pressed them against Colter's. He groaned, but she didn't think it was a bad groan. At least, he didn't let go of her.

On the contrary, his arms went around her and he lay her gently back on the grass.

"Ahhh," she whispered as she got what she'd sought. His tongue moved gently along her lips, then slipped inside her mouth. Heaven, how wonderful it felt. She wondered if he might like it. When her tongue touched his lips, he tightened his hold on her and rolled to lay just off her.

It had to be wrong, lying here with him like this. But it didn't feel wrong. In fact, it felt anything but wrong.

"Kitty," Colter whispered into her ear. He took her lobe between his teeth and....

"Colter, my God." From a secret place, deep within her body and soul, she felt the tingling that was a near pain, a need she couldn't describe.

His hand slid along her leg, behind her knee and it was some time before she realized her skirt was pushed up and his hand was under her clothes. That had to be wrong. But it felt anything but wrong.

He touched her in places she'd never even seen, and she knew she should stop this before it went too far, wherever that was, but she couldn't. Instead of pushing him away, she held him closer. Her hands moved up and down his back and she reveled in the feeling of his hard muscles rippling under her fingers. From his shoulders, so broad and strong, she ventured down to forbidden territory, running her hands over his firm buttocks. It had to be wrong. But Colter's sigh of pleasure convinced her it was anything but wrong.

Colter's touches became more insistent. His big hand moved to cover her breast, even as his mouth caressed hers. A cool breeze stroked her skin and some distant part of her mind warned her that it was time to stop this.

His lips grazed her skin, his touch as light as a moth dancing around a flame. Kitty arched her neck, allowing him to continue down her throat. She looked down and wasn't at all surprised to see her bodice lying open, and Colter's lips caressing the curve of her breast.

Kitty raised her hands to touch his hair, its blue-black contrasting with the white blaze, the forelock of pure white that began at his hairline and marked him as Patrick Ahern’s son as all Ahern boy children had been marked for a thousand years. As her own sons would be.

He raised his eyes to hers. She shuddered at the blue fire that burned in them. The desire he could no longer contain evoked a yearning of matching intensity within her heart. Some part of her knew what it was, something more, something she couldn't name, something as necessary as air.

She waited, hazy in the pleasure he gave her, conscious of nothing else in the whole of Creation except Colter's lips, his hands, his warm and protecting body. Her hands moved over him. She couldn't keep them still. Her lips answered his. She bit his muscled neck gently, taking joy from his wordless reaction.

Colter reached behind her knees and drew them up. He moved between them and knelt before her. His mouth held hers, claiming what she gave him.

He lay over her and kissed her, so gently, so softly. They could no more stop what was happening than they could have prevented the sun from rising tomorrow.

How could it be wrong? It was Colter. She belonged to him, he to her. She looked into his eyes and pulled him closer. He thrust forward and took possession of her body.

"Oh," she whispered, tensing at the pain. Then she forgot all about it.

He raised onto his elbows and looked into her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Kit," he said. Then he made everything all right with tender kisses and his big, gentle hands, making her forget everything except the exquisite torment.

"Colter, I love you. I'll always love you." She realized there were tears of joy in her eyes.

He smiled and dipped to catch one on his tongue.

"I have always loved you, my darlin'. I always will." Then brought her to a soul-shattering release of the pressure that had been building, it seemed, forever.

Chapter Two

Kitty lay beneath him and looked up, past his shoulder, to the stars burning in their cold, crisp purity. His big body warmed her, hid her, protected her. Even as she stroked his broad shoulders, ran her hands up his neck, buried her fingers in his thick hair, she heard the voice in the back of her mind, the voice of her mother warning her about that Ahern boy. Just that quickly, what had been a joyous, beautiful experience turned dangerous, ill-timed, wrong.

Where were you ten minutes ago? she asked the voice.

"Kitty," he whispered, his breath ragged and his voice strained. "My Kitty."

He touched her. His touch had only moments ago brought her such grand and overwhelming pleasure, but now the realization of what they had done was dawning. She had to push aside the beginnings of fear and shame. There would be time enough for that later.

Kitty sighed as he gently smoothed back a strand of her hair that had come free from a pin. He smiled and her heart melted at the sight of the dimple in his right cheek that interrupted the smoothness of his face.

She couldn't stop her hand as it reached up to brush away a wavy lock of his blue-black hair. Her fingers moved further to stroke the Colter’s forelock.

He closed his eyes at her touch. She wished he'd open them again and look at her. She needed to see that he didn't think less of her.

Kitty tried to ignore the haunting accusations in her head. It was too late. It was done.

Colter sighed as he moved to sit by her side.

"I guess we'd better go home." He gently pulled the front of her bodice together and started to button her up. "You girls sure do have a lot of buttons on your clothes," he said with a fleeting smile that brought that dimple into prominence again.

"Exactly how many different sets of clothing have you unfastened, Colter Ahern?"

"Well, let's see." He squinted while finishing the last couple of buttons, his expression one of deep concentration. When he glanced at her, the mischief in his eyes set her heart to a double-time caper. "Including you, Miss Forbes?"

She nodded.

He squinted again, his lips moving silently through the numbers. "Guess there's only one."

The grin quickly faded.

Needing some reassurance, Kitty touched his face, running her fingers along every curve. The stubble of his whiskers was much thicker now than when he'd given her her first kiss. Was it two years ago? Had she ever been that innocent?

Colter gently pulled her skirts down around her legs. "Oh, God." His whispered prayer made her jerk upright.

"What is it?"

He turned away and started retucking his shirttail into the waistband of his pants.

"What's wrong?" She touched the hard muscle of his forearm.

Still looking away, he let his shoulders slump.

"Your petticoats are stained.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “This isn’t the way I imagined it would happen, Kit."

"Are you sorry?" She feared he would think she was loose. Mother told her boys didn't respect girls who let them have their way.

Colter turned quickly back to her and lay his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look into his eyes.

"I could never be sorry about loving you. You’re the only girl I've ever wanted, Kit. I've grown up knowing you'd be my wife someday." He pulled the rest of the pins from her hair, letting it hang free down her back. His long fingers combed through it. "You have such beautiful hair, so thick and soft. It feels like a sable's coat. There, that's better. You'd best pin it up again."

His expression as he turned away from her set a heaviness on her heart. She reached up and took her hair into her hands and began twisting it back up. She stuck in the last pin, then dropped her hands in her lap.

Suddenly cold, she pulled her shawl over her shoulders and her fingers, acting on their own, started twisting the decorative fringes.

"Are you sure you aren't sorry? I guess I wouldn't blame you if you thought me cheap now."

"Kitty, don't." Colter twisted around and grabbed her hand, his thumb stroking the bones, tracing each from fingers to wrist. The sensation crept all the way up her arm and then back down into her stomach. "It's just going to be harder to leave you now."

Her lips parted in shock.

"Leave?" She didn't shout, or scream, or cry out. To her own ears, the word sounded as though someone else had spoken.

He took a deep breath. "I've been meaning to talk to you, darlin'."

The warmth in his voice abated her cold dread a bit.

"Da has heard from his friend in Ireland. He wants me to go and train with him there." He gave her a moment before he hurried on. "O'Malley is the finest horse trainer in Ireland." The words tumbled out like beans poured from a jar. "And Ireland raises the finest horses in the world. I already know so much that in just two or three years, if I'm lucky and work hard and...."

Sternness and mischief mingled in his eyes, she knew he was trying to charm her.

"...If I don't get too distracted by beautiful women, I could be qualified as a trainer."

"Three years," she breathed. It was an eternity. "Colter, why should we wait? Let's get married and I'll come with you."

He shook his head. "No, Kit. I've thought it all through. It wouldn't be fair to take you from your father's care until I can support you. To do that I have to have a trade."

Would it be unfair to use her fear to keep him from going away?

"Colter, what if," she paused, awkward, "what if we've made a baby?"

He smiled -- the arrogant, know-it-all smile of a young man sure he has all the answers -- and took her in his arms.

"Kit, we've only done it this once.” His face became serious. “I swear to you I didn't mean to take you tonight." He looked around at the grassy hillock. "I surely didn't mean to do it here."

He lay his palm on her cheek. She leaned into it a bit.

"Anyway, darlin', you shouldn't worry." He kissed her, tenderly, sweetly.

"I don't know, Colter. Are you sure?"

"I've never seen a maiden take after one covering."

Both hands against the hard wall of his chest, Kitty shoved him away, her fear transforming into irritation.

"Do you have to always put things in horse talk? I'm not a horse. I'm sure a worldly wise man like yourself knows much more than I do, but I do know that what we've done is what causes babies. And here you are planning to go off to Ireland." She got up and stomped away from him to the tree, smacking it with her open palm. She hardly felt the sting.

Kitty stood at the tree, her back to him. The grass rustled beneath his feet as he rose and came up behind her. She sensed his approach. He didn't try to touch her, nor did he speak.

Her anger wavered. She understood him so well. To Colter, a dream was just reality that hadn't come true yet. His dream had always been to train racehorses. Patrick had taught him all he could and now it was time for the son to outreach the father.

Kitty knew he had to go. And she knew she would wait.

Maybe her fears were unfounded, just the product of an overactive sense of guilt.

Anyway, she thought, it's too late to worry about it now. Either they had or they hadn't and if she did end up with a baby, she knew Colter would make it right.

She turned and leaned back against the tree.

"So, you're off to Ireland to make your fortune. You seem mighty sure I'll be waiting for you when you decide you're successful enough to support a family."

"Won't you?" Though he squinted at her in inquisitorial ferocity, his dimpled cheek gave away his lack of concern.

Kitty sighed and ran her finger along his dimple and down to his chin.

"Colter Ahern, what choice do I have when you're the only man I'll ever love?"

He smiled. "That's my girl." His lips touched hers, a gentle kiss, full of passion and youthful faith.

She braved the rest. "When are you leaving?"

"I'm going to Baltimore tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" It seemed a paltry reply, but it was the best she could do. Her mind had stopped functioning, as had her heart. She managed to ask, "Why so soon?"

"I have to leave right away. O'Malley wrote he'd be waiting for me in Liverpool in the middle of April."

Kitty felt empty, of thought, feeling, even words.

"I promise, darlin', I'll write you every week."

If he was waiting for her to say something, he'd be waiting for awhile.

Colter cleared his throat in a growl. She grabbed onto the sound. He did it whenever he felt uncomfortable. It was something she'd remember about him, something probably no one else had ever noticed.

He took her hand.

"Come on, me Kit. I'll walk you home." He searched her eyes. "Are you all right, darlin'? I didn't hurt you too bad, did I?"

Kitty shook her head, but said nothing. It wasn't that she didn't want to say anything. There was plenty she wanted to say. She wasn't punishing him for his determination to follow his chosen path. He'd always been singleminded. He'd pursued her with the same stubborn diligence.

She didn’t answer because she simply didn't have the breath or the strength. She was crushed under the mountainous certainty that she would never marry Colter Ahern. She would never have that houseful of handsome children with the blazing white forelocks.

They walked slowly, hand in hand, along Main Street toward the Forbes' home. The walk usually took about an hour, but tonight, Colter made it last as long as possible.

While he reviewed every detail of features long ago committed to memory, he wondered at the look on her face. She hadn't spoken a word the whole time they'd been walking, and here they were about to turn into her yard.

She must be angry. He'd been wrong to not tell her what he was planning sooner, so she could get used to the idea. He peeked at her face.

It wasn't like Kitty to keep her feelings inside. He wished she'd go ahead and lay into him.

He ventured into the waters. "You're mighty quiet."

The silver light of the full moon illuminated her face and he saw clearly the slow smile raise the corners of her mouth.

"What a relief. I was thinkin' you'd never speak to me again."

She turned to him, half-smile still in place. "I may not yet." She looked off into the distance as though she had the Sight.

"What do you see, Witch?"

Kitty laughed. "If I were a witch, boyo," she teased in her terrible fake brogue, "you'd be bound to stay right here in America." Her smile faded. "You wouldn't be running off on some adventure."

He had no reply. Her lack of enthusiasm for his dream pierced his heart like an arrow.

They walked on in silence until they reached her house.

"I thought you understood, Kit."

She stopped, looking with awful intensity into his eyes.

"Of course, I understand. You're meant for more than what you'll find in this little town." Kitty raised her hand and stroked his shoulder, then his neck, then the streak of white in his hair. "I'll wait for you as long as I can."

His palms grew sweaty. "What kind of a promise is that?"

"Exactly what it sounds like. As long as it's my choice to make, I'll wait for you."

He opened his mouth, ready to order her to promise on the Virgin that she'd be right here on this porch when he came for her, but he never uttered the first word before the front door opened and they were no longer alone.

"Kitty, it's late. Come on in, now." Albert Forbes greeted Colter with a cordial wave. "Colter, give my regards to your father. That bay he sold me last month is a mighty fine ride."

"Thank you, sir. He'll be pleased."

Forbes made no move to go back into the house, but only stood there, apparently waiting for Kitty to come in where he could keep an eye on her.

"Good luck, Colter," she whispered. In spite of her father's presence on the porch, she stretched up to kiss him lightly, then she turned to go inside.

"Wait." He pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket. "Here, Kit. This is where you can write to me."

She closed her fingers around the paper. It seemed to him she wanted to say more, but he had to settle for a smile.

He watched her go inside and stood for a long time in the yard, looking at the big house.

Suddenly he remembered standing on the other side of the street and gazing up in lovesick misery as she leaned on the window sill, contemplating some sight only she could see. Many nights of suffering passed before he'd had the nerve to even talk to her. He'd walk along the street and pretend indifference even while the sight of her turned his insides to jelly.

What did she mean she'd wait as long as it was her choice? Colter didn't believe her father would try to make her marry against her will.

Her mother was a different story.

There's the old dragon now, he thought, noticing the flutter of a curtain. Probably putting the evil eye on me, hoping I'll drown in a shipwreck.

His gaze returned to Kitty’s window.

Colter whispered goodbye and forced himself to turn and head back home. She deserved a finer leave-taking than he'd given her, but maybe it was better like this.

He felt an empty place in his chest. Kitty had his heart and he prayed she'd take good care of it for him.

"What are you thinking of? Where have you been half the night?" Melcia Forbes paced around Kitty's bedroom.

Kitty took her hair down and started her ritual brushing. "We walked home, Mother. It took a little longer than we expected."

Melcia dropped like a sack of flour on the bed.

"You walked? Like a farm woman? Kitty, you are too old to behave like such a hoyden. Why do you persist in this infatuation? There are a dozen more acceptable young men who would love to court you if that Ahern boy...."

There it is, Kitty thought.

"...Wasn't always around."

"To whom are these young men more acceptable, Mother? Don't my desires enter into this at all?"

"Katherine!"

Kitty stifled a nervous laugh.

"I was not referring to anything carnal. I just meant, I don't love any of those more acceptable young men." She lay down her brush and turned to face her mother. "I've loved Colter since I was a child. I don't want anybody else."

"Well, at least he's a Roman Catholic. And his family is respected, though they are little more than farmers."

"Mother." Kitty's voice held a touch more warning than she'd intended.

Melcia held up her hand in a gesture of conciliation. "I'll leave before we end up having another argument. It upsets me so when you become defensive and won't even listen to reason. I only want what's best for you, my angel." She dropped a kiss on Kitty's hair and left.

What would Mother think of her angel now?

Kitty picked up her brush and stared at herself in the mirror. She didn't think she looked any different, though she felt much unlike the girl she had been at Mass this morning.

And there was the nagging fear that the beautiful thing she had shared with Colter tonight would become a terrible burden that she would have to manage alone.

Colter was in Baltimore the next day as he'd promised Kitty, and two days later, he was a deck hand on a steamer, bound for Ireland. His plans, chiseled in stone so long ago, had finally become reality with O'Malley's offer. Everything, in fact, had proceeded as smooth as fine Irish whiskey. God and all the saints must have been smiling down on him.

As an unplanned bonus, though it was one he'd never dare attribute to the Almighty, he'd even had his sweet Kitty. He should have been stronger, but begorrah, she was so sweet and soft and smelled so good. One look in her eyes and he'd forgotten his own name.

He crossed himself and quickly said a prayer that she'd be all right. She'd wait for him, he had no doubt of that. They'd been created for each other.

He went back to swabbing until her voice popped into his head.

What if we've made a baby?

In spite of his initial certainty, her question had cost him no little bit of sleep over the last few days.

He shook his head just like a mule refusing to move. It wasn't possible, not after only one time.

Was it?

Uncertainty grabbed him by the throat and refused to let go. He raised his eyes, willing them to see all the way to Westminster. He nearly dropped his mop so he could find the Captain and be put him ashore before they got out of the harbor.

"Ahern," the Captain swaggered over, "that deck ain't gettin' swabbed but in that one place you got that mop on."

"Sorry, Cap'n." He got his mop moving smartly over the smooth deck planking.

"That be bet'r." The Captain looked back toward land. "You looking back at your gal, boy?"

"Yes, sir." The mop never slowed.

The Captain nodded. "A sailor never gets too attached to any one gal in any one port." He smacked his pipe against his hand out over the rail. "Makes it too hard to leave. Get you one in every port and you'll never be too lonely anywhere."

Colter laughed at the philosophy. "Well, sir, this one girl is plenty for me. Besides, I'll not be a sailor for long. Just to pay my passage over, then I'll be learning the trade of training race horses. When I come home in a few years, I'll be paying my way with me first fortune." He let his brogue exaggerate the last few words. "Then I'll be marrying my girl and raising a houseful of children."

The Captain cackled. "A few years? Much can happen in a few years. Hell, boy, a lot can happen in just a few minutes that can change a man's life forever. Just look at me." He pointed to the peg sticking out of his sailor's short pants. "Lost that at Tortuga to a cannon ball. One second it was there, the next...." He waved a hand. "Never did see where it went." He chuckled.

Colter had to smile with him even though losing body parts didn't seem like something to laugh at.

The Captain's eyes narrowed as though he squinted to see something in the distance. "The girl I'd expected to wait forever ran off with a defrocked priest." He roared a laugh that had nothing of humor in it. "Women don't wait forever, son." He slapped Colter on the shoulder and moved on toward the bridge.

Colter stood for a long time, looking out over the water, back toward the girl he prayed would wait for him to get their life's plans underway.

She wondered how long it would be before he arrived in Ireland. He'd only been gone three weeks.

Kitty sat at her vanity, waiting. If it was coming, it would be soon. Then she could get through the rest of the day without drawing too much attention to herself. For nearly the whole three weeks, it had been the same -- the dizzying, gut-wrenching sickness, then, if she managed to vomit, she felt fine the rest of the day. If not, she was woozy and wretched until it all started again the next morning.

A near faint came over her, fading her vision and draining her limbs of all strength. The burning bile rose into the back of her throat. She just managed to make it to her bed and pull out the chamber pot before she started to gag.

The door opened behind her, but she couldn't acknowledge her visitor. She retched until she had emptied her already empty stomach.

Kitty sat on the floor by her bed and looked at the door. If it was her mother, she would just tell her the truth and be done with it.

"Kitty, lamb. Are you sick? Should I send for the doctor?"

Kitty was flooded with relief. "Alice," she moaned, reaching for her cousin's warm arms. "Thank God."

Tears she'd managed to hide from everyone else flowed freely for Alice.

Alice held her for a moment, then leaned back and smoothed Kitty's hair off her forehead. Alice's hands were cool and soft. Kitty let herself be cosseted while she cried.

"Kitty, what's wrong?"

She was suddenly filled with shame that she had fallen so far from grace.

"Here, here, lamb. Let me get you a cool cloth." Alice was back nearly before she'd finished speaking. She laid a damp cloth against Kitty's cheek and gently wiped her mouth. "There, better?" She sat down beside Kitty on the floor. "Tell me."

Kitty couldn't look into her eyes. Of all the people she knew, only Maeve Ahern's opinion meant more to her than Alice's.

"I've done a terrible thing."

Alice sat by her side, but said nothing. Kitty felt her hand pressed between Alice's two. She finally was able to turn to look her cousin in the eye.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have a baby."

"What?" Alice's gentle brown eyes were wide in shock.

Kitty's shame was reborn and she turned away.

"Are you sure?"

Kitty nodded. "My monthly didn't come. You know I'm regular as a calendar."

"Colter?" Alice thumped herself on the forehead. "Of course, who else?" She lay her arm around Kitty's shoulders and pulled her close. "What will you do?"

Kitty sniffed and pulled the sheet down from her bed to wipe her nose.

"I don't know. I've written him a letter, but I can't get out of the house to mail it without Mother questioning me like an inquisitor. She's been watching me, Alice. I'm terrified she'll find out before I have some idea of what I need to do."

"Give me the letter, Kitty."

Gratitude welled up, manifesting as a fresh rain of tears.

"Thank you," she said, as she threw her arms around Alice's slender shoulders and hugged. "Alice, I have another favor to ask you."

"Anything, lamb, you know that."

"Will you stay for awhile? I need you here to help me hide this from Mother and Father." She shuddered. "I hadn't even thought of what Father might say, or do."

Alice patted her cheek. "Let's wait for a bit. See what Colter has to say for himself." She got up and helped Kitty to her feet. "Have you thought of going to the Aherns for help?"

"No." The thought was terrifying. "Maeve is so good, I'd be mortified if she found out. What would she think of me?"

"You sound like Melcia, worrying about what people think."

"Not people, Alice. Maeve. I couldn't bear it if she thought me a wanton."

"Do you really believe Maeve would think that of you?"

Kitty laughed mirthlessly. "It's what I think of myself."

Alice frowned. "Let's go shopping. Are you up to it?"

Kitty shook her head. "I don't think shopping can cure what's wrong with me."

"It might not cure you, but it can give you something else to think about, at least for a little while." Alice wrinkled her forehead again, like she did when she was figuring some mischief. "We'll go to Baltimore and you can see a doctor to make sure you're really, ah, carrying, before you make any more decisions. It might be no more than a case of influenza."

"Influenza that's lasted three weeks?" Kitty asked with a smile, her first since that last night with Colter. But Alice was right. She needed to take some positive action.

His first letter arrived a month later. Kitty's mother, finally resigned to having Colter Ahern as a son-in-law, brought it to her as she sat on the porch swing.

"Kitty, here's a letter from Colter already. The speed with which travel is done now, is simply amazing. My friend, Agnes, went to France last year and you know it only took three weeks to get there." Melcia sat down beside her.

Kitty looked at the letter in her mother's hand. She was afraid to take it. It was too soon to expect an answer.

"Kitty, what is it, child? You haven't been yourself for weeks." Melcia laid her palm across Kitty’s forehead. "Is it just that you're missing your young man?"

Kitty tried to smile as she rose from the swing. Her mother's strong lilac perfume was making her head spin.

"Yes, Mother, I do miss him. That's really all it is." She took the letter and tried smiling again, just to make her point.

Melcia didn't look convinced. "If there's anything you want to talk about, I hope you know you can come to me."

Kitty almost laughed out loud. No way in God's creation could she ever broach this subject with her mother. There was no reason to ruin her parents' lives before it was absolutely necessary.

"Thank you, Mother, for your concern," she said, as sincerely as she was able, leaning over to pat her mother's hand. "I know you'd always do your best for me."

That thought chilled her blood. Her mother's best, under the circumstances, could be anything but.

Kitty looked at the letter she held in her hand. She could almost feel him.

"I wonder how Colter is doing," Melcia hinted, none too subtly.

Kitty’s tears compounded the effort of reading his sloppy handwriting. She'd wisely not started reading aloud, sure that Colter's words would be too intimate for her mother's ears.

"My dearest Kit, I trust you're doing well. I miss you more than words can say, certainly more than the words possessed by a poor horseherder like myself. I long to kiss you and hold you again.

"I won’t be getting to Ireland as soon as I’d expected. O'Malley has been talking me up to the Earl of Kinmare, our employer, telling him that I am a capital lad and willing to work, which we know I am, and the Earl decided I would go with them on their horse-buying trip of the continent. The Earl, a fine man, my lass, you'd never know him to be of the gentry, is a horseman through and through..."

Though she held the letter before her eyes, Kitty had stopped reading it. She was momentarily stunned. Colter wasn’t in Ireland at all. He hadn’t gotten her letter.

Pushing away her panic, she skipped down looking for any word on the time table for this impromptu continental tour. Time was her most vicious enemy.

"We'll be gone most of the spring and summer. I'm sorry, me girl, that I'll not be able to hear from you, since I don't know where we'll be, nor when, to tell you now. Just send any letters to me at the address I already gave you. I'll get them all at one time, drink them in and get drunk on your perfume on the paper."

She sank down next to her mother. The letter continued.

"O'Malley says we could be traveling for six months."

Six months!

"Kitty, dear, what ever is wrong with you?" Melcia took her hand and patted it, before jumping off the swing and running to the door. "Alice, come here. Hurry!"

Kitty laughed uncontrollably. It really was too funny. God was playing the most incredible practical joke on her and if she didn't laugh, she'd weep herself dry. There was no way to get a letter to him until he got back to Ireland.

In six months.

That would be just about right. She was doubled over, holding her stomach, lost somewhere between the hysterical irony and the hopelessness of the whole situation.

Hopelessness won out and the tears started.

"Here, lamb." Alice sat beside her and drew her into a comforting embrace.

Kitty couldn't speak, but handed the letter to Alice, who quickly scanned the contents.

"Oh, lamb, I'm sorry," Alice whispered.

"Sorry about what?" Melcia stood by, trying to get some answers.

"What will I do, Alice?" Kitty asked between the sobs.

"Shhh, lamb. Don't," Alice warned, with a tilt of her head to Melcia, standing nearby, still waiting for an explanation.

Kitty buried her face in Alice's shoulder and let herself be comforted by the only person she could trust, the only other person who knew about the child Colter Ahern had left behind.

Chapter Three

Kitty lay still on her bed, her head pounding, eyes gritty. Her hand clutched Colter's letter so tightly her fingers were starting to hurt, so she forced herself to release it. Her mother's voice drifted through the protective haze she'd put around herself.

She knows something is wrong, Kitty thought. Then she laughed again.

"I told you so, Alice. Let me in! She's laughing like a demented person."

"Aunt Melcia," Alice was cooing at the door, "just let her rest. I promise you, I'll take care of her. Now, don't you have some meeting or other you need to go to? Run along, dear."

Kitty laughed again, more softly this time. Only Alice would speak to Melcia like that.

"Well, I do have a meeting of the church ladies," Melcia reluctantly admitted.

Kitty felt the perusal as her mother peered around the door. She didn't dare open her eyes and struggled to keep her breathing even.

"All right, Alice, but when I get home, I want an explanation of her recent behavior. Her father has been hounding me about her and I want to get to the bottom of this."

"Yes, Aunt, of course." Alice shut the door with a gentle but firm push, then she turned and leaned against it. "When are you going to tell her, Kitty?"

Kitty opened her eyes and sat up, pulling the pillow up behind her shoulders.

"What can I tell her? I've brought a terrible shame on her and Father." A shudder caught her unaware. "What do you think they'll do?"

"Put you in a convent somewhere, I suppose, until the baby is born. Put out the story you've gone away to school. Of course, that won't fool anybody." Alice looked down at the toes of her shoes. "And they'll have the baby adopted."

"No." Until this moment, Kitty had not felt a connection to the child, none except that it was Colter's. She placed her hands on her belly, not even rounded yet to give evidence of the person inside, and caressed the child she'd made with the man she loved. "No. This is my flesh and blood. How can I give him up?"

Alice came to the bed and sat down. She laid her hand over Kitty's, both of them lovingly touching the tiny one.

"Do you actually think they'll let you keep him?" Alice asked in a tender whisper. She shook her head. "No, lamb, they won't. They'll snatch him from your arms and call it an act of love and responsibility."

Kitty knew Alice was right. As soon as her parents found out, they'd pack her off to a convent, hiding her, and their own, shame. When her time came, they'd likely drug her and take the child without ever letting her see him.

She knew she'd spend the rest of her life looking for Colter and herself in the face of every child she saw.

Deep in her heart, Kitty knew she couldn’t live with that choice. Yet, what choice did she have with Colter out of reach?

No, she chided herself. There are always possibilities.

Kitty thought aloud, hoping Alice would have some suggestions.

“How can an unmarried girl keep a bastard child?"

Alice's raised eyebrow gave her the answer, and it didn't make Kitty feel better.

"There's no way," Kitty spoke the truth aloud. "If Colter were here, we'd get married. But a proxy marriage isn't possible without his statement, and I can't even contact him."

The answer was obvious, but she couldn't bring herself to say it. Alice, however, had no such compunction.

"You have to marry somebody, a man who'll accept the child and give him a name."

Kitty's breath caught in her throat. The idea of being some other man's wife was too strange to be entertained. She'd always been meant for Colter. Her eyes burned but she refused to cry.

"I'm so sorry, lamb. I know how much you love him." Alice's voice broke and her eyes shone with tears. "I'd give everything I own or ever will own to get him here for you." Alice wiped her eyes. Her gentleness evaporated and she smacked the mattress with her fist. "I could just kill Colter Ahern, the irresponsible, mindless, rutting lackwit..."

Kitty shook her head. "Alice, dear, it wasn't like that." She and Alice leaned back against the headboard and rested against each other.

"How did you let something like this happen, Katherine?"

Kitty sniffed and laughed with real humor for the first time in many weeks. "You sound just like Mother."

Alice raised her eyebrows. "Kitty! Why, I don't!" But she smiled, too. Her serious brown eyes, red rimmed for Kitty’s sake, bore into Kitty's. "Why, Kitty? You didn't need to trap him. Was it because he was going away?"

"I didn't know he was leaving. Until after." She thought of the night of their glorious joining on the sweet green grass of his father's farm. The beautiful, clear sky, the breeze that cooled their passion-heated flesh, the scents of early budding flowers, every detail was clear and distinct. "It just happened. We were out walking and he kissed me, just like he had so many times before." She smiled a little. "Then is was all over. It was like my body decided what to do and went ahead without my mind's permission."

Alice smiled sadly. "Now, you've got to pay the piper for that little dance. So, what have you decided to do?"

"I'll have to find a man who'll marry me, won't I?"

The question hung between them for a moment.

"What about Colter?" Alice asked.

"What about him? I can't wait for him to find time to fit me and his child into his carefully laid out plans." Kitty tried to summon something stronger than self-pity, but her emotions were worn ragged. There were no more tears and her anger was exhausted. She sighed deeply, letting out the remains of her broken heart. "There's no point wasting energy on him now. He's gone. Maybe he'll just stay gone and I'll never see him again."

"Lamb, you don't mean that."

Kitty rose and walked slowly to the window.

"How can I marry another man and not mean that?" She laughed to fight the bitter pain that threatened to overwhelm her. "I have to choose between my child and my love. If I wait for Colter, I'll have to give up my child. If I marry to keep my child, I lose Colter forever. Mother will insist on a wedding in the Cathedral, I'm certain. The child will insure there will be no annulment." A rough laugh reached her ears, before she even realized it came from her mouth. "Trapped good and sound, I'd say."

"Who, then?" Alice asked, again bringing her back to the immediate necessities.

Only one name occurred to her. "Anson Dexter."

Kitty had never thought of him as a husband before, only Colter had played that role, but he'd be acceptable to her mother.

Much more acceptable than Colter.

Alice was nodding.

"He's tried for years to come between you and Colter. I'm sure he'll be," she paused as though weighing her words, “receptive. He's a gentleman from the right class. He's a banker with excellent prospects. He's in love with you."

"How do you know that?"

"He looks at you like Colter does. You could do lots worse, Kitty."

Kitty turned to look out the window at nothing. She heard Alice's soft footsteps grow louder and the gentle pressure of her hands as she squeezed her shoulders. In spite of herself, Kitty relaxed.

She raised her eyes to meet Alice's in their reflection in the window pane.

"How are we going to explain a child only a few months after our marriage?"

Alice shrugged. "Lots of people don't bother to explain."

Kitty looked at her reflection in the window pane. It was the reflection, not a girl of seventeen, but of a woman who'd just lost her fondest dream.

Kitty held her tears until she heard Alice breathing steady and even in sleep. The enormity of her actions was finally settling on her. It would be Anson Dexter, not Colter, with whom she'd spend the rest of her life.

If he would even marry her. What if he didn't want damaged goods?

She turned her face into her pillow to muffle her sobs.

Her tears ran from her broken heart to soak the linen pillowcase. She tried to keep still so she wouldn't wake Alice. Right now comfort wasn't what she wanted.

She wanted Colter. It was even worse now that they had....

A wail threatened to burst from her throat. Only sheer determination kept it inside.

I can't think about that, she thought. I'll surely go mad if I do.

Still Kitty knew it wouldn't be the same with Anson. But there was no other choice. Unless she married, she'd lose the only part of Colter she still had.

It dawned on her that she was finally admitting what she really feared.

Colter had left her with the promise to write and that he'd return for her as soon as he could support her. He'd told her it would be two or three years.

But would Colter ever know when he had enough?

She turned onto her back and lay staring at the ceiling. Her hands clasped over her belly, over the child sleeping there.

At least she had some choice. If Anson would have her, she'd try to make him happy. Maybe in time she could even come to love him as she loved Colter.

Maybe in time the sun will rise in the west.

Kitty rolled onto her side and curled up around her baby.

She'd ask Alice to go talk to Anson tomorrow. She wanted this over with.

The sight of the slab of ham on her plate threatened to send Kitty to the water closet. Today was the worst so far, the nausea hanging around the edges of her awareness, just enough to make her feel listless all day. On top of that, she hadn't slept a wink all night after coming to her decision to approach Anson. Now, she was sick and tired.

She let her eyes close for a second. The doorbell made her jump like a scarecrow in a stiff wind.

Alice cut her a warning look.

Several minutes later, the maid, Marie, came into the dining room to announce Mr. Dexter's arrival and his desire to speak with Mr. and Mrs. Forbes.

"Take Mr. Dexter a cup of coffee and offer him a brandy, Marie," Albert Forbes boomed from his place at the head of the table, "I'll be in to see him shortly." He wiped his mouth with an enormous linen napkin and laid it by his plate.

Just as Kitty was putting an ill-advised bite of meat into her mouth, her father turned to her and smiled. "Did you know young Mr. Dexter stopped by my office today?"

She almost choked and took her time chewing and swallowing what was, she was sure, the last bit of food she'd ever eat.

"No, Father. You hadn't mentioned it." Since he so obviously wanted her to, she asked, "What was his mission?"

"It seems he is interested in courting you, Kitten."

She hadn't been Kitten to her father for more years than she could remember.

"Of course, he knows about your understanding with young Ahern, but since there have been no banns posted, I didn't see any harm in speaking with him about the matter." Albert peered at her. "Don't you have anything to say, Kitten?"

She forced her eyes to meet her father's.

"With Colter being gone, I've had some time to think about that understanding, Father. I believe I would be receptive," she cringed as she thought of Alice's use of the very word earlier, "to Anson's suit."

Melcia's jaw dropped open. "You would?"

Alice snorted and quickly covered her mouth with her napkin.

Albert actually laughed. "Is that all you have to say, Melly? Let's go talk to the young man." He turned to Kitty. "I can't say I'd really be sorry if you changed your mind about marrying Ahern, Kitten. He's a hard-working lad from a good family, but not of our class. Anson has real prospects."

She watched her parents leave the dining room, feeling much as she imagined a condemned man might feel just before the hood is pulled over his head.

Powerless and hopeless.

"Kitty, I have to tell you something." Alice got up and moved to Albert's chair, scooting it closer to Kitty. She bit her lower lip and refused to meet Kitty's eyes.

Alice never had trouble looking someone straight on.

"Well, what is it?" Kitty forced herself to ask.

Her cousin gulped a deep breath. "I told him, Kitty."

Kitty felt a rush of cold. "Told him what?"

"About the baby. I didn't mean to, really, but he wanted to know what caused you to change your mind about seeing him. I had to tell him or he wouldn't have come."

Her stomach knotted as she conjured what Anson might be telling her parents.

"My God, Alice. He could be out there right now, spilling it all on the parlor rug."

Alice shook her head. "Anson wouldn't do that. He really cares for you. Besides, Uncle Albert would be roaring like a wounded beast."

She followed Alice to the door and they listened for any sounds from the parlor. Only muffled voices made it through the closed doors.

"I can't take much more of this, Allie." Kitty sat in one of her mother's Chippendale chairs by the wall and waited.

And waited. Her eyelids grew heavy and dropped closed as a wonderful dream about Colter began.

"Kitty." Melcia's voice cut through the haze of sleep.

Kitty felt her shoulder being gently shaken. She snapped her head up, hurting her neck.

Her mother shook her again. "Kitty, come quickly. You must speak with Anson right away."

Before Kitty could even get an encouraging smile from Alice, Melcia had grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the chair, dragging her into the hallway. Stopping just short of the parlor door, she allowed Kitty to enter the room in a dignified manner.

Anson rose and smiled. "Hello, Kitty."

"Anson, good evening," she said with a smile.

He crossed the parlor to her and offered her his arm, then escorted her to the settee.

Her father looked somewhat anxious.

"Kitten, Anson has something to talk to you about. Your mother and I are going to leave the two of you alone for a few minutes. When you're ready, come get us in the library."

Melcia gave her a hopeful smile as she followed Albert out of the parlor. Albert pulled the double doors closed behind them.

Kitty sat down, her heart pounding, her mind in a whirl. Anson took a seat beside her, too close for any comfort. He held her hand in his two, a vise that closed around her fingers.

"Kitty," he whispered in her ear. She felt trapped. He wouldn't move away. He wouldn't give her any air, any room.

"Kitty, you know how I feel about you. I want to marry you."

"Isn't this a bit sudden, Anson?" Where had the breath for all those words come from? "After all, we need to get to know each other. Find out if we suit."

"You don't have time, Kitty," he whispered still, as though protecting her secret from unguarded keyholes. “Time is against me, too. I have to have your answer tonight."

"Why so soon?" Again she tried to pull her hand free.

"I'm to relocate to London. I have passage on a packet ship on Friday."

She met his gaze. "London?"

He nodded. "Don't you see? We can tell people in London we've been married for months already. Birth records are easily changed, if you know the right people." He lay his finger against the underside of her chin and tipped her head up. "I can protect you. I can help you hide this mistake you've made. When the child comes, I'll claim him as mine and raise him as my own."

"Will you love him, Anson?"

He looked confused. "Love? Of course. I love you, Kitty. I'll love your child. Would you like it on my knee?" He dropped to one knee and took her hand, still leaning far too close. "Kitty, my heart is at your feet. I would be proud to have you as my wife. Will you marry me?"

There was the question that could save her. Her stomach churned. If only she were more clever, she could find a way to have both Colter and his child.

If she were more clever, she wouldn't be in this fix.

"Before I answer you, I have to be sure of something, Anson. Do you know whose child this is?" Neither of them had spoken his name.

He nodded. "All I ask of you is that you never mention him. Ever."

It was not an unreasonable request considering what he was offering.

Anson leaned back, giving her a little room. Finally. Kitty gazed down at the smooth hand that still held hers.

Colter....

"Yes, Anson. I'll marry you."

His face broke into a smile. Kitty's stomach twisted with guilt. As difficult as it was, she had to make her feelings clear. The least she could give him was honesty.

She looked deeply into his eyes. They were brown with green flecks that seemed to swirl through the pupils. They were very attractive eyes.

"Anson, I will do everything I can to make you content, but I can't promise more. Will that be enough for you?"

"I'll give you every reason to fall in love with me, Kitty." He kissed her hands, then leaned forward.

She closed her eyes for his kiss, understanding that he wanted to plant his seal on her. When his lips grazed hers, she willed herself to let him touch her as Colter had.

Stop! No more, she commanded herself. Let him go!

Anson lifted his lips from hers. "It's all right. It'll take some time to forget him. I understand."

At that moment, something like love blossomed in her heart. He would take care of her and their child.

"Thank you, Anson. I'll really try. I swear."

Wearing a beautifully gentle smile, Anson rose from his bended knee to go tell her parents the news.

It was the answer to so many hours on her knees, so many rosaries, candles, so many prayers. She'd be able to keep her child.

So, why wasn't she happy?

"At least Mother didn't have time to arrange to have the Cathedral," Kitty said as she dropped into a chair by the window. Alice sat on the bed. "Thank you, dearest, for helping me through this."

Alice shook her head. "I'll only say it once, then I'll never say it again, except maybe on my deathbed. It should have been you and Colter at the Cathedral with the place crawling with Forbeses and Aherns and a huge party that lasted for days afterwards. But, Anson loves you and he'll do his best by you. Not many people have so much, I think."

"I'm sorry I won't be here for you."

"Don't you worry for me, lamb. Matthew and I will be just fine. If I had known what Anson was up to, I would have moved my wedding up." She got that pensive look that signaled she was up to some mischief. "Maybe I'll ask Melcia to be my matron of honor, since you'll not be available."

"Hah! You'd better not, unless you really mean it."

Alice smiled, then sobered. "This has made her happy, Kitty. That can be some consolation for you."

"It's not so bad. I don't love him, at least not like Colter." She snapped her lips together. Alice didn't miss the action. "I promised Anson we'd never mention his name."

Still Kitty let his name echo in her mind. "Just one last time. Colter Patrick Ahern. Colter."

She closed her eyes and saw him, just like on that last night, his eyes, his broad shoulders, his beautiful smile, the blue black of his hair broken only by....

Kitty's eyes flew open. She looked at Alice in horror and dropped to her knees, crossing herself as she fell.

"Holy Mother, please, don't let this be a boy."

Alice returned Kitty's gaze, her understanding immediate.

"The forelock," she whispered and joined Kitty in a posture for prayer, rosary ready. "My God in Heaven, Kitty."

"Alice, how can I forget him if I have to look at him every single day?"

Chapter Four

July, 1843

County Kerry, Ireland

"Here ya are, lad. It's not fancy as your mother's parlor but it'll do ya for the time being." O'Malley pulled open the window of the room. He was right. It wasn't fancy, but it was as grand as any lodging Colter could have wanted right now.

The bed's comfortable, he thought as he crashed onto it.

O'Malley switched the pipe to the other side of his mouth. "His Lordship's butler," bootler, he actually said, "left these for you in me rooms." He dropped four letters on the bed.

Colter roused enough to lift them to his face. Two he laid aside.

"From me mother," he said with a grin at O'Malley. "They can wait a bit, I 'spect." The others he held to his nose, breathing deeply. "Kitty." The lavender she wore permeated the paper. One was heavier than the other. He opened that one first. It was only two pages and he saw right away why it was so heavy.

"Pox," he said.

"Eh?" O'Malley was still standing in the doorway, a smile on his wide, Irish face.

"It got wet, looks like."

He was able to make out little. It was dated April 10, 1843.

"Dear Colter, I find it difficult to write you this first letter. We parted so quickly and left so much unsaid, that I scarcely know where to start. I won't spend time telling you of your family, since I'm sure your mother will keep you well informed on that score.

"Before I lose my courage, my dearest one, I have to tell you ..."

Here the ink had run together into a blur of meaningless smudges. Kitty's handwriting, small and precise, had covered the whole first page for he could see the faded stain of the ink on the second half of the paper, but her words were gone. His heart pounded against his ribs harder and louder as he flipped to the second page. The sense of panic she must have felt as she wrote the words gripped him now, so many weeks later.

"You must tell me what to do, Colter, quickly. I'll hold out as long as I can, but I can't promise how long that will be.

"I dream of you, and in my dreams I hold you as I held you that last beautiful night we were together. I yearn for you and cling to the knowledge of what life with you will be.

"Write soon, beloved, and tell me your wishes.

"Always, your Kitty."

Whatever it was, she needed word from him three months ago.

Three months.

He picked up the second letter. The date was June 1st. There was only one page. There were no missing words, no blurry lines to cast doubt on the meaning she intended.

"Colter, I hope you are well and enjoying your apprenticeship with the great O'Malley. I am certain you will be a fine trainer in your own right someday. After all, it has been your fondest dream. I am happy that you are realizing what you most dearly desire.

"I must tell you now, and there is no easy way to break such news so I will just write the words, I have married Anson Dexter. We are on our way to London even as I write this."

"God and Mother Mary!" Colt slid helplessly off the bed onto the floor. "No. It can't be." But the meaning of her words was inescapable.

"I cannot imagine how you will react to this news, Colter, but please believe that I have done what I know to be best for us all. Events and circumstances have put us in such a place as there was no other way.

"I hope you can forgive me one day.

"Be well, Kitty."

It was a mistake. It had to be. Some other Kitty writing to some other Colter after marrying some other Anson Dexter.

Then disbelief gave way to rage.

"No!" he roared like a wounded beast and threw the letter. It fluttered to the floor and the futility of his gesture only enraged him more. He sprung from the floor and picked up something more satisfyingly heavy, a chair, and heaved it at the window. The splintering crash of the chair against wooden shutters did little to soothe him.

"Here, lad," O'Malley grabbed him round his chest. Colter, younger and stronger, easily broke free and threw himself against the thick wall.

"Kitty," he cried to a girl too many thousand miles away to answer, "how could you?" He slammed his fists again and again against the unforgiving mass of stone. "You're mine, Kitty, damn you, mine." Sobs wracked his body as he crumpled down on the floor.

"Ah, laddie." O'Malley knelt beside him and rubbed his shoulder. In his other hand, he held the letters. Colter felt the old eyes watching him. He swiped at his own with his sleeve and straightened up.

"Let your pain flow out, laddie, like lancing a boil, nay? Don't be too hard on the lass, my boy. Can you not read between the lines?"

"What lines? She was to wait for me."

O'Malley got an odd look on his face.

Colter sniffed and peered through reddened and swollen eyelids. "What is it, old man?"

O'Malley just shook his head. "Nothing, lad. Cry if you want, there's no shame in't, or don't." He rose and tossed the letters onto the bed as he crossed to the door. "If you're wantin' to talk a bit, come on down to me room."

Colter turned his face to the wall. He wanted the stone to collapse and crush him. That would be the only thing that would stop the pain.

He rested his head on his knees and gave himself over to the emptiness that had enveloped him. As the wrenching sobs shook his body, he tried to think of a reason to go on.

Nothing mattered, not Connemara, not his family, nothing.

Everything he'd planned for, everything he was working for was gone.

She was married to Anson Dexter.

Their ship made landfall before dusk. She looked out at the island that rose up before her from the churning gray water -- Ireland, land of green, lush grass, the Blarney Stone, leprechauns, horses that ran like the wind, and, for a time back in the land of his ancestors, Colter Ahern.

"What are you looking at, Kitty?"

She tried to hide her irritation, but she wondered if she'd ever have any privacy again. Anson seemed to pop up whenever her mind drifted to thoughts of Colter. It was spooky, like he knew what she was thinking.

God in Heaven, she hoped not.

"Kitty, did you hear me?" He laid his hand on her shoulder.

It was a struggle not to shrug it off.

"Yes, Anson, of course I did. I was just looking at Ireland. It's so beautiful. You can see the green, even from this far away." She put her arms around him, trying to play the part of the new bride. "Do you suppose we could go there sometime?"

His face became cold and he removed her arms from his waist.

"No, I don't. Don't be out here long. It's chilly." He turned away and walked toward the passageway leading to the cabins below, leaving her there in the wind and spray.

She watched him until he disappeared through the small doorway, then turned back to the rail and wondered if she'd always feel this aching emptiness. Would she always compare her husband to the father of her child?

Even though she'd made her choice, even though she was satisfied she'd done the best she could, Kitty knew she'd always be missing a part of herself.

She raised her eyes again to the green island.

And she said good-bye.

Chapter Five

Westminster, Maryland

1856

Kitty stopped before the house, breathless. It was even more beautiful than she remembered. Its three stories of Flemish bond brick rose majestically to dominate the whole block. Black shutters boldly outlined each of the windows that flanked, two by two, the front door and second-floor bay window. An attic room was lit by an arched window in the peak.

My sewing room, she thought.

"Don't you want to go in?" Anson asked, his lips barely hiding his smile.

"Try to keep me out," she replied.

He laughed and handed her the key to the front door.

Kitty's hands shook with excitement as she turned the key in the lock. She pushed the door open and walked in.

“Oh, how lovely,” she sighed.

The wide hallway opened into the parlor on the left and the library on the right. A regal staircase led up to the second floor bedrooms. The parlor was too dark, but once she pulled down those musty old velvet drapes and hung lighter ones, it would be heavenly.

After nearly thirteen years of marriage and rented accommodations in England, they finally had their first house. And such a house.

"Anson, it's beautiful." She wandered into the parlor. The furniture would have to be cleaned and the rugs needed airing, she thought as she raised her hand to rub away the sneeze growing there.

He came to stand behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders and gently squeezed. Next to her ear she heard his whispered question.

"Are you really happy? You resisted coming back for so long."

Kitty reached up to touch his hand. Her sense of foreboding had lessened, but she still didn't like it. She turned to face him.

"I still think it's a big mistake."

Anson frowned. "This is our home, Kitty. We belong here." His concern melted as he smiled and his warm brown eyes caressed her. "We've been vagabonds for too long. The children need a place to settle. Besides, I promised myself a long time ago I'd live in this house one day. Suitable for a bank president, do you think?"

Kitty laughed, happy for his good humor. "I do indeed, Mr. Bank President. And I suppose I should feel fortunate that you married me, since I also promised myself to live in this house one day."

He looked more relaxed than she'd seen him in a long time. If being home was what Anson wanted, she'd make do.

"Daddy," the sweet voice floated in from the hall.

"I'm here, dewdrop."

Blythe skipped in, greenish brown eyes, her father's eyes, wide with wonder. "It's so beautiful, Daddy. May I have any room I want?"

"Absolutely, my angel." Anson put his arm around the child's shoulders and pulled her to his side.

Kitty smiled at the love he lavished on her. Everyone loved Blythe, but she was her father's special prize. It was a wonder the girl wasn't a terror with all Anson's spoiling.

"Philip, get down off that banister," Anson called to their son. "You'll break your neck."

Philip jumped off the heavy black lacquered banister and trotted across the hallway into the parlor, coming to a stop before his father.

"Father, I want the room over the kitchen."

Anson laughed. "So you can sneak down for food in the middle of the night, no doubt." He tousled the boy's blue-black hair.

"No doubt," the boy replied with a smile that produced the dimple in his cheek.

She'd have to get his hair cut again soon. It was starting to show up again. Anson stiffened when his fingers touched the pure white strands.

He removed his hand from Philip's hair and raised the boy's chin to look into his eyes. Steel-gray blue eyes, his father's eyes.

"Blythe has already asked, so she gets the first choice. But if she doesn't mind, you can have the room over the kitchen. And, Philip, no climbing out on the eaves." At Philip's grief-stricken expression, Anson smiled. He leaned forward and whispered, "Well, just don't let your mother know about it."

At times like these, when he was easy with the children, open with her, Kitty loved Anson without reservation. True to his word, he'd accepted her child as his own son, shielding them both from scandal. He had fathered her beautiful daughter and provided generously for them all. Over the years, it had almost been enough....

She didn't allow the thought to take root. The air too full of love and hope and possibility.

Instead she joined in the bedroom sweepstakes. "May we get the big room on the front with the bay window?"

Anson smiled. "Absolutely."

Kitty put the last of Anson's clothes into the dresser, and for the hundredth time since his announcement that they were coming home to Westminster, she wondered what he could have been thinking.

Her fears had already begun to come true.

She'd seen the stares. Philip was too much his natural father's son not to be recognized by people who'd known Colter all his life.

She slammed the drawer shut and snatched up the bed linens she'd laid on the dresser.

It was plain stupid, she thought as she snapped open the sheet and let it float down to cover the bed.

She didn't worry about running into Colter. He was still in Ireland, where he'd attained his dream, becoming the most celebrated racehorse trainer in Europe.

All the years they’d lived in England, Anson had been forced -- because his clients loved the sport -- to pretend interest in horse racing. He could talk for hours, never once letting on that he hated it, even when talking about horse racing meant talking about Colter Ahern.

Every time Colter's name was mentioned in her presence, Kitty felt Anson's eyes on her, measuring her response. She struggled to hide how desperately she wanted to hear how Colter was doing. Had he gone on with his life and married? Did he have any other children? Was he happy? Had he forgiven her for making the choice she did?

Sometimes, it was so hard to be the good, obedient wife she’d pledged to be, to be patient with Anson’s jealousy. Yet, when she ached to give vent to her frustration, all she had to do was to look at Philip and remember what Anson had done for her. For them both.

Kitty's eyes moved from the unfocused stare of remembering to the bed she shared with her husband.

The words she'd spoken to Alice on her wedding day came back to her.

It's not so bad.

And most of the time, it hadn't been, still....

Her fingers flew to her lips as though she’d spoken the words she squashed in her mind. Anson was her husband, the father of her children. Her thoughts must center on him.

As far as the rest went, all she could do was try to keep that damned white forelock from being so noticeable and act normally if she ran into any of the Aherns. But what was normal? It would be so nice to have a cup of tea with Maeve, to just sit and talk for a while. But was that even possible now?

Kitty couldn't even imagine what Maeve's reaction would be. Thirteen years ago, there hadn't been time to explain or ask for forgiveness or even say goodbye.

Surely they'd be at Mass on Sunday.

If she could meet Maeve at Church, maybe she could ask about Colter. Even after all these years, she still saw him in her dreams and prayed for him. She knew he was successful, but she wanted to know he was happy.

Had Colter told them about the baby?

As she smoothed the sheets and fluffed the eiderdown pillows, Kitty decided to make the effort to see Maeve. Even if Maeve was still angry, she and Patrick should meet their grandson.

It was the least she owed them.

Well, that wasn't so bad, was it?

Kitty could just hear her mother now. Melcia had been shocked to the soles of her feet when Kitty admitted she hadn't been to confession in over a year.

"What kind of example are you setting for your children?" her mother had tsk'ed.

Kitty knelt in the last row, rosary hanging from fingers that not so much counted as caressed the blue cut glass beads. She contemplated the gaunt Christ that hung, dying, on the small cross attached to the end.

She'd confessed not only lying to her mother -- it had actually been thirteen years since her last confession -- but also the sin that dated from the same time. The penance wasn't what she'd expected. Father Tracy had been remarkably forgiving of such gross immorality.

"It seems to me you've done penance enough, my child," he said after a long moment. Then the old priest had taken a heavy breath and continued. "But, if you're like most folk, you'll be needing something of a more religious nature. So, pray ten rosaries and bring me ten pairs of stockings for the poor."

She smiled. Father Tracy was so practical. His parishioners weren't as afraid of doing penance on their knees as they were of the work he'd pile on their backs.

Kitty finished the last Our Father and crossed herself with the crucifix on her rosary, then lifted it to her lips. Her burden did feel lighter.

She should be going. Philip and Blythe were waiting outside, likely getting into all manner of mischief.

But still she lingered in the cool of the chapel, her eyes moving over all the statuary, the stained glass, the sanctuary, the people who knelt in the rows before her. Like her, they were making penance, full of sorrow and crying for mercy.

Kitty saw the older woman coming down from the front of the church. As she rose from her place, her heart beat faster with excitement and a little fear, but froze cold as the stones in the church’s walls when she saw the blaze of Irish wrath in Maeve Ahern's emerald green eyes.

She hates me, Kitty thought.

Kitty steeled her spine and stepped out into the aisle.

"Maeve."

Maeve turned away and passed her without a word.

A sledgehammer wouldn't have left Kitty any more dazed.

"Maeve, wait," she said when she'd regained her voice. "Please, wait."

Her heartbreak must have broken through the icy reserve. Maeve stopped and turned slowly around.

She's still angry, Kitty thought. Well, of course, she was. Kitty had robbed her of her grandson. But how could she ever explain if Maeve wouldn't listen?

"Kitty." Maeve’s eyes softened. She was too loving a soul to carry a grudge. "How are you?"

"I'm well," she replied.

Several awkward moments passed.

"Aren't you going to ask after my family?" No word was accented any more than any other, but Kitty's guilty conscience heard Maeve's question. How could you do this to my boy, my Colter?

"I'm sorry, Maeve."

Maeve regained a bit of her anger. "It's too late for sorry, Miss."

Kitty couldn't bring herself to ask what she so desperately wanted to know. How is he?

Maeve must have seen the question in her eyes.

"He's done well for himself."

"Yes, I know he's quite successful."

Maeve nodded. "He remained in Ireland all these thirteen years and married soon after you did."

Kitty's suddenly drawn breath cut into her lungs. How could those words hurt? She'd wanted him to go on with his life and be happy.

"She was an Irish girl, of course," Maeve said, hurrying on. "They had a son," she said as she fished in her pocket, pulled out a small portrait which she handed it to Kitty.

The likeness was of a boy, about ten or eleven, a sturdy body, big wide-set eyes. That streak of white hair.

He could be Philip's twin.

"What a beautiful child," was all Kitty could get out.

"Your mother told us about your children."

"What did she tell you?" Kitty asked, a bit more anxiously than she'd wanted to sound.

Maeve frowned. "Just that you and Anson have a son and a daughter. Melcia showed their portraits to everyone. They are beautiful children." As always, talk of children melted Maeve's heart. Kitty was beginning to feel comfortable with her again.

Maeve was about to say something. Kitty knew that because her mouth was open. Her eyes, however, stared at the doorway of the church. Kitty didn't need to turn to know what, or rather, whom Maeve saw there.

Maeve's shocked eyes turned back to Kitty.

Was it possible that Colter hadn't told them?

Kitty nodded at her unspoken question.

Maeve was silent for a long moment.

"Ah," she nodded finally, confirming Kitty’s suspicion, "at last it all makes sense. Does your mother know?"
Kitty snorted a bitter laugh. "She does now that she's seen him in the flesh." She turned and called to the children. “Philip, you and Blythe come here, dear."

Maeve's eyes were filled with adoration as the boy walked toward them.

"He's the image of Colter," she whispered.

"I know."

"Ach, Kitty, love, why didn't you tell us?"

Kitty shrugged. "I was afraid, I suppose. I couldn't have borne it if you thought I was... cheap."

"No, love, I'd never think that of you." Maeve gazed at the boy, now standing by his mother.

"Mrs. Ahern, this is Philip." She laid her arm around Blythe's shoulders. "And this is Blythe. Children, this is my dear friend, Mrs. Ahern."

Blythe smiled shyly. Philip nodded a bow. "Mrs. Ahern, it's a pleasure."

"My now, aren't you a bonny man? Such manners." She sighed. "Tell me, Philip, are you fond of horses?"

Philip's eyes brightened. "Oh, yes, ma'am. I love them."

Maeve smiled and raised her hand to touch the streak of white in his hair.

"Of course, you do. Would you like to come out to Connemara to visit us?"

Philip could barely contain himself. The Ahern farm was one of his favorite topics of conversation. The fact that his mother had not yet introduced him was a sore subject between them.

He looked at his mother for permission.

"Come, love,” Maeve pleaded, “bring the darlings out to see us. We have so much to catch up on."

"Well, I don't know." Kitty's first reaction was that Anson would be furious. "Of course, I will."

The crowd was beginning to gather for vespers and this was no place to have the talk they both needed to have.

"Come tomorrow, after Mass? We'll have dinner for you and the children." Maeve paused as if a bit uncertain. "Anson is welcome, too, of course."

Kitty closed the distance between them and hugged her, feeling at last that she was finally home.

"Thank you, Maeve. Anson won't be coming, though. He's been a bit unwell lately. His back is bothering him and the doctor has ordered him to rest when he doesn't have to be about. But the children and I would love to come."

Maeve smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow at Mass."

Kitty breathed deeply to stop the tears of joy that threatened to escape. She kissed Maeve's cheek.

"We'll be here."

After Mass the next day, Philip sat in the front seat of the carriage alongside Patrick. Patrick had been prepared, but he'd only barely hid his surprise at just how much like Colter the boy was. He even slipped up once or twice and called him by his own son's name. The explanation that he resembled the famous Colter Ahern was enough to make Philip's twelve-year-old chest puff out like a rooster's.

"I do, really? Wow."

Kitty grimaced. If Philip only knew.

"So, you've heard of my son, then, Philip?" she heard Patrick ask.

"Oh, yes, sir. We lived in England, you know, for a long time, I was born there, and he came to Ascot every year. He won the Grand National two years in a row, the next two years he came in second, but then... but I guess you already know all about that," he said, face red as an apple.

Patrick laughed. "Aye, you bet I do. But I never tire of hearing it." He put his arm around Philip's shoulders. "Can you drive a team?"

Philip looked up, all eyes. "No, sir. I mean, I never tried."

Patrick feigned amazement. "Ne'er? Well, boyo, give me your hands."

"Mama, I want to learn to drive, too." Blythe was already climbing into the front seat.

"Aye, lassie, come on." Patrick reached back and helped her up. "First, your brother, because he's older and a boy."

"That's not fair," Blythe protested.

"Nay, it's not, but that's the way of things."

Kitty and Maeve smiled at them.

"She's a charmer, she is," Maeve said.

Kitty nodded. "She has all the men she knows twisted right around her finger."

"Looks like she's made a conquest of my Patrick."

Kitty sat behind her son and watched him as Patrick threaded the reins through his fingers and showed him how to adjust the pressure to get the horses to speed up or slow down or turn. The driving lesson made the ride home more than double the usual twenty minutes, as Patrick took them down a couple of little-used back roads so Philip could get more practice. By the time they got back on the main road, Philip was handling the team with nearly as much ease as Patrick himself.

Patrick turned around and smiled at Kitty. "Well done, girl."

He exchanged a bittersweet look of joy and pride, mixed with sadness, with Maeve. Even though a fool could see the boy was of Patrick's blood, the Aherns would never try to claim him.

And it followed that there would be no scandal, even though her secret was a painfully public one.

Patrick laid his long arms across the back of the seat, seemingly ignoring Philip, and turned to Blythe, who started working on him. In no time at all, he was indeed wrapped around her tiny finger.

"I want a white one, Patrick."

"Aye, lassie, a white one you shall have and sure'n you'll have the finest pony in all the States."

"Will you teach me to train her to jump?"

"That I will. You'll apprentice with me, my girl, and you'll be the first female horse trainer in the world."

"Patrick, don't you be fillin' the child's head with such nonsense," Maeve scolded.

Kitty just rolled her eyes at the outrageous promises.

Patrick laughed and slapped Philip on the shoulders. "Here's the spot, boyo." He helped the boy make the turn. Philip pulled into the driveway and stopped the horses gently at the front steps, then quickly jumped out to help the ladies.

"My goodness, where did all these fine manners come from?" Kitty asked as she took her son's hand and stepped down.

Philip burned a bright red. "Patrick told me to."

She raised an eyebrow. "Maybe we'll have Patrick give you a list to take home." Her laugh brought a smile to Philip's face.

"Come on, then, my boy, we have to see to the horses' needs before we see to our own." Philip jumped back up into the carriage.

"Mind your clothes, Philip. Blythe," Kitty called, expecting the child was right behind her. When she turned on the top step, she saw her daughter had remained in the carriage. "Patrick, you bring that child right back here."

Patrick’s booming laugh and Blythe’s giggle drifted back to her on the afternoon breeze.

"Rascal," Kitty said.

"Don't be so hard on the girl."

She turned to Maeve and raised an eyebrow. "I was talking about Patrick."

Maeve laughed heartily. "No use, love. Let them go. My Patrick will take care of them both."

She linked her arm with Kitty's and they walked together up the steps to the white double doors. Through the doors was an enormous hallway, wider than Kitty's front hall and opening onto the usual set-up of parlor on the left, dining room on the right.

And the windows.

There were windows all along the front on both sides of the door and along the sides, flooding the interior with sunshine.

Kitty sighed. "I've always loved this house. It's always so bright."

"Aye," Maeve said, "after growing up in a cramped cottage, I swore I'd not live in a dark house again when I got to America. Fortunately, I married a man who got rich enough to afford glass." Her eyes swept around. "A lot of glass."

They laughed and Maeve took Kitty's shawl and bonnet. While Maeve took care of them, Kitty let the place seep into her soul again.

She felt as though she'd never been away. The house was so familiar, she could hear the memories.

She heard Colter and his brothers, Michael and Seamus, all three towering over their mother, but quick to jump to do her bidding, and just as quick to work alongside their father. From the kitchen came the sounds of women working. Colter’s sisters, Meaghan and Abby, had been her friends and her admission into this wonderful place.

Kitty stepped to the parlor doorway and glanced in.

It was a large room with a wide fireplace on the far wall. A round table sat in the middle covered with books, unfinished needlepoint projects, a pipe rack. A big chair by the table faced the fireplace and from this throne, Patrick would tell stories from the old sod.

Stories of his own ancestors. Brandubh mac Dougal, who came to be called Ahern -- master of horses. Brandubh's mysterious wife, Eibhlin, brought by the little people, some said. She fell so in love with Brandubh that she stayed with him rather than return to her own place.

Kitty never believed the fanciful tale, but it was so romantic. The idea of being so much in love that a woman would forsake her own people and place for her man had struck a chord with a certain fourteen-year-old girl. The first time she'd heard the story, her eyes had sought out Colter, then seventeen and much too old for a child like her.

That was the night she'd fallen in love with him.

"Ready to get to work, love?" Maeve stood just behind her.

Kitty turned, chagrined at being caught teary-eyed.

"Maeve," she whispered in a voice tight with emotion, "it's good to be here. Thank you."

"Ach, here now," Maeve produced a handkerchief and gently wiped the tears away. "You're home, love. No need to weep anymore. Come, we've got to prepare for the horde that's bound to descend upon us at any time." She touched Kitty's face. "And we need to talk."

She put Kitty to work peeling potatoes while she set to getting several risen loaves of bread to baking. Maeve had a new stove, one that had an oven.

"My, isn't this fancy?" Kitty said.

"Oh, aye, my Patrick insisted." Maeve turned from the stove and waved her hand in front of her face, cooling it from the heat. "I miss my old oven in the yard. The kitchen gets so blasted hot, it's like visiting Hades, I vow."

"Who's coming?" Kitty asked, sniffing the aroma of cabbage as she dropped the last potato into the pot. "Umm, I'm hungry."

"They're all coming. Michael stopped in last night and we told him you'd be here with the children. He was going to let the others know. They'll want to see you."

Kitty thought she'd faint. "Maeve, I can't face them."

"Nonsense. They're your friends. Michael was so angry with Colter for leaving you like that, he was ready to get on a boat and go to Ireland to thrash him for you."

"Maeve, Colter didn't know when he left. I wrote him as soon as I was sure, but by the time he read the letter, it was too late."

Maeve turned from the stove. "Don't be makin' excuses for the boy, Kitty. He knew what he was doing. You were an innocent girl. It was his place to look after you. And then to not even tell us."

"I can understand him not telling you, Maeve. What would have been gained? He probably figured we'd never come back here, so you'd never have to know."

After sliding the last loaf into the oven, Maeve went back to the table and sat down beside Kitty.

"Why did you come back, love?"

Kitty looked at her hands, folded together on the table before her.

"I don't know. Anson insisted, but he didn't favor me with an explanation." She tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice. Kitty raised her eyes to Maeve's. "Ever since we've been back, I can't get my mind off Colter. Everything reminds me of him."

Maeve sat back in her chair, pursing her lips.

"Then there's something you must know." She sat up closer to the table and, drawing a deep breath, she took Kitty's hand.

"Colter is coming home."

Chapter Six

"Kitty, love, are you all right?" Maeve waved a towel in front of Kitty's face.

"Yes, I'm all right. It's just quite a shock. I thought he was happy with his wife and family in Ireland."

"I didn't tell you all last night. Colter's wife, Peggy, died in the child bed last November." Maeve paused. "He says in his last letter that he's ready to bring his son home. I was thinking to write him that you'd come back, but," she turned away and replaced the towel on its rack, and only slowly turned back to face Kitty, "I'm not sure I'll do that, now."

"Why not?"

"I'm afraid he'll not return if he knows you're here."

Before Kitty had time to react, Philip blew in through the back door like a hurricane.

"Mother, Patrick says he'll let me apprentice with him if you and Father agree. Please, Mother."

Patrick stood outside the screen door.

"Remember, laddie, your chores at home first, then you come here. And your father has to agree." His eyes told Kitty he didn't expect that last condition to be met.

"Father will agree, I'm sure. He's been asking what I want to do with my life. I know now. I'm a horseman."

Kitty exchanged a look with Maeve and Patrick over Philip's head.

An Ahern indeed.

Sunday dinner was a raucous affair with the four grown Ahern children and their families completing the retinue. Maeve was in her glory presiding over the melee. After some initial awkwardness, the brothers and sisters received Kitty back to her place within their family. And they all saw their absent brother in his son.

The only lingering discomfort came from Michael's wife, Persephone, who had openly snubbed Kitty at church and had barely acknowledged her existence since arriving for dinner.

Michael had taken Persephone aside and they'd had quite a talk, if their expressions had meant anything. And Kitty knew that Maeve hadn't been pleased with her daughter-in-law, either.

The last thing she wanted was to cause trouble.

When dinner was over, the table was barely cleared before Patrick had started in on his boys. "Come, lads, a game of shoes with any brave enough to take me on," Patrick challenged.

Patrick wrapped a long arm around Philip's shoulders and pulled him right along with the men.

Philip looked like he'd glimpsed Heaven.

"Can we take them off the horses, first, Da?" Michael, the lawyer son, asked, taking his turn at the joke.

"Off with you, you serpent-tongued pettifogger. Leave the blasted things on for all the good it'll do you."

Kitty laughed. "How many times have I heard that old saw?"

"Hmph," Meaghan said, "at least you've had a break. Here, little imps, go with Blythe outside." She scooted the smallest children out under Blythe's willing wing.

"Come, little ones," Blythe said in imitation of Maeve.

"Beauty," Meaghan said with a nod in the girl's direction.

Kitty smiled proudly. "She got the best of us both."

"Come, ladies, let's get to it," Maeve called from the kitchen.

With so many hands, it took no time at all to render Maeve's kitchen spotless enough even for her. When Maeve shooed the other women into the parlor, she kept Kitty behind with her. Kitty assumed Maeve wanted to say something to her that was for her ears alone.

But instead of more confidences, Maeve only had her help make a pot of tea, then asked her to carry the tray out to the parlor.

Maeve took her chair, looking rather like a queen.

"Will your pour, Kitty, love?"

Kitty was confused. Maeve was making a point of treating her like the eldest son's wife.

“Of course,” she answered.

Taking one of Maeve's treasured china cups, she poured the heady brew and added just a few grains of sugar. Maeve smiled approvingly and nodded.

"Thank you, love," Maeve said as she took her cup from Kitty's hand. The Ahern matriarch sat in the midst of all her girls and stirred much more than required to dissolve the tiny bit of sugar. She said nothing until Kitty had served everyone and then sat on the sofa by Abby with her own cup of tea.

"We're not children here, girls, so I'm going to speak plain." Emerald green eyes lit upon Persephone. "Persie, I'll not tolerate any of your haughtiness here. Kitty is like a daughter to me. If one of my own had made the mistake she did, I'd not take it well if you treated her like I saw this day. The fact that my own son took advantage of her," she raised her hand when she saw Kitty open her mouth to defend Colter, "means I've some fault here, too."

"Mother Ahern, how can you just accept her back like nothing happened? Her son is obviously Colter's."

"Obviously." Maeve repeated the word, her voice quiet. "And is it your place to demand penance of her, to condemn her? I saw her in Church yesterday and I know she said ten rosaries. I know because I counted every one with her. And I suspect she'll have calluses on her knitting fingers before her penance is done."

All the women, even Persephone, smiled. They, too, had been treated to Father Tracy's penances.

Maeve sat back in her chair, her face impassive.

"Have I ever told you ladies the story of my own arrival in America?"

This was new. Patrick was the story-teller.

"I followed Patrick. He didn't know I was coming until I showed up on the doorstep. I managed to get as far as New York. When I got off the boat, my water broke and Colter was born right there on the dock."

"What?" all the women clamored in chorus.

Maeve smiled. "I told everyone my husband had come ahead, but he didn't know when I was arriving." She took a sip of her tea. "The local Hibernians got me down here. I found Patrick fending off the attentions of a local girl." She glanced at Kitty. "If any of you ever repeat this, I'll skin you and boil you in my cabbage. The girl was Melcia Roberts."

Kitty almost dropped her teeth. "My mother chased after Patrick?" She glanced at Abby and Meaghan, who were trying to keep the smirks off their faces. "I can't believe it. My mother and Patrick?" She burst out laughing, setting off everyone else, except Maeve, who sat nursing a smile and her cup of tea.

"What did you do?" Kitty asked between snorts of laughter.

"I dragged Patrick off by his ear and took him to Father Tracy who married us immediately."

Now the hilarity was replaced by shock.

"Ma, you and Da?" Abby squealed. "Oh, my saints! My mother a fallen woman."

Maeve shrugged off the comment.

"It happens to the best of us. So, you see, Persie, Kitty wasn't the first girl to be left in that predicament. I wish she'd have come to us first, but," she shrugged again, "she handled it as well as she could. 'Tis not her fault she was caught in the charms of an Ahern with their damned white hair." Maeve fixed Persephone with a gaze that nailed her to her chair.

Persie blushed, then she turned to Kitty. "Forgive me, Kitty. Mother Ahern tells me every so often I need to learn more humility. She's determined to make sure I do."

Maeve smiled. "Persie, darlin', you're coming along just fine."

So Kitty's acceptance back into the fold was complete. Even Persephone, gently chastised, apologized again and hugged her when Michael came to collect her.

When the crowd was gone, Kitty was a bit ashamed to realize that she'd not given Anson a moment's thought all day. She excused herself since she'd left a message that they'd be visiting all day and even fixed him dinner. But, in spite of that twinge of guilt, Kitty was glad she’d come out here today.

Until the knock on the front door.

Maeve answered it.

"Anson, what a nice surprise. We weren't expecting you. Kitty said you'd been feeling some bit down."

"My health is no concern of yours."

Kitty gasped at his rudeness.

"I came for my family, Mrs. Ahern." Anson entered the parlor, staring at Kitty with hard, unforgiving eyes. "My daughter, my wife," he turned back to Maeve, "and my son."

They rode in painful silence back to Westminster. Anson wouldn't look at her, nor at Philip. Only Blythe received anything like civility.

Philip sat in the back corner, and every so often, Kitty saw his hand reach up to his eyes. He wouldn't let the tears fall, but he was hurt, that was certain.

And why shouldn't he be? Her blood stewed at a slow simmer as she recalled Anson's curt dismissal of the boy when he'd come in from helping Patrick feed the horses for the night. He'd been so happy, and he'd only wanted to share his joy with his father.

Anson pulled the carriage up to the front gate and waited. Not a word to any of them. They all got down and started up the walk. Philip stopped at the gate and turned.

"Father," he said softly, "if you'd like I can bed the horse down."

Anson's answer was to slap the reins on the horse's back. He didn't spare a glance to any of them as the carriage moved off to the back of the house.

Philip whirled around and ran into the house, almost running down his little sister.

Kitty wanted to cry for him.

Then her wrath boiled over.

"What was all that about?" she asked when Anson came in. "It was horribly cruel to treat him that way."

"No son of mine is going to be a stable boy." Anson crossed to the small cabinet and poured himself a touch of whiskey. He tossed it down, wincing as the liquid ran down his throat. "He's meant for better things than raising horses.”

She heard an accusation in his voice. "What's wrong with raising horses? Patrick makes a fine living. It's honest work."

"Not for Philip." He slammed the thick-bottomed glass down on the dark mahogany table. "He's mine, Kitty. Do you hear?" He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his clenched fist against his back.

Kitty’s anger was replaced by concern. She reached out to him. "Anson, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

The word came out too quickly.

She shook her head. "I don't believe that. You've been in pain for weeks. It hasn't gotten any better, and I know you've been taking some kind of medication." She laid her hand on his arm. "Anson, I'm your wife. Please tell me how to help you."

Anson poured another whiskey and drained it before he raised his eyes to her and searched her face. She knew what he wanted to hear. But, as usual, the words wouldn't come.

He snorted a weak laugh and took a long drink.

"It's nothing, Kitty. There's nothing you need to do."

His breathing was rapid, shallow. His eyes were clouded, but whether with pain or whiskey she didn't know.

"Go to bed, Kitty. I'll be along."

Not sure of whether to go or to stay, she hesitated. But how could she help when he wouldn't give her the tiniest clue of what she should do? So, she turned to go. As she walked through the parlor doors she heard his voice, soft and low.

"Kitty."

She stopped, hoping for some word of intimacy, some hint that he would confide in her.

Instead his words broke her heart for Philip’s sake.

"Philip is never to go there again."

"Da, are we there yet?"

Colter sighed, razor in mid-air. "No, son. We have to travel all the way up the Bay. The harbor is at the far end." He scraped away the morning's whiskers between amused glances at his son perched at the porthole.

After the first hundred times the question was posed, he'd sent Liam down to the hold to feed and groom the horses. The task should've kept the boy busy, but here he was again, hanging from the porthole watching as the shore of the Chesapeake moved along in maddening slowness.

Turning from the basin, Colter wiped the rest of the soap from his face.

"Liam, did you take care of the horses?"

"Yes, sir."

The dark head never left the porthole.

"Did you rub them down?"

"Yes, sir."

Liam had opened the porthole and stuck his head out, looking toward the bow.

"Did you lock the grain away?"

"Yes, sir."

Colter shook his head and smiled in wry amusement as he slapped on some bay rum. "Did I ever tell you, Liam, of my trip out of Baltimore, thirteen years ago?"

"You told me about the Captain and how he lost his leg at Tortuga and his sweetheart that ran off with the defrocked priest." Liam smiled. "You know, Mother never liked for you to tell me about that."

Colter smiled with him. He'd wondered if Liam would ever speak of his mother again without tears. But now it seemed the boy was starting to heal.

"Do you know how I paid my way?"

"You were a deck hand. You mopped..."

"Swabbed..." Colter corrected.

"Aye, you swabbed the decks and did whatever else needed to be done." Liam smiled as he remembered the rest. "And you told the Captain you'd not be coming back as a deck hand. That you would be a great horse trainer and you'd pay first class fare when you returned." The smile grew bigger. "You did all you said, Da."

"Aye, that I did." Well, nearly all, he thought.

His own healing was still a very long time coming.

He stood behind his son and laid his hand on the boy's broad shoulder.

Liam was a grand boy. He was an Ahern through and through, even to his way with a horse.

Colter stroke the boy's inky black hair, fingering the pure white strands at Liam's brow, and he wondered why it was that Ahern boys so favored their fathers. What trick of blood made them all so alike?

There was almost nothing of Peggy in Liam. He tried to conjure her face, but failed. She had been beautiful, a delicate, tiny thing, a faerie thing, almost. He'd done his best to love her as she deserved.

And he'd failed. Even while he knew she loved him unreservedly. She gave him this fine son, and died trying to give him another.

He told himself he didn't exactly feel guilt. That was the way of things, his own da would say.

But he could have at least loved her a little better.

He did feel guilty for the times he'd held Peggy and thought of Kit, kissed her but wanted to be kissing Kitty.

How could he still be so in love with a woman like that? A woman who'd betray him with a man like Dexter? And why?

Money. That had to be it. Her own mother had chased after Patrick. Patrick told him he'd had a spat with Maeve and left her in Ireland. He'd been sore tempted to take young Miss Roberts up on her offer.

Until she'd made it clear she wasn't looking for anything but a kiss. She meant to marry Albert Forbes, the banker, a man with much better prospects than stable boy Patrick Ahern.

Then Ma showed up with Colter in her arms.

He'd never gotten the whole of that story. Patrick had told him only to explain Melcia's aversion to the entire family.

Well, like mother, like daughter. They both wanted to play with stable boys, but they married bankers.

And he’d been thoroughly fooled by her show of devotion.

A light rapping came from the door.

"Mr. Ahern, we're approaching the docks now."

"We're there?" Liam was practically crawling out the porthole to get a better look.

Colter grabbed him by the seat of his pants. "Come on, boyo. The horses are even more excited than you are. Let's go calm them down."

Colter saw his father first. The tall, broad man stood hatless in the hot June sunshine. The streak of white was a beacon. He lifted his hand in greeting.

"Da," he called. "Liam, look there."

"My grandfather?" Liam looked up for confirmation.

"Aye, smile and wave."

Maeve and Patrick met them at the gangplank.

"Darlin'," Maeve whispered, amid tears. He picked her up and squeezed.

"Hello, my darlin'," Colter whispered the word with an exaggerated brogue and kissed his mother right on the mouth.

"Ach, now, don't be so forward."

He set her down on her tiny feet and she reached up to caress his cheek.

"My Colter. It's missing you, I've been."

"And you too, Maeve Ahern." He took her hand and kissed it. Then he turned to his father. "Da," was all he could say before Patrick had him wrapped in a hug, nearly squeezing the very life from his body. Colter squeezed back just as hard.

There they stood, two raw-boned Irishmen, weeping in each other's arms, not caring what the gawkers thought.

Colter pulled Liam to stand before Patrick. "Da, this is your grandson, Liam Patrick Ahern."

Patrick beamed as though Liam were a newborn babe being offered for baptism. "So, this is the flesh boy of all those painted pictures we've gotten." He bent down a bit. "A fine boy you are, too, Liam, if blood means anything at all, for your own da was as good a son as any man could want."

Nothing could have made Colter feel any prouder than to hear his father say that. Except maybe to see the pride in his father's eyes as he gazed for the first time on his grandson.

Patrick took the boy in his arms and stood up. Liam grabbed onto Patrick and hugged tight.

"Ah, here now, is your old Granny, and you'd best be making your obeisance to her or we'll none of us get any supper."

"Get on with you, Patrick. Come, child." Maeve reached for the boy and pressed him against her bosom. She closed her eyes. "What a joy to have my children home safe at last." She held Liam's face between her hands and gazed into his eyes. "My saints, we'd better get going if we're to be home before dark. Colter," she ordered, "you and your da get your luggage." She started with Liam at her side toward the large carriage they'd brought.

"Well, Ma, it's going to take a bit more than a carriage." He turned to his father. "I brought some fine horses, Da. Ten thoroughbreds with tail-sires right back to the Darley. And five of the finest Irish draft horses you've ever seen."

"And what am I wantin' with draft horses, will you tell me?"

“Steeplechasing, of course. Think of it, Da, the speed of a Thoroughbred and the power and endurance of a draft horse....” Colter and Patrick were already on their way to the cargo hold.

"Excuse me, Granny. I've got to help Da." Liam pulled his arm loose and followed them.

Maeve sat with a disgusted sigh on a nearby trunk.

"Left on me own again, eh, Patrick Ahern?"

But she smiled in spite of herself. She'd loved Patrick for too long to be jealous of the beauties who now had his attention. She knew where he'd be later, when the lamp burned low. With a sigh of anticipation, she went to claim Colter's luggage.

She had two trunks and three smaller bags loaded in the carriage by the time her men led the fifteen horses out of the hold and across the short cargo plank.

"So, you bonny men decided to help this poor, little woman get these bloody huge things loaded?"

Patrick only laughed. "Watch your language before the boy, woman. Looks to me like we'd have only gotten in your way."

"Aye, and sometimes I wonder what I bother keepin' you around for."

Her husband wiggled his eyebrows at her. "You know for sure it's them wee, cold feet o' yours, Maeve, me darlin'."

Colter had the temerity to laugh out loud.

"Get on wi' ya." But she had to smile. She couldn't be wroth with Patrick. The sun was too bright and the weather too fine and Colter was home at last.

With the horses in tow, it took them the rest of the day to make the trip to Carroll County. The thoroughbreds were fractious after the long crossing. Colter and Patrick were both riding, and they stopped every few miles to change horses. Liam shared driving with Maeve, but even he took his turn on one of the blooded horses.

"You've a fine seat, Liam," Patrick said. "If you weren't so blasted big, we'd make a jockey of you."

"You think so, Gran?"

The boy had fallen so easily into calling them Gran and Granny that Maeve knew he'd only heard loving stories of them. She was grateful for that. It would make his adjustment easier. Irish still weren't welcome everywhere, especially with the big immigrations during the famine. His brogue, though not as thick as some, would be an encumbrance among the young folk.

She smiled, looking at Patrick and Colter. Maybe he won't have so much trouble after all, she thought.

Well after dusk, they finally pulled into the drive.

"Da, it's as grand as Grandfather's house."

Maeve realized she knew next to nothing about the boy's maternal family. "Did your Grandfather have a nice home, Liam?"

"Oh, aye," replied the boy guilelessly. "He's Earl of Kinmare, you know. He's got places all over County Kerry and a big house in London."

She looked toward Colter, expecting an explanation, but her son only kicked his horse to a canter up the drive, pulling along the six horses he had in file behind him. Maeve and Patrick were left to gaze at each other, mouths open in astonishment.

Chapter Seven

Colter slouched on the settee in Patrick's study, sipping a whiskey. It was good to stretch out and not feel the floor rocking underneath him. The whiskey slid down his throat, leaving a woody taste on his tongue while his eyes wandered over details cherished through all the years he'd been gone.

He loved this room. It was a man's place, not a piece of lace or a needlepoint pillow in sight. Even the smells were masculine -- the burned tobacco in Patrick's pipe on his desk, the new leather waiting to be turned into a bridle, the slightly horsy scent from the hats and jacket hanging on the wall by the door.

Patrick came in and crossed the small room to the table by the fireplace where he kept his spirits. Not even looking at Colter, he poured himself a drink, then leaned against the mantle. He fixed his eyes on the foxhunt scene painted on the fireplace screen and stood silent, nursing his whiskey.

After a few moments, Colter saw his father's wall-like shoulders relax.

"Are you going to tell me, now, how you came to marry an Earl's daughter and didn't tell us?" Patrick turned and focused his narrowed eyes on Colter. "Especially a daughter of Kinmare."

"Peggy wasn't to blame for anything that passed between you and Kinmare." He wasn't intimidated by Patrick's glare. "And neither am I. Besides, Da, you knew where I was going."

Patrick turned back to the mantle. "I never figured you'd breed with them."

Colter laughed.

"By the saints, Patrick, sometimes you take the horse talk too far even for me to swallow." He rose and went to stand by his father. "Da, she was a fine girl. We suited well. We had a good life, short as it was, and we made a fine son, a fine grandson for you. Kinmare isn't the man you remember." He tipped his head around to look into Patrick's face. "You could have told me about him. It might have made things a bit easier."

Patrick boomed a laugh. "I'll wager he was fit to kill when his daughter married you."

Colter shook his head. "He welcomed me with open arms." To his father's astonished reaction he said, "I told you, he isn't the same man. He tried to tell me some of what passed between the two of you."

"Did he tell you he drove me from my home? From my woman? And her carrying you already?"

"Aye, he did." Colter stepped over to the window, set in a deep casement and shielded by double shutters. He looked out at the rolling pasture land, the neat arrangement of barns, the result of nothing more than a poor, starving Irish boy's dreams and thirty years' worth of back-breaking work.

"Looks to me like he did you a great favor, Da. Ireland isn't a grand place these days for the Irish."

Patrick moved to stand close behind Colter. After a moment, he nodded and grunted agreement. "Aye, I guess you're right, boyo." He slapped Colter on the back and led him into the hallway behind the study. "Let's go see if your Ma has any food ready yet. After handling those half-mad beasties you brought back, I'm starving."

The next day, Colter and Liam walked the furthest pasture of Connemara, getting their land-legs back and enjoying their first full day on dry land since leaving Ireland.

"Are you tired yet, son?" Colter lay his arm around Liam's shoulders.

"No, Da. 'Tis a grand place. Grandfather's stud in Ireland isn't as well situated as Connemara." Liam looked hungrily, as though he had only one day to see it all.

Colter judged how much daylight was left to them.

"Enough horse farm for now, boyo. I’m gonna show you where to find the tallest climbing trees, the deepest fishing holes, and the sweetest berry bushes."

"Da, look there. Is that on Gran's property?" They stood a hundred yards from a pond fed from an underground reservoir. A small stream ran clean and pure through the pastures to join with the Meadow Branch.

"Aye, and there are blackberry bushes on the other side. I'll race you."

Colter gave him no head start, but lost his footing on a marshy spot along the stream. Liam laughed and shot ahead.

"First one there gets first go at those berries. Better hurry, Da, else I'll eat 'em all."

"Not fair, boyo. Save me some, eh?"

Liam fell to his knees beside the hedge heavy with ripened blackberries, pulling off a handful and popping them in his mouth. He ate his fill, stopping only when blue-black juice ran off his chin.

"Do you think you'll be happy here, Liam?" Colter skimmed a stone as the boy washed his face in the pond. He saw Liam's head bounce, once, twice, three times, in imitation of the stone's motion. "It'll be a hard thing if you're going to pine for Ireland and your mother's people."

Liam shook his head. "I miss them, sure, but this is my home now. Here with you and Gran and Granny. And the horses."

He was quiet, as was his way while he framed his thoughts. Colter had learned to let him take his time. He would eventually speak.

"It's good we came here, Da. In Ireland, everything reminded me of Mother. Sometimes I miss her so much it makes me cry, but she would'na want me mourning her forever."

Colter nodded. "That's right, Liam. Just remember the happy times and be glad for having known her."

"Do you miss her, Da?"

"Yes, son, very much. But with time, it's getting easier to talk about her and not feel so bad."

Liam nodded. "I think you're right." The boy turned his eyes out over the grassy field. The dying sunlight glistened off the blue-black of his hair.

Colter admired his son, tall, broad and strong. He and Peggy had done very well.

"Da, who's that over there on the hill?"

Colter followed Liam's gaze out past the pond, then felt his heart stop in mid-beat.

He couldn't even whisper her name. It couldn't be her, he thought, even as his body reacted with a certainty his mind denied.

"Just a lady on a walk. She probably came out here to be alone." He laid his hand on the boy's shoulder and moved him off in the opposite direction toward the house. "Let's get on back and leave her to her solitude. Tell you what, tomorrow, we'll go to town to buy you a new pair of boots, if we can find a pair to fit those barges you walk about on."

"Got 'em from you, Mother always said," Liam laughed and started running down the hill. "Last one home helps Granny with dishes."

Colter let him go on ahead while he chanced a quick glance back to the hill. The woman didn't show any knowledge of his presence, but walked slowly toward a stand of tall oak trees. It was the place he and Kitty had always shared. She'd called it their first home.

It was where he'd lain with her.

He'd not asked about her and no one had volunteered anything. Would Ma have kept from him the news that Kitty and her husband had returned home?

Did they have children?

The thought of his Kit in another man's arms, especially Anson Dexter's, caused the blood to pound in his ears.

He blew out his anger and frustration. Why couldn't he let go of it? It had been thirteen years.

Isn't it enough, Colter, he asked himself, that you let that woman taint your time with Peggy? Don't let her ruin your life further.

Even so, as he walked toward the house, he kept glancing back, trying to see the woman who so reminded him of one he couldn't forget.

As he’d promised, Colter took Liam to town the next afternoon for boots.

They should have come into town earlier in the morning, he thought as he toweled his forehead with his handkerchief.

Great rolling streams of sweat flowed between his shoulder blades to pool somewhere around where his belt held his pants up. Colter didn't remember it being quite so hot in June. But then, thirteen years on the Emerald Isle hadn't made a typical Maryland summer any easier to take, either.

He quickened his step to catch up to his son, who was already running into the store.

Liam didn't seem to have any trouble with the weather.

Children adjusted. Colter wondered if he ever would. Peggy had been dead for a year now, yet he still felt guilty for not being the husband she deserved, for letting Kitty haunt him all those years.

Maybe some of that guilt came from finding it hard to remember her. For once in his life, he wished Ahern men weren't always the image of their fathers. He'd like a bit of Peggy to remember.

"C'mon, Da." Liam stood at the door, waving frantically. "They have exactly what I need."

Colter grinned. Maybe there was something of his mother in him after all. Peggy had been the greatest shopper in all the British Empire.

"Ah, that's better," he muttered as he stepped across the threshold into the slightly cooler interior of the store, and promptly lost his voice.

She stood at the shoe display, a girl of about ten close by her side.

"How about those shiny black ones, Blythe? Aren't they beautiful?"

She smiled the same smile, he noticed, it hadn't changed.

Nothing had changed. He reacted to her as though the last thirteen years had never happened.

"No, Mama. The sisters told us not to wear shiny shoes." The girl screwed up her face in exquisite confusion. "Why would they say that, Mama?"

She laughed. Her laugh was still full, deep-throated.

His shoes grew roots, anchoring him to his spot in front of the door. He blocked it but he didn't care.

Kitty was here.

"Da," Liam's voice called out from the back of the store. "Come, on, Da. I found the boots."

Somehow, he made his voice work. "Coming, Liam."

She was bending over the girl's foot, helping her slip into a patent leather shoe. When he spoke, she snapped her head up and raised her eyes to meet his.

"Colter." It was a whisper, a prayer.

He very nearly gave in to his first impulse -- tuck back the tendril of her deep sable brown hair that had escaped the pins, then sweep her into his arms and kiss her senseless while he looked for the nearest available horizontal surface.

That was what he'd done the last time he'd seen her.

"Hello, Kitty." Did he really croak? He cleared his throat and wondered why that made her smile. "How are you?" There, that was a bit better.

Her eyes, the same stormy, gray-green, looked at him with a hunger he felt in the pit of his own stomach.

Somebody had better get control of himself here.

Think of her husband.

That did it. Anson always was able to put a damper on a good time, Colter thought.

She still hadn't answered his polite question. The shoppers around them gave no signs that they noticed them practically undressing each other right here in the store.

Kitty regained her composure and extended her hand, just as she would have for any old acquaintance.

He took it and, besides noting how soft her hand still was, how small, how finely boned and delicate, he refused to notice anything at all. One firm squeeze was all he allowed himself before he dropped it.

"I'm just fine," she said, "thank you. And, you, Colter, how have you been? Maeve told me about your wife and the baby. I'm so very sorry."

A conventional, polite remark, though he had no doubts she really meant it. He nodded.

"Thank you." Should have been you, Kitty, he thought, then he wondered if he meant his wife or dead.

Didn't matter. She belongs to another man and he's welcome to her.

Liar.

"Maeve showed me a miniature of your son. He's an Ahern right enough." She smiled. Her teeth had always reminded him of a string of pearls. They were small, just the right size for her mouth, and white as a cloud on a summer day. He remembered, at the same time his body did, how she'd bitten his ear and neck.

"I'm afraid that's true. No escape for an Ahern," he said, thinking he’d made a grand joke.

What was that expression on her face?

"Mother, can I have these?"

"May I," she corrected, her voice flat, her eyes locked with Colter's.

Morbidly curious as to what sort of son Dexter might sire, Colter turned his attention to the boy who had come to stand by her side. One quick glance up and down, and his curiosity was transformed to numbed shock.

The boy was broad-shouldered and strongly built. He was a bit taller than Liam and probably a bit older, twelve or so. Wide, clear eyes of blue-gray gazed at Colter from a handsome face topped off by blue-black hair.

Rising from the hairline were just a few strands of white.

"Mother of God," Colter whispered.

He looked back at Kitty. Her eyes were begging him not to say anything.

Colter searched the boy for some sign that he'd been mistaken, that this boy, Kitty's son, wasn't his own.

He shook his head. "Kitty, tell me it isn't true." His eyes locked with hers again.

She said nothing.

"What's wrong, Mother?" the boy asked in a tentative whisper.

Kitty turned to the boy. "This is an old friend of mine. I've known him since I wasn't much older than you are." She put her hands on the boy's wide shoulders and pushed him a little toward Colter. "This is Mr. Ahern, Philip."

"Colter Ahern?" The boy's eyes, steel blue gray -- identical to Colter’s own -- opened wide, glowing with adoration.

Colter was nearly undone. He managed to control himself and extend his hand. "Aye, I'm that one. You've heard of me then?"

"Oh, sure," Philip said, barely breathing as he shook Colter's hand. "You're the greatest trainer in the world."

Colter smiled, even more pleased than he'd normally be.

"Well, I'm not sure I'm all that good."

"Wait'll I tell the guys."

Liam wandered up. "Da, what's taking you so long?"

Just as Kitty had a minute earlier, Colter laid his hands on Liam and introduced him to the woman who might have been, should have been, his mother.

"Liam, this is Mrs. Dexter. She's an old friend of mine."

Kitty smiled and extended her hand. "Hello, Liam."

Liam politely greeted her and shook her hand.

"And this is her son, Philip." Colter added the next introduction.

The boys sized each other up, then they, too, shook.

"You sure are lucky. Your father is famous."

Liam smiled and gazed at his father proudly.

"Yeah, my da is the finest horse trainer in the world. There's not a horse he can't make a winner."

Kitty's expression needed little interpretation. And she was right, these boys could be twins.

"My da brought me to buy some new work boots," Liam said.

"Yeah? My mother brought me for new shoes too." They promptly walked off together, forgetting their parents, to look at the shoes.

Colter watched the two boys, feeling the thrill he'd experienced on the day of Liam's birth.

Until the euphoria of discovery dissipated and he turned on her, anger quickly replacing joy.

"Why didn't you let me know, Kitty?"

"I did. I sent you a letter. Then I got yours." She spread her hands in a gesture of futility. "What was I supposed to do, Colter?"

"You were supposed to wait, like I asked you to."

"Asked me? I don't remember being asked. You had everything figured out. Your life, my life." Her eyes were grayer now than green, a north Atlantic storm in full blast and her voice grew louder as she answered his accusation. "I did what I had to do."

They'd started to attract a crowd.

"Katherine." Melcia Forbes huffed her way toward them, Kitty's daughter and Philip in tow. The look she cast at Colter made him feel twelve years old again. It was the look she always tossed at him, making him feel insignificant and monumentally out of place, all at the same time. "Let's go, Katherine."

Kitty gasped a quick breath. Her perfect teeth dug into her bottom lip and she looked at the floor.

"Come along, children." Her voice was raw and almost cracked.

As Philip passed by, Colter had to restrain himself from reaching out and taking the boy in his arms.

My son, he thought as they disappeared through the doors.

Kitty’s son.

Kitty unbuttoned her gloves and tugged at the fingertips.

She'd expected to see him around town, but hadn't been prepared for the effect confronting him would have on her. As she wandered into the parlor, she came to grips with the realization that Colter hadn't known about Philip.

Hadn't he gotten her letters?

Melcia was right behind her and after she sent the children out to play, she started the rant Kitty had been dreading ever since they'd left the store.

"Will you tell me what that display in the store was all about? You were practically falling all over him."

"Mother, that's ridiculous. I think we behaved perfectly normally."

"You were shouting at each other, for heaven's sake. Dear, you're a married woman."

"Yes," Kitty sighed, "I know."

"I'm still reeling from the shock. You couldn't even tell me the truth. I had to learn it when you brought that boy into my house."
"That boy is your flesh and blood."

"Don't misunderstand me, Kitty. I love him as much as I would any child of yours. Still, the shame of this whole thing is crushing."

"Save your contempt for me, Mother," Kitty said. "Philip is blameless and I won't tolerate him being made to pay for something that isn't his fault."

"He'll pay all his life, Kitty. Especially in a small town like this." Melcia let herself drop onto the sofa. "I do wish you'd have told us about your condition."

"Water under the bridge, Mother. Besides, aren't you satisfied with the way I handled my condition?"

"As a matter of fact, I am. Anson is a much more suitable husband for you."

Philip stuck his head around the doorway. "Mother, I'm going fishing, OK?"

"Yes, dear. Be home in time for dinner."

"See, look at that! You didn't ask him where he's going or with whom."

"He's twelve years old and he needs a little freedom."

Melcia's mouth stretched into a tight line. "I gave you a little freedom, Miss. Look what happened."

Kitty pressed her palm against her forehead, as though the gesture could stop the pain that pierced her brain. She needed a nice hot willow bark tea.

"What do you think Anson will say about you seeing Colter behind his back?"

She turned on her mother. "We were in a store. There were people all around."

Melcia's eyes narrowed. "You still fancy yourself in love with him, don't you?"

Yes, of course, I am.

Kitty physically recoiled from the thought. The speed with which it had surfaced from her deepest heart sent a cold shudder down her spine.

She struggled to hide her reaction.

"Actually, Mother, I was pleased to see him looking so well. Can you expect me to have no feelings at all for him?"

Kitty took herself to the other side of the room, where she busied her nervous fingers with a vase of flowers, arranging and rearranging.

"You didn't answer my question."

"That's because it's a ridiculous one. Even if I do still have feelings for him, I'm married and I honor my vows. We are nothing to each other now."

Kitty turned at her mother's silence. Melcia stared, her eyes narrowed and suspicion clearly written in them.

"Very well, I'll accept that for now."

"Thank you," Kitty whispered.

Melcia got her shawl that she'd discarded on the back of a chair. She pulled her kid gloves out of her pocket and started pulling them on.

"Remember, Kitty, people talk. They make the most of the grist they have. You must conduct yourself in a circumspect manner at all times. You are not the only one who would suffer from a public scandal."

Kitty turned back to her flowers. Her mother's footsteps clicked on the polished wood floor and the sound of the front door closing signaled her departure.

Kitty took a deep breath. Sometimes she had to check the calendar to make sure it really was 1856 and that she had attained the age of thirty. Her mother appeared intent on confusing the issue with her sermonizing on morality.

No, not even morality, but how things looked.

Her mother was right about scandal, though. Philip would be the one to pay. That had to be avoided, whatever the cost. There could be no more scenes like the one earlier. She had to keep her path from crossing Colter's.

Yet even as she made the resolution to avoid Colter, she didn’t know whether she possessed the resolve to keep it.

"Ma!" Colter's angry voice boomed through the house. He went from room to room. "Ma, where are you?"

"I'm right here, Colter." Maeve came from the direction of the kitchen.

He stood before her, towering more than a foot taller, more than one hundred pounds heavier, and his state of mind not one of peace and tranquillity.

Maeve stared up into his eyes. "Listen well, my bucko," she said, her voice calm, "don't you ever come crashing through my front door, shouting for me like a dog."

Colter took a deep breath. He knew he should apologize for his disrespect, but he had more pressing things on his mind.

"Why didn't you tell me about my son?"

Maeve pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows.

"Ah. So, you saw him? And Kitty, too, I suppose?"

"Yes, goddammit! Why didn't somebody tell me?"

"What was I supposed to tell you? That your son is living with Kitty and her husband in Westminster and is called Dexter?"

He paced the hallway between the parlor and the dining room. His fists opened and closed involuntarily.

"I won't give the boy up, Ma. Anson has Kitty and there's nothing I can do about that. But I won't give up my son."

Maeve put her hand on his arm. He stood still.

"It's too late, my dear. Philip is Anson’s son now. I won't preach to you. But you did leave that girl after you took her, without making sure she was all right." She smiled sadly as she pushed his hair off his forehead. "I don't believe you were so innocent you didn't at least consider the possibility."

A chill crept up his spine as he remembered Kitty's question that night.

What if we've made a baby?

The chill was followed by a wave of nausea. He dropped into a hall chair.

"God, Ma, what have I done?"

"Love, it's thirteen years too late to ask that."

Colter pictured Philip Dexter, pride and pain warring within him.

"He's a handsome lad, isn't he? So strong and intelligent." He thought of the boy's excitement in meeting the famous Colter Ahern. "He told Liam how lucky he was to be my son."

A half-sob, half-laugh burst from his throat. His mother gathered him to her bosom, comforting him as he wept.

"I can never claim him, can I, Ma?"

Maeve laughed a little bitterly. "Colter, have you looked at that boy?"

He stared up at her in disbelief.

"Of course, you have." She shook her head. "I just cannot believe Anson brought them back. We didn't expect you to return, but just the same there are plenty of Ahern men around here. Everyone knew you and Kitty were sweethearts." Maeve stroked his hair. "No, Colter, love, you cannot openly claim the boy. It's probably better if you don't see much of him or Kitty either. Anson is somewhat jealous as I understand it."

"Da," Liam called from the front door. He stuck his head in, saw Colter there, then leaned back outside.

Colter quickly wiped his eyes and stood up. When Liam reappeared, he was dragging Philip Dexter behind him.

"Hello, Mrs. Ahern," he said.

"Now, Philip,” Maeve scolded with a smile, “I thought we’d agreed you were to call me Maeve." She tipped her head, inviting him to try again.

He smiled and a dimple appeared in his cheek. His right cheek, Colter noticed, just like his own. He raked his hand through his hair, ruffling the streak of white, just as Colter himself did.

"Maeve," he said, blushing.

"That's better."

Liam was hopping around Colter. "Da, can Phil stay the night? We haven't asked his folks yet, but he thinks they'll let him."

Philip didn't really look so certain.

"I don't know, Liam...." Colter started.

"But, Da, he's the first friend I've made here. He's a horseman, Da. Old Gideon ate out of his hand."

Colter was surprised. Gideon was as cantankerous as any old man and didn't tolerate strangers.

"Look." Liam grabbed Philip and pulled him closer, his childish innocence breaking Colter's heart anew. "He's got a forelock, just like us. How 'bout that? I guess we Aherns aren't the only ones to get 'em."

Colter decided to let Dexter be the villain.

"You'll have to ask Philip's father. If he says it's all right, then I don't mind at all. Of course, you'll have to ask your Granny. It's her house, after all."

"Best you remember that, me fine buck." Maeve smacked her son's shoulder, making the two boys laugh. Then she turned them around and scooted them out the door. "Go on, now, and ask Philip's parents."

"May we ride, Da?"

Right now, he couldn't refuse either of them anything.

He nodded.

All smiles, they took off at a dead run for the barn.

"So much for not seeing him," Colter said.

Chapter Eight

In the beautiful house that dominated East Main Street, in the elegant study, behind a huge oak desk that befit a bank president, Anson Dexter held the small gun up in front of his eyes. It was a beautiful piece, a real Deringer, one "r", fashioned by Mr. Henry Deringer of Philadelphia. The four-inch silver plated barrel gleamed in the lamplight and reflected his face.

He caught his breath as he contemplated his appearance. Did he really look so terrible?

He tilted the barrel. Deep brown circles smudged the skin underneath his eyes and the lines around his mouth were as deep as an old man's. His forehead was wrinkled and he knew pain had put those lines there.

In truth, he looked decades older than his thirty-three years.

Well, the doctor had told him it would happen. Just about everything was coming about just as the quack had predicted.

So many things to see to.

He returned his attention to the gun.

So many regrets. Anson was especially sorry he'd neglected Philip lately. He truly loved the boy.

And who wouldn't? Philip was a good, obedient child, with a loving nature. He was a son to make any man proud.

But as he got older, Philip looked more and more like....

Anson refused to acknowledge the blood tie that bound Philip to Colter Ahern. Colter had taken Kitty's heart. He wouldn't take the son upon whom Anson had lavished so much hope.

Maybe there's still time, Anson thought, time to create some fond memories, so Philip would remember him when he was gone. He could teach his son how to handle a gun, a gentleman's gun, like this elegant, efficiently deadly Deringer. They could share some real man time, taking the weapon apart and cleaning the finely wrought parts, oiling it and putting it back together. Philip would be a fine shot. He did everything well.

Anson's teeth ground together as a wave of pain swept up from the base of his spine.

He gripped the edge of the desk and breathed deeply, waiting for it to ease. When he could release the desk, he reached a shaky hand for the spoon and glass of water sitting before him. Usually, he could put it off until he was ready for bed, but tonight it was worse than ever.

Would he ever be free? Would he ever be able to get a night's sleep without drugging himself?

Death was starting to look pretty good. No suffering devised by Satan could beat what he'd already endured.

He stared in disgust at the small brown bottle of opiate sitting on the desktop like a slut on a street corner, taunting, teasing, promising ease.

He chuckled at the fancy of the comparison, but it was no joke. He'd needed much more lately just to fall into a fitful sleep that provided no rest at all. The doctor in London had also told him that. Anson had just hoped he'd have a little longer.

If it was true that Colter had come home, Anson had some decisions to make. It wouldn't do to be muddle-headed.

"My old friend, Colter," Anson muttered, anger and resentment swelling in him, for the moment pushing the pain away.

He measured out a couple of spoonfuls into the water. He stirred the mixture, watching the water turn cloudy.

Maybe I ought to get upstairs before I take this, he thought, even as he brought the glass to his lips.

The bitter draught slid down his throat. He forced himself to drain the glass before taking it away from his mouth.

He shivered.

"Whew," he chuckled, "whiskey sure tastes better."

Anson sat waiting for the drug to mask the pain and fondled the Deringer.

When his eyes grew heavy and he could move without the clawing torment, he rolled his chair away from the desk and opened the middle drawer. The Deringer fit perfectly in one of the cleverly designed compartments.

"Where is that key?" He patted his waistcoat pocket. He had to lock the drawer. It wouldn't do for the children to get in here and play with the gun. It was loaded. At least, he thought it was loaded.

"Father, may I talk to you?"

Philip stood in the doorway. He was such a handsome boy, meant for greater things than his sire had accomplished.

Anson struggled to sit up straight. He still had to make it up the stairs.

"Of course, son, come in."

Philip approached the desk and stood uneasily. "Father, have I made you angry or upset?"

The question came out quickly, in a stream.

Anson sat up and tried to keep the pain from showing on his face. "No, Philip. I'm not angry at you."

"Well, I just thought..." The boy shuffled his feet and his eyes flicked around the room. "You were angry about us going to Connemara. And you didn't let me spend the night with Liam." He shot a quick glance at Anson before looking down at his shoes. "It seemed that you were angry."

"Philip, you and I have talked about this. Horses are for owning and riding. You are capable of much more than working on a farm." He sat back in the chair, blinking in an attempt to keep his eyes open.

"Yes, I know, we did, Father, but, I wonder if maybe I might not just give it a try? Mr. Ahern said if you agreed I could work out at the farm this summer. After my chores around here are done, of course."

Anson heard what Philip said, but it didn't make any sense. Ahern? Then his vision grew blurred and Philip's voice became muffled.

"Would it be all right, Father?"

Anson heard the question. He intended to say that they'd talked about this already and there was no way he'd permit it. But before he could get the words out, his head fell forward onto the desk and blessed darkness closed over him.

Kitty stood on the back steps, straining in the darkness for Philip. Every night for the past week, he’d come in later and later. The atmosphere in the house was tense enough without having to worry about her son being kidnapped or robbed and roughed-up by roving bands of thugs.

“Thank goodness,” she whispered when Philip came into view.

He froze for a moment in his tracks when he saw her. Kitty crossed her arms over her bosom and didn’t even try to hide her irritation.

Philip grimaced, accepting her censure, then trotted up to the steps.

“Hi, Ma,” he said.

His rueful grin didn’t mollify Kitty a bit.

"Where have you been? It's pitch dark out here."

Philip had the grace to look ashamed. "I'm sorry, Mama."

She immediately hardened her heart. He only called her Mama when he knew he was in trouble.

"I just lost track of time. Liam was showing me how to trim a frog."

"Philip, what possible reason could you have for cutting up a toad?"

He laughed. "No, Ma, the frog of a horse's foot. If it gets too thick, the horse can't walk."

Horses. Of course.

"I thought Patrick said you were to get your father's permission to go out to Connemara."

His fair skin flushed deep tomato red.

"Well, I haven't had the chance to ask him. He's been busy lately." He straightened as though he would defend himself. "I did ask him once, but he never answered me."

"Philip, your father made his wishes known on this subject the day he came out to Connemara. He hasn't mentioned a change of heart to me."

Some hope blossomed in Philip's eyes. "But, Mother, just the other day I asked again and he didn't forbid me then."

"He didn't say no?"

"No." He clamped his lips shut.

Kitty could see the battle going on in her son's eyes. Philip was an honest child who'd been taught that to omit a truth was to tell a lie.

Honesty won over self-interest.

"Well, he didn't say no, but he didn't exactly say...."

Kitty silenced him with a gentle finger against his lips. "He didn't say no?"

Philip shook his head.

She knew what she was contemplating was wrong. She had accepted Anson as Philip's father, giving him the right to make decisions on Philip's upbringing as he saw fit. She had no right to try to circumvent those decisions just because she didn't agree with them.

But the blue-gray eyes that gazed at her with such longing made up her mind for her.

She took down a large crockery jar from the shelf over the stove and reached inside. Then she lifted Philip's hand and laid several coins in his palm. "Go to the store tomorrow after school and buy a pair of work boots."

He turned a beaming smile on her. She put her hands on his shoulders.

"Take the boots and some old clothes to Connemara. When you go out there to work, change your clothes and shoes. Don't forget to wash up and change back into your school clothes before you come home. And you must be home before dark. Never mention the farm or the Aherns to your father."

Philip looked troubled. "Does he really hate them so much, Mother?"

Kitty lifted a hank of hair from his brow, stroking the white strands.

"He has reasons for the way he feels, Philip."

The boy nodded, though she could see he was still bothered.

She kissed his forehead. "Run along and wash up. I'll get you some supper."

The pangs of guilt gnawed at her. Father Tracy’s penance for her youthful mistake had been lenient. Deceiving her husband would be much more costly. She took out some more money to give Philip when he came down for supper. While he was at the store he could get her some more yarn. At the rate she was sinning, she'd be knitting until Judgment Day.

Philip spent more time at Connemara than he did at home. He was fascinated by everything that Colter and Patrick did in their daily rounds and would follow either of them. It didn't matter what they were doing as long as there were horses around.

When he wasn't tagging along asking question after question, he and Liam appeared joined at the hip. They worked as hard as any man and never complained of any job given to them. Summer passed and fall arrived bringing the beginning of the school year. They would meet at school in the morning and stay together until Philip had to go home just before dusk.

Colter stood hidden in the cover of the barn and watched his two sons, so much alike, working a colt in the paddock. Liam had just turned twelve and Philip would soon be thirteen, but it was easy to see the tall, big men they would be one day. Could a man do a greater thing than sire boys like these?

"They are wonderful boys."

He whipped around at the sound of her voice.

"Kitty," His voice was grainy. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to get my son. I haven't seen much of him lately and I missed him."

She came toward him with that long-legged, smooth glide she had. It was a walk that could lead men to sin. Stopping beside him, she turned her face toward the open door. Her sweet lips curved in a smile.

"Such handsome boys, so much alike." Her smile faded. "People have noticed. Philip asked me the other day why people stare at him. I'm not sure what to tell him."

"What can you tell him but the truth?"

"Do you think he's old enough to understand?" She smiled. "Could he understand that his mother loved his father so much she ignored the clear teaching of the Church? Can he accept being a bastard?"

"What will he think when he finds out on his own? He's not stupid."

She turned and walked into the barn, where she leaned against a stall partition and crossed her arms.

Colter followed her, breathing the delicate lavender scent she left behind, drawn like a bee to a flower. He stopped when she did and stood, looking into her eyes.

He could feel her skin against his hands even though there was six feet between them.

"You shouldn't be here, Kit."

"Why not, Colter? This is a public place, isn't it?"

One of them had to move. He picked up a pitchfork and started mucking out a stall.

"What are you trying to do? There's nothing for you here."

"Don't you think we need to talk?"

Colter stuck the fork into the dirt floor and leaned on the handle. "What is there to talk about? I took advantage of you and didn't wait to see if there were any consequences. You did what you had to do." He lifted the fork and rammed it into the hay and started raking the dry bedding to one side. "My mother explained it all to me. She told me why you married Dexter as soon as I was on the boat."

Kitty flinched as if he'd struck her.

"You wrote me that you'd be traveling around Europe for six months." Her voice trembled. "Do you have any idea what kind of scandal there would have been? It's bad enough you marked that boy so a blind man could see who his father is." She pressed her palm to her forehead and laughed. "I've been asked to resign from the Ladies' Aid at church. Father Tracy says I don't have to, but still...." She shook her head and sighed. In a whisper that Colter wasn’t sure he was even supposed to hear, she added, "I told Anson we shouldn't come back here."

"Kitty, I'm sorry, darlin'. I didn't mean it like it sounded."

She raised her face to his and their eyes locked, more said in the silence than they dared aloud.

You're mine, Kitty, and I'm yours.

How many times had he spoken those words to her?

How true they still were.

Colter let the pitchfork fall to the ground and opened his arms.

She moved very slowly toward him.

"I've missed you so much, I thought I would die," she whispered as he closed his arms around her.

He breathed her in, the lavender, the sunshiny scent of her hair, the crisp freshness of her clothes. His hands remembered the feel of her and followed well-known curves and lines. She stroked his back and every movement of her fingers on his spine sent a tremor all over. When she raised her head to look up at him, her lips were parted and beckoned him.

Colter leaned into the kiss he'd waited thirteen years for. At first it was tender, passion waiting its turn while love was rekindled.

Kitty moved her arms over his and around his shoulders. He tightened his hold and pulled her flush against him. She sighed into his mouth at the pressure of his desire for her. He took advantage to gently caress the smoothness of her inner lips and dipped his tongue deeper to taste her again.

She murmured his name and claimed him in the same way.

It was heaven.

It was hell.

In just a few minutes -- for he had to make her go, and soon -- she would go back to her husband. He tried to let her go, but his arms wouldn't obey. They tightened even more around her.

Her hands rubbed and stroked his shoulders, then moved up to comb through his hair. Some nasty part of his mind wondered if she'd ever touched Dexter like this. That thought would have made him angry at another time. Now, it just made him want to erase any trace of another man from her mind. His lips traced a wet line up and down the smooth line of her neck, stopping only for the collar of her bodice.

Colter's mind was empty of any thought save getting her under him. Never did his lips leave her skin. Never did hers leave him. They kissed like what they were -- two lovers parted for many years, now meaning to make amends.

The stall behind them was clean with fresh sweet hay on the floor.

Somehow, it seemed appropriate. They didn't appear destined for a regular trysting place.

Colter started moving backward, toward that clean stall. He only briefly considered that the barn was open, the boys were in the paddock just outside, anyone could walk in. Then she moaned into his mouth and his mind banished all thoughts except his need for her. She moved with him, not a trace of hesitation in her step. Nearly there, just another foot or two....

"Colter, those boys are going to work that poor animal to death if you don't stop them."

Colter stopped, the shock to his system the same as ice cold water falling on his back. He glanced toward the sound of the voice and saw Patrick standing at the other end of the barn, his back to them, gazing out at the exercise paddock just outside the door.

In one breath, Colter cursed and blessed his father's timing.

Kitty broke away from him and backed into the stall, her trembling fingers buttoning buttons he didn't realize he'd undone. He looked down and saw his own shirt half-opened.

She wouldn’t meet his gaze. They stood together, but not touching, as their breathing slowed to near normal. Patrick eased around the wall to face them.

"Kitty, you know I love you like my own daughter. I wept when I heard you'd married young Dexter." Patrick sniffed. "But I don't want to ever see you out here again, Kitty, my love. For everyone's sake." He reached out and gently touched her cheek before going out to the boys.

Kitty sank into the hay. Her tears flowed freely for a minute. Colter didn't dare touch her.

Several long moments passed before she spoke.

"He's right, Colter. I shouldn't come here again."

The thought ripped at his gut.

"I do need to talk to you, though. Somewhere where we can speak freely." She raised her face to him. "Come out to the hill, under our oak tree."

She was crazy.

"Katherine, you're a married woman."

"A married woman you just about tossed in the hay. You're starting to sound like my mother. She was always saying you had only one thing on your mind." She got to her feet and stood militantly across the stall from him.

He was glad she was getting some of her starch back. It was easier dealing with this than with her tears.

"Maybe you should have listened to your mother," he growled at her. He stepped across to the half-cleaned stall and snatched up the pitchfork, stabbing the hay instead of grabbing her and finishing what he'd started.

"What exactly do you think I'm asking you to do?"

"What exactly am I supposed to think?" He tossed the fork into the hay, then in one step closed the distance between them and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her up against him. "Why did you come here? Don't you know what you do to me?"

Colter purposely held her close so she could feel exactly what she did to him.

Kitty closed her eyes and leaned against him. He let the warmth of her body seep into his. Before he could bring himself to push her away, she broke from his arms and stepped backward.

"Colter, we need to talk."

"There's nothing for us to say. It's dangerous for us to be alone." He tilted his head toward the stall where they'd be lying entwined right now if not for his father.

"Please, Colter, just come. Tomorrow at noontime, at our place. There are so many things we need to speak of, if for no other reason but to just have them out. Please." As she backed toward the door, a half-smile curved her lips. "I'll bring food," she whispered.

Then she ran.

Chapter Nine

He found her the next day, sitting under the tree where they'd made love, so many years ago. She'd chosen well. There wasn't much chance of them being found up here. The pasture between them and the house had been dunged and harrowed just last week and the horses would be kept out until the grass was full and thick again. The earthy, musty scent lingered, but it wasn't overpowering. To a horseman, it was familiar, a smell connected with fertility and renewal.

Kitty, his city girl, didn't seem to mind it at all.

Colter saw her before she noticed him and he approached slowly. If he lived to be one hundred and was able to see her every day, he'd never tire of the sight of her.

She knelt on a blanket spread at the base of their tree and was taking a bowl out of the small basket by her side. The corners of her mouth lifted as she looked up.

"Hello, Colter," she said, her smile broadening as he approached. She reached into the basket and brought out a bundle wrapped in cheesecloth.

He kicked his muddy boots off and walked in his stockings over the sweet grass to the edge of the blanket.

"You were so sure I'd come then?" he said as he sat on a corner of the blanket.

She unfolded the cloth to reveal a block of well-aged cheese. Waving it under her nose, she squeezed her eyes in lascivious delight. With a knife from her basket, she cut a thick slab and laid it on the plate in front of her. He saw that besides the cheese, the plate was loaded with potato salad, slices of beef and two slices of bread.

"I never knew you to turn down an offer of food," she finally answered. Her lips barely tipped up as she handed him a full plate.

He laughed and accepted her offering. The aroma of the food reminded him of how hungry he was.

For food.

They ate in silence, their eyes feasting on each other. For his part, Colter barely tasted anything. He followed her hand as it lifted forkfuls of potato salad or a bit of cheese or meat to her mouth. He followed the morsel as it disappeared behind those pearly white teeth. He traced the path of her delicate pink tongue when it occasionally slipped out to capture some errant crumb. He saw her eyebrows lift in response to an especially delectable flavor.

He pulled his eyes away from her. "We shouldn't be out here, Kit."

She chewed a piece of bread, her eyes on his face. "Colter, tell me about her."

Her request caught him off-guard. He laid down his plate.

"Why?"

Kitty shrugged. "I just want to know that you were happy all those years."

He looked at her a long while, wondering why he should tell her anything. Peggy had nothing to do with her.

Kitty leaned back against the trunk of the ancient oak that provided their cover and sipped cold tea from a jar, waiting for him to decide to tell her.

Colter felt the words forming on his tongue, and the desire to speak them.

"She had red hair, almost orange it was, and when there was moisture in the air," he chuckled, "like there almost always is in Ireland, it went all wild."

Kitty smiled her gentle smile, and he tried to summon forth the image of his dead wife for his lover.

"Her eyes were the color of a robin's egg shell." He looked at Kitty, so different from Peggy. "She was tiny, but strong. She would play just like a child. And she sang like an angel."

Kitty handed him the jar. "And you loved her."

Was it a question? He couldn't tell.

For the sake of having a second to get hold of himself before he started weeping like a child, Colter took a long swallow of the tea and swirled it around in his mouth. She'd sweetened it a little. He smiled around the mouthful. And added mint, too.

"Yes, I remembered," she answered his unspoken question.

He swallowed.

"She couldn't cook, though she didn't have to."

"Was she really the Earl's daughter?"

Colter nodded. "The youngest, the most spoiled, the best loved. Peggy always got what she wanted." He breathed around the pain in the middle of his chest. "Almost like everyone was afraid to make her unhappy."

"She wanted you, so she got you?" Kitty asked with a smile and a lifted eyebrow.

"I suppose she did." He looked into Kitty's eyes to answer the question she'd asked. "Yes, I loved her. Not like I loved you, though."

Kitty turned away, toward the rolling grassland where Colter's Irish Thoroughbred stallions grazed peacefully until the scent of the mares came to them on the warm late summer air. What did she see when she gazed off like that?

"I'm glad you had her, that you weren't lonely. I'm so sorry about what happened."

During all those years, when he'd let himself think about it, he'd wanted to ask her one question, face-to-face where he could see her reaction.

Why? Why Dexter?

Her reasons were now clear. He couldn't fault her for the choices she'd made. But now that he knew why, he wanted to know the whole story. How it would help, he didn't know. He just had to ask.

"Kitty, when did you know?"

"My monthly was due four days after." She punctuated her answer with an ironic smile. "It didn't come."

"Well, I know that," he said, going along with the playful sarcasm they'd often used on each other. "How long before you were sure?"

She took a deep breath. "Colter, if you'd waited just a few days, I'd have had you in front of Father Tracy." She raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Before you got on that blasted boat."

"I'm sorry, Kit." What a pitiful, meaningless, useless thing to say. "I'm sorry you had to go through that alone."

She shook her head. "I wasn't alone, Colter. Anson was with me. He's been a good husband, and a wonderful father for Philip. They have a good relationship even though they don't have a thing in common. The only thing Anson ever asked of me was that I never mention your name. He never asked me to love him or even pretend that I did."

Colter turned away. "He asked for the use of your body." He felt small and foolish even thinking about it.

"He didn't have to ask. It was his right and I never begrudged him. Even when I'd have given my soul if it had been you."

He turned back to her and felt his body tighten at the look in her eyes, hungry and wanting.

It seemed time for confessions.

"I hated you, Kit. I hated him worse, though, whenever I thought of the two of you together."

Kitty's fair skin shaded like a ripe apple.

"At least some good came of all this."

He looked at her in amazement. "And what would that be?"
"Our other children, of course, Liam and Blythe." She didn't try to add to his shame at forgetting about his legitimate son. "He's a fine boy. I'm very glad he and Philip are getting on together."

"They are alike as two peas." He relaxed a bit. Talking about the children would be safer. "Philip is becoming a fine horseman. He's got good hands."

She bubbled a laugh. He did love to hear her laugh.

"All I hear anymore is 'Patrick said this', and 'Colter said that', and 'me and Liam'." She cast a reproving look, "He's even started talking with a brogue."

Now he laughed. "How did you get Anson's permission for Philip to work at Connemara?"

The apple face was back. "He doesn't know."

"What?"

She chewed her upper lip before she answered. He knew Kitty. Lying wasn't in her.

"We didn't tell him. He's been very preoccupied lately. Something wrong at the bank, I suppose, but he won't tell me. Philip asked his permission, as Patrick told him to, but Anson never answered him."

Colter nodded. "That's why he changes clothes here?"

"Yes." She laced her fingers and laid them in her lap. "I hate lying, but this is so important to Philip, and Anson would forbid it. He actually already did."

"He what? Kitty, we can't go against him in this."

"Colter, he wants to make our son a banker." She rose and leaned against the tree. "Philip is no more banker than you are."

"No, 'tis true the boy needs to find out for himself what he's meant for. But, Kit," Colter leaned forward and took the hem of her skirt, like a supplicant to a queen, "we'll only make trouble for you and Philip if we let this go on without his permission. I know how I'd feel."

"Will you refuse to let him come anymore?"

There was no emotion in her voice. She sounded like she had the night he'd ruined all their lives.

"Once I let someone else make a decision for me." She looked down at him. "I let you decide to go off to Ireland, decide I would wait, decide to make love before we were married, decide to go off around France buying horses. While I sat here and saw all your fine plans go directly to hell."

He glanced up at the profanity.

"I won't let someone else dictate to Philip what he'll do with his life. If I know anything about my son, I just can't see him behind a desk." She smiled. "He's too much like his father."

Colter had to agree, even while he was sure this was the wrong way to go about it. But she was right about something else, too. His well-laid plans had gone as far awry as could be.

"I'd almost rather openly defy him than lie," Colter finally said. "Look, Kitty, I'd never keep Philip away. I'd just feel better about it if you could get Anson to agree."

"You'll find icicles on Satan's beard first."

"What will you do when he finds out?"

She didn't answer right away, but dropped to her knees in the grass beside him and looked intensely into his eyes.

"I don't know. Philip deserves his chance, though."

"Are you afraid?" He didn't know why he asked that. But once he did, he wanted the answer. "Is there a reason to fear what he might do?"

Kitty shook her head. "Anson doesn't have it in him to hurt anyone."

She sat back on her heels. He could feel her eyes moving over his face. She touched his hair, pushing back the eternally errant lock that fell over his forehead. Her fingers moved slightly to the left to touch the strands of white.

"I prayed every hour that the child would be a girl. Do you remember my cousin, Alice?"

He nodded. "Who wouldn't remember bossy ol' Alice?"

"Bossy? You're the only person I know of who thought she was anything but completely pliable."

"Hah! That one's as pliable as a four-by-four fence post. If you're gonna tell me she was praying, too, I'm astounded the saints didn't perform miracles to obey her."

Kitty slapped his shoulder. "Colter, such blasphemy." Her eyes sparkled. "She was with me at the wedding. I wish she were here now."

"Where is bossy ol' Alice?"

She closed her eyes. "She died last year."

"Ach, darlin'." He framed her face with both hands, then rose to his knees and pulled her to him. "I'm sorry. I know how much you loved her."

She laughed. "She called you a 'rutting lackwit'."

He laughed, too. "I said she was bossy, not stupid."

"I miss her." She put her arms around him. "At least I have you back."

He stiffened. This was insane. He pulled her arms away and sat back on the ground away from her.

"No, Kitty, you don't have me back."

Kitty's eyes opened wide, her lips parted. "I didn't mean it like that, Colter. We both know that can't be."

"What did you mean?"

"Can't we be friends? Can't I talk to you when I need someone to give me advice?"

"A man can't be friends with a woman like that. Especially not us. Not after...."

"After we've made a child together."

"After you've married another man."

Kitty nodded.

"It's just that I feel natural talking to you." She sighed and he thought he heard a sob strangled somewhere down under it. "But you're right. It would be better if we kept our distance."

"Good." That was what he wanted. The further away she was, the easier it would be to keep her out of his thoughts.

It would take some getting used to. It had taken no time at all to get used to having her in his life again.

"Good." She echoed him. "Well, I'd better be packing up and getting back."

"Do you want me to walk you back to town?" The words had escaped on their own. He'd surely not intended to say them.

"Thank you for the offer, but it's not necessary. I'll do fine on my own."

He moved over to help her load up her basket.

Kitty stopped his hands. "No, let me. You need to get back to work. I'd like some time alone anyway."

Colter sat back. She was withdrawing from him. Even though he knew it was for the best, it still hurt, like part of his heart had been pulled out.

He nodded.

"Good-bye, Kit." He wanted to touch her, kiss her, something. All he did, though, was to rise, pull on his boots, and head back to work.

As he crossed the pasture, he glanced back at her once, just once. She was wrapping the food with the care usually lavished on precious jewels. Her expression was so forlorn, and he felt her desolation himself. To be so close to her and not be able to be with her....

But what else could he do? Her friend? Holy Virgin!

Colter turned away and forced himself to a near run to put distance between them.

It could be the bank's next calendar. A fire in the fireplace. Father with his paper. Mother with her knitting. The children safely in bed.

It wasn't perfect, for the man sitting with the paper in his hands wasn't Colter Ahern.

Katherine, why do you always do that? Her fingers moved faster, driven by her sudden anger at herself.

"I don't know if Philip and I can wear all the stockings you've been knitting, Kitty."

He was smiling.

She felt the corners of her mouth respond to the sight.

"These aren't for you and Philip. That is, not unless you both end up at the county almshouse."

"Ah, penance. You must have confessed to murder."

"Worse. It was thirteen years since my last confession." She smiled and looked back down at her work. "You probably should go make a confession, too, Anson."

"Concerned for my soul?"

"Of course."

"I wish that were true."

Her eyes shot up to meet his. His soft smile was gone. Her first thought was that he was in pain again.

"Anson?" she asked. "Shall I get your medication?"

"How often have you been to him, Kitty?"

"What?" she whispered, not believing the accusation she heard in his voice.

"How often have you been with him, Kitty? Where have you met him?"

Him could only be one person.

"I haven't met him, Anson." Not the way Anson thought anyway. A simple picnic hardly constituted a lover's tryst. She almost convinced herself she wasn't lying.

"Do you expect me to believe that?"

She tried to understand his animosity. He'd not been sleeping well. It was well known that lack of sleep made people unreasonable and suspicious. She tried to remain reasonable and forgiving.

"Anson, you don't mean what you're saying."

His eyes narrowed. "Where were you yesterday?"

"I went for a walk." She dropped her eyes to her knitting. He'd never believe she'd only talked with Colter, tried to make her peace with him so they could live like normal people in this small town.

"Alone?"

Her anger -- and maybe some guilt as well? -- made her speak quickly.

"Yes, Anson, alone. I'm sorry I don't have an alibi. I guess you'll just have to trust me."

"Trust you while you cuckold me with your lover?"

"Keep your voice down," she hissed, "the children....”

He was by her chair in an instant. His hands closed over her shoulders and he pulled her to her feet.

"I will not be mocked, Kitty. How many times have you seen him?"

His breath was fast and labored. Kitty could see his teeth clenched against the pain she knew his exertion had cost him. Her concern for him mixed with anger and not some small sense of guilt.

He was right. In a way, she was betraying him with Colter and had been for thirteen years, as she withheld the larger portion of her heart for her first love. There had been very little left over for Anson.

But she hadn't actually given in to her desires. She'd honored him with her body, if not with her mind or heart.

"What do you want, Anson, a written report of each and every encounter I have with Colter Ahern?"

She took a bit of wicked satisfaction in the effect her speaking of his name had on Anson. He sucked in a breath. She'd never said Colter's name in his presence in all the years of their marriage.

"Do you want it daily, or is once a week sufficient?" With a jerk, she wrenched her shoulders free and stepped away from him. "Shall I cross the street to avoid him? Shall I run from stores like a madwoman so everyone knows how I feel?"

"Do you still love him?"

"You know I do. I never pretended otherwise."

With a gasp, Kitty slapped her hand over her mouth, too late to trap the truth inside.

Anson's shoulders slumped, his eyes lost the fire that had reflected his anger. She was suddenly terrified at the transformation that came over his face. He looked like a corpse.

"Where does that leave me?"

The softly spoken question, the yearning that lay behind it, the pain on his face -- both physical and emotional -- jerked her ragged feelings yet again as compassion replaced the shame which had supplanted anger.

She tried to answer as gently as he'd asked.

"You are my husband, the father of my children."

"Do you honor your vows?"

"How can you even ask me that?"

Anson walked stiffly to the front window. He stood with his back to her, one fist balled against the small of his back.

"Till death do us part," he whispered and she wasn't sure he was even speaking to her. He turned to face her. "I love you, Kitty."

"And I love you, Anson." Kitty heard the words flow easily from her lips.

"Do you?"

"Of course, I do, my dear." She spoke the plain truth, truth she gladly acknowledged. "You've been so good to me, loved our son, given me a beautiful daughter. You've provided for us and given us everything you could to make our lives pleasant. What an ungrateful wretch I'd be if I didn't love you."

Anson didn't speak. His gaze, so full of longing, brought a tightening to her throat and a burning to her eyes.

What she did and said in the next few minutes could save or destroy any chance she had for contentment in her marriage. She tried mightily to push Colter Ahern out of her heart.

"Anson, things haven't been between us as I would have liked. Much of that is my fault, especially since we came back to Westminster." Distance, that's what she needed. The longing for Colter had been bearable when she didn't see him. "Take us back to London. To New York, California, Hong Kong, it doesn't matter. Let's go away so we won't have the past coming between us."

He shook his head. "Our future is here. I want you to be near your family."

"Anson, you and the children are my family. You can see how Philip is growing up into a copy of...." She didn't know how to invoke Colter into a conversation where he surely wasn't needed.

"His father," Anson finished for her. "I've made up my mind, Kitty. We stay here in Westminster."

"All right." She took a breath and tried to swallow the resentment she felt at being kept in a situation where she'd be tempted every day.

He put his hands on the window frame. She yearned to give him some ease from the agony that twisted his face.

"Come with me, Anson. Let's go to bed."

He laughed. "Oh, Kitty, what I would have given to hear that when I could have made use of the offer." His laugh remained as a crooked smile. "I am incapable of performing my duty. I fear I am useless to you."

"No, never useless." She took his hand, momentarily shocked by the dry, papery texture of his skin, the prominence of his bones. He'd grown thin, and so quickly. The worst was the pain and she could see the lines in his face grow deeper by the second. "Anson, please let me send for the doctor."

"No need. I was in today to see the old sawbones. He gave me something."

"Then let me get it and come with me to bed. You need to sleep."

Anson looked at her. "I would love to sleep, just sleep, in your arms."

She held out her hand. "Come, then."

It was the worst night he'd had so far and morning was still hours away.

Kitty sat in a chair by the window and watched Anson fitfully tossing and moaning. Even a large dose of the laudanum hadn't completely masked the pain. He'd cried out in his sleep, sobbing in his agony. She, too, had wept.

She fingered her rosary, praying for his deliverance from earthly pain and eternal damnation. As she appealed to God for Anson's relief, she wondered suddenly if his illness, whatever hellish thing it was, was his reason for bringing them all back here.

He should be in a big city, where he could get proper medical attention.

"Kitty."

"Yes, my dear. I'm right here." She went to him and, and sitting on the edge of the bed, took his hand.

"I'm sorry. I've kept you up." He tried to smile.

Kitty put her hand to his forehead and pushed back his thinning brown hair. "No, I've just been praying. Do you need some more laudanum?"

He shook his head. "I'll just get up and walk a bit."

She reached to help him.

"No." He waved her hands away. "I don't need help. Not yet, anyway."

His tone gave her a chill. She watched, barely restraining her hands from reaching toward him. He struggled to sit up, then, his breath coming harder with the exertion as though he was running a race, he turned to let his legs slide off the bed.

Kitty managed to halt her gasp of shock. When had his legs become so thin? The neck of his nightshirt fell away from his neck, where his skin hung loosely over protruding collarbones.

Never a large man, Anson had been attractive, well-built and hale.

How had he come to this state without his wife knowing?

Kitty's shame was magnified as she considered her failure.

"Anson, what is the matter? What is wrong with you? Please tell me. I need to help you."

He glanced up at her, pulling the tail of his nightshirt to cover his weakness, then turned away, closing his eyes and breathing deeply for a few moments.

"I've been thinking that it's not fair to keep you awake like this. I'm going to move to the extra bedroom tomorrow."

"Your place is here with me, Anson."

Anson ground out a laugh and pushed himself to his feet.

"No place I'd rather be, my darling, but it's out of my hands. I'll move my things tomorrow. Good night." He kissed her forehead and went toward the door. "Sleep well."

Kitty stood for a long time, staring at the door he'd closed behind him.

Just like that, he's closing me out, she thought. She turned toward their bed, the bed in which it now appeared she'd be sleeping alone.

He'd been moving away from her for a long time. It had been weeks since he'd even tried to make love to her, not since Colter came home. Sometimes it seemed as though he was making it as hard for her as possible to remain a faithful wife. Now, he was even leaving her bed.

She momentarily wondered if he'd found himself a mistress. There had been many late nights lately.

Kitty dismissed these thoughts. When he came home, he smelled of whiskey, not perfume.

What a fool I am, she thought. His pain is real and he has nothing left for lovemaking. Maybe if he thought she loved him he'd at least try, but she'd given him no reason for the exertion.

Kitty lay down on the bed, still warm from Anson's body.

When he's better, she prayed, she'd persuade him to leave Westminster and go somewhere else. They needed a fresh start to make their marriage what it was supposed to be, without reminders of their less-than-ideal beginning to haunt them.

In a new place, she'd find a way to give him what he wanted. She'd love him with her whole heart.

Chapter Ten

"Mother, I'm home."

Kitty lay her knitting in the basket beside her chair and went out to meet Philip at the front door.

"Philip, I told you to be home before...."

She stopped in her tracks as she set foot in the hallway.

Her heart pounded in her breast, her breathing became heavy.

"Colter."

He stood in the doorway, his hand on Philip's shoulder. Liam stood on the porch, peeking in curiously.

"I thought I'd bring Philip home today. Dark came 'pon us before we realized it."

"Thank you for looking out after him."

His eyes caressed her, their appreciative warmth radiating to the marrow of her bones.

Madness.

"Won't you and Liam come in and have some tea? You need to take the chill off before you start back."

Colter shook his head, slowly, regretfully. "No, thank you, Kitty. We'll just be going."

He'll be coming home soon. He must not find Colter here.

"Nonsense, what would Maeve say if I let you go without a cup of tea? It'll only take a minute."

"Please, Colter. I want to show Liam my soldiers." Philip reached out the still-opened door and pulled Liam into the house. "C'mon, Liam, let's go up to my room." The boys dashed up the stairs, leaving their parents standing in the cold draft of the front door.

God help her, she couldn't let him go.

"Come in and close the door, Colter, before we freeze. Why shouldn't I offer an old friend a cup of tea?"

His full lips tipped in a crooked smile. "An old friend?"

"A dear friend."

He ground out that growly sound deep in his throat. Almost as though a spell came over him, though, he relaxed his shoulders and smiled. Even thirteen years hadn't made his dimpled grin less heart-melting.

"'Tis chilly, at that. A spot o' tea would be just the ticket."

Fool. Anson will be home soon.

She brushed away the inconveniently reasonable voice inside her head. Anson hadn't been home before six-thirty in weeks.

He will be tonight, the voice said with conviction.

"I'll just be a minute or two. Go sit by the fire."

"I'd rather go out to the kitchen with you, if you don't mind my company."
Do I mind the sun coming up in the morning?

"Suit yourself," she said, trying to sound indifferent.

They walked into the large kitchen, where Kitty had supper ready and warm on the stove.

"Stew?" he asked, sniffing the air like a good hunting dog.

She nodded as she quickly prepared at teapot and poured hot water from the kettle she always kept on the stove. She couldn't offer him supper. That would be going too far, and she knew he understood.

He leaned against the wall, his muscular arms crossed over his chest, straining at the sleeves of his shirt. While the tea steeped, she rested against the table and they looked at each other. Not a word passed between them.

Colter sighed heavily, but his eyes never left her as she put the pot and china on a tray. When she picked the tray up and started for the door, he reached out.

"Let me take that." His fingers touched hers, sending a bolt of lightning up her arms that settled as a warmth deep inside her.

His eyes grew clouded and he moved his fingers gently along hers, stopping at the cuffs of her sleeves, then back with maddening slowness to the tips of her fingers. He took the tray from her hands and turned toward the parlor.

How long had they stood there? Would anyone have noticed the intimacy? Kitty smoothed her hair, imagining it must be a mess, and followed him out.

Colter set the tray on the large center table and took a seat on the sofa. Kitty poured. When she handed him his cup, he avoided touching her. She got herself some tea and sat in her chair.

They didn't speak for a seeming eternity. Kitty knew they had to act as normally as possible, so she tried to start some small talk.

"How are the new horses? Did they make the trip well?"

"Yes, indeed."

He sat on the horsehair sofa and sipped his tea. Even wearing his work clothes, he looked comfortable. She smiled. He angled his head, the gesture a question.

"I was just thinking how you always seem to be comfortable, no matter where you are." She laughed. "Do you remember the time my mother caught you at my window?"

He actually blushed. "I've tried to forget. She had me convinced the sheriff was coming after me for debauching her daughter."

Their smiles disappeared. Colter growled his uncomfortable sound. The thunderstorm color of his eyes deepened.

"This is crazy, Kit. We can't act like we're just 'old friends'." He sat back heavily on the sofa. "What are we going to do? Maybe I should leave. Take Liam and move to Kentucky."

"No, please," she spoke, her panic loud and clear.

She should agree with him that he ought to leave, but the words wouldn't come. Kitty struggled to hold onto her dignity and some sense of calm.

"I mean, it wouldn't be fair to ask you to give up your family. We can deal with this, Colter."

He shook his head. "No, Kitty. I don't think we can. We can't always count on being interrupted."

The large clock in the hallway struck six. Colter drained his cup and set it on the china saucer resting on his knee. He raised his eyes to hers and she could feel his frustration as strongly as her own.

The front door opened. The gust of icy air brought them to their senses, just as they heard the icier voice of her husband.

"Isn't this cozy?"

Anson couldn't believe his eyes. Colter Ahern sat in his parlor, sipping tea with his wife. Though the pain in his lower back nearly brought him to his knees, he struggled to stand straight. There was no way he'd show weakness to this bastard.

"Isn't this cozy?" he said, with as much irony in his voice as he could manage.

"Anson, you're home early," Kitty exclaimed. She rose from her chair and approached him. "Would you like a warm cup of tea before supper?"

"Is there any left?" He tossed his hat on the hat stand in the front hall and let her help him out of his coat before he entered the room. Ahern sat, stone still, on the sofa. At least the whoreson had the grace to stay out of the master's chair. Anson took his rightful place on the opposite side of the center table and accepted a cup of tea from his treacherous wife's hand.

"What brings you here, Ahern? You should know your presence isn't wanted." He closely watched for any reaction on the part of the adulterers he'd caught.

"Colter brought Liam by to see Philip. They're playing upstairs."

Lie. He could see it on Ahern's face. Well, he'd expected they'd lie, but he'd never thought they'd hide behind the children.

He calmly sipped his tea. "You didn't tell me Philip and his brother were friends."

"Anson, don't." Kitty glanced back at the entry. "They might hear."

"Do you believe they don't know." He sipped "Or won't be told quick enough?"

She looked at him in horror, as though the thought had actually never occurred to her before.

"No one would be that cruel."

"Wouldn't they? Some people would take great pleasure in just that."

God's Blood, but he hurt. And he was exhausted. He shifted in his chair, just a little, to take the pressure off his kidneys. He distracted himself from the agony by watching his wife communicate with her lover, right here in front of him. She was looking into Ahern's eyes and begging him to... what?

She was so beautiful.

"What are you really doing here, Ahern? Is it a new fashion to cuckold a man in his parlor?"

Ahern stood and turned to face him.

"Nobody is cuckolding you, Anson. Kitty offered me a cup of tea while the boys play a bit. Liam doesn't have many friends yet and he gets lonely out there on the farm." He set his cup on the table. "Philip is a fine boy. You've done well by him."

"I'm proud of him." Anson pinned Ahern with his gaze. "I have great dreams for him."

Ahern smiled. "He has some great dreams of his own."

Anson waved his hand. His opinion of Philip's dreams was already public record. He'd made himself clear enough on that score. "A gentleman should own horses, of course, but he'll always hire a stable boy to care for them."

That brought a glare from Kitty. He rather enjoyed the attention. His pleasure increased as he noticed the red flush rise up Ahern's face, the man's lips tightening into a fine line.

"A man must find his own way, Anson." Colter turned to Kitty. "I'll be going. Thank you for the tea. If you don't mind, I'll just call for Liam."

As Anson watched his nemesis, so tall and strong, so hale and healthy, stride to the foot of the stairs, his resentment and anger distilled into hatred. Even when they'd been boys, Colter had always beaten him in every race, won every game, earned every prize.

Anson's hard-won acceptance of his situation crumbled. He was going to die and this bastard would have a clear path to Kitty and Philip.

God damn! It wasn't just! It wasn't right. He had to do something to keep his family out of this man's hands. He'd already accepted Kitty's remarriage someday. She was young and beautiful, after all.

Just as long as she didn't marry Colter Ahern.

He had to do something.

"Coming, Da," the voice of a young boy answered Ahern's summons, followed by the appearance of a boy so much like Philip that Anson had to look closely to be sure he wasn't.

Right down to that damned bunch of white hair, right in front, placed to be as conspicuous as possible, to trumpet in no uncertain terms from whose loins this boy had sprung.

Anson hated him on sight. The whelp apparently got the message and went to stand quietly by his father.

"Daddy, you're home!"

He still had Blythe, he consoled himself as she came down the stairs behind Liam. She ran to him, wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. He gritted his teeth at the pain even her thin arms caused against his back.

"Hello, my angel." He tried to return her embrace. "Have you had a nice visit?" he asked his son, last down the stairs.

Philip pushed his hair out of his face.

"Yes, sir."

His eyes skittered from one of the adults to another, as though afraid.

"Guess what, Daddy?"

As she spoke, every set of eyes in the room trained on Blythe. Philip opened his mouth as if to speak.

"Liam and Philip are going to teach me how to take care of horses."

Anson was surprised at the composure with which he asked, "Really, dearest? And where exactly is this training to take place?"

"At Connemara, of course." She was so open and honest, she would never have tried to deceive him nor keep anything from him.

"Philip has learned so much, Daddy, you should hear him talk about horses now." She smiled at her brother, her other hero.

Philip managed a little smile for her.

"Blythe, go upstairs, sweetheart." He gave her a little squeeze and turned her toward the stairs.

Her smile disappeared. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, angel. I need to talk to your mother and brother and Mr. Ahern. It has nothing to do with you." He smiled at her and waved her up the stairs. "Go along now. Your mother will call you for supper in a bit."

When Blythe was safely upstairs and out of earshot, Anson motioned them toward the parlor.

"Shall we?"

Colter stood stiffly at the foot of the stairs. His fists were balled at his side.

"The boys shouldn't be here, Anson."

"Nonsense," Anson replied as walked over to his chair. He sat, leaving them all standing. It was surprising how that fact gave him power over them. "I won't mince words, Ahern. I won't tolerate your interference in my family. I made it clear that Philip was never to go there again."

Ahern shot a quick glance at Kitty, who was managing to look more and more miserable.

"Father...."

"Be silent, Philip." Anson marveled at the even tenor of his voice. "Leave my house, Ahern. If you ever come here again, you or your boy, I won't be responsible for what happens."

"Anson, there's no reason to punish the boys for my mistake."

"Sometimes the innocent suffer for the sins of the guilty."

Kitty knelt beside his chair, like a supplicant seeking a boon from her lord.

He liked her like this.

"Anson, please, don't do this. Philip isn't meant for what you want for him. Let him choose his own life."

"He'll do as he's told. In fact, I have decided to further ensure that he won't be unduly influenced. Tomorrow, we're going to Frederick. I've been corresponding with the headmaster of the boy's school there. He'll go there as soon as it can be arranged."

"No," both boys cried as one.

"I won't permit it," Kitty said, the vehemence in her voice seemed strange to him, coming as it was from her still-kneeling figure.

Anson suddenly felt very tired and his grip on his temper slipped. "I am the head of this household," he shouted.

He rose from his chair, nearly killing himself in the process. The pain seared a trail from the small of his back up along his spine to his neck. It blossomed into a full, deadly flower inside his skull, crowding out reason, crowding out civility, crowding out everything but the knowledge that he had little time in which to protect what belonged to him.

When he thought he could open his mouth without screaming, he said, "Philip goes to school. You," he looked at Ahern, "get out of my house." He turned his back to the stable boy and his brat and stumbled over to the side table to pour himself a drink.

Chapter Eleven

"Goodbye, Kitty." Colter's voice was frosty, distant.

Kitty felt lower than dirt. Colter had never wanted to go behind Anson's back, but now he'd stood and taken the abuse himself. She wanted to run into his arms and beg him to take her out of this insane place.

But she couldn't move. She remained kneeling at the foot of Anson's chair, watching as Colter left her house and went out of her life forever. The pain couldn't be more losing an arm or leg. How could she live without ever seeing him, hearing his voice?

Philip's face bore his agony as his idol and his friend passed him without a word and he flinched when the door slammed shut.

Anson stood by the side table, whiskey glass in hand. He was bent over slightly and his face was gray, ashen. She could see beads of sweat on his forehead.

But she couldn't bring herself to ask about him, to offer to get him some of his medicine. Right now, she didn't care.

"Philip," he finally said, "go upstairs and start packing while I speak to your mother."

"No." The boy's voice was firm, though soft. It was Colter's voice. "I will not go to school, Father. I will train with Colter and Patrick."

"You will do as I say." Anson's eyes smoldered. He took a deep breath and spoke more gently. "Philip, you've always been an obedient boy. Don't let a couple of farmers and an Irish pasture rat change you."

"Liam's not a rat. He's royalty. His grandfather back in Ireland is an Earl! That's almost a king." Philip's defense of his friend, his brother, was hot and fervent.

"Don't believe all that blarney. His mother was no noblewoman. She was most likely a tavern whore." He turned to glare at Kitty. "Ahern likes that kind."

Kitty felt the force of the words like a hand across her face.

Philip's lips thinned and his eyes showed the depth of his confusion.

"I've never heard you talk like this, Father. I don't know why you hate Colter and his family, but I don't have to. I'm not going to school, even if I have to run away." He turned and ran from the parlor.

"Philip," Anson roared, moving with labored steps to the hallway.

Kitty heard the front door slam behind her son as he fled, she was sure, to Colter and Liam.

"He'll be back. However, Philip's little tantrum gives us a chance to have a talk." Anson returned to the side table and refilled his glass. He sipped the whiskey and stared at her over the rim. "Why, Kitty? In my own house. Did you use our bed?"

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. The idea that he believed her capable of such behavior, here under his roof, with the children in the house, was incredible.

"We've done nothing wrong. I asked him to stay for tea because it was cold and so the boys could play. It's no more than I would have done for anybody under the same circumstances."

She wondered if that were really true.

"You're going to tell me the truth, finally. I have to know the truth."

He put his glass on the table and approached her where she still knelt by his chair. The weakness that had caused him to stumble earlier was nowhere to be seen. He grabbed her wrist and jerked her to her feet.

She cried out as he twisted her arm behind her and put his free arm around her neck. His breath, soured by whiskey and laudanum, wafted across her face. She tried to turn away.

"Now, Kitten, you tell your husband what you and your lover have been up to."

He squeezed her throat shut and twisted her arm tighter.

She would have screamed, but had no breath to carry the sound. As spots began to appear before her eyes, he released her. She gasped for air like a fish in the bottom of a boat and fell against the table.

"He is not my lover."

Recklessly, she spoke her mind, completely aware that she was being ruled by outrage. It didn't matter. The man who'd earned her respect and a measure of her heart was not the same man who stood before her now.

"I don't have a lover, Anson. Not even my husband."

"Tread carefully, Katherine." His voice was low.

"Why? You already think I'm a whore. Maybe I ought to go out and make it a reality. Then you'd have a reason for these ridiculous accusations. However, if you want to discuss aberrant behavior, Anson, maybe you can tell me why I've never seen you like this before."

Kitty moved to put the table between them. This new Anson, even weakened, was an unknown to her. But her caution didn't stop her mouth.

"Maybe because you were never thwarted before. You had a dutiful wife, an obedient son, a bank full of people who did your slightest will." He came toward her and she shifted to maintain her distance. "I never accused you of any deceit with your lady friends, with those women who swoon all over you at the bank."

"Would you have cared?"

The question, asked softly, caught her off-guard. It gave him a split second to reach her. He had her wrist in an iron grip.

"I think not. You always had that bastard Ahern on your mind, didn't you? Even when we were together, it wasn't me you gave your body to, was it?"

"Stop this, Anson." She was frightened. Had he always known he'd never been the man in her mind? "I never lied to you. I haven't started now. Let me go."

He pulled her closer. "Maybe I should exercise my rights. Right here, Kitty, right on the sofa. Maybe his stink remains, but you'll look into my eyes."

"You're being disgusting." Kitty loaded her voice with enough venom to kill. She jerked her wrist, but couldn't even loosen his grip. "Let me go. We don't have anything more to say to each other tonight."

Anson assessed her with a cool gaze.

"I could beat you, you know. There wouldn't be any magistrate who would blame me."

"A threat, Anson? Or do you mean to do it? If that's the case, you'd better get on with it. I have to get the children their dinner."

"God damn you, you treasonous bitch!" He released her wrist and with one motion brought the back of his closed fist across her mouth.

Kitty fell sideways.

"Mama!"

She heard Blythe's horror-filled cry as she hit her sewing chest.

Then she heard nothing.

Colter and Liam rode slowly down the cold, empty main street of Westminster, leading Philip's pony behind them. They passed the bank that bore Anson Dexter's name on the window in gold letters.

Colter never felt ashamed of his profession before and he was furious that Anson had seen it on his face.

Why on God's earth had he stayed?

Because of Kitty. He was weak where she was concerned and would use any excuse to be with her. But now a deep dread seized him and he wondered if he should have left her there alone. Anson had seemed calm considering his suspicions, but who could know what he might do once he was alone with Kitty? She'd never been one to guard her tongue when she was angry.

His self-absorbed musings were interrupted by a sniff from the boy riding beside him. The quick swipe with the sleeve gave him away.

"What's wrong, boyo?" He reached over and gave Liam's shoulder a squeeze.

Liam kept his eyes down and didn't answer right away. Colter waited.

"Why does Mr. Dexter hate me, Da?"

Colter stared at him. "Why do you think he does?"

Liam looked up. The deep blue eyes shimmered. "He looked at me like I was...."

Colter could hear him discarding one word after another that didn't quite describe the dirty feeling well enough.

"I don't know. Scum, dung. Worthless."

He wondered if he ought to tell Liam the truth, but before he could decide, a voice came to him on the breeze.

"Colter!"

Reining in his horse, Colter turned toward the sound and saw Philip running toward them.

"Please, Colter, wait."

Philip’s cry caused a squeezing ache in the middle of Colter’s chest. He'd barely dismounted when Philip rushed into his arms, sobbing. Colter held him, rubbing his shoulders, comforting him as he would have Liam. The boy felt so right in his arms.

"I'm sorry. It's my fault my father said what he did. Liam, please don't hold it against him. He didn't mean it. He's been sick. I know he didn't mean it." He sobbed, tightening his hold around Colter's waist. "He didn't mean what he said about your mother, Liam." A gasp interrupted as he caught his breath. "I'm sorry. Please don't hate me."

"Philip." Colter held the boy away from him and looked into his face. "You're not responsible for your father."

"What did he say about me mother?" Liam's voice was as cold as the air.

"Not now, Liam. I'll take care of it later."

Liam didn't look convinced, but he held his peace.

Colter took out his handkerchief and gave it to Philip.

"Here, boyo, dry your eyes before they freeze open."

Not even a whisper of a smile.

"Now, listen to me, Philip. I couldn't hate you. You've become part of the family and I intend to see you grow into a fine trainer and horseman." He tipped the boy's face up. "If that's what you really want. Keeping horses is hard work. You know that now."

Philip nodded agreement.

"But your father," how it hurt to say that, "has the right to guide you while you are underage and living in his house. If he forbids it, you must not come back to Connemara."

Philip looked like he'd just been told he couldn't breathe anymore. Colter imagined the boy might have less trouble doing without air.

"Da, you don't mean it."

Colter glanced at Liam. "Yes, Liam, I do." Turning back to Philip, he continued, "If that's the case, you must obey him. When you are of age, if you still crave to be a horseman, come to me and I'll train you."

Tears filled Philip's eyes and overflowed to run down his face. If Anson had been here right now....

"All right, Colter, I'll do what you say."

"Not what I say, Philip. What your father says."

His only answer was a dispirited nod.

"Come, then." He took the reins of Philip's pony from Liam and tossed them over to Philip. "Mount up and let's take you home again."

"Kitty, please, wake up." Anson sat on the floor by her side, rubbing the back of her hand. He pushed her hair back. "My God, Kitty, what have I done?"

He watched helplessly as blood flowed from a gash on her right temple. It looked no more than an inch long, but there was so much blood.

God, so much blood, the thought replayed in his head as he scrambled over to the smashed sewing box and dug through, tossing thread and notions over his shoulder. He finally dug out a piece of cloth big enough to act as a bandage.

His hands shook as he folded the cloth and laid it on the cut. What if he'd killed her? What would happen to the children when he, too, was gone? He choked back a sob that built from somewhere deep inside his body. It worked its way upward to nearly break his jaw as it finally made its way out.

"Kitty, please," he cried again. He lifted her from the floor and cradled her in his arms. For once, the pain in his body was overshadowed by a deeper agony. He buried his face in her hair, hair that usually carried the scent of her favorite lavender. The scent filling his nostrils was now the metallic odor of blood.

He'd destroyed everything. He'd seen it in her eyes.

"Daddy, get a doctor," Blythe ordered.

Anson looked up and saw her sitting on the stairs. Her face was streaked with the tracks of tears and between her sobs she shouted at him, "Now, Daddy."

He couldn't move. He could only wonder how much had she seen? How much had she heard?

Blythe rose from her perch on the stairs and came to stand over him. "If you don't go, I will." She turned as though to make good her threat.

Anson seized her hand. No doctor, he thought. If this got out, he couldn't even contemplate the scandal. Kitty was already the topic of conversation all over town. This would only make things worse for her. And if it appeared that her own husband had suspicions....

Besides, he had to think of the bank, his reputation.

"No, dear, I know how it looks, but Mother's really all right. See?" He pulled the child down by him. "She's breathing evenly." He caught up Kitty's wrist. "And her pulse is strong."

Blythe touched her mother's brow. Then she raised her eyes, his eyes, everyone said, to accuse him. He couldn't bear that look from her. Anyone else he could have ignored or stared down.

But not Blythe.

He rose and left.

"Are you going for a doctor, Daddy?"

He nodded and took his hat and coat from the rack in the hallway. But when he got to the end of the walk, he didn't turn toward the doctor's. After all, she was all right. She didn't need the doctor. It would be foolish to panic and bring down all kinds of trouble for no reason.

Anson turned the other way, toward the tavern. Tonight he needed more whiskey than he had in the house.

Colter watched Philip go up the walk and waited for him to open the door before he and Liam turned for home. They were only about fifty yards down the street when they heard Philip's terrified cry.

"Colter, help!"

He tossed the reins of Philip's pony to Liam and jerked his horse around, kicking him to a gallop. Wet autumn weather had left Main Street muddy and his horse slipped every few yards.

Colter's frustration grew with every misstep.

"Move, you plug," he shouted at the hapless animal. The urgency in Philip's voice had Colter hitting the ground and finishing the last few yards on foot. He never broke his stride as he plowed through the gate and up the walk.

He rushed through the open door and into the house from which he'd been unceremoniously ejected not a half-hour ago.

Philip stood in the entryway of the parlor, his face as white as the streak in his hair. Colter lay his hand on the boy's shoulder and let his eyes follow Philip's into the parlor.

"Mother of God." His heart stopped dead.

Kitty lay on the floor by the central table, remnants of a smashed sewing box strewn around her. Blood covered her forehead and dripped to stain the rug.

He feared the worst.

"Ahh," she moaned.

Thank the saints, she was alive, at least.

Colter dashed to her side and lifted the scrap of cloth. It covered a gash that was the culprit in the amount of blood that had flowed down her face and into her hair. Blythe sat by her side, holding her hand.

"What happened, darlin'?" he asked Blythe.

"Daddy hit her." She was perfectly calm. "He hit her and she fell."

Kitty's eyes opened a slit, then, with another moan, they closed again.

Colter took her hand and squeezed. His heart leapt with joy as his fingers were squeezed in return.

"It's all right, my Kit. We're here to take care of you. Blythe, will you get a basin of warm water and some clean towels?"

The little girl nodded mechanically and went to do as he asked. Liam followed her out.

"Kitty, can you hear me?"

She smiled weakly. "Yes, Colter." She raised her hand to touch his face. "I always knew you'd come back."

"Kitty, wake up." He leaned closer to her ear. "The children are here, Kit. Wake up."

She opened her eyes and kept them open this time, though she did squint at the light. "Colter," she said, "it is you."

"Come, darlin', let me help you."

He put his arm behind her and lifted her to a sitting position. She blinked dizzily and he waited until she was clear-eyed again.

"All right?" he asked.

She nodded gingerly and he slipped his right arm underneath her knees and pulled her against his chest. As he stood, Kitty rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. When he laid her on the sofa and removed his arms, she made a sound of protest. He yearned to touch his lips to hers, but Philip's avid gaze kept him from giving in to the desire. Kneeling beside her, Colter brushed her hair back from her forehead.

"What happened, darlin'?"

She closed her eyes and turned away from him, as though ashamed. Then, she whipped her head back toward him and gasped at the pain.

"Where is Anson?" Kitty whispered through clenched teeth.

"He's gone for the doctor. At least that's what he said," Blythe answered as she entered the room carrying a small basin and a clean cloth. Liam trailed after her with a pail and a steaming kettle and an armful of towels.

Colter took the basin from her and began to clean up Kitty's wound. "Don't you think he did, Blythe?"

"No. He went in the opposite direction."

He wondered what that meant. The girl was probably wrong. Anson would arrive any minute with the doctor and Colter didn't want to make matters worse by being found here.

He was about to tell Kitty he and Liam were going to leave before Anson got back.

"He went to the tavern," Kitty said.

"The tavern?"

She nodded wearily.

"Is he drinking a lot, then?"

Her only answer was another short nod.

"The bastard! Which one, Kitty?" Colter spat out.

"Colter, don't." Kitty reached toward him, but with a gasp she put her hands to her head, as though holding it together. "I don't know."

"The arrogant, useless bastard. He knocks his wife out cold and then leaves a child alone with her while he goes out drinkin'?" Colter turned to the children. "Blythe, darlin', stay right by your mother and keep her awake. Philip, you and Liam go get the doctor."

The boys took off at a run. Blythe knelt by her mother and took her hand.

"Colter, please don't go after him. Let it be."

Colter heard her whispered plea as the door slammed shut behind him.

There were several taverns in Westminster and Colter hit them all before he finally ended up at the Hairy Pike. It was the Pike to all around, acknowledged as the dirtiest, meanest place in Carroll County.

He was surprised the dapper Mr. Dexter would consider even getting drunk in a place like this.

But it didn't matter a damn to him. This night, Anson Dexter would receive the comeuppance he deserved. A long time comin', it was. But the last weeks were the water that broke the dam. The bastard had treated Liam like horse shit, insulted Maeve in her own house, tried to make Colter look like nothing in front of his sons and Kitty.

But hurting Kitty was the final straw.

Colter pushed the doors open.

If he's in this place, he'll soon be huggin' the floor.

Chapter Twelve

Anson rolled the glass between his hands and examined the smooth skin and clean, precisely manicured nails. They seemed to belong to someone else. He wasn't the brutish kind who believe that wives, like rugs, should be beaten once a month, just to keep them in shape. He'd never raised his hand to anyone, not even his children. It had never been necessary. They'd always obeyed before.

He sighed deeply and drained the last of his drink.

The draft from the wide door swept through the tavern, followed by the usual calls for another round to take the chill of the bones. Anson chuckled that Hughie, the tavern keeper, had never attempted to fix that little deficiency in design.

His table was in view of the door, so he got the full icy blast. Pulling his topcoat closer around him, he poured another shot from the bottle on the table.

As Anson raised his glass to down the whiskey, he glanced at the door just as Colter Ahern turned in his direction. Ahern's eyes narrowed and Anson could see the muscles twitch in his jaw. He felt uneasy as the big man started toward him. The glare in Colter's eyes made Anson half expect to be lifted bodily from his seat and used to sweep the filthy floor.

"Where's the doctor, Anson?"

Colter stood before the table, breathing heavily, his face burning with rage. Anson was grateful the man had at least kept his voice down.

"You told the girl you were getting a doctor. Is this where they're keepin' him now?"

Anson took a drink, his hand shaking as he set the glass back down. If he kept his head, he'd stay in control. The best thing would be not to make too much of it.

"She's not badly hurt, just winded. I don't see that it's any of your affair, after all. She's my wife and I'll deal with her as I see fit."

"Does that include beating her unconscious with your little girl looking on?"

Ahern's voice had grown louder. Heads turned and Anson was awash with shame, but he'd be damned before he'd let this farmer or the derelicts in this hole see it.

"She's lucky that's all she got." He raised his eyes, portraying a cockiness he didn't feel. "You'd better mind your own business, stable boy, or you'll get your desserts as well."

Anson finished his drink and got to his feet. He threw an elbow to shove Ahern out of the way.

He wasn't quick enough, nor strong enough.

"Let me tell you what my business is, Dexter," Ahern said as he shoved Anson against the wall. Colter's hands, large and rough, seized the lapel of Anson's jacket.

"Here, now, take your fightin' outside."

"Mr. Dexter will pay for any damages, Hughie," Colter replied. His eyes never left Anson's face. "Now, you can beat up a woman and bully a boy. What can you do against a man?" He raised his arms, nearly lifting Anson off the floor. "Come on, Dexter, knock me around like you did Kitty."

Ahern didn't appear concerned that everyone would know their business. He wasn't likely to care what appearance his pummeling the local bank president would make either.

"What's the matter, Anson? Here, let me give you a start." With no more warning, Ahern pulled back his right arm and an instant later, Anson heard a smash and felt an ooze inside his nose. The pain was tolerable, nothing like he'd become used to. He fell to the floor, deprived of Ahern's supporting arms at his throat. Then a big hand grabbed his shirtfront and pulled him to his feet. The fist landed again, this time against his jaw.

That one hurt.

"So, you do have feelings, stunted though they are. That's a good sign."

Another blow to his nose and more of that warm, pulpy, oozy sensation. He looked down. Perfectly round circles of bright red stained his shirt.

It was funny, and he almost laughed, for he didn't really feel the smashing blows of Ahern's fists. Pain was something he'd learned to tolerate and sometimes even to ignore. The worse part of this was seeing the faces around him. They were listening to Ahern's soliloquy.

"You lied to that little girl. She loves you, Dexter, and you lied to her. You left that angel there to watch over her mother, and her not knowin' if she was alive or dead. You should have seen the look on her face."

Anson was angry. It wasn't fair. He didn't mean to hit Kitty or knock her down or leave Blythe there alone. He struck out against the accusation.

"So I wasn't thinking." His voice sounded hollow, muted, as though he were listening through water. "What's a man to do, when he finds out his wife has been unfaithful?" He was satisfied at the gasps and murmurs that surrounded them.

Anson found himself dropping onto his backside. Ahern stood over him, fists clenched and blowing like one of his goddamned stallions after a mile run.

"You bastard. Don't accuse Kitty of that. It isn't true."

"What were you doing at my house?"

"Drinkin' tea, you fool, nothing more."

"Why are you trying to steal my son?"

He could see the words in Ahern's eyes -- he's my son. He knew, too, Colter would choke to death before he'd say them here. It was equally clear in the faces around him that it wasn't necessary. There were looks of pity and censure directed at both of them.

"Don't ever touch her like that again. I'll kill you next time."

Anson sat on the floor, bleeding all over his fine lawn shirt, his eyes following Colter out the door. It was quite an exit, he had to give him that. For a stable boy, he'd always had a way about him.

He pulled out his linen handkerchief and dabbed at his bleeding nose. The discomfort had settled down to a dull throb.

Anson tried to get up, but couldn't manage it. He hoped everyone thought he was too drunk or too badly beaten. He wouldn't tolerate pity for his condition.

That was the reason he hadn't told Kitty the truth. He wanted her love, her passion, her desire. He wanted her eyes to burn for him like they always had for Colter. He couldn't stand the fact that she pitied him. He could see it. She felt genuinely sorry for his pain. She genuinely wanted to help.

He was going to die and that whoreson Ahern would get Kitty.

And Philip.

And Blythe.

"No," he roared, earning gazes ranging from mere curiosity, to humor, to fear. "No," he whispered, just as fervently.

A hand appeared before his face, offering assistance. He looked up at a man of medium build, sandy hair, eyes a plain brown. A totally nondescript person. Anson accepted the offer and let the man pull him to his feet.

"Thanks." As he sat back down at his table, he called for another bottle. The man hovered by the table. Anson, thinking he was looking for a free drink, waved with excessive courtliness toward the other side of the table. "Please, sir, join me. Hughie," he called over his shoulder, "another glass for my new friend."

The man tipped his head in acceptance.

The show was over and the crowd started to get back to their own business. The general buzz of conversation began and Anson filled the glass Hughie dropped on the table, then his own. He sat back and looked the man over as he sipped.

A seedy sort, Anson thought, wincing at the sting of the whiskey on the cuts inside his mouth. Would probably do anything for money.

I'll kill you next time.

Colter's words triggered an idea, one that, any other day, Anson would have dismissed as no more than the wisp it was.

He stared into the man's eyes. Eyes that saw nothing, and everything. That wisp of an idea blossomed until he could see exactly how it would all work. The means to protect his son from Colter Ahern was sitting right across from him.

The man nodded as though he could read Anson's thoughts.

"That Ahern fella, he's a bit of a bully, is he not?"

A strange accent, Anson thought.

"One might decide the world would be better off without such a one as he."

Anson nodded. "Indeed, but you can't just go around ridding the world of those you don't like."

The man's eyebrows raised. A smile pulled his thin lips into a thinner line.

“Is that so? Perhaps it's the sort of job one hires out."

Anson wondered if this was actually how this sort of thing got done?

"Do you know of anyone who takes on this sort of work?"

Again the simple, single nod.

Did he dare? The magnitude of the sin....

"How much?" He sat forward. "And how soon?"

"Five hundred dollars. Payment in full when you give me the go ahead." The man sat up, his arms folded on the table before him. "Sometimes clients have second thoughts. I like to give them a few days to think it through. I surely don't want them coming down with a case of guilt and dragging me down with 'em. Once I get the go-ahead, there'll be no second thinking."

Anson's mind ran along at a gallop. "What other services do you perform?"

"Anything, as long as the price is right."

"Good. I want you to follow someone."

"Cost you another fifty. Your wife?"

"No. Ahern."

"I can make the mark myself. It's part of the fee."

Anson thought it interesting that the man assumed Colter was the target. "No. Just follow him for a few days. Find out his routine, whom he talks to, where he goes, what he does. Meet me here next Wednesday at ten. I'll bring your money and tell you what the job is."

"D'accord," the man said. Then they had a drink on it.

Chapter Thirteen

Colter returned to the Dexter house to get Liam. His nose twitched at the nutty aroma of toasting bread. He sniffed. Ummm, he thought, cheese.

"We're by the fire, Colter," Kitty called.

He found them all sitting in front of the fireplace, toasting cheese.

"How did you know it was me?"

Kitty looked up and shrugged. "I figured you'd be back first. Here," she took his hand, squeezing his fingers, and pulled him to sit beside her on the hearth rug. "I'm afraid the stew got ruined. So, we have to make do with a bit rougher supper."

"This is so much better, Mama," Philip said. He sat on her other side, protectively hovering.

Colter felt thirteen years melting like the cheese on the stick she held in her hand. He sat beside her, enjoying the feeling that she was his again, if only for a minute. Her lavender scent rose on the heat from the fire. He breathed deeply, drawing her into himself, since he couldn’t wrap her in his arms.

"How's your head?" He lifted her hair to take a look. She'd rinsed out the blood and the gash on he forehead was neatly bandaged. It didn't look bad at all.

"The doctor put in a couple of stitches, but he said it'll be all right. I just have a tiny headache," she answered, but she didn't turn to him. "Here, eat up."

He took her offering and smeared the cheese on the bread.

"You found him?" She spoke quietly. Colter had to strain to hear her.

"Yes."

Of the children, only Philip seemed to be paying attention to their conversation. Still, Colter didn't think it was the right time to tell her he'd beaten her husband bloody in a saloon.

So, he leaned back on one hand and ate his bread and cheese, savoring the rich, creamy spread. As good as the cheese was, the bread was better, baked by Kitty's own hand.

It’s so right, Colter thought, it feels so good. Not only the woman by his side, but her children, his son.

His sons. Philip had moved nearer Liam and now they sat quietly and close enough that they could be truly compared.

They were so alike, it was impossible that anyone wouldn't know they were brothers. Yet, there were differences.

Philip's nose was more like Kitty's -- straighter and bolder. Liam had some of Peggy's softness, the tenderness of her mouth, the less patrician profile. Liam would likely be taller, Philip broader.

When he'd been a boy, Colter had seen his father sometimes, at supper, or when the boys sat at the table doing homework, his eyes going from one to the other, just the slightest hint of a smile at the corners of his lips. Colter had always wondered what was on the old man's mind.

Now he knew.

His smile grew. This was what contentment felt like.

But it was an illusion. This wasn't his family. Only Liam belonged to him.

Just then, Blythe scooted to Colter's side and leaned against him. She raised his hand and pulled his arm around her. Colter tipped her little chin up.

"Are you all right, darlin'?"

The girl looked at him with eyes too old for such a young face. She'd seen something no child should see. Her idol had been knocked off his pedestal and Colter knew Anson would have some doing to get back up there.

Colter squeezed Blythe tight. "Don't you worry, angel. Everything is going to be all right. You'll see."

"How could my daddy do that?"

He saw Kitty turn away, her hand covering her mouth. Philip just stared into the fire.

Colter kissed the top of her head. "I don't know, darlin'. He was angry. Sometimes we do things when we're angry that we'd never even think of doing any other time."

"You'd never hurt my mother, would you?"

As he raised his head, Kitty's gaze captured his. His heart twisted with the longing he saw there.

He answered the girl's question, but he was talking to Kitty.

"No, I'd never hurt your mother." He looked into her eyes. Never again, he swore. And he thought she heard.

Blythe snuggled against his side and lay her head on his knee. In minutes, she was fast asleep. They sat in the quiet, only the ticking of the clock and the crackling logs in the fire and Blythe's even breathing breaking the silence. Even the boys seemed to be under a spell.

The clock struck nine.

Kitty stirred. Colter saw her swipe at her eyes. "Philip, dear, would you and Liam clear away our mess? Take everything into the kitchen and make sure there's plenty of water heating. I'll clean up after I get Blythe to bed."

"We'll do it, Mrs. Dexter. Come on, Phil." Liam was on his knees and started clearing away the dishes.

"Sure, Ma, we'll take care of it. You need to rest."

"Thank you, boys," Kitty said. Colter heard the emotion in her voice. He, too, was touched at the thoughtful gesture from two boys were as self-centered as boys their ages normally are.

They had everything cleared away and carried off to the kitchen so fast that Colter considered hiring them out to a restaurant. Soon, the sounds of pumping water and their muffled voices echoed down the hallway. Colter and Kitty sat before the fire. He thought, this is what it would be like if....

At exactly the same instant he turned toward her, she met his eyes. Her sweet lips were only a short bend of his head away. Her waist easily within reach of his arms.

He stopped his mind from that train of thought and his hands from acting out his desires, but controlling the rest of his body was another matter. He settled for the sweet torment of closing his eyes and breathing deeply the lavender and woman scents that wound around his head like opium, making him just as crazy, drugging him just as deeply.

Colter knew he couldn't take Kitty into his arms, so he slipped his arm around her daughter, still sleeping in trusting innocence on his knee. He couldn't even think of this angel as Dexter's child. She was Kitty's. He could love her as his own, too.

Even while he wove a splendid fantasy which featured Kitty in seductive glory in his bed, he knew there was no way out of this. She was another man's wife, his property. Dexter was right. He could do anything he wanted, short of outright murder, and in some people's minds, even that wasn't out of bounds. Especially if the woman had been unfaithful. Anson clearly believed Kitty had been.

This time she'd only gotten her head banged up. Next time....

"Kitty, it's not safe for you and the children here. Let me take you over to your mother's."

"We're perfectly safe. He didn't mean to do it."

His temper started to rise. He could feel the heat creep up his face.

"I'll not hear it, Kitty. He struck you. If you'd hit something bigger than that damned sewing chest, you could have been killed." He touched her face gently, careful of the purpling bruise on her jaw, and turned her head toward him. "I could never bear that." He enjoyed the feel of her skin against his knuckles as he ran his fingers along the line of her chin.

She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand.

If the children hadn't been in the house....

He dropped his hand away. He'd protect her from herself. His mind was made up.

"Get what you're going to need. You're going to your mother's."

Kitty winced as her mother lay a damp cloth over her bruised jaw. Melcia hadn't spoken more than a half-dozen words since Colter had deposited the three of them on the front porch.

Kitty didn't mind the lack of conversation. It gave her some time to think. Tonight, as innocent as it had been, proved that she belonged with Colter. The fact that it was impossible didn't change anything.

Sitting beside him in front of that fire hd been such a joy. She closed her eyes and lay her head against the back of the sofa, allowing herself to feel the comfort of his presence.

"What are you smiling at, Kitty?" Melcia asked.

The truth would get her a screaming lecture with threats of scandal and hell and how-could-you-do-this-to-me-Katherine.

"I was thinking about Colter."

The lecture began. Kitty shut her ears to the din and thought of his hand touching her face. He did still want her. That, at least, hadn't changed.

Nor had the color of his eyes, the gentle strength of his hands. The breadth of his shoulders.

The white in his blue-black hair.

She cherished the feeling of being loved and returning it. She'd have to give it up soon enough. That thought brought her back to reality, where her mother's voice registered at last.

"How could you do this to me, Katherine?"

Kitty tried to stop the chuckle. It manifested as a very vulgar snort. Melcia turned as though on wheels.

"Do you think this situation is funny, young lady?"

Kitty turned away so her mother wouldn't see her smile.

"No, Mother, of course not."

The situation absolutely wasn't funny. However, she found her mother's predictability completely hilarious.

Talk about things not changing.

"What did you do to earn this?"

Kitty wasn't surprised. "Why do you assume I earned it?" she asked, still not facing her mother.

"Anson is a civilized man. He certainly wouldn't act like someone who was born in a barn."

Kitty whipped around. She knew her blast of anger showed in her eyes.

"Exactly what do you mean by that?"

Melcia had the good conscience to blush bright red.

Kitty took the opportunity of her mother's silence to make Melcia listen to her side.

"Anson struck me in anger. He is jealous and suspicious and unreasonable. He thinks I've been unfaithful to him."

"Have you?"

"Mother," she said in a shocked whisper. The lack of trust hurt. "Did you raise me to be a whore?"

"I certainly did not. I didn't raise you to entertain men in your parlor, either." Melcia sat on the sofa next to Kitty. "How many times have you seen that Ahern boy?"

"Mother, 'that Ahern boy' is thirty-three years old."

"How many times?"

"Have you and Anson been training together? He asks me that nearly every day and I'll tell you the same thing I've told him. I've seen Colter around town. I've been out to Connemara a couple of times to get Philip."

It was Melcia's turn to snort. "Philip can't get home by himself?"

A pang of conscience made Kitty ask herself if there was some truth to the accusation.

Melcia pressed on.

"Mind you, Kitty. You're playing with fire. Anson has been a good husband to you all these years. Don't throw everything away for an attraction of the body that won't put a roof over your head."

The whole world seemed completely upside-down. It was wrong to give yourself to a man you loved as she had given herself to Colter. But it was perfectly all right to marry a man and give him rights over your body, your wealth, your children, just because he gave you his name and a roof over your head. Was it really only the manner of payment that made a woman a whore?

She drove that dangerous thought out of her head.

"Get your coat on. Philip can drive you home in my carriage. Your place is with your husband."

Kitty didn't have the heart to argue. Anson had brought her back to Westminster. Colter had brought her to her mother's. Now her mother was sending her back to Anson.

She couldn't remember when someone had asked her where she wanted to go.

Well, one place was a good as another. If she couldn't be where she wanted to be, it didn't matter where she went.

Anson arrived home after midnight. The house was dark and he could smell the burned stew all the way down the hall.

As he passed the doorway to the parlor, he thought he smelled cheese, too, which evoked a whole series of memories of happier days. He stopped and looked in. The fire had burned to cinders now, but he could almost see her sitting there on the rug. In London, Kitty would sit on the floor with the children, looking like a child herself, and toast cheese or cook sausages over the fire.

In those days, before he became ill, he'd sit with them and they would eat and talk and laugh.

She hadn't wanted to come back.

He'd made her come. She needed to be here when he was gone, with her family nearby, to look after her.

He was too tired to think about that tonight. He couldn't even take off his coat before he set his foot on the first step.

He started up at the long staircase without looking at the top and wondered how much longer he would be able to climb the stairs alone. How long before he was helpless, depending on Kitty to do everything for him? He hated the inevitability of it all. Everything the doctor in London had predicted had come to pass, the fatigue, the weakness, but worst of all was the pain. It was constant, merciless, and only increasing doses of laudanum made it possible for him to function at all.

Finally, he made it to the top and sat down to catch his breath. A sound like a kitten caught his attention and he turned, trying to locate it.

An exhausted grunt marked the effort as he got up and shuffled over to Blythe's room. She lay curled on her bed, face to the wall. Her thin shoulders shook as she sobbed, her voice barely audible as the mewling sounds she tried to swallow slipped out.

"What's wrong, my angel?"

Blythe turned quickly at the sound of his voice. She wiped at her face, attempting to hide her tears. "Nothing, Daddy." She turned back to the wall.

He approached and sat on the edge of her bed. Unable to stop himself, he reached toward her and lay his hand on her head. His fingers stroked her hair and he remembered when he'd touched her mother so. It had been a long time. He sighed deeply. So sad, so useless, to try to do your best and have everything you wanted, everything you'd earned, taken from you.

"You lied to me, Daddy. You said you were bringing the doctor." She turned to him again. "You were at the tavern, weren't you?"

A ten-year-old child shouldn't know enough to ask that question.

"I didn't lie, sweetheart. Your mother didn't need a doctor. She would have been embarrassed if I'd actually brought one."

"Mother or you? You didn't want anybody to know what you did." Her eyes, usually warm and loving, coldly accused him.

"Blythe, you’re a child and can't understand grown-up problems."

"I understand you hit my mother." She turned her back to him and faced the wall again. "Colter got a doctor. She's all right now."

The stable-mucking shit-shoveler had even poisoned his little girl's mind against him.

Anson took his hand off the girl and rose from the bed and stumbled to his lonely room. As he closed the door, he shrugged off his coat and let it fall to the floor. Then he feet followed his eyes to the dresser and the nearly full brown bottle sitting there.

"I wonder how much laudanum it takes to kill you." He picked up the bottle and swirled the contents. The milky white liquid inside could put him out for quite a while. Maybe forever.

He sat in the big chair by the window and looked out on the streets. He'd given her everything -- money, position, respectability. He'd bought her the biggest, most elegant house in town. He'd kept her from scandal and disgrace. He'd helped her keep her son.

All he'd wanted in return was for her to love him.

All she'd wanted was Colter Ahern.

"Well, damn them both, it won't happen." He went to the dresser and mixed a normal dose of the pain-killer. He drank it slowly, almost savoring the bitter aftertaste. It would bring blessed sleep where the pain was gone and Kitty loved him.

He rubbed his back. His partner would get the go-ahead to do the job.

And the sooner, the better.

Kitty stood up and turned. Then she smiled and waved. He didn't even realize he'd stopped. He waved back.

He laughed. "Just like two kids, flirtin' over the fence," he mumbled to himself.

A knowing half-smile curved her lips. "What are you laughing at, Colter Ahern?" she asked as she approached the garden fence.

He walked his horse over to the iron fence topped with spikes. A mistake, to be sure.

He wouldn't get down. He'd just talk to her for a few minutes from up here. No one could make anything of that, surely.

"Why don't you get down and come have some cider? It's the first of the season." Her invitation was natural. They were friends, after all. Why wouldn't they have a cup of cider together?

"Don't mind if I do," he said. Even as he tied his horse to the fence and walked through the gate, he berated himself for being a thousand different kinds of a fool.

"Help yourself, Colter." She waved a pair of pruning shears at a table where a jug and a cup sat.

He poured his cider and sat in one of the wrought-iron chairs under the tree. As she bent over her rosebushes, Colter watched her, loved her from this little distance. There would never be another woman for him, at least not when she was close enough for him to see. She moved along the roses, snipping here and there. His desire for her was getting the better of him and, in his mind, he started to peel away her clothes, remembering the softness of her body, the gentleness of her caresses. He looked away and wrapped his hands around his cup.

"I take it your husband isn't home."

Kitty snipped a twig and straightened up to look into his eyes. "Not yet." She tossed the amputated foliage into the can by her feet.

He rested his elbows on his knees and rolled the cup between his hands. "How are things, Kitty?"

Kitty smiled. "Do you really want to be my confessor?"

"Do you need one?"

She looked away, and it was a long moment before she nodded. "I need Alice, but she's gone." She bent back to her roses. "I considered going to Maeve, but I don't think I could talk to her about things."

"Is he," he cast about for the right word, "cruel to you?" He wasn't sure what he wanted to hear. He didn't want to hear that Dexter was a good husband in every sense of the word. Was he selfish enough to want her to be unhappy in her marriage?

She shook her head. "I don't think most people would consider him cruel." He could see her blush from across the garden. She snipped the poor bush at her feet almost to the ground.

Colter got up and went to her. He put his hand under her elbow and forced her to stand straight. "What does he do?"

"I don't want to talk to you about this." She pulled from his hold on her and stepped over to the table. Trading her pruning shears for his half finished cup of cider, she tossed it back like whiskey. "Colter," she didn't turn to face him, "it's difficult for me to say this, but I think you ought to find someone else."

He closed his eyes and chuckled. "Here?"

Kitty turned, her face serious. "It would be easier on me, I know, if you were otherwise occupied."

"That's an interesting way to put it."

Her lips tipped in a little smile. "We were so close once and, now that you're here and you don't have anyone to answer to, it's too easy for me to reach out to you. That's not good, Colter, when I want to do so much more." Her face burned red. "If things were, well, right between me and Anson...."

"What's wrong, Kit?"

She bit her bottom lip. "Anson has moved to a separate room."

Colter was astonished. How could any man with warm blood running through his veins not share this woman's bed?

"He said it was so he wouldn't disturb me. He's been in some pain lately, his back, and has to get up several times a night." She looked up into Colter's face, her eyes mirrored her anxiety. "Please forget I told you that. He'd be furious to find out I'd told you, of all people. I don't want to hurt him anymore. I've done enough of that in the last thirteen years."

"What about what he's doin' to you, Kit? He's practically accused you of playing the whore with me right in front of your children."

"Colter, please." She reached out and touched his arm. "He didn't mean that. He's just so jealous."

"Aye, I remember him, always had to be in charge, running the show. He's tried to do that with Philip, and you."

"I'm his wife, Colter. He has certain rights."

"I know that, too. I'm the one that gave you to him." He willed himself to calm down. "So, he's jealous of things that aren't even happening, but he's not trying to be a husband to you, is that the story?"

Kitty nodded, her lips trembling a bit. "I thought maybe there was something wrong with me, that he didn't find me attractive anymore."

"Hah, more like he's mad as a hatter."

She looked at him and he felt his heart tear into pieces for the misery on her face.

"He never touches me anymore. It's making it even harder to stay away from you. It was so good with you, so sweet. I remember nearly every detail of that night. Do you ever remember, Colter?"

"Every day, Kit."

"I think you spoiled me for any other man. Do you think it's very wicked for a woman to enjoy that part of her life?"

Colter smiled. "I think there are many who would say it was. I don't agree, though. I can tell you I'd never leave you to sleep alone."

She stepped back away from him. "Colter, please, I'm not strong enough." Almost as proof, she moved back toward him and laid her hand on his chest where his heart started pounding louder, stronger, just for her. He didn't dare touch her. He kept his hands in balled fists at this side.

She sighed. "I can't keep my hands off you. That must be wrong. I should be wanting my own husband this way."

Her eyes had darkened, reflecting the dark stormy green of the ocean in a hurricane. He could remember how her eyes had looked that night, so many years, so many immutable years, ago. His blood burned and coursed through his body.

"He was angry when you came back," she said. "All I could think was that you would be close enough to touch again, that the one person left in the world who really understands me would be near me again." She let her hand drop to her side. "You'd better go, Colter."

She was right. He ought to run, to ride his horse until it dropped dead, if necessary, and put distance between them.

Instead, he moved as close as he could without actually touching her. He looked into her eyes, down the column of her throat, to the swell of her breasts as her breathing came faster.

Colter put his forefinger under her chin and tipped her head a little more. Her full, pink lips, moist with the evening dew, beckoned him. He bent and touched her mouth with his own. Her lips parted like the petals of one of her roses, sweet and tender. His tongue stroked the tip of hers and he felt, more than heard, her sigh pass into his body. It was like capturing part of her soul.

He raised his head and drank in the sight of her face, flushed in the passion she barely restrained, the burning desire in her eyes. He brushed back the unruly waves of her hair that shone in the rising moonlight.

They sighed a single breath.

"What are you doing here?"

The voice caused a shock that jolted them apart. The old dragon had come upon them and now there would be the devil to pay.

"Mrs. Forbes, how are you tonight?"

Melcia Forbes came into the garden with a charge that would have made Lighthorse Harry Lee proud. She came to a stop only when her body was between him and Kitty.

"I already asked you what you're doing here, Colter. Anybody could have passed by and seen the two of you." She turned on her heel. Kitty backed away a step. "Katherine, what is the meaning of this?"

"It was nothing, Mother, really."

"Nothing! You were kissing this man where everyone in Carroll County could see."

"Mother, please, everyone in Carroll County will know if you don't be quiet." Kitty looked at him. "Go on, Colter."

He felt guiltier than hell leaving her there to face the old dragon by herself, but he knew deep down he'd only make it worse by staying, especially if he were here when Anson got home. He doubted even Melcia was foolish enough to mention to her son-in-law what she'd seen.

"All right, Kitty, I'll go. Mrs. Forbes," he added to the dragon, "Kitty isn't to blame here."

"You're right. If you'd conducted yourself decently, you wouldn't be in this fix right now. But you two made your beds, now it's time to pay up and do the right thing. It's just too bad Kitty doesn't know how well off she is."

Colter wanted to tell the old witch a thing or two about Kitty's situation, but it wouldn't do any good. A roof, a good income, a good name, that was all that Melcia considered important. She'd never understood what he and Kitty felt for each other.

He couldn't stay and watch the inquisition Kitty would be put through, especially since there was nothing he could do short of murder to stop it. He turned without another word and mounted. He didn't look back, but set his horse to a gallop out of town, back to Connemara.

Colter rode up the long drive to the big house. The hair on the back of his neck rose as he noticed the unfamiliar carriage in front of the house and the lights on in the brood mare barn. Only long-time habit made him bed down his horse before he went to find out what was going on.

His sense of unease grew with each step toward the barn. The fidgeting and stamping of the mares inside reached his ears long before he was at the doors. Liam sat outside the barn, leaning up against the wall. His face was streaked with dirt and tears and he looked like he'd been sick.

"Da," he whispered, jumping from the ground, "you've got to hide, Da." He grabbed Colter's arm and tried to pull him away from the barn. "Come on, Da, please!"

"Liam, son, what's wrong? Are you all right?"

"Shhh! He'll hear."

"Who?"

"The sheriff. He's here to take you." Liam pulled on Colter's arm again.

Patrick's voice drifted out on the evening breeze.

"My son would never do anything like this! Charlie, you've known him all his life. You grew up with him, went to school with him."

"Yes, Patrick, and I saw how he and Anson were always at odds, mostly over Kitty. They were always at one another." Colter recognized the voice of Charlie Sanders, the county sheriff. "There's a man in my office right now who saw the whole thing."

Colter lay his hands on Liam's shoulders. "Don't worry, son. I've done nothing wrong. I'll talk to Charlie and fix everything."

He ignored Liam's agonized warning and walked into the barn.

"What did this man see, Charlie?"

Charlie and Patrick looked up as he spoke.

"Colter," Charlie greeted him. "We've got ourselves a little problem here." He motioned with his open hand toward the floor.

Anson lay there, pitchfork embedded in his chest, eyes fully open in death.

Colter felt as sick as Liam looked.

"Da," he turned to Patrick, "what happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," Charlie answered in Patrick's stead.

Swallowing the bile that filled his throat, Colter turned his back on Anson’s dead body and faced Charlie.

"I don't know anything about this. I've been out riding since at least four o'clock and he wasn't here then."

"When was the last time you spoke with Dexter?"

Colter thought about the last contact he'd had with Anson Dexter and his stomach turned at the memory.

I'll kill you.

He'd said that in a roomful of people. After he'd pummeled Dexter and left him lying bloody on the floor. There was nothing to do but tell the truth. Lying now would only give them something else to pin on him.

"About a week ago. You'll hear all about it, I expect, if you haven't already. We got into a fight at the Pike."

Patrick's head jerked up. "Colter, no."

"'Fraid so, Da." He looked Charlie right in the eye. He had nothing to fear, after all. "He'd struck Kitty and left her passed out on the floor. I took Philip home and found her like that. I suppose I went a little crazy. You know how it was between Kitty and me."

Charlie pursed his lips and nodded. "Everybody knew. And it's pretty clear that her boy is your son."

"What?" Liam cried out from the doorway.

Colter turned and put his arm around the boy. "Liam, I promise, I'll explain everything to you as soon as I can."

"There's a witness claims he heard you arguing over Kitty before you murdered Dexter."

"No, no, my Da's not a murderer!" Liam shouted, throwing himself at the sheriff.

Charlie caught the charging Liam by the shoulders.

"Son, believe me, I don't like this any better than you do. But there's a witness and I have to do my job." He moved Liam out of the way and pulled a rope from his back pocket. Motioning to Colter to turn around, he said, "Sorry, Colter, but I have to take you in."

Colter froze. A witness. "Charlie, it's impossible. I've been gone all afternoon. It's a lie."

Patrick spoke up. "Charlie, I saw him ride off around four, just like he said."

Charlie shook his head. "Patrick, nobody is going to believe you. You're his father. You'd do anything to help him. Make sure no one bothers the body. I'll be back as soon as I can to get him."

Colter put his hands behind his back and stood while Charlie tied him. As Charlie led him through the door, he looked back over his shoulder to Patrick who had his arms around a sobbing Liam. It was his place to tell the boy, to explain about Philip.

Would he even get the chance now?

Chapter Sixteen

The knock at the front door brought Kitty hurrying from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She looked out the sidepane and saw the sheriff.

"Charlie," she said as she opened the door and motioned him to come in out of the chilly autumn air, "whatever are you doing about at this hour? Come have a seat by the fire."

"Thanks, Kitty."

She waited until he'd taken a seat on the sofa and then she sat in her chair. Charlie rested his elbows on his knees, rolling his hat between his fingers. A somewhat uneasy silence hung between them. Kitty forced herself to speak.

"I'm sorry Anson isn't here. He's usually home by this time. I'm afraid your business will have to wait until tomorrow."

"Kitty, I have some bad news for you."

She felt her heart stop and almost uttered the first thing that came to her mind. Something's happened to Colter. Her hands gripped the arms of her chair. She tried to speak, but her voice wouldn't work. Foreboding weighed on her heavier than a stone.

"Anson is dead, Kitty."

A wave of relief washed over her that it wasn't Colter, then shock and overwhelming guilt that she'd not even considered her husband's well-being, that he wasn't the first in her mind, even after all these years.

"Kitty, he was killed out at Connemara."

She knew what was coming. Though her mind rejected it, she knew.

"Apparently, he and Colter got into an argument and Colter killed him."

"No," she whispered. She shook her head, stupidly. "Colter would never kill anyone." She turned to Charlie. "Why would he?"
Charlie just looked into her eyes. He knew.

Of course, he did. Everyone did, though most were kind enough not to say anything about it.

"I have to ask you some questions, Kitty. Are you up to it now?" When she didn't answer, he said, "I can come back tomorrow."

"What questions?"

"Is Philip Colter's son?"

She couldn't look at him. "Yes."

"Did Anson know?"

She jerked her head up. "How could he not have known?" She controlled her anger. "Yes, Charlie. I told him before we were married."

Charlie looked at his hat, still dangling from his fingers.

"I had to ask. That was part of the argument. Colter wants to claim Philip and Anson fought him about it. He also told Anson he wanted you back. He said the two of you had been together since he got back from Ireland."

Her mouth dropped open. "That's a lie," she finally managed to get out. "Where did you hear something so hideous?"

"There's a witness who'll testify to everything, the argument, the murder."

A witness, she repeated silently. "What witness?"

"Someone who was walking by and heard the commotion. Everything he told me checked out. I've arrested Colter."

Kitty got up and went to the fireplace. She lay her arm on the mantle and rested her head.

"I don't believe it, Charlie."

"All I know is, Anson is lying dead on the floor of one of Patrick Ahern's barns with a pitchfork buried in the middle of his chest."

The image was horrifying.

"Did you know about the fight they had at the Pike a week ago?"

She shook her head, but could not speak.

Charlie stood and stepped forward, offering her his arm.

"Colter told me about Anson hitting you, Kitty." He helped her to the sofa and urged her to sit. "Tell me how things were between the two of you."

What could she say that wouldn't incriminate Colter further?

She could only tell the truth. She had to trust in God to make everything turn out all right.

"Anson was jealous, though he had no reason to be. He accused me of seeing Colter behind his back. I haven't, Charlie. I've spoken to him, but it was never like Anson said."

"Did Colter want to claim Philip?"

She shook her head. "He knows he can't do that without destroying Philip."

Charlie nodded. "When was the last time you saw Colter?"

"When?" she asked in panic. "This evening," she finally said. "He came by around dusk. I offered him some cider and he and I talked for a while and then he left."

"Can anyone verify that he was here and when?"

Kitty went cold with fear. Her mother could verify her account, but what else would she say? What would a jury make of Colter kissing her in the garden?

"Kitty?" Charlie waited for her answer. "Did anyone else see him here?"

"My mother," she said, her voice sounding far away and hollow to her ears. "She spoke to him."

"There will have to be an inquest in a day or two. You might be called to present evidence." He paused, as though waiting for her to say something. When she didn't speak, he went on. "I appreciate you answering my questions, Kitty. Would you like for me to take you and your children to your mother's?"

She shook her head.

"I'll let myself out then," Charlie said in a whisper. "I'm really sorry, Kitty. I'll do what I can for Colter."

She heard Charlie's footsteps grow more distant and then she heard the door close.

Kitty sat, numb and conscious of nothing, for a very long time. She was only barely aware of the warm body that snuggled next to her on the sofa.

"Mama," Blythe asked her, "what's wrong? Where's Daddy? Why isn't he home yet?"

"He's dead," Philip announced from the stairs.

Kitty could hardly believe the grave, serious young man was her Philip.

"You heard?"

He didn't answer, but only stood as cold and controlled as a statue.

"What's he talking about, Mama?" Blythe pulled at her blouse, tears even now gathering in her eyes. "Where's Daddy? Where's my Daddy?"

Kitty wanted to lie down, close her eyes, and let everything happen around her. She would wake up when it was all over.

But her children needed her and she had to be strong. She put her arm around Blythe and hugged her close.

"I'll try to explain, sweetness." She reached her hand toward her son. "Come, Philip."

At first, he didn't seem inclined to do her bidding. He stared at her, his eyes hooded. She couldn't see him in them.

"Come, sit by me, dear," she repeated, still holding her hand out to him.

Kitty's sense of time failed her. It seemed that everything was happening too slowly to be real. Philip's movements appeared to her as in a dream, and it may have taken just a few seconds, perhaps several minutes, for him to cross the room. She'd never have known the difference.

He stopped just within her reach. She took his hand and gasped. It was cold as a stone.

"Darling, you're frozen."

She urged Philip with a tug on his hand to sit by her and tried to pull him close as she had Blythe. She needed the anchor of her children. Philip didn't resist her hug, but he didn't return the embrace. He didn't reach out for his mother's consolation, nor did he cry.

His lack of any clear response alarmed her. But as they sat there, as some of her own sense of shock wore off, she supposed that a boy of his age would react this way to devastating news. He'd been told often enough that men didn't cry.

Anson had told him that.

Kitty held her children and tried to be strong for them, but her numbed emotions returned to life and she was overwhelmed by loss. No matter what else he was, Anson had been her husband for over thirteen years. No matter how much she had wished he were a different man, she now mourned. Her tears flowed from that part of her that Anson had possessed, that had belonged to him alone. Only now, too late, did she realize how large a part of her heart he'd actually won.

Sweet, loving Blythe got to her knees on the sofa and hugged Kitty, rocking and comforting as though she were the mother.

After the tears slowed, Blythe asked, "Is Daddy really dead? He's never coming back home?"

Kitty closed her eyes at the hurt in her child's voice. Blythe was far too young for the burdens she'd been asked to carry lately.

"No, dear. Daddy won't be back." She didn't know what she should say, only that more was necessary. "There was an accident at Connemara."

"It was no accident," Philip said in an empty voice. "He was murdered."

Kitty choked back a sob. "I know the sheriff said that, Philip, but we have to wait for the whole truth."

Blythe curled up on the sofa and lay her head down in Kitty's lap. Every so often, she would shake and release a sob. Kitty stroked her hair and let her cry.

Philip shrugged her arm off his shoulders. "I'm going to my room." He got up and walked out.

She wanted to go after him. There was more going on here than the reaction of a twelve-year-old boy who didn't want to cry in front of the women. But Blythe still needed comforting and Philip was dry-eyed at least, so she stayed with her daughter. She'd go to Philip when his sister was asleep.

Philip closed the door behind him and threw himself on his bed.

Anson's voice filled his head. "White-haired bastard...." The words echoed, ripping open the wound.

The tears that had been dammed behind his dry eyes finally slipped out, tracing tracks of sorrow down his cheeks.

He cried himself to sleep, where his dreams were filled with a fantasy where he was a loved son, a true son. Where his father was Colter Ahern.

Blythe lay on the sofa in exhausted sleep. Kitty tucked a shawl around her and went up to find Philip. He lay across his bed, still fully dressed. She could offer him no more comfort than to pull off his shoes and pull the spread over him. With a gentle kiss she left him to his slumber.

The clock in the hallway struck ten.

Time still was out of whack. It seemed like it ought to be much later than that. Even so, she knew she could never sleep.

She headed downstairs again. The kitchen was a mess and there was food she needed to take care of. It wouldn't do for it to be left out all night.

And such homey tasks as cleaning her kitchen could help keep her mind off....

Would she ever be free of the guilt? Anson was dead and she was more worried that Colter was in jail.

"Saints in heaven, what kind of woman am I?"

The knock at the front door made her start.

"Katherine, I know you hear me. Open this door."

Kitty wearily crossed the hallway and reluctantly opened the door. "Come in, Mother."

Melcia bustled in and pulled off her gloves. "Take my wrap, Kitty. I wanted to come by and sit with you. You must be distraught."

Kitty hung up her mother's wrap. Melcia prattled on.

"Charlie Sanders stopped by and questioned me. Land sakes, I've never been questioned by a lawman before. I had to tell the sheriff everything. Naturally, I tried to put the best face on it that I could, for your sake, but I'm afraid your Colter has gone too far this time. All the Irish charm in the world won't keep him off the gallows."

"Stop it!" Kitty fled toward the kitchen.

Melcia followed her. "Where are the children?"

"In bed." Kitty stood at the back door, staring out the window at the blackness.

"You told them?"

"Of course. I couldn't very well keep news like this from them."

Melcia started putting away the untouched supper. She filled the reservoir on the stove and tossed in wood and built up the fire. Kitty watched her bustle around the kitchen in the window's reflection.

"Mother, please, leave that. I'll take care of it."

"Nonsense, dear. Let me help you. Here," Melcia fixed a cup of tea and set it on the table. "Sit down and sip this."

"Thank you, Mother." Sitting at the table, she sipped as ordered. She paid her mother no mind until Melcia sat down with a cup of her own.

"He didn't do it, Mother. He couldn't have."

"Kitty, Colter is a man of high passion. It's well known that the Irish have a quick temper."

"Mother, that's ridiculous."

"And he still wants you. Anson was in the way."

"Do you really believe he killed Anson?"

Melcia shrugged. "Men have done worse for much less reason. The scandal will be terrible."

"Scandal?" Kitty fumed. "My husband is dead and Colter sits in jail, accused of the crime. Is your social standing all you can think about?"

Her mother held up her hand in the gesture Kitty knew so well. "You listen to me, Kitty. I warned you years ago about that Ahern boy. When you married Anson, I thought you'd come to your senses. Never did it occur to me that you'd already fallen into sin."

Kitty closed her eyes and sighed. She didn't have the strength for this.

"Did that poor boy even know what he was getting?"
Surprising herself, Kitty became angry for Anson's sake.

"Don't call him a poor boy, Mother. Anson knew about the baby before he proposed. He wasn't stupid. He did a good and generous thing because he loved me."

But even as the words came out of her mouth, and she was satisfied that they shut her mother up, Kitty wondered if it was true that Anson's act had been completely selfless and loving.

Anson and Colter had always been at odds -- the city boy from the prominent, old-moneyed family against the farm boy whose father had built everything he had with his own two hands. But Anson could never compete head to head with Colter, who was bigger, stronger, better-looking, quicker, more of everything than Anson was.

Had she been little more than a trophy, a prize proving he'd bested Colter at least once?

"So, who did it, if not Colter?" Melcia sipped her tea, seemingly unaware that she'd interrupted Kitty's thoughts. "Seems there's no one else who would want Anson dead."

Who else, indeed? Kitty felt sick to her stomach. She could think of no one.

Kitty had the morning sunshine in her kitchen to herself. Melcia was asleep upstairs.

The world was easier to face in the morning. There always seemed to be hope in a fresh new day. She wondered if Colter was comfortable. Did he need anything? Did he know she knew his was innocent of this horrible crime?

She put a fresh kettle of water on and spooned tea into her favorite teapot. So many mornings she'd brewed tea for Anson. He'd grown fond of it while they lived in England. It had represented gentility and refinement to him. He wouldn't even drink coffee.

A pragmatic snob, Anson was. She smiled, summoning memories on those things that had been endearing -- his generosity, his love for his children and for her, his desire to give her everything she wanted or needed, even his imperfections. She refused to ponder the doubts of his motives she'd conjured last night.

She drank tea because she liked it. The thought came out of nowhere and caused her to wonder, did Anson ever do anything just because he wanted to? There was nothing she could think of to place in that category.

Kitty poured boiling water into the pot. At the sound of footsteps coming from the hallway, she looked up from her tea. Philip came into the kitchen, stopping just inside the doorway.

"Good morning, Mother," he said.

"Good morning, Philip, dear. Did you sleep well?"

"As well as I could expect."

His voice was monotone, dull, lifeless.

"Sit down, dear, I'll get you some breakfast."

"I'm not hungry."

"You have to eat, sweetheart."

"I said, I'm not hungry. And don't call me any of your sweet names." His voice was not lifeless now. It had more life than she'd ever heard before.

Kitty saw a stranger before her, a man-boy simmering with anger. She'd never heard anything like that out of Philip. She almost said what she would have said to him yesterday, that his father would have something to say about his behavior.

But that man was gone.

Still, the man-boy looked at her from the same hooded eyes she'd seen last night, the challenge all but spoken.

"Philip, I will not tolerate that tone. You will speak to me with the respect you mother deserves."

"My mother, the whore?"

Kitty gasped and grabbed the back of the nearest chair.

"What did you say?"

"Isn't that what you are? Didn't you lie with Colter and make me? Were you already married to Father? Did he know you'd betrayed him?"

"Philip, don't."

"He hated me because of you."

"No, Philip. He loved you. You were his son."

"I'm a bastard, a white-haired bastard. Did you make him bring us back here? So you could see him?"

Kitty couldn't stop herself from striking back. "Do you want the truth? Or would you rather just continue this tirade?"

Philip snapped his lips shut and glared. Kitty returned it full measure, wilting his anger. He shifted from foot to foot, but didn't answer.

"Well, do you want to hear what happened or not?"

Sails trimmed, he nodded and sat down.

"I guess I'd like the truth."

Kitty sat across from him, her stomach twisting in knots.

But Kitty told him the whole story. She blushed and stammered a good bit, but held nothing back. Philip was silent for awhile after she'd finished.

"Why did Colter run off like that? Why did he leave you alone?"

"He was young, his head was full of dreams and plans. He was as ambitious in his way as your father...." She stopped, the strangeness of the relationships hitting her. "He didn't know until it was too late. Colter would never have left me in that situation. It just happened, Philip. Sometimes it's like that when you're in love. At least, it was for us. It was like...." She stroked the back of his large, rough hand, so like Colter's. "Destiny. You wouldn't be if not for that night." She looked deep into his blue-gray eyes. "I'd never undo it."

"But you had to marry Father and you didn't want to, all because of me." He whispered in misery.

"No, dearest. Because of me. And Colter. We had to pay for our mistake. Ours, Philip, not yours." Kitty sighed. "As for Anson, he was so good to me. He loved you like his own flesh and blood. He gave us Blythe. The only thing I can't forgive him for is bringing us back here. Everything would have been fine if we'd stayed in England."

"Then why did he?"

"I don't know."

Philip raised his eyes to hers. "Ma, do you still love Colter?"

Kitty knew the answer. Could Philip understand?

"Yes, Philip. I still do. I always will."

"Will you marry him now?"

She couldn’t even think of that now. There was so much that was uncertain. Colter was being held for murder. The witness made it unlikely that there wouldn't be a verdict of guilty at a trial.

And then there was Anson....

Kitty rose and wiped away the tears rolling down her face.

“Let me get your breakfast.”

"Ma, I'm really not hungry," he said again, much gentler this time. "I think I need to be alone for awhile."

She gave him a little smile. "All right, dear. You go on. I'll leave you something if I have to go out."

He kissed her cheek sweetly and left.

Kitty watched for a long time as he walked down the road toward Connemara. He was going to see Liam. She prayed his friend, his brother, would be there for him.

Chapter Seventeen

Colter slept little on the hard wooden bunk, so he was awake when Charlie brought his breakfast.

"There's to be an inquest this afternoon, Colter," Charlie said as he passed a covered plate through the slot in the cell door.

"What does that mean?" Colter lifted the tin cover from the plate. Two eggs sat in a puddle of grease beside a couple of patties of what might be sausage. "Whew, where did this come from? Are you trying to poison me so you won't have to build a gallows?"

Charlie frowned. "I'm glad you can joke. Your position could hardly be any worse. Why didn't you tell me you'd been to Kitty's last night?"

Colter choked on a bite of the meat. He set the plate aside. "I didn't want to drag her into this. It didn't seem to be important at the time."

"Melcia Forbes will testify today that you and Kitty were doing more than drinking cider."

Colter cringed. "All right, Charlie. I kissed her. She kissed me. We kissed each other. That doesn't mean I killed her husband."

"That kiss adds credence to the testimony of the witness."

"Who is this witness?" Colter asked for what seemed like the thousandth time.

"To tell you the truth, I'm not sure who he is. I'm still checking him out. But he's sticking to his story that he saw you kill Anson."

Colter shook his head. "It's a lie, Charlie."

"It's not for me to make that determination. The coroner will decide if there's evidence. With a witness and the corroboration of Melcia that you still have feelings for Kitty, there's a case. If they bring her son into court, well," Charlie shrugged his shoulders and passed a tin mug of coffee through the bars, "I'd find myself a good lawyer before two o'clock this afternoon, if I were you."

Philip didn't know where he was going. He walked without a destination, his mood as brown and dead as the leaves rustling and crunching at his feet. He came out of the woods into Connemara's pastures. One of Colter's Irish stallions, grazing all alone, raised his head. With a nicker of greeting, the horse came over to Philip.

"Hello, Finn," Philip said in a choked whisper. He ran his hand over the long, elegant curve of Finn's neck, then leaned against the horse and buried his face in the flowing mane. His chest ached.

But he wouldn't cry. He wasn't a baby. It wasn't like either one of them cared a thing for him anyway. Anson Dexter had called him a bastard. Colter had never even let on that he knew. Maybe that meant he didn't care to have another son. He had Liam, after all.

Liam would have been the first person he'd have gone to. Now, he didn't even have his best friend for comfort.

Philip had never felt so alone in his whole life. But then, his whole life had been a lie, so what did it matter how his life had been before?

He didn't even know where he could go. Where did a bastard belong?

Philip looked across the acres to the big white house gleaming like a diamond in the early afternoon sunshine.

Once he'd thought he belonged at Connemara, but now....

Philip shuddered as the whole bloody scene replayed in his mind. After what Anson Dexter had done, intending to send Colter to the gallows, he was sure Patrick wouldn't want him around anymore.

Tears he could no longer restrain poured, hot and plentiful, down his face. He ran back into the woods and followed the creek to the place where he and Colter and Liam had gone fishing on hot summer afternoons when all their chores were done. They'd even skinny-dipped in the cool water, Colter right along with them. The memory made him cry harder.

Following the narrow leaf-strewn path, formed by uncounted footfalls over uncounted years, Philip ran his hands over his face, pretending he wasn't crying, wiping away the evidence. It hurt so bad, there must be something really torn in there. He pressed his fist against the middle of his chest, where the hurt was the worst. He'd lost his father and his hero, all in one night. Colter would hang for the murder. He'd heard the sheriff last night. There was a witness, a witness who would say in court that Colter was guilty.

But Colter didn't kill his father.

"He wasn't my father!" he shouted to the trees.

"Phil?" A soft voice called to him.

Philip didn't turn, he didn't want to see him. How could he face Liam now?

"Phil?"

He turned around and there was Liam, sitting on the ground, his back against a tree. Philip looked at his brother and saw himself. How could he not have realized sooner?

In spite of his mother's explanation, Philip was filled with anger at his mother and his fathers. Both of them.

And he was angry at Liam, his friend, for being the son who had the right to the name.

He wondered if Liam knew the truth.

Liam just sat there. "I brought another pole."

Philip wasn't sure how to react. Could they go on like before? He didn't move for a moment, then more to keep from saying anything than because he really felt like fishing, he picked up the pole and sat down beside Liam. The younger boy watched him bait up his hook and cast the line into the cold water of the pond.

"What do you think of all this, Phil?"

Philip didn't reply, but only kept his eyes on the fishing line where it disappeared into the mirror surface of the pond.

"I mean, us being brothers and all?" Liam finally finished.

"He told you, then?"

Liam shook his head. "Gran did. He was very angry with Da." Liam sat back, just as calmly as if nobody had been murdered in his Gran's barn and his own father hadn't been accused.

Maybe Liam had some answers for him, then.

"How could he just leave my mother like that?"

"Gran said Da didn't know until we saw you in the store that day." Liam looked hard at Philip's face. "I guess it is obvious, after all." He smiled and turned his attention back toward the pond. "I'm glad, Phil. My mother and brother are buried back in Ireland. Da is the best father, and it's nice having Gran and Granny and the aunts and uncles and cousins," he pulled his line a little, "but having a brother is special. Especially if he's your friend, too."

They sat, just fishing, for a few minutes.

"Do you think he did it?" Philip asked.

Liam stared, disbelieving. "Course not. Da ain't no murderer." He turned to the pond until he calmed down. "You know that, don't you?"

"I know more than that, Liam." Philip lay down his pole and turned toward the other boy. "I know he didn't do it, 'cause I saw who did."

"What? And you let them take our Da away to jail?" Liam threw down his pole and jumped to his feet. "Get up. I'm gonna break every bone in your body."

"No. I'm not going to fight you." Philip sat up straight.

Liam's face was red as fire as he raged at Philip.

"The hell you're not. Get up, I said." He reached for Philip's collar and lifted him to his feet.

"Liam, don't." Philip wasn't really afraid of anything Liam would do, but he didn't want to fight. He'd seen enough hurting. Even with Philip's pleas, Liam tried to land a punch. Philip deflected it and tossed him onto his back.

"Stop it, Liam." Philip straddled his brother, his greater weight easily pinning Liam to the ground. Still, Liam struggled.

"You bastard! You're gonna tell the truth!"

Philip went dead still, his hands falling to his sides. "What did you call me?" he whispered.

Liam's eyes widened as he realized what he'd said. "Mother of God, Philip, I'm sorry."

Philip got off him and stood, then started backing away into the woods. "You're right, I am a bastard."

"No, Philip, please, I'm so sorry." Liam's eyes glistened with regret.

"It's my fault my father is dead and Colter is in jail."

"No," Liam started toward him. "No, Phil, don't say that."

He turned and started to run into the woods.

"Philip, come back."

He heard Liam's footsteps growing louder as his brother gained ground on him.

Philip was the stronger brother, but Liam was the faster. He easily caught up to Philip and tackled him around the legs. They fell in the brown, crackling leaves and tumbled as they struggled -- Philip to run, Liam to hold onto him.

"Let me go!"

"No, you're my brother and I'll not let go!" Liam cried. His grip around Philip became so strong Philip felt the breath forced from his body. "I'll not let you run away from me. You belong with us, Philip. We all know it. Mr. Dexter knew it, too, and still he tried to turn you into a sotted banker just like him."

Philip stopped fighting as Liam's words reached him along with a surge of protectiveness toward the man he'd known and loved as his father.

"He wasn't a sotted banker. He was a good man."

Then he lost his starch as he remembered the sight of his father, Anson Dexter, arranging for his own murder and framing Colter Ahern for it.

She'll have her white-haired bastard to remind her.

Those words hurt just as much as they had last night.

"God, Liam," he sobbed and lay his face in the dirt. Liam got off him and pulled his brother into his arms. He held Philip and they both cried, secure in the knowledge that no one else would ever know of their weakness.

They sat against a big oak. Liam kept his arm around Philip's shoulder.

"I'm really sorry, Philip. I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

Philip nodded acceptance of the apology.

"So what happened? Who was it?"

Philip sniffed. Once more he was in the loft, the smell of the hay and the natural warmth of the place belying the violence about to be done. He told Liam everything. When he got to the fatal stroke, Liam shuddered with him.

"You saw it all? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph." He patted Philip's shoulder. "I'da run, too, boyo."

"He looked at me before he died. He called out to me."

Liam said nothing, only tightened his arm around Philip's shoulder. Philip was glad Liam was here. There wasn't anybody else he could have told this to.

"Phil," Liam said softly, "the sheriff came by this morning. He told Gran that Da was going to be in some kind of court later today. If the," he paused, and screwed up his face, "magistrate or something like that, finds there's evidence, Da'll be kept in jail and tried for murder. He'll hang if they find him guilty. We have to go and you have to tell what you saw."

"I don't know if I can go into town again, Liam. Everybody will know, if they don't already. How can I face them?"

Liam clasped Philip's hand. The warmth of his skin infused Philip with courage.

"I'll be with you, brother. We're Aherns, eh? Descendants of Irish warriors and the house of Brian Boru, who drove the pagan Vikings off the Emerald Isle."

"Really?"

Liam looked shocked. "Sure'n you've heard of Boru?"

Philip shook his head.

"Brandubh mac Dougal?"

Again Philip shook his head.

"Have you heard of Ireland, now?" Liam asked in the most exaggerated brogue Philip had ever heard.

Philip laughed.

Liam smiled. "Let's go face the worst they have to toss at us and get our Da out of that bloody jail."

Kitty approached the courthouse with her stomach full of butterflies. News traveled fast around this town. There was a crowd inside the building and the whispers followed her.

So, this is what it feels like being a scarlet woman, she thought. All around her, faces, a sea of them, it seemed, stared at her with looks that ranged from curiosity to outright condemnation. She managed to hold her head up somehow and pushed ahead.

"Kitty, over here, darlin'," Maeve called from the double doorway of the courtroom.

God bless that good woman, Kitty thought as she made her way toward the convocation of Aherns that practically filled the whole room.

Patrick echoed her thoughts. "Thought we'd just come fill the whole damned place and keep the gawkers out."

"Patrick," Maeve chided, "you watch your tongue." She took Kitty's hand and squeezed. "There, now, love, don't you worry. Look, here comes our Michael."

Kitty's heart jumped into her throat when she got a look at Michael's face. He frowned, his forehead wrinkled with anxiety.

"Doesn't look good. The witness is sticking to his story," Michael said as he took Kitty's hand. "I'm awfully sorry, Kitty, for everything. Da, we're going to have to get him a good criminal attorney. This is way out of my area."

"Whatever it takes, Michael, do it."

The coroner was starting the inquest. Maeve took Kitty's arm.

"Head up, girl. Let's go."

Philip and Liam walked up Willis Street toward Court Square. The streets were deserted but for a few farmers driving loaded wagons out of town.

"Looks like everybody is over at the courthouse," Philip said.

"Not everybody," Liam said, his eyes fixed on a point up the street.

A group of three big boys, all a little older than Philip and Liam, approached, and they were looking for trouble.

"Oh, no, it's Bill Murphy and his bunch of plug-uglies."

Bill grinned a big, stupid grin. Philip knew he and Liam were the trouble Bill had been looking for.

"Look there, it's the bastard and his mick brother."

"Let us pass. We have no fight with you," Liam said, not bothering to try to hide his brogue.

"You do if I say you do." Bill stepped up to Philip, putting his nose just a hair from Philip's. "You let you little brother talk for you, bastard?"

Philip stared into Bill's eyes. "Step back, Murphy. We've got things to do besides breathing the air you're stinkin' up." He made a move to go around Bill.

"No, you don't, bastard," Bill said, and all three boys jumped on Philip.

Liam pounced into the fray and got two of the toughs on him. He struck out and punched like Philip had once seen a professional fighter do back in London. Philip tried to remember how that man had fought.

Bill Murphy was more enthusiastic than skilled. Most of his blows didn't land hard and Philip kept his arms up to block Bill's fists. Then, Bill gave him an opening. Philip let fly, his fist heading straight for Bill's jaw.

When the ringleader lay stunned in the dirt, Philip jumped up and grabbed one of the other toughs by the collar. He held the other boy up and drew back his arm. The boy's nose crumpled as Philip dashed his clenched fist into it. The boy grabbed his nose to stop the torrent of blood.

"You tried to kill me, didn't you, you bastard? Just like you old man killed Mr. Dexter."

"He didn't kill anybody." Philip grabbed Bill and pulled him from the dirt. Bill was just getting his senses back, and looked in no hurry to renew his fight with Philip.

"Listen to me, you stupid jackass. I may be a bastard, but my father, both of them, are, were, good men. Colter Ahern didn't kill my father. And," he shoved Bill back onto his backside on the dusty road, "just in case you don't know, Murphy is an Irish name, you dumb mick."

"Hey," Liam sounded offended. "This sorry Orangeman is no mick."

"Get lost," Philip ordered the gang, now a bloody mess in the middle of Main Street. He led his brother over to a trough and they cleaned themselves up as best as they could.

They looked each other over, to make sure they were presentable. Liam gave Philip a smile and slapped him on the shoulder. Philip took a deep breath and they ran into the courthouse together.

The boys gently pushed open the door and slipped into the small space behind the last row. Not an eye was spared for them. Colter sat beside his brother Michael in front. Philip looked around for Kitty and found her sitting beside Maeve Ahern.

"Liam, what should I do? Do I just walk up there?"

Liam shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know."

A familiar voice coming from the front of the room caught Philip's attention.

"I arrived at Katherine's at about six o'clock."

"Grandmother," he whispered.

"What did you see, Mrs. Forbes?" the coroner asked.

Melcia squirmed. Philip followed the line of his grandmother's gaze and saw her eyes were fixed on Kitty.

"Well," Melcia began, "I saw a big horse tied to the fence. I knew it wasn't Anson's." She glared at Colter. "When I came around the side of the house, I saw Colter Ahern with my daughter." She clamped her lips shut.

"What were they doing?" the coroner prompted her.

Melcia closed her eyes as though in pain. When she opened them, she spared some of her glaring regard for Kitty. "Colter had his arms around Katherine. He was," she made a pout of distaste, "kissing her." Her lips snapped shut again.

Philip looked from Colter to Kitty. Neither turned to the other.

"So, Colter Ahern was romantically involved with your daughter, Anson Dexter's, the decedent's, wife?"

Melcia's eyes burned. "So it would appear."

"Grandmother, no," Philip whispered as he understood what his grandmother was saying. He looked at his own mother. She was shaking her head. He was desperate to believe her.

"Mrs. Forbes," the coroner continued, "do you know of any other instances where Mrs. Dexter was in the company of Mr. Ahern?"

"He brought Katherine and the children to my home last week."

"Why did he do that?"

"He claimed Anson had struck Katherine. She did have a little bruise, but it was nothing really."

"Bloody hell," Liam swore under his breath. "Nothing?"

Philip appreciated his brother's anger on his mother's behalf. They'd both seen her lying unconscious on the floor in a pool of her own blood.

"So, Ahern was fearful for Mrs. Dexter's safety?"

"I don't know why he would be. Anson is," Melcia dabbed her eyes, "was a good man. If he became angry enough to raise a hand to Katherine, I'm sure he had a reason."

"What kind of reason? Perhaps she'd been unfaithful to him?"

Melcia glanced at Kitty. She was obviously aware that she'd been trapped. Even Philip could see where the coroner was leading her.

They needed a reason to explain why Colter would kill Anson Dexter. Here it was.

"Sir, I didn't raise my daughter to be a trollop. Katherine wouldn't do such a thing."

"Mrs. Forbes, please stick to what you know."

Melcia stiffened. "I don't believe my daughter would betray her husband."

"Were not Mrs. Dexter and Mr. Ahern sweethearts in their youth?"

Melcia nodded. "That's well-known."

"Mrs. Forbes, did your daughter have a child by Colter Ahern?"

The whole crowd gasped with a single breath. Philip felt his face heat as a blush crept up to his hairline. He stared straight ahead, but he could feel the eyes of every person in the courtroom on him. Liam's hand squeezed his shoulder. He relaxed and waited. And he hoped he would know when to act.

Kitty wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole. She didn't know how she managed to keep from jumping up and running home to hide herself in her room. She didn't dare look over at Colter, knowing it would be noticed and the worst possible interpretation put on it.

Maeve squeezed her hand and smiled. "Twill be all right, love," she whispered.

"Will it?" Kitty cast a cautious glance around the room. She was certain most of these people had known all along who fathered Philip. The surprised gasp of the assembled gallery was not, she suspected, at the information, but rather that such a thing would be spoken aloud.

Of their own volition, her eyes moved toward Colter. He sat up in his chair, hands clasped before him on the table, almost an attitude of prayer. He looked straight ahead, as though his vision could pierce the walls of the building, letting him see all the way back to Connemara, and his beloved horses.

Would there be any love left for her when this was all over? Would they get a second chance?

She hadn't thought of the future, not for a long time. And now she felt guilty thinking there may be one with Colter. Her husband was dead not even twenty-four hours yet. What kind of woman was she?

She was a woman in love with a man she could finally have, after all these years.

Kitty prayed that God would forgive them all their trespasses and give them the chance to love one another as it should have been.

Melcia passed by on her way to her seat, barely sparing a glance for her daughter.

Kitty realized with a start she'd not heard her mother's explanation for the enormous scandal. It was probably better that way.

"Gaston DuPre, come forward."

Kitty didn't recognize the name and turned to see who would answer the coroner's summons. The doors opened at the rear of the auditorium and a thin, sandy haired man entered. He walked the bantam strut of one who thinks himself beyond normal rules. She'd never seen him before, but she knew he couldn't be trusted.

DuPre lay his hand on the Bible. Kitty thought he looked a little unsure about touching it.

"Do you swear the statements you are about to give in this matter will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?" the coroner intoned.

"I do." He lifted his hand from the Holy Book.

"Mr. DuPre, tell this proceeding, in your own words, what you witnessed last evening, November 15th?" The coroner sat back in his chair.

The witness slicked back his thin hair and took a breath.

"I was walking along the Emmitsburg Pike toward town. I was passing along by that horse farm, the Ahern place, just out of town. There's a barn that sits out by itself near the property line. It was open and I heard voices. Angry voices, or rather, just one voice." He raised his hand and pointed to Colter. "His voice."

The audience reacted to the direct accusation with a ripple of murmured commentary.

"It sounded like somebody was about to get some violence done to them, so I sorta quiet-like moved toward the barn. See if I could do anything, you know."

"And who was in the barn?"

"That big fella there, and the dead man, only he weren't dead yet," he looked at the coroner, as though remembering, "and a bunch of horses, too."

He smiled at his joke. Only a couple of spectators joined in his appreciation.

"How close did you get?"

"Maybe within ten yards of the barn. I was real quiet, though, Your Honor. I sure didn't want to bring that fella's attention to me."

"You say you heard them arguing. What about?"

"Well, the big fella, Ahern, was saying that somebody called, ah, Kitty, was his and he was going to have her, no matter what he had to do. The dead man, Dexter, that was, says she's his wife and Ahern would have her over Dexter's dead body. That's when Ahern says that's fine by him and he pushed that Dexter fella down and sticks him right in the chest with that pitchfork."

Kitty felt Maeve's grip tighten enough to hurt.

It all seemed so hopeless. There was no one to dispute this man's testimony.

"That's a lie."

Every head turned to the back of the courtroom. Kitty recognized the voice before she saw him.

"I saw the whole thing." Philip walked up the aisle, Liam right behind him. Philip raised his arm and pointed at the witness. "That man right there, the one telling lies about Colter. He's the one that did it. He killed my father."

Chapter Eighteen

Colter turned at the call from the rear of the room.

Philip and Liam approached the rail and stopped just behind him.

"That man killed my father," Philip declared. "I saw everything."

Colter heard the catch in Philip's voice.

"Ah, Philip," he whispered. It took every bit of self-control he had to stay in his chair.

DuPre sat slack-jawed at the accusation.

"Come forward, son," the coroner said. "Charlie, why don't you look after Mr. DuPre for a bit while we hear what this young man has to say."

Liam patted Philip's shoulder and smiled. Colter felt a surge of pride in his younger son. He stood behind his brother and was helping him through a tough time. Philip swallowed hard and moved forward. Liam took a chair behind Colter.

Colter chanced a look at Kitty. She was pale and he could see how she gripped his mother's hand. He ached to put his arms around her and hold her.

Kitty's eyes moved from Philip to meet Colter's.

Somehow, darlin', he promised her silently, we'll get through all this mess and be together.

Just the corner of her mouth tipped up in answer.

Philip had taken the oath and was sitting in the witness chair.

"Now, Philip, tell me what you saw."

The boy looked around, first to Kitty, for whom he managed a little smile, then to Colter. Colter looked straight into Philip's eyes, trying to will him some strength.

Philip nodded. "I saw that man there," he pointed to Gaston DuPre, "kill my father." He glanced back at Colter.

"The little bastard is lyin'," DuPre yelled as he jumped from his chair.

At the word bastard, the boy’s eyes dropped to his lap and he blushed deep red, but he didn’t show any other reaction.

A wave of remorse swept over Colter. He’d brought this suffering on his son.

"Quiet." Charlie Sanders grabbed DuPre by the scruff of his neck and slammed him back down.

Philip told his story, never taking his eyes from Colter's. Colter smiled at the boy, his pride growing with every word Philip spoke.

To his credit, Philip told everything, including Anson Dexter's wish that Colter hang for the murder, and that Kitty would have her white-haired bastard to remind her.

A whisper of sympathy for the boy passed over the audience at that. Philip's still sharp hurt was written in plain letters all over his face, but his voice never failed him.

"Well," the coroner said, "I think this puts a whole new slant on this. This inquest finds that the decedent, Anson Dexter, late of Westminster city, was the victim of a premeditated homicide. It is further found that the actual homicide was committed by use of a common pitchfork driven through the decedent's heart. With the testimony of the eye-witness, Philip Dexter, I find no reason to hold Colter Ahern. However," the coroner turned toward Sheriff Sanders, "Charlie, I would keep a good hold on Mr. DuPre there."

DuPre tried to jump up, but Charlie again had him back in his chair with a thump.

"I declare this inquest over." The coroner slammed the gavel on the desk.

Philip stepped down from the stand, looking around uncertainly. Colter could see the fear and pain in Philip's eyes. Rising from his chair, he stepped out in front of the table and opened his arms. Philip hesitated only a second before he ran forward, throwing his own arms around Colter and holding on for his life.

Colter enfolded his son, his flesh and blood, Kitty's child.

He looked at her over Philip's head. Not a word passed between them, but then, none were necessary.

A few moments of unreality, in which time seemed to slow down, in which he held his son and gazed into the eyes of his beloved, were replaced by a maelstrom of backslapping and congratulations. Patrick had both Colter and Philip wrapped in a hug that caused Colter's spine to crack.

"Boyo, you had me scared aplenty. Philip, come here, boy." Patrick looked into Philip's eyes. His own were filled with emotion. "I want you to know, I'm proud to have you as my grandson."

Philip was unable to speak as all the Aherns gathered around him, welcoming him openly into the family.

Colter found himself on the outside of the circle, watching with what he knew was a big, stupid grin on his face, so relieved was he. Kitty came to stand beside him and they both watched Philip soak up being the center of attention.

He felt her hand on his arm. He looked into her eyes and saw all her heart there. She still loved him, he knew she did.

Colter was about to put his arm around her shoulders and pull her close.

"Katherine, come with me, right now."

Colter groaned.

"Mother, I'll come when I'm ready."

"You'd better be ready right now," Melcia hissed. "Everyone is watching your behavior." The older woman glared at Colter with a blazing pair of eyes that singed his hair. "The coroner may have found this man not responsible, but from what I heard, Anson felt driven to this terrible act by jealousy." She spread her displeasure over onto her daughter. "You both drove that poor man to his death. I hope you can live with that."

Kitty's face turned white. If that old dragon had been a man, Colter would have lifted her by the scruff of her neck and tossed her out a convenient window. He considered doing it anyway.

Kitty faced her mother. "I did nothing wrong, Mother. He was sick and in pain and it drove him to see treachery where there was none."

"Then deny you feel anything for this man. Deny your husband knew you had betrayed him in your heart." Heads turned at the sound of Melcia's rising voice.

Colter held his breath. What could Kitty say? What did he want her to say?

The whole room was quiet. Kitty looked to Colter for some help. What did he want her to say? How could she answer such a charge?

In any event, a crowded courtroom was no place to discuss such things.

"Mother, you're right, let's go home to discuss this."

"Oh, so now, you're concerned with appearances, are you?"

"Melcia, please." Maeve stood at the woman's elbow. "Don't talk about this here. It's nobody's business."

Melcia turned stiffly toward Maeve. "You're absolutely right, Mrs. Ahern. It is none of your business."

"Mother!" Kitty looked at Maeve, "I'm sorry, Maeve."

"Don't you dare apologize for me to this woman."

Kitty didn't know what to do. If she tried to get Melcia to move, it would probably only make things worse. She did what came naturally. She looked to Colter.

He just looked into her eyes for a moment. "I think maybe we should all go home. Too much has happened too fast to try to deal with it at once."

"Ma," Philip got Kitty's attention, "is it all right if I go with Colter and Liam?"

"Certainly not, you'll come with us." Melcia reached for the boy's arm. "Katherine, let's go."

"Go along, Philip. There'll be plenty of time for us to talk." Colter gave her a little nod, his eyes sad. "I'll speak with you later, Kitty. We'll need more than a few minutes."

"You'll stay away from my daughter. You will not violate Anson's final wishes if I have anything to say about it."

That did it.

"You don't have anything to say, Mother," Kitty said as she took Philip's hand and left the courtroom, leaving her mother to decide whether or not to follow.

Melcia kept the harangue going non-stop all the way home. Kitty had managed to hold her tongue, but as they walked into the front door, she whirled on her heel, almost colliding with her mother who was right behind her. Philip would be some time bedding the horse down, so she was ready for the confrontation.

"Now, Mother, there's no crowd here. Let's have this out."

"Indeed. You shamed our family by conceiving a child outside of marriage and now you've driven your husband to suicide."

"I drove him to nothing. He chose that route all by himself. Mother," she reached for Melcia's hand, but she jerked it out of reach. "I pleaded with Anson, I begged him, to take us away from here. I told him nothing good could come of staying. But he wouldn't listen."

She turned away and hung her wrap on the rack behind the door. The mirror in the middle showed her a woman she barely recognized. Was she really as old and tired as she looked?

"Mother, please go home. I'll come for Blythe in an hour or two if you don't mind her staying."

Melcia looked at Kitty's reflection. "Will you swear you did nothing with Colter Ahern?"

"How many times do I have to say it? All right, I swear I did nothing with Colter Ahern." Kitty almost didn't know her own voice. It sounded so flat and empty. Her heart was more so. "Do you think so little of me?"

Melcia jerked as though slapped. "Kitty, I know you don't believe me, but I do love you, my child. I never wanted anything but the best for you."

Philip came in from the back of the house. He stopped in the hallway.

"Blythe can stay as long as you like, Kitty." Melcia pulled her wrap tighter over her shoulders. "Philip," she said as she hugged the boy. "I'm sorry, dear, about what you've experienced. Be strong, my darling."

It was the first time she could remember Melcia showing that much affection to him.

Without another word, Melcia left.

Kitty stood at the door, watching her mother through the leaded glass sidepanes as the older woman made her way along the street, head held high, greeting everyone who passed as though today's unpleasantness had never happened. Kitty wished she could be that brave and go right out to face everyone.

She was so wrapped in her own feelings of guilt that she’d almost forgotten the person most hurt in all this.

"Philip," she called softly, and held out her hand. "Let's make some tea, shall we?"

He was half-way up the stairs, going to hide in his room. She understood. It was what she wanted to do.

Philip looked at her outstretched hand, finally taking it in his. He was only twelve, no, nearly thirteen, she sighed silently, but he was so tall already, nearly eye-to-eye with her. His hands had grown callused. She held them in her own, examining them as though for the first time. He had Colter's hands.

"You're so like him." She felt giddy, speaking freely at last. "You've always been like him."

"Is that why Father," he stopped. "What do I call him now?"

"Father," she answered. "He was your father in every way but one."

Philip nodded. "Is that why Father hated me? Because I'm so much like Colter?"

She shook her head. "No, darling, he loved you. He had such plans for your future. He was so proud of you."

She tucked his hand under her arm and pulled him toward the kitchen. Somehow, nothing was as bad in the kitchen, maybe not even this.

"Why would he call me a bastard, then?"

She could forgive Anson everything except that. But for Philip's sake she had to try to help him forgive and forget and remember only the good of the man who'd raised him.

"He was in a lot of pain, dear. Not just in his body, but also in his heart." She looked Philip right in the eyes. "That was my doing."

She said no more right then, but set him to work starting the fire in the stove and getting the kettle to boiling. She showed him how to brew tea, realizing as she did, that she was making it the way Colter liked it, with a bit of mint added. When the steeping aroma filled the kitchen, Philip’s face was lit by a real smile, dimple and all.

"Smells good, Ma."

She smiled, too. It would take time, but someday, things would be as they should be.

Kitty poured tea and sat with her son well into the night, talking about Anson Dexter, the man they'd both loved, but maybe not quite enough. Finally, they forgave themselves.

Then they forgave Anson.

The funeral was at three the next day. None of the Ahern family was there, which surprised no one. Kitty sat with her children in the front pew and tried to keep her appearance of calm dignity. The casket containing her husband's body sat in the aisle and every once in awhile, she glanced over. It was the first time since their return to Westminster she and Anson had been in church together.

She'd failed him so awfully.

I'm sorry, Anson, she offered, hoping he was happy now. God knew she'd tried, but she hadn't been able to give him the one thing he wanted most.

Because Colter already had her heart.

Had she been wrong to marry him? Second guessing at this point was ridiculous, but she had to wonder. Should she have thought about it longer, before jumping at Anson's offer?

A sniff and the nuzzle of Blythe's head at her shoulder reminded her of the good Anson had brought her.

Thank you, Anson. Thank you for this child. I'll take good care of her for you.

She took Blythe’s hand. Blythe looked up at her with Anson's mossy brown eyes. Kitty patted her tiny hand and put her arm around her daughter, holding her close.

Kitty realized Father Tracy had stopped talking. A murmur skittered from corner to corner of the small chapel like a mouse on the run. She didn't want to turn to see what was amiss, but the look on the old priest's face turned her without more thought on her part.

"The nerve, coming here. Imagine."

"He's here for her, you know."

The whispers became more bold as she turned farther around.

Colter sat with Liam at his side in the last row. He was dressed in his Sunday best and looked as uncomfortable being here as she was for him. As soon as her eyes lit upon him, he turned to her. The murmurers were forgotten. All that mattered was that he'd not let her go through this alone. He'd come to be with her, even if he had to sit at the back and endure the whispers.

She loved him even more.

"Ahem," Father Tracy coughed, a stern reminder they were here to send this poor soul on his way and not to gossip about what might happen afterwards. "I prayed long and hard on whether to conduct this service. I've known young Anson all his life. I baptized him. I gave him his First Communion. I confirmed him in the Holy Catholic faith. But the fact remains, he took his own life. Whether it was by his own hand or the hand of another, the end result is the same, the destruction of that which only the Lord God Almighty has the right to take."

Kitty sat in wonder. What was he saying?

"Now, I know many of you would put the blame for this tragedy on others. But the acts of a person are the responsibility of that person. No one else.

"The only reason that in the end I agreed to conduct this service and to bury Anson in hallowed ground is that I was satisfied that what he did, he did when not completely in control of his faculties. Anson was a good husband."

He paused and looked at Kitty, as though for affirmation. She nodded firmly, smiling her assent to the characterization. Father Tracy smiled at her.

"Anson was a good father. You need only look at these two lovely children to see the care he lavished upon them."

Kitty felt Philip squirm beside her. He'd had enough of being the center of attention.

Father Tracy set his hands on the sides of the pulpit.

"And Anson Dexter was a good man. Surely, one bad mistake, made when one's mind isn't clear, cannot destroy a lifetime of caring and love." The old man sighed. "The essence of our faith, the first principle, you could say, is forgiveness. The second principle is carried in the words of the beloved disciple, 'Little children, love one another.'"

He looked from Kitty to Colter. She felt the message coming through as the priest repeated the words.

"Love one another."

Chapter Nineteen

The graveside service was somber. The gray chill of the day offered Heaven's condolences to Kitty for her loss.

Colter never approached her. He and Liam stood far back from the grave, clearly conscious of their status as interlopers.

When the last mourner had tossed a handful of dirt on the casket, the crowd turned and left the cemetery. He didn't try to talk to her then either, when it would have been customary for an old friend to offer comfort.

Under the circumstances, she was just glad he was where she could see him.

Melcia came up beside Kitty and linked her arm through her daughter's. She patted Kitty's hand and sighed. Not a word was spoken as they walked back to the big house on Main Street where the Ladies' Aid had prepared for the crowd.

Kitty turned back toward the cemetery and saw him standing there, hand on Liam's shoulder, watching. Not a motion of his head, not a sad smile, not a sign did he give her of any emotion.

All during the next hours, she didn't let herself think, but only passed from room to room, greeting each mourner and accepting his offers of condolence.

When the last person was gone, she fell onto the sofa. Her mother's maid, Marie, had come over to help with the serving and was now cleaning up. Kitty started to get up to help.

"Oh, no, you don't, Miz Kitty. You got mo'r'nuf to do, jus' gittin' over dis. You let Marie take care everythin'."

"Thank you, Marie."

The thin woman went about her business, humming a sad spiritual song.

Kitty sat in her chair and listened. Soon, she was humming along. The slow, haunting melody soothed her. Marie's warm alto voice brought her the words.

"Look over Jordan, 'n what'd I see? Comin' for to carry me home...."

The doorbell rang. Marie's song stopped and Kitty heard her go to answer the door.

"Marie, please tell whoever it is that I'm resting now?" Kitty lay her head on the back of her chair and closed her eyes.

"I just wanted to pay my respects," Colter said from the doorway.

Kitty jerked upright. He started toward her.

She rose and was in his arms before either one of them could stop what was happening.

Her arms were folded between them and her hands lay against his chest. She could feel the beating of his heart beneath the layers of stiff gabardine, starched linen, and firm muscle.

She slipped her arms around him and held him close. It seemed so natural, almost like they'd never been apart.

"Would you like some tea, Colter?"

"I'd love some tea, Kit."

She took his hand and led him out into the hall. Just over the threshold, she stopped and dropped his hand.

"What's wrong?"

Kitty looked at him. His words were a question, yet his eyes were filled with understanding.

"You expected to see him, didn't you?" he asked.

"Can you read my mind?"

He smiled. "Of course. I didn't need to, though. When Peggy died, it was weeks before I could walk into a room and not expect to see her sitting there. Other times, it was just empty, like no amount of noise or bustle could fill up the place she'd left."

"But, you loved Peggy."

"You loved Anson."

She thought about it, then nodded. "Yes, I did." She looked at him. "Never like I loved you, though."

"And I never loved Peggy like I loved you. Still, I loved her. I made her as happy as I could. You did the same for your husband." He took her hand and pulled her along to the kitchen. "We've done the best we could for others. The ghosts will eventually be gone." He turned her to look at him. "The question now is what are we going to do for ourselves?"

"You'd bes' lis'n to Mr. Colter." Marie pulled on her wrap and opened the back door. "I'll be back t'morrow and check on you. Good night, Mr. Colter."

"Good night, Marie." He smiled at Kitty. "She's a smart woman." He sat and clasped his hands on the table in front of him.

"Colter, I can't talk about this tonight. I just buried him. He deserves to be mourned."

"Frankly, I don't think Anson earned any such consideration."

"Please. Besides, I don't want any more scandal to touch the children. Maybe in a year, people will have better things to talk about."

"That sounds more like your mother than it does you."

"Don't accuse me of becoming my mother just because I want to spare everybody a lot of talk and censure. It's not just the talk. The children need time to mourn for their father before I present them with another."

Colter nodded. Then he looked up and raised one ebony eyebrow. "All right. I suppose I've waited all these years, I can wait one more."

Kitty hesitated saying what she felt she had to say. But there was nothing for it.

"Colter, I don't think we ought to see each other more than necessary until the mourning period is over."

He shook his head. "I can try to hide from prying eyes, but I can't go without seeing you. I can resist taking you in my arms and loving you, even when that's all I want to do, but I can't stay away from you." His eyes darkened. "I can see the end of this now, Kit. Finally."

The end of all this. Like waking from a bad dream.

The fervor of his gaze melted all her defenses. If he got up and came to her, she'd not be able to stop him.

Heavy footsteps warned them of Philip's impending arrival in the kitchen.

"Interrupted again," Colter whispered.

Kitty turned back to the stove.

"Ma, is there anything to eat?" Philip stopped when he saw Colter sitting at the table. "Hi, Colter," he said, his voice uneasy.

Colter smiled. "Hello, son."

Philip's smile bloomed. "Is there anything? I'm starved."

"Are you? Well, there's more here than even you can take care of. Sit." Kitty laid a plate of fried chicken and biscuits on the table.

Philip obeyed her order and sat beside Colter. He took a deep breath and hung his head.

"Colter, I'm really sorry I let them take to you jail and accuse you of...." He paused, and chewed his bottom lip. "That. I wish I could go back and do something to change things. Especially, since it's because of me that the two of you...."

"Stop it, Philip." Colter laid his hand on Philip's arm, so gently, so naturally. "None of this is your fault. I made a mistake. For certain, taking a girl before you're married is wrong."

Kitty blushed and turned back to the stove to regain her composure. She wasn't sure it was right to talk this way to a young boy. Colter didn't miss a beat, though, and for that she thanked him silently.

"Your life, and Liam's and little Blythe's, are all gifts from God, who often turns our mistakes into His miracles." Colter lay his hands on Philip's shoulders and turned him so they faced one another. "No matter what the price, Philip, I wouldn't change things. And I expect you to come back to Connemara. You're an Ahern, whether you decide to take the name or not. You belong with us."

The boy's eyes were as big as the plate sitting before him.

"Can I really? I miss it something awful."

"Yep. You're the most natural horseman I've ever seen. You'll be better than me in time."

Kitty wouldn't have believed it, but Philip's eyes got even bigger. She was so happy for him. Finally, he'd get what he'd dreamed of for so long.

Actually, she was a bit jealous, too.

Philip shoveled food into his teen-aged craw, oblivious of the adoring gazes of his parents.

As Kitty put Colter's tea in front of him, she noticed Philip studiously avoiding her eyes.

"What about the two of you?" His voice sounded matter-of-fact, but there was a hint of anxiety underneath. "Are you getting married?"

Kitty stammered, fishing for an answer.

"Philip, it isn't proper to speak of such things now. We have to wait an appropriate length of time before we can get on with such things."

"How long?"

Colter's eyes reflected Philip's question.

Kitty sat opposite them. "Your father, Anson, deserves to be mourned. Society demands a year of mourning for the dead."

"Wow. A whole year?"

"You remember I told you how things happened?" she asked.

Philip nodded.

"You and I owe Anson Dexter quite a lot, Philip. Without him, we might have been separated forever. You would never have known your natural father, because you would have been raised as someone else's child. As much as we had troubles lately, I can't forget how good he was to me," she looked into his eyes, "and to you."

Philip's face grew pensive. "Yeah. We do owe him a lot, don't we? I guess I understand, even though.... Well, I mean, he wasn't himself there at the end, just like Father Tracy said." Confusion wrinkled his forehead. "Ma, should I stay away from Connemara, then? Out of respect, since...." Philip glanced at Colter. "Father didn't want me to go there."

She exchanged a glance with Colter.

"We've come to depend on Philip," he said.

What's the proper thing to do? she wondered. Was there a proper thing?

And how hypocritical was it to respect Anson's wishes now that he was dead when she'd ignored them when he was alive?

Trying to be fair to Anson went out the window when she looked over at the boy sitting beside Colter, the boy who was almost a duplicate of his father. Keeping Philip away from Connemara and the life he'd been born to was an injustice she couldn't perpetrate.

"Out of respect for your... for Anson, we'll be discrete, but I think Connemara is the best place for you."

Philip beamed and flew toward the door. "Thanks, Ma." His hand on the knob, he stopped and turned back toward them. "Do you think he'll ever understand?"

"I'd like to think so, dear."

He nodded and quietly opened the door and left headed toward Connemara.

Kitty and Colter sat in the quiet. After several moments, he tipped his head and looked around.

"Where's Blythe?" he asked.

"Mother took her home with her for the night."

"Maybe you should go over there, too."

Kitty shook her head. "I think I'll stay right here. I need some time to think. In fact, if Liam wants Philip to stay, that would be fine with me."

"I don't want you in this house all alone."

"I'll be fine."

"Just as long as you don't try to make it a long-time habit."

He laid his hand over hers, stroking her fingers. The caress was pure comfort with no pressure for anything more.

The doorbell interrupted their tea.

"I'll be right back." As she rose from her chair, she patted his hand, glad for any excuse to touch him.

Colter sat at the table and finished his tea. Though he'd have given anything to stay with her, he knew he needed to be going. There'd be talk as it was.

"Here we are with a second chance and I keep forgetting it was my impatience that robbed us of our first," he said to himself. "Sure'n it's gonna be a long year."

He started down the hallway toward the front when he heard the voice of Doctor Hollowell.

"I just heard, Mrs. Dexter. I'm very sorry there wasn't more I could do for him." Hollowell was a tall, thin man who always wore white. He stood now just inside the front hall.

"Won't you come in for a cup of tea, Doctor?"

"No, thank you. I have to be getting home. I'm just getting back from delivering twins at the Sutton farm. I haven't heard much, but I understand it wasn't his illness that caused his death?"

Kitty caught her breath. "No."

Illness? Colter felt a chill, the sweeping finger of understanding race along his neck.

Hollowell took her hand. "Mrs. Dexter, Anson told me he hadn't been candid with you about his illness. I'm not sure it will help you or not, but I feel I need to tell you, Anson was dying. He most likely wouldn't have survived into the New Year."

Kitty collapsed into the hall chair. "Dying?"

Colter would have gone to her, but he was frozen in place by the doctor's words.

Hollowell nodded. "Yes, I'm afraid so. Anson had cancer in his kidneys. It had spread to his spine and beyond that I can't say. It was well advanced before you returned from England. There was nothing anyone could do. In a short time, he would have begun losing control of his functions." Hollowell looked at his shoes. "I think he hated the idea of being helpless more than he hated the idea of dying."

Colter slipped back into the kitchen. He was sick to his stomach.

He kept walking out the back door. He didn't hear if it slammed or not.

Colter was consumed with disgust at himself. He'd beaten a sick, dying man. He'd known Anson wasn't well as soon as he'd lifted him from that chair at the Pike. There had been an air about him of weakness and disease. Colter hadn't paid attention then. He'd been so angry about Kitty, he'd used the excuse to give Anson the shellacking he'd wanted to deliver for years.

Ever since the day he got that letter from Kitty.

All he'd had to do was wait.

How could he be thinking of that when a man has just taken his own life out of a deranged sense of jealousy and revenge?

"May God have mercy on your soul, Anson." He spoke the words aloud to the sky, fervently hoping God would be merciful to them all.

Kitty closed the door behind the doctor.

So many questions finally answered -- the pain, sleeplessness, irritability, irrationality, increasing reliance on laudanum and whiskey.

The raging jealousy.

She could easily imagine his anger that his death would make it possible for her to marry Colter. It explained the attempt to frame Colter with murder.

It also explained his insistence that they return to Westminster, his determination to stay when Colter also returned. He brought her back here, where her family could take care of her.

That made Kitty angry. How dare he make a decision like that without even consulting her?

How dare he keep something so serious from her?

She realized that she'd lived with him for thirteen years, tried to be a good wife and helpmate, but he'd never let her in. She'd been a possession to him, just something he'd taken away from another man.

Kitty leaned against the doorframe. No, that wasn't fair. But there was enough truth to it to take away some of the luster she'd tried to put on his memory.

Well, nothing for it now. It was over. Anson was dead and life would settle down to a different normality. Colter would never shut her out of his thoughts or deny her the real intimacy she craved, intimacy of the mind and soul.

She raised her head. Maybe Colter was right. Maybe they should start talking about the future now. Her life had been in a limbo ever since that day when she'd married Anson Dexter -- a limbo that was over now, today.

She nearly broke into a run on her way back to the kitchen. So many plans to make, they'd better get started.

"That was the Doctor, Colter," she was saying as she passed through the doorway. Then she stopped, the silence of the room deafened her, the emptiness shattered her heart.

Colter was gone.

Chapter Twenty

Gaston DuPre sat in the same cell where Colter had spent his single night in jail. For the first time in his life, he was a little worried. He could read people pretty well, he thought, and a jury selected from the good people of Westminster wouldn't bode well for him. The nature of the crime and the attempt to frame Colter Ahern for it had pretty much made it a foregone conclusion that he would swing if he actually went to trial.

So, he had to make sure he didn't go to trial. There had to be some way to get out of a hick county jail like this one. These yokels were pretty proud of their escape-proof jail, but it hadn't been tested by Gaston DuPre.

He didn't get off the hard bunk, but let his eyes creep over the walls, the single barred window, the bars of the door. From his seat, he examined the lock. Simple enough to pick, if he could find something to do it with.

Then there was the sheriff. Sanders was well known among Gaston's acquaintances. He was fair, but tough, and wouldn't hesitate to use whatever force he thought necessary to stop a jailbreak.

The first thing is to get the sheriff out of here, so I can have a little privacy, Gaston thought.

"Hey, Sheriff, when's supper?"

"It'll be along right snappy, DuPre. Hold your horses."

"A man could starve to death before he gets a fair trial around here." DuPre stood and approached the front of the cell. "I will get a fair trial, won't I, Sheriff?"

Sanders laughed. "As fair as can be, Gaston. With that boy testifying that he saw you kill his father, I don't see why you should expect that justice won't be done." He leaned against his desk. "Maybe that's what you're worried about, though."

"The boy is crazy. He was lying, trying to get his real daddy's chestnuts off the fire."

"I don't think so, Gaston. He looked pretty believable to me. And, when the prosecutor gets around to providing something of your history to the jury, I think they'll be persuaded the boy is telling just what he saw." The sheriff got his hat and went to the door. "I'll be going to get your supper now."

Gaston DuPre sat back down on his bunk. He slipped his hand under the thin, cornhusk-filled mattress.

He smiled and looked out to make sure the sheriff had indeed gone over to the house of the widow who cooked for prisoners. When the door closed behind the lawman, Gaston got up and tossed the mattress onto the floor.

The mattress was supported on a rope frame. The tighteners were heavy wire. He quickly untwisted one and pulled it off the bunk, then put the mattress back to hide his vandalism.

Both eyes on the front of the jail, he used the wire to pick the heavy lock of the cell door. His thin fingers, long expert in breaking and entering, picking pockets, not to mention his unequalled expertise in the use of a garrote, moved by feel alone.

"Ah, Gaston," he whispered, "you are gifted." The heavy door swung open.

Gaston slipped the wire into his pocket and darted out of the cell, moving with practiced stealth to the back door. He opened the door and peered around the frame, then satisfied there were no eyes that might cut down on his lead over the sheriff, he stepped out into the darkness. Once his eyes had adjusted to the dim light, he kept in the shadows and moved as silently as a wraith through the alleys and sidestreets.

"Merde," he whispered, "it's cold. I should've stole a coat." He pulled up the collar of his thin jacket and hurried on, head bent down against the stiff northern wind.

Gaston thought with a curse of the envelope of money Anson Dexter had given him, was it only three nights ago? The sheriff had confiscated it. For safekeeping, Gaston remembered with a sneer. Now it sat in the bank's vault.

C'est la vie, as his old maman would say. He'd just have to replenish his bankroll as best as he could.

The trouble was, where in this modest burg could he get enough cash for the trip he needed to make? He had to get out of the country, maybe to Martinique or Haiti.

Of course, he thought, stopping in the middle of Willis Street. Who deserves the opportunity to assist me more than the Aherns? He smiled and shoved his hands in his pockets before heading west, toward the Ahern farm.

It seemed only right he should go there to get the wherewithal for a long overseas trip. If he couldn't cop enough from the house, he'd steal a couple of old man Ahern's horses. Ahern stock was well-known and after he forged a bill of sale, they would bring a good price in Baltimore or maybe Philadelphia.

Too bad he had to leave without paying a little visit on Ahern's bastard. It would be a pleasure to recompense him for all his trouble in testifying at the inquest. If the little brat hadn't shown up, Gaston would now be sailing with Dexter's money to warmer climes.

"Oh, well, must be philosophical about life's little setbacks." He hung his head against the wind and pushed forward toward his goal.

Colter crossed the pastures and walked on toward the house. He hadn't noticed the cold when he'd first left Kitty's, but now the wind whipped the fallen leaves into a crackling, brown whirlpool around him and made the chilly fall air even more biting.

He flipped up the collar of his jacket and stuck his hands in his pockets. It helped a little, but most of the chill came from within. He was still shaken by the knowledge of Anson's inevitable death.

He hadn't known what to make of Philip's testimony at the inquest. Arranging your own murder seemed an insane act. Now, it all made a crazy kind of sense.

As he took the steps to the porch he cursed his timing. It had always let him down. If only he'd not come back when he did. If he'd only waited a few months, Kitty would have been free and they could be together, without this terrible burden between them.

Colter pushed open the door and met his mother coming from the kitchen, carrying a tray loaded with a teapot and cups.

"There you are, love."

"Let me take that, Ma." He took the tray and preceded his mother into the parlor.

"Thank you, my dear." Maeve peered at his face. "Colter, what's wrong?"

Colter just shook his head. He set the tray on the table and dropped heavily on the horsehair sofa.

"Where are Da and the boys?"

"In the barns, where else? One of the mares looks ready to foal." Maeve poured a cup of tea and handed it to him. "Colter, you look absolutely sick."

"Ma, did you know Anson Dexter was ill?"

Maeve looked surprised. "Well, I recall Kitty mentioning Anson had been having some back trouble. Why?"

"Doc Hollowell came by her house today."

Maeve's mouth dropped open. "Colter, what were you doing at Kitty's? Hasn't there been enough trouble? My saints, boy!"

"I waited until everyone was gone. I needed to see her, Ma." He downed the scalding tea. The pain was satisfying, cleansing. "Anson had cancer. The doctor didn't think he'd have lived to see the New Year."

"Ach, no."

"Ma, I bloodied a sick, dyin' man. I knew he was weak. I could see it in him."

Maeve set her cup on the table and came to sit by him.

"You mustn't be so hard on yourself, son. This thing between the two of you went back way too far. I didn't see Anson trying to mend any fences." She patted his hand. "It's over. The living will go on and the dead must be allowed to rest."

"Kitty didn't even know how bad his illness was."

"Is she taking the news all right?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I couldn't face her."

"Don't let it wait, Colter. You've kept that girl waiting for long enough as it is."

Colter sat back on the sofa and sipped his tea. Ma was right, he thought. But would Kitty even want to look at him again? It was a despicable thing to use strength against one weaker than yourself. His own Da had taught him that. Patrick would never tolerate a bully.

Still, Colter wondered if he would have acted any differently had he known. He decided not. Anson's ultimate transgression, striking Kitty and causing her injury, earned him what he got. Had Colter known, he might not have hit Anson so hard, but he'd still have hunted him down, still accused him, still warned him.

And he still meant it. If Anson had hurt Kitty again, Colter would have been glad to kill him for his trouble. The knowledge that he knew himself capable of killing chilled him.

Colter raised his eyes to his mother's. She said nothing, but only smiled her understanding.

He tried to return her smile. Even knowing Anson deserved it, that nothing would change what happened, Colter felt lower than a snake's belt buckle.

"Well, there you are. 'Bout time you come back home," Patrick boomed from the doorway. He padded across the polished floor and onto the well worn rug in his stocking feet. Maeve had long ago trained him to divest himself of his boots before coming into her house. He took the cup of tea Maeve offered and planted a kiss on her mouth before turning back to his son, a big smile on his face. "Philip was out here this evening, happy as a hog in mud. I tell you, Colter, that boy will make us both look like hapless babes when he comes of age."

Colter felt a swell of paternal pride. "That he will."

"Aye, it'll be good to have him and that little angel of a sister of his here." Patrick pulled his wife to sit on his lap. "Been too long since we had wee ones, woman. It'll be good for us, don't you think?"

"You're takin' a lot for granted, are you not, Patrick?"

"Nonsense. Colter and our Kitty will be married as soon as it's decent and they'll move into all those empty rooms upstairs."

"You mean it, Gran?" Liam ran in, his face alight. "Phil and Blythe will live with us?"

Colter squirmed on the sofa. He didn't need this right now.

"Are you and Mrs. Dexter going to get married, Da?" Liam sat by him, looking up with an expectation of a happy ending to this sad story.

"It's too soon to be talkin' of such things, Liam," Colter answered with the same thought he'd chided Kitty for earlier.

Colter looked at his own father, who was studying him like some unknown species of equine parasite.

"Liam," Patrick said to the boy, "will you go out to the kitchen and get me a bit of sugar? Your Granny forgot it again. You'd think after thirty-five years, she'd remember how I like me tea, wouldn't you?"

"Sure, Gran," Liam laughed and ran out of the room.

"When did you start taking sugar in your tea, Patrick Ahern?"

"Hush, woman. Now, Colter, what's the problem? I know you still love the girl. I caught you and the fair Kitty in the barn where you were prepared to toss her in the hay...."
Maeve gasped and turned accusing eyes onto Colter.

Colter squirmed like a boy caught with a handful of French postcards.

Patrick continued, "Now, you're hesitating about marrying the girl?"

"Kitty intends to observe a year of mourning. She feels she owes Anson that. The children need time, too."

Patrick nodded, clearly unsatisfied by the answer. But, Colter didn't want to go over it all again. He was certain his mother would fill his father in on Anson Dexter's medical condition.

He remembered Kitty's request. "Where's Philip? Kitty said he could stay out here if he wanted to."

"Liam asked him to stay, but Philip didn't want his mother to be alone. He went home after we finished bedding down the stock." Patrick sipped his sugarless tea. "Maisie is about to drop that foal, Colter. We're going to have to keep an eye on her tonight."

"All right, Da. I'll get changed and take the first watch."

Patrick only nodded. "I'll come later to check on you both."

Colter went to his room to change into work clothes, hoping the prospect of new life could raise his spirits and give him a better perspective on his own.

Gaston studied the whitewashed barns and clean fenced acres of Connemara. It looked a rich, prosperous, peaceful place. He headed out over the pasture toward the same barn where he'd murdered Anson Dexter. A light burned inside, signifying someone's presence.

The wind whistled through the trees, masking the sound of his approach through the dried grass. Hidden by the grayness of the twilight, he got to the door and peered inside.

Damn him for his luck, he gloated silently, as he looked around for signs of more than the solitary figure kneeling by the horse.

Ahern's cursed bastard all alone way out here. Couldn't have planned it any better. I can get my stake and pay the little stoolie back at the same time. Suddenly a better plan than stealing horses burst full-formed from his brain.

"There, Maisie," the boy was saying, "it's a good thing I stopped in before I went home. Don't you worry, girl. I'll go get Colter and Patrick. They'll come help you." He ran his hand down the horse's neck.

Now, ain't that sweet? And interesting, he was on his way home, eh?

Gaston looked around for something to use. The boy was only twelve or thirteen, but he was big and looked to be right strong for his age. Gaston's thin and wiry physique would be no match for him if he decided he could make a fight of it.

A knife with a short, curved blade hung on the wall with other tools. He reached for it, keeping his eyes on the boy.

Philip looked up just as Gaston approached him.

"What are you doing here?"

The boy's voice quavered and Gaston knew he was scared. Good. It would keep him manageable.

"I'm here to see you, boy. We're going to take a little walk."

Philip shook his head. "I can't leave."

"Yes, you will." Gaston went up to the mare that labored on the floor of the stall. He lay the knife against the horse's throat. "Or I'll cut her throat."

The boy's face turned white.

Got 'ya, you little bastard.

"Get one of the horses and saddle it."

"These horses can't be ridden. They're brood mares."

"You'd better hope you're wrong, boy. I won't leave without you." Again he put the knife to the horse on the floor.

Philip stood and looked around. After a long moment that had Gaston wondering if he was going to try to run, he went to a stall and put a bridle on a big horse.

The boy handed DuPre the bridle then got a saddle from the rack on the wall and quickly saddled the horse.

"There, go on. Just leave her somewhere that she'll be taken care of."

"Oh, no, my friend. We're going together, you and I." Gaston motioned with the knife. "Get on."

Philip looked out the wide open doors of the barn toward the house. "Colter," he whispered.

Gaston also looked out and saw Ahern coming.

"Damn. Come on, boy, now, or I'll cut your throat and leave your dry body here for your daddy to find."

Philip looked uncertainly out the door. Gaston could practically hear him wondering if he could get away before the knife found his tender neck.

Finally, he turned and mounted, quickly. Gaston mounted behind him and grabbed the reins and turned the horse around. No need to run. A slow trot was all they needed.

"Don't bother yelling, boy. You'll be dead before the first word is out." He laid the short blade against Philip's throat and got himself settled for a nice ride. "Let's you and me go to safe place where we can have a talk."

They rode for what seemed to Philip a long time. Finally, they crossed the Patapsco and started down a narrow road that ran along the river.

"My mama will be real happy to see you, boy. Been a long time since she's had a young one in the house."

Philip wondered what that meant, but figured it couldn't be good.

DuPre turned the horse up a path that was nearly invisible. The horse hesitated.

"Come on, you plug," DuPre said, kicking the horse up the path.

"Why are you taking me?"

"Your daddy and granddaddy are pretty well fixed for micks. They'll pay up to get you back in one piece." DuPre laughed in Philip's ear and a shiver spread down his spine. "Even if they don't know whether or not I'll send you back in one piece. Seems you and me have a score to settle."

"What do you mean?" Philip's mouth became dry.

"You squealed on me. I had a real sweet deal with your other daddy. Had the cash in hand and was ready to leave." The man snorted in Philip's ear. "Shoulda took off that first night. But," Philip felt him shrug, "a deal's a deal."

"All I did was tell the truth. You're a murderer."

The knife closed in on his neck. Philip shrank back from it, only to find himself held tighter by the wiry man.

"You practically sent me to the gallows, boy. I can't let that go. It would irreparably damage my reputation."

"You're gonna kill me?" Philip hated the sound of fear in his voice. But he was scared. If only he hadn't stopped in the barn on his way home, he'd be safe now.

"I don't really know. Never killed a kid before. But, I suppose I will, if you give me a reason."

He pulled the reins to stop the horse before a shack. A set of ramshackle steps led to a gaping hole in the half-broken down porch.

"Here we are, boy." DuPre laughed. "Home."

He dismounted and grabbed Philip's arm, jerking it nearly out of the socket and pulling him off the horse.

"In." He pushed Philip toward the steps.

Philip carefully stepped up on the first one, testing it.

DuPre jabbed him in the ribs. "Go on. They'll hold you."

He stepped on up and onto the side of the porch that still stood off the ground. He made his way around the hole and into the open front door.

"Maman," DuPre yelled, "it's me."

"Gaston?" a woman answered, her voice strangely accented. "What have you for your old maman?

"A special treat, Maman. A young, tender rooster, never tried before."

A dry cackle, one that Philip would have identified even before tonight as that of a witch, greeted Gaston's statement.

DuPre shoved him through a narrow doorway. A huge bed sat in the middle a room barely big enough to hold it. Philip wondered how they'd managed to get the thing in here.

In the middle of that bed lay a corpse, only this corpse still lived. Her hair hung in yellow, greasy matted strings around a face that barely resembled a human one. Her nose, long and beaked, actually bore a wart at the tip.

She waved them closer and her hands caused Philip to shudder. Dry and scaly with joints huge and bent, they were more like claws than human hands.

When he realized the crone was naked under the thin robe that gaped open in front, he thought he'd be sick.

"Bring him closer, Gaston." She looked him up and down with eyes runny and pale. "My, he is a plump one, isn't he? Think you able to make Josette happy, young one?"

Philip felt his mouth fall open. She couldn't actually mean....

Gaston shoved Philip forward so he fell across the bed. The crone grabbed at him. Philip scrambled off the bed, ending on his rump on the dirty floor.

The dry cackle mocked him. "What's wrong, boy? You no want this warm flesh?"

Gaston looked down. His face frightened Philip more than his threats had.

"There are a lot of things worse than dyin', boy." He knelt down. "Did you know there are rich men who pay a lot of money for unspoiled young boys like you?" He nodded at Philip's unasked question. "Yes, and even younger than you. In fact, that brother of yours." He stroked his chin, as though deep in thought. "It might be quite a deal, two boys as alike as you. I know a man of, shall we say, unusual tastes. He's rough, though, goes through lots of boys real fast."

Philip felt his heart beating, nearly breaking his ribs with the intensity of the fear that charged through him. It couldn't be. People didn't use children that way. He nearly laughed out loud as he thought of how he'd chafed at being considered a child.

Well, if it helped him out of this, he could take it for a while.

The pain in his shoulder brought his attention back to the hell Gaston DuPre had fashioned for him. He looked down and saw a heavy rope encircling his hands and the leg of the bedstead.

Josette leered down at him from her perch on the bed. The grimy robe gaped open and one limp breast drooped out.

He looked away and shuddered again, his mind full of prayers that Colter would find him soon.

Then his heart stopped its pounding as he remembered that no one knew where he was.

The morning sun eased through the half-opened draperies, first warming her with its heat, then burning her eyes, forcing her to throw her arm over them for protection.

"Ah," she muttered, rolling over, then jerking to a sitting position as she caught Anson's scent on the pillow. Kitty pulled her knees up and rested her head on them.

She'd lain awake for hours, smoothing the place where Anson had slept beside her for so many years. Their bed had been the only piece of furniture they'd brought back from England with them. It had been utter sentiment, and completely out of character for Anson to spend so much to transport it. But both the children had been born in this bed. Blythe had been conceived in it.

It was where Kitty closed her eyes and let Colter into her mind while Anson had use of her body.

It was where she'd slept alone these last weeks, while Anson had suffered in solitude across the hallway.

Kitty kicked at the covers. She wouldn't take the blame. His own damned pride had kept him from confiding his illness to her. His desire to control her and the children had brought them back here when it was the last place they needed to be.

And his jealousy had made their last months together so horrible that she was prevented from helping him realize a degree of peace -- all in a vain attempt to keep her and Colter apart.

But it was pointless to be angry at him now. The same stubborn pragmatism that had led her to marry Anson Dexter in the first place would now help her get through a year of mourning for him.

That and the hope that at the end of that year, she could love Colter openly, freely. Did she dare consider herself deserving of such happiness?

Kitty got out of bed and got dressed. The first day of her official widowhood found her without a decent everyday dress to wear. She'd have to have a couple of black frocks made, she supposed.

Then she wondered how she was going to pay for them. Anson had always handled the money, so she knew next to nothing about the state of their finances. Stories of widows and children left destitute abounded.

"Oh, Kitty, stop it," she chided herself as she pinned up her hair. "Anson had all this planned. He'd never let any detail escape his attention, especially not where money was concerned."

She stopped and hung her head in shame. "Stop sniping. He's not here to defend himself."

Kitty wondered if reprimanding herself was the first sign she was losing her mind.

She went downstairs to get her breakfast, thoroughly enjoying the quiet of the house empty save for her. Her hand slid down the varnished banister. She loved the beauty of this old house. In time, though, she'd sell it and leave without a backward glance.

When I move out to Connemara, she thought, with a thrill of anticipation.

Her foot landed on the floor of the front hall even as her eyes landed on the piece of paper in front of the door. She approached, feeling danger waited for her. Her hand trembled as she knelt and reached it.

The paper was dirty and stained with grease. She knew it was her imagination, but it seemed to give off a foul smell. It was folded and the words Mrs. Dexter were scrawled on one side. She didn't recognize the handwriting.

Kitty took a deep breath and unfolded the paper. The inside was covered with a message written by the same hand. She scanned the words and had to grab the coat rack to keep from falling to her knees.

"My God. Philip."

She sat on the chair by the parlor doorway and waited for her heart to slow a bit. Then she again looked at the missive.

“Mrs. Dexter, I have your son. Deliver five thousand dollars to the abandoned roadhouse on the River road at ten o'clock tonight. Tell no one of this letter and bring no one with you or the boy dies.”

There was no signature.

A small hope glimmered that the letter writer had lied about having Philip. Maybe he had slipped in without her seeing him.

Kitty ran up the stairs, arriving out of breath at Philip's door. Her hand shook as she turned the knob and pushed the door open.

His empty bed smothered the spark.

Kitty pulled the letter out of her pocket and read it over again. Five thousand dollars, she thought in a panic.

"Where am I going to get that kind of money?"

She tried to get her mind cleared of everything except what to do about Philip. Somehow she had to get five thousand dollars and deliver it to the abandoned roadhouse on the River road.

Descending the stairs, a glimmer of hope sparkled. There was still the chance he'd stayed out at Connemara last night. Kitty slipped the wrinkled note in her pocket and threw on her wrap. She was reaching for the latch when a knock caused her to jerk back.

Charlie Sanders stood, hat in hand, at her front door. All she could think of was getting out to the farm to find her son safe and sound among people who loved him. She didn't think she could actually talk to Charlie now, but he had the look of someone who wouldn't go away.

Tell no one... or the boy dies.

How could she keep this from the sheriff?

But she must or Philip might pay with his life.

Kitty drew a deep breath, slipped the paper in her pocket and opened the door.

"Charlie, what can I do for you this morning?" She stood back to allow him to pass.

"On your way out, Kitty?"

She looked stupidly at him, wondering what he was talking about.

"You have your wrap on," he said by way of explanation. Charlie's eyes were apologetic, reminding her of a hound caught in the chicken coop. "Kitty, I won't keep you, but I wanted to tell you that Gaston DuPre escaped from jail last night. A posse is gathering at the courthouse and we'll be getting on his trail as soon as I get back there. Keep Philip in until we find DuPre."

Her hand flew to her throat. "DuPre?" The letter in her pocket seemed to heat up, burning a reminder of the threat against her son's life. She knew that Gaston DuPre had written that letter.

Charlie took her other hand. "We'll catch him and put him back where he belongs. Just keep Philip where you can keep an eye on him." He looked closely at her. "Will you be all right, Kitty?"

She nodded, not knowing how she got the strength. Charlie left and pulled the door shut behind him.

The knowledge that DuPre was on the loose made her feel alone and vulnerable. Without knowing why, she walked across the hallway to Anson's study.

Kitty pulled open the middle drawer of Anson's desk. The single-shot silver plated Deringer was still there. Anson had bought it from Mr. Henry Deringer himself in Philadelphia last spring. He'd been so proud that he'd shown her how to load it, clean it, fire it. She slipped it into her pocket along with the ransom note. The weight of it reassured her, gave her a sense of some control.

Now to go get Colter and save their son.

Chapter Twenty One

Colter came out of the stud barn and saw Kitty running up the drive toward the house. She slowed and put her hand to her side. Her breath came in puffs. He ran out to meet her, catching her just as she was about to drop.

"Kit," he knelt and let her sit on his knee. "Darlin', what's brought you out here like this?"

Kitty couldn't speak. She could barely get her breath. He realized she must have run the whole way out here from town. She reached into her pocket and brought out a brown scrap of paper.

"Philip," was all she could say between gasps.

As Colter scanned the note, he felt his blood turn to ice.

She grabbed his sleeve, pulling with what strength she still possessed. "Please tell me he stayed out here last night."

He could only shake his head.

"Oh, Holy Mother," she whispered, "Colter, Gaston DuPre escaped from jail. That monster has our son. What are we going to do?"

"We're going to get him back, Kit." Colter stood, lifted her in his arms, and carried her into the house.

He set her on the sofa and called his mother.

"Here, now, what's the meaning of all this racket?" Maeve swept into the parlor, stopping as though she'd run into a wall at the sight of Kitty Dexter.

"Kitty, love, what has happened?" Maeve moved to the sofa and sat beside Kitty and took both her cold hands, rubbing them warm.

"Philip," Kitty whispered the single word before she could no longer hold the tears. Maeve wrapped her arms around her and pulled her close. She looked to Colter for an explanation.

"Gaston DuPre has escaped from jail, Ma. Now, this morning, Kitty got this message."

He held out the note. Maeve took it and read the words. Her eyes burned with anger and fear.

"Get your Da, son. Hush, child," she cooed to Kitty. "We'll get through this together, my love."

Colter left Kitty in his mother's care and went to find his father.

Just a few minutes later, they sat in the parlor.

"We might be able to get together a thousand or two," Patrick said, his face crumpled in anger and grief, "but there's no way we have that kind of money."

Colter turned to Kitty. "Darlin', did Anson have any large amounts of cash in the house?"

She shook her head. "No. At least, I don't think so. He didn't tell me much about our financial situation, but I'm certain he kept all our money in the bank."

Colter sat back on the sofa next to Kitty. His arm was around her and he held her close, keeping her safe within his embrace. It made him feel stronger, more confident. Touching her helped him think more clearly.

"We can't go to the bank. Charlie would find out and our chance at surprise would be gone. I think we can assume this man won't leave a witness behind who could identify him."

Kitty turned her stricken gaze to him. "He couldn't take vengeance on a child."

This was no time for trying to soften any possibility. She had to be able to face the truth.

"I don't know what a man like that would be able to do, darlin'. But if DuPre was the man who sent this note, as seems likely, he already has a reason to hate Philip and me."

Maeve finally broke the painful silence. "Colter, do you suppose he'd take something besides money?" She pulled off her diamond wedding ring and held it out to her son.

Colter jumped off the sofa and knelt before her.

"No, Ma, don't." He took the ring and replaced it on her tiny finger. "But you might have an idea. Da," he turned to Patrick, "I only have about five hundred dollars in cash. If you and Ma have any cash and valuables, I'll pay you back as soon as I can get to the bank."

"You know you can have anything I own, Colter."

"Thanks, Da." Colter went back to Kitty. She sat, still and quiet, her eyes unfocused, her forehead creased with the worry he shared with her. "Kit, do you have any jewelry at the house?"

She raised her eyes to his. "Some. A few sets of earrings and a necklace or two. I don’t know how valuable they are."

Colter was grim. He wondered if DuPre was desperate enough to take whatever he could get.

And if he'd return a living child to them in exchange.

"Come on, Kitty. Let's get back to town and gather up your pretties for Mr. DuPre."

Philip raised his head from the dirty floor and groaned at the ache in his shoulders. His hands were still tied to the footboard of the bed and it was hard to sit up.

"So, mon petit coq, you have awakened at last." The old witch looked down at him from her perch.

She looked no more like a human than she had last night. Philip felt his stomach knot as her gnarled claws reached for him. He shrank away as far as his tether would allow, even while he checked his clothes to make sure she hadn't touched him during the night.

"What pretty markings you have," she whispered as she fingered the streak in his hair. "Your sire has such a marking as well, non? Tell Josette now, mon petit, have you known a woman?"

Philip's stomach went from knotted to churning.

"No, ma'am."

A sharp, dry cackle stabbed his ears.

"What pretty words from your pretty mouth."

"Ma'am," Philip said, desperate enough to try anything, "please let me go. I won't tell the sheriff where your son is." He struggled to his knees and sat in a semblance of prayer before her.

"Ummm," Josette considered. She squinted her pale eyes at him. "Maybe Josette can help you, cockerel. If you are willing to help me, that is."

"What do you want me to do?"

Her eyes roved over his body and as innocent of mating as he was, he knew what she was going to want of him for her help. He forced himself to look her in the eyes, to face the devil and decide if the possible reward was worth the cost.

She skittered to the edge of the bed and leaned toward him. He didn't look at the floppy breast exposed by her movement. He didn't flinch when she reached for him, stroking his face. Her other hand started at his shoulder and moved along his arm, down, down.

All his self-control was required to keep him still. He didn't trust her, didn't know if she'd actually free him when she was done with whatever it was she had in mind. Philip didn't let himself think about it.

Josette smiled, exposing blackened stumps and putrid gums. Her breath hit him in the face, bringing tears to his eyes. He swallowed hard, aware of the approach of her hand to his groin.

She licked her lips and took hold of his collar.

"Come, coq, kiss Josette."

Philip tried to pull back, but for an old lady she was strong and now that she had him in her hands, she wasn't giving him a chance to get away.

Her wet, fleshy lips were only a stinking breath away.

"Open your mouth for me, little one. Josette will teach you things you can use to good effect one day."

Now, he was really glad they hadn't fed him anything. He was sure it would be all over her by now and he'd really be in trouble.

So quick he wasn't really sure what happened, he ended up on his rear again at the foot of the bed and out of her reach.

Philip would never have thought to be glad to see Gaston DuPre, nor to think of him as a savior.

"Non! Qu'est-ce qui se passe?" she wailed in outrage.

"I can't let you damage the goods, Maman." DuPre barely spared Philip a glance as he pulled out a long, dangerous knife and started cleaning his nails with it. "Your folks are on the way to your house, boy. Your mother decided to get your pa in on the party. I ought to kill you since she disobeyed my instructions. Can't have it gettin' out that the word of Gaston DuPre can be ignored, can I?"

Philip's eyes measured the length of the knife.

"I think, though, since you mother is such a pretty woman and obviously unable to handle situations by herself, I'll forgive her this once. If Ahern makes the drop, I'll be able to settle a little score with him at the same time."

"What are you going to do with me?" Philip's voice croaked out the question.

DuPre finally turned to him. Philip saw no life in them. It was like looking into the eyes of a dead man.

"I may let you go, as I promised your mother. I may kill you."

"Give me the cockerel, Gaston. You leave your pauvre maman little enough."

Gaston laughed. "I may leave you to my mother. She's had so little," he smirked, "company lately."

Josette's leer made Philip speak up.

"I'd really rather you killed me. You were right about there being worse things than dying."

DuPre laughed again, this time with real humor. "I see Josette's charms are lost on you, boy." He looked down at his mother, lying in an indecent sprawl on the unmade bed. "However, I also understand. It would be a waste. Let's just see how your folks decide to follow my instructions."

Philip leaned against the bed and wondered if he'd ever see his own mother again.

Colter helped Kitty down from the buggy and reached back under the seat, taking out a large cloth bag. Kitty had already turned and was headed up the walk.

He followed her, catching up as she reached the door. She stood there, key in hand, eyes squeezed shut, shoulders heaving with her sobs. When he touched her elbow, she let out a little keening sound.

"Kit, we can't make a scene out here," he whispered. "If it gets back to Charlie and he starts snoopin' around, it could cost our son his life."

Kitty nodded and swallowed hard. He took the key from her shaking hand, unlocked the door, and pushed it open for her. She stepped right over the paper lying on the floor. Colter saw it and picked it up.

"What's that?" She'd turned back toward him. "Another note from him?"

Colter dropped his bag on the hall table and unfolded the ragged paper. He read and re-read the words, the hairs on the back of his neck rising with fear as their meaning grew clearer.

“Mrs. Dexter, I know you went to your boyfriend for help. I won't kill your son yet, though you disobeyed my instructions. A woman needs help in a matter such as this, so I'll forgive you this time. Have Ahern bring the money to the roadhouse as I instructed you earlier. Tell him to put it on the bar and leave. If you do as you're told, your son will be home by morning. If you don't, I'll send the boy home, a piece at a time.”

"Christ," Colter muttered, running his fingers through his hair in fear and frustration.

Kitty held out her hand.

At first, Colter refused. The determined glint in her eyes made him hand the paper over.

She quickly scanned the contents then looked at him, her eyes bright with tears she wouldn't shed. Colter forced himself to display an assurance he didn't feel.

"It won't happen, Kitty. We're going to give that son-of-a-bitch what he wants and he's going to give us Philip back." He lay his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. "Get whatever you have."

She turned and ran up the stairs. He heard a door open, then her scratching search through drawers.

Colter turned to the hall table and the bag. He stretched open the drawstring and pulled out the revolver Patrick had handed him along with a pair of diamond cufflinks, a gold money clip, Maeve's emerald necklace, and nine hundred dollars in cash.

As he checked the weapon, Colter considered the prospect of actually using it. He had never really tried to harm another person before. Even when he'd fought with Anson Dexter, he'd not meant to actually do him any damage.

There was no doubt in his mind he would kill Gaston DuPre if anything had happened to Philip.

At the sound of Kitty's step behind him, he slipped the weapon back into the sack.

"Here, Colter. All my jewelry is in this box."

She held out a lacquered box. Inside, Colter found a pair of diamond earrings and a ruby choker among the less valuable garnets and jet.

"I'm sorry, darlin', but I promise to replace them." He slipped the pieces into the bag with the rest.

Kitty smiled grimly. "Philip's life is worth more than a few trinkets."

Colter reached for her. She came to him, nearly melting into his arms. Her embrace had a quality of desperation, holding onto the only rock in a storm-tossed sea. They stood in the front hallway, bathed in the rays of the dying afternoon sun spilling through the kitchen windows and down that hallway.

"Come, Kit," he took her hand and led her into the parlor. They sat on the horsehair sofa and he put his arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him, making him feel strong, capable, adequate to the job she'd put before him -- the job of saving their son.

She lay her hand on his chest.

"I'm so glad you're here." She nuzzled against his shoulder. "I don't know where I'd have gone besides to you."

Colter allowed himself a hoarse chuckle. "Darlin', if it weren't for me, Philip wouldn't be in this fix. Anson would have died peacefully in his bed and you and Philip wouldn't even know who Gaston DuPre was." He took her hand as carefully as he would touch a piece of translucent china. "It seems every time I come near you, I do something to ruin your life."

"No," Kitty sat up. She lay her hands on his shoulders, then ran them up his neck to frame his face. They were barely big enough to reach along his jawbone. "No, Colter. I should have been strong enough to wait for you."

"Ah, Kit, you were barely more than a child yourself."

Kitty sat back against his chest. She bit her bottom lip. It blossomed bright pink and luscious. "I feel so powerless, Colter. Like all my life has been planned for me, with me having no say at all."

He nodded. He'd been partially responsible.

"Oh, my dear, I didn't mean you." Kitty turned to face him, her words validating her ability to read his mind. "You and I had exactly the same plan, marriage, home, family. It just didn't turn out as we expected." She smiled, but it was a pale imitation of Kitty's usual brilliance. "I can't say for certain that we'll even be able to be together this time. Only God knows the future. But I do know this -- I'll love you until I die, and even longer. Nothing, no one, can ever change that."

She placed her hand behind his neck and pulled him to her. Her lips, light and pink as the petals of a rose from her garden, skimmed across his. He opened his lips and was rewarded by the butterfly touch of her tongue.

Colter put his hands on her waist and pulled her across his lap. He sealed her mouth with his own, gently pledging with a kiss his heart, his fortune, his name, everything he could offer her.

Kitty allowed her hands to trace the hard muscles of his chest, moving with a nearly reverential awe over him. He was the most beautiful man. Their son would grow up to be so much like him, so tall, so finely built, so handsome.

He would be returned to them. He must.

Colter wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer. He rested his cheek against her hair and one arm across her thighs.

"What's this?" Colter asked, stroking her skirt. He shoved his hand into her pocket.

"Colter! What are you doing?"

He held her still with one arm around her waist. In his other hand was the silver-plated Deringer.

"What in the devil are you doing with this thing?"

"I took it with me when I left the house this morning. You didn't expect me to go all alone to the farm with no protection, did you?"

"What if DuPre had got hold of you? He'd turn this on you with not a thought." He examined the weapon more closely. "Holy Mother, Kitty, it's a forty-one caliber. You could kill a cow with this thing."

"I don't know anything about a forty-one whatever. I just know I felt better having it in my pocket. Now give it back."

"Oh, no, my Kit. I don't want you getting shot with your own gun."

Kitty raised one eyebrow. She was sitting close enough to Colter that she could see her reflection in his eyes.

"Excuse me, Mr. Ahern, but you are not my husband," she paused, "yet. I'm not some ninnyhammer who's going to shoot herself in the foot."

"Foot? This thing could take off your whole damned leg."

"Colter, give me my gun. I'm not going out to that roadhouse with no protection."

Colter sat back, widening the space between them.

"Are you mad, woman? You're not going with me. I can't be worrying about you and Philip and myself all at the same time."

"If I sit here I surely will go mad."

"No, Kitty. And just to make sure, you're going back to Connemara where Da can keep an eye on you." His voice was firm and controlled.

She knew he meant it, but she was just as determined as he was. There was no way to get him to agree to something like this, however. So, she did what she'd learned to do with Anson when he thought he knew best. She acquiesced.

For now.

"All right, Colter." She sat back down on the sofa, already deciding how to slip out and follow him without him knowing.

She'd have her Deringer in her pocket and God help Gaston DuPre if he'd hurt her son.

Chapter Twenty Two

"I'm glad you're finally being reasonable. Now put this bloody thing back where you got it from. One shot isn't likely to do me any good."

Kitty bit back the scalding remark she had ready for him. Their past mistakes hadn't taught him a single thing. He was still ready to give orders and make decisions for everyone. She only nodded and took the gun from him.

"It usually stays in Anson's desk. I'll just put it back there." She crossed the hallway to Anson's study and went behind the burnished oak desk. She pulled open the middle drawer, carefully making as much noise as she could, and lay the gun rather noisily into its place. Her eye on the doorway, making sure Colter wasn't watching her, she retrieved the Deringer and returned it to her pocket.

They went back out to Connemara to wait for the deadline for the delivery of the ransom. Colter had figured they had at least three thousand dollars worth of valuables and cash in the burlap bag that now sat on the parlor table. Every eye was on that bag, as though by watching it, they could provide Philip a measure of safety.

Maeve's rosary clicked as she prayed and counted and worried. Her face looked old and tired. Kitty went to her and sat on the floor beside her. She took Maeve's small hands and stroked them.

"Maeve, love," she said with a smile using Maeve's favorite endearment, "your hands are like ice."

"Ach, the curse of gettin' old, love." Maeve tried to smile but the effort was too much for her. A tear rolled down her cheek.

Kitty lay her head against Maeve's knee for a moment. Then she got up and turned to the large central table that sat between Maeve's and Patrick's chairs. She poured a cup of tea from the lukewarm pot and held it out to Maeve.

"Here, now. Drink this."

Maeve held Kitty's hand in her own. "Thank you, love, but 'tis I should be looking after you. It's your own boy who's in danger."

"Your grandson, dear." Kitty sat down again at Maeve's feet. She reached up and lay her hand over Maeve's. The tiny hand was still cold and trembling beneath hers. "Did I ever thank you for treating him with such care?"

"Stop it." Liam's trembling voice crackled through the tension. "You're talking like he's not coming back. Why aren't you making plans? How are you going to get him away from that murdering bastard?"

"Liam, that is quite enough of such talk from you." Maeve's soft, but firm voice immediately answered him.

He hung his head and heaved a sigh. "I'm sorry, Granny. But we can't let him get away with this." He looked up to his father, sitting beside him on the sofa. "You're not just going to hand over money and hope he gives us Philip back, are you?"

Colter hugged Liam to him.

"Son, if we go over there with guns and a lot of men, do you think this man will hesitate to hurt Philip? The best we can do is go along with his instructions and then try to make the most of whatever opportunity comes along to make sure he sticks to his part of the bargain."

"Da, can I go with you? I want to be there in case Philip needs anything."

Colter shook his head. "No. The instructions are for me to go alone. We can't take chances with Philip's life, Liam."

Kitty saw Liam swallow his arguments.

"What of your life, Colter?" Patrick pulled the pipe from his mouth and fixed him with a stare. "What if you both end up lost to us?"

"Patrick," Maeve whispered in agony. "Please, no."

"Darlin', we must be prepared for the worst. If nothing else, Colter must be prepared for what he might face out there. You should let me come along with you, son."

"And if he sees you with me, Da?"

Patrick nodded in resignation. "It's just this bloody uncertainty." His face a mask of tortured speculation, he turned away from them all to look into the fireplace. "We don't even know if Philip is still alive. That man DuPre is capable of any evil, I'll be bound."

Kitty closed her eyes, forcing from her mind images of the evils of which Gaston DuPre was undoubtedly capable, and lay her head against Maeve's knee.

Minutes dragged on, ten, twenty, thirty. But not another word was spoken until the clock struck nine.

Kitty heard the settee frame creak and knew that Colter had risen. She opened her eyes and raised them to meet his.

"Guess I'll be heading out, now. Don't want to keep Mr. DuPre waitin'."

Colter took the revolver out of the bag and checked it. Then he slipped it into his belt. He tightened the string on the bag and turned to Kitty.

He held his hand for her and helped up off the floor. Maeve and Patrick, arms around one another, each holding the other up, stood back, letting Kitty and Colter have a moment. Kitty held his jacket for him and smoothed his collar in a most wifely gesture. Her hands followed the planes of his shoulders, down his arms. His fingers grasped hers too tightly. She didn't speak out at the discomfort. He needed to hold her. She needed to be held.

"Be careful, darlin'," she managed to whisper.

Colter smiled at her. "Practice that brogue, Kitty Forbes, and we'll turn you into an Irishwoman yet." He kissed her hard, like a kiss that could be the last.

She tried to smile for him, she really did. It wasn't that she didn't trust him to get their son back, but he was alone, armed with only one antique pistol and the hope that their adversary had at least a shred of honor in him.

It was all she could do to keep from collapsing in a heap by the door when it closed behind him. Liam came beside her and put his arm around her waist. The gesture brought a glazing of tears to her eyes and a fullness to her heart.

She lay her arm around his sturdy shoulder and they stood together.

"They'll be all right, Mrs. Dexter."

She squeezed him in a hug as she would have Philip.

"If God is willing, Liam, I'm to be your father's wife. If you'd like to, I'd be pleased if you'd call me Kitty."

Liam nodded and smiled a crooked little smile. "I would. Kitty." He hugged tighter and they watched as Colter moved further off into the night.

They returned to the parlor to take up their vigil. Kitty felt serene, odd as that was. The same couldn't be said for the other occupants of the parlor. Patrick puffed his pipe like a train chugging up a hill. Maeve wrung her hands together until she jumped out of her chair. It was like she'd wound herself up too tight.

"I'm going to brew some fresh tea. For certain I'll go loony just sittin' here."

Liam looked as jittery as his grandmother. He paced by the large front windows, peering between the lacy curtains watching his father's progress.

Kitty stood by one of the side windows. She could just make out Colter's shadow as he passed the barns and headed out toward the woods. Good, she thought. He was going afoot. It would be easier to catch up with him.

"I need to get some air, Patrick. I'm going to walk a bit."

"'Course, Kitty, m'dear. Let me get my coat."

"No," she said, more quickly than she'd intended. She passed by Patrick's chair and let her hand stroke his shoulder. "I think I'd like to be alone for awhile. I've a lot to think about."

Patrick took her hand and kissed the back of it, then held it to his chest, giving it a fatherly pat.

"Don't you be worryin' about Colter, Kitty. He's a strong lad and can take care of himself."

Patrick's words were as much for himself as for her. She smiled and kissed his cheek.

"I know, Patrick, but I can't help worrying. I thought I'd go out to the garden and sit by myself and pray."

Kitty threw on her heavy winter cloak and wrapped one of Maeve's shawls tight over her head.

"Stay near the house, darlin', and don't be out long on this raw night."

She nodded at Patrick's advice and stepped out into the biting wind that tore through her cloak, sending a shiver through her body and settling in her bones before she was off the porch. She pulled the heavy wrap closer around her shoulders and started for the garden.

Kitty excused her deception. She hadn't actually lied to Patrick. She was going to the garden, just like she said she would. Her rosary lay in her pocket and she intended to pray. But, there wouldn't be time to meditate if she didn't want Colter to get too far ahead.

She cut a look from the corner of her eye to the window where Patrick and Liam watched her as she paced along the walk. Patrick leaned over the boy's shoulder and said something to him. Liam nodded.

"I'll be bound Patrick doesn't trust me," she said to herself. “Imagine setting Liam to watch me.”

She moved along the side of the house, stopping to pull dead branches off Maeve's rose bushes. Liam appeared at each of Maeve’s big windows, keeping Kitty in view.

She wandered among the hibernating plants and hugged her arms tight around herself.

Liam stood at the window, still watching.

"Come on, Liam. You can't stand there all night. Can you?" Kitty wandered over to a bench and sat down. She reached into her pocket and hefted the comforting weight of the Deringer in her freezing fingers, then pulled out her rosary. She held up the crucifix, crossed herself and began her prayers. A quick glance toward the house revealed her guardian keeping watch over her.

Every nerve was roaring with the need to go after Colter, but Kitty managed to keep herself on the bench and calmly count three decades. If he knew what she planned, Patrick would have her tied to a kitchen chair faster than a flea on a frying pan. She'd just finished the third Our Father when she looked again at the window.

Liam had left his station by the window and was sitting in the parlor by Patrick.

It worked, she exulted. At least it looked like it had worked. Kitty stood and looked up and down the length of the house. They sat, the three of them, together in the parlor. If she ran, she could get to the woods before Liam got up to check on her again.

She eased up from the bench and, eyes on the house, hand on the gun in her pocket, she moved backwards through the well-known garden. Away from the light filtering from the house, she found her way illuminated only by the pale moonlight. It wasn't much, but enough to see the way she already knew as well as her own yard.

Colter would be furious, but she couldn't stay behind and wait for him to return. Not this time.

The woods around the roadhouse were naked in the late fall air. The moon weakly lit his path and Colter had to struggle to see the way. It had been nearly seventeen years since he'd walked through here. That occasion had been in secret, too, hoping he'd not be seen, heading for the roadhouse with Charlie Sanders and some other boys looking for trouble and maybe a good time.

Patrick had made him pay for that little trip.

He smiled a little at the memory. Funny the things that go through a man's mind at a time like this. Anson had also been along for the adventure. In fact, it had been Anson's idea to try to see inside the infamous roadhouse. Rumors abounded that it wasn't just a way station for weary travelers. Anson and Colter had strolled in, thinking they looked much older than their sixteen years. Charlie had laughed himself sick when they'd gotten tossed out on their backsides.

That was one of the last times Colter and Anson Dexter would call themselves friends.

Now here he was trying to save the son that he and Anson had shared.

Not exactly, he thought. Anson had been the boy's father in every way that mattered.

Did blood give him the right to claim Philip? A horseman knew that bloodlines didn't always breed true. But, damn, that boy was an Ahern. Colter moved faster through the woods.

Philip had to be safe. If it took everything he owned, Colter was determined that his son would be safe at home this very night. If it cost his own life, Philip's would be spared, he thought, more as a prayer than a declaration.

He came to the edge of a clearing. The ruined hulk of the roadhouse glowed with an eerie luminescence. Broken windows and smashed walls gave an impression of a skeletal grin. Colter shook off his uneasiness with a shrug and crossed the weed-covered yard to the porch. After testing the soundness of the steps, he trusted his weight to them and went up to the entrance.

Roving bands of vandals had used the building as a training ground, leaving all God's creatures free access to the interior. The slightest scent of skunk and the muskiness of wet fur hinted at some of the more recent borders.

Colter pushed open the front door on its one surviving hinge. Grimacing against the sharp squeak, he peered into the single open room. Darkness cloaked the interior except for a single oil lamp burning on the bar.

"How considerate of Mr. DuPre." He spoke aloud to dispel his lingering dread. Passing through the doorway, he glanced around, looking for a sign of any other living creature in the place.

Colter had deliberately come early. It was important to his plan, such as it was, that he be out of the building before DuPre arrived.

Placing the bag on the bar as instructed, he retraced his steps out of the roadhouse. He headed back down the path he had taken from home, not looking back. The rustling wind covered any other sound.

Once he was out of view of the roadhouse, Colter turned off the path and moved silently as he was able through the woods back towards the building he'd just left. He crouched down among the fallen trees and raised his collar against the cold.

He froze, but not from the cold, as he heard more than the sounds of windblown leaves and crackling foliage. Footsteps, light and sure, snapped twigs and brushed through the undergrowth. His heart pounded and his breath grew strained.

Colter was still, waiting, listening. Could it be DuPre stalking him in the woods, planning on leaving his body here where it would likely never be found? Was it possible that Philip's lifeless body already rested nearby?

"No," he whispered aloud to drive the image from his mind, his voice fading quickly in the face of the rising wind.

The footsteps grew louder. Whoever it was wasn't much interested in keeping his presence a secret.

A cloaked form passed by. In the dim light, Colter couldn't make out whether it was DuPre. He stood immobile, waiting for the other traveler to pass on by.

The person stopped not three steps away from his hiding place and looked around as though getting his bearings. Something nagged at the back of Colter's brain, a familiarity he couldn't place.

Then the moonlight glinted off a gun barrel.

It must be DuPre. Even though Colter could have sworn he was a little taller than that. Maybe he was just hunched over against the wind.

As he watched, Colter considered the opportunity. If he were able to subdue DuPre, he would be able to force the man to take him to Philip. From what he'd heard, DuPre killed by stealth, not by strength. Colter would have a clear advantage over him in a hand-to-hand fight.

First he had to get that gun away from him.

He moved one foot in preparation to leap at the man.

"Damn," he whispered as a small branch cracked with a hideous crack.

The cowled head snapped toward the sound. He'd been spotted.

Well, nothing to do now but just get on with it, Colter thought as he launched himself at the cloaked figure. He wrapped his fingers around the thin wrist attached to the hand holding the gun and shoved upward. The gun, thankfully, didn't go off before Colter got his hands on the man's neck and proceeded to force him down.

Colter straddled the struggling specter and pinned his shoulders to the ground.

Just as the wind carried the scent of lavender to fill his head, one of his hands slid from the shoulder to mold itself to a full, soft breast -- a feature he knew well.

"Mother of God!" he shouted as he jumped back. "Kitty?" He grabbed her shoulders and jerked her to a sitting position on the ground. "What the hell are you doing here? I told you to stay behind at Connemara. I could have killed you."

He pulled her against him and wrapped her in his arms, too aware that fear and anger were mixing to make him act like a fool.

Colter loosened his hold on her and held her away from him so he could check her over. She was fine if her expression was any indication.

"Let go of me, you oaf!"

"Darlin', I'm sorry I jumped you like that, but I thought you were DuPre."

She didn't look pleased at the mix-up.

"You think I look like that weasel DuPre?"

"All wrapped up like a mummy, you do." He reminded himself she wasn't supposed to be here. "If you'd stayed where you belonged, you wouldn't be sitting on your backside on the dirt right now. How did you get away from Da and Liam?"

"So you did tell them to keep an eye on me?"

"Was I wrong to do it? After all, here you are, after I told you to stay put." He glared at the silver gun she still held in her hand. "With that damned gun, too."

"And I told you, Colter Ahern, you are not my husband yet. Who are you to be telling me where to go and what to do?" She shoved the small weapon into her skirt pocket.

"Somebody obviously needs to. Now you get your beautiful self off the ground and get back to Connemara."

"No." Kitty crossed her arms in stubborn determination.

Colter slid a hand through his hair. "Kitty, you're only going to put us all in danger. Please."

He was about to turn her over his lap and smack her bottom like a child when he saw her look past him, lips parted in alarm. She gripped his shoulders.

"Colter, there." Her whisper was urgent enough to make him look.

Gaston DuPre had already dismounted and stood before the half-open door of the roadhouse.

In a silent agreement, they sat frozen in place until DuPre disappeared inside the building. The light of the oil lamp grew brighter.

It was time to get closer. Colter put a finger across Kitty's lips and waited for her to nod. Then he helped her to her feet and they crossed in the dim moonlight to the dilapidated building.

Colter stood to the side of one window and peered over the sill. Kitty pulled at his sleeve.

"What's he doing," she asked in a hissed whisper.

"Shhh."

DuPre opened the bag and pulled out the bundle of bills.

"Well, not bad, Ahern. Let's see." DuPre held up the money and counted. "Good. Nine hundred dollars. And such nice knickknacks. Should do me for quite a while." He spread out the loot on the bar and studied each piece with obvious expertise.

Colter wanted to make the situation a bit more even. He warned Kitty silently to stay down and then he headed around to where DuPre had tethered his mount.

He recognized the horse. It was Grainne, a mare missing since last night.

"Shhh, Grainne, me lovely," he whispered, as he let her sniff his outstretched hand. He unbuckled the bridle and slipped it over her head, then with a flick of his hat, he sent her flying off into the woods.

The pounding hooves brought DuPre out at a run.

Colter only managed to slide under the porch as DuPre tore out the door, howling curses at the fast disappearing horse.

"Damn, now I'll have to walk home." DuPre stalked back into the building and stuffed the valuables of the Ahern and Dexter families back into the bag.

Colter lay under the porch and listened to DuPre's footsteps right above his head. He saw the man go into the woods, in the direction of the river.

When DuPre was out of hearing range, Colter left his hiding place and went back to Kitty.

"Now, listen, Kit, go home and stay there. I'll bring Philip home, but I need to move fast."

"Then let's go and stop talking. He's getting away." She started to get up from her crouch.

"How many times do I have to tell you...."

Kitty ignored him and started off after DuPre.

Colter grabbed her elbow and spun her around.

The look in her eyes stopped him. The only way to make sure she went home was for him to throw her over his shoulder and take her there himself and he didn't have time for that.

"All right, Kitty. Come on."

They followed Gaston DuPre through the woods along a small branch of the Patapsco River. Colter stayed far enough back to remain hidden in the shadows.

"Where is he going?" he whispered. "Stop!" he warned her in a harsh whisper. For a moment he feared they'd been spotted.

DuPre stopped and looked around in a practiced gesture. Then he stepped through a seemingly impassable hedgerow. Colter waited until he'd disappeared. He and Kitty approached the place where DuPre had entered. They eased through and found themselves at the foot of a rise.

"He's gone up the hill. Begorrah, I never knew there was anything up there."

"Look," she said. "Lights."

A shack sat at the top of the rise. An abundance of light threaded through the shuttered windows. Only the thickness of the hedge and the incline hid it from the road.

"Philip is there, Colter. I know he is."

Colter nodded in the darkness. He reached for her hand and they started up. Her skirts impeded them, and Colter had to pull her along, but they made the summit in good time.

They stopped just inside the overgrown bushes some ten yards from the building.

"People live there?" Kitty asked in an unbelieving whisper.

The porch half-gone, the roof held up by poles propped on the ground, the shack was in its last days. The next big storm would surely take it out.

They moved closer, slowly and carefully, looking for signs of DuPre. The wind died just enough for them to hear the roar of a man's voice.

"....you can't have him. I already told you I have plans."

A cry of despair followed. Colter had to grab Kitty who had started forward.

"Let me go. Philip is in there."

"Yes, Kitty. But we have to be careful or we'll not help him."

Only after she'd taken a deep breath and nodded did Colter proceed to the house. Lamplight poured out of the back windows and it was there he approached. The voices grew louder.

"He is mine. You have your riches. Leave the little cockerel to me."

His blood ran colder than the wind around him as he considered what he heard. The voice dripped with depravity, the sound of it made him feel soiled and violated.

Colter took Kitty by the shoulders and pushed her against the side of the house. He then pinned her with a look intended to intimidate her into obedience.

"Stay here." His voice came gritty and thick.

She looked at him in shock, but stayed where he put her.

Colter approached the window, grateful for the shutters and the abundant light spilling through them, making him all but invisible. His eyes moved over every bit of the room. A huge bed dominated the view and on it....

If he stood at the mouth of hell, he didn't think to see anything so abominable.

A crone, surely, a witch crouched on the bed, her yellowed, withered body barely covered by the tattered robe. She writhed and sputtered at DuPre who stood at the door of the room.

"Do not take mon petit chevalier from me, Gaston. Your maman has so little time remaining. Leave him with me, non?"

"Cover your tits, you old whore. The boy goes with me. I can get a lot of money for him in New York."

He knew enough French to know what a chevalier was and to whom the salacious creature referred. He glanced back at Kitty who'd heard that last exchange. Her breath was coming in fast gulps and her eyes were closed.

At least Philip was still alive.

But where the hell was he? Colter grew increasingly afraid. If that she-devil had touched his boy, he'd rip her head off and feed her to a pack of dogs.

Then he saw him. Dark head bent forward, the white forelock clearly marking him, Philip sat on the floor at the foot of the bed. Colter could see the ropes that held him prisoner.

"Thank God," he whispered. He leaned against the house, the sudden wash of relief making him weak.

"What?" Kitty rushed forward.

Colter swallowed the warning and settled for pushing her up against the wall.

DuPre approached the window and threw open the shutters.

"Maman, did you hear something?"

Chapter Twenty Three

"Did you hear something?" DuPre repeated his question.

"What can I hear when I am in despair?" the harpy moaned with theatrical inflection.

"Damned useless...." DuPre moved away from the window. Colter held Kitty against the rough-hewn boards of the house, covering her with his body. It was the first time she'd been warm since she'd left the parlor at Connemara. His mouth was set in a stiff line, his beautifully sculpted lips now flat and formless. He seemed to have heard more than she.

"Here, maman," she heard DuPre say, "shoot anybody who comes in the door. Except me, of course." His footsteps were clear and loud.

"He's coming out to have a look around," Colter's harsh whisper came on the wind. "Wait here and stay out of the light. Don't make any noise. I'm going to try to distract him on the other side so I can get inside to get Philip." He pulled her close, then left her to disappear around the back of the house.

She crouched down by the foundation of the house, pulling her skirts tight around her and trying to blend in to the darkness. Then she put her hand in her pocket and wrapped her trembling, frozen fingers around the handle of the Deringer.

And, as she had so often, she waited for Colter.

Colter picked up a handful of rocks and moved to the other side of the house. As DuPre stepped onto the remnants of the porch, Colter tossed the rocks, one after the other, into the underbrush, pleased at the sound's resemblance to footsteps.

"Ho, there," DuPre called out. He held a hunting knife in his left hand, but Colter saw no other weapons. The murderer leaped down from the porch and moved into the woods with the stealth of a great cat, frightening in his economy and elegance.

When it looked like DuPre was as far away as he was going to get, Colter moved quickly up the rickety steps.

"Whoa," he gasped, barely managing to skirt the gaping breech in the floorboards of the porch. He jerked his foot away from the hole when he heard snapping teeth and growling.

He didn't waste time trying to figure out what kind of pets the DuPre family might favor, but went on inside.

Straight back from the front room was the single bedroom. DuPre's mother lay in the bed, a shotgun across her lap. Philip sat slumped on the floor. Colter stood still for a moment in the doorway, wondering if the crone was asleep, for she hadn't acknowledged his presence.

There was no time to worry about it. He had to get Philip freed and get them both out of here before DuPre returned.

He stepped lightly toward the bedroom. At the sound of his approach, Philip raised his head and Colter could see light flicker in his eyes as he realized he'd been found.

"Are you all right, son?" Colter asked as he untied the ropes.

"Yes, sir." Philip's voice was low, but steady. As soon as his hands were freed, he flew at Colter, wrapping his arms around his father's neck.

Colter held the boy so tight he feared he might hurt him, but couldn't bring himself to let go until Philip released his own hold.

He glanced back at the woman on the bed. She still lay still, looking as much a corpse as any he'd ever seen.

"Come, then, let's get out of here." He helped the boy to his feet and they turned to leave.

"No," came the scream from the bed. Somehow, Josette DuPre had stood up on the bed and held the shotgun in her gnarled hands. "You leave him. He belongs to me."

"Over my dead body, whore."

"So be it." She raised the gun, which must have weighed as much as she did, and pulled one of the triggers.

Colter wrapped his arms around Philip and fell through the door into the front room, praying the revolver in his waistband didn't discharge. As he rolled out of the doorway, he saw the recoil of the gun throw the witch off the bed. She landed with a thud. A cloud of dust rose around her as her head continued backward to connect with the wall. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she crumpled to the floor. A trickle of blood escaped her mouth.

Colter squelched the impulse to check on the old lady. He couldn't spare the time. And after what he'd heard her say, he was pretty sure she wasn't worth trying to help.

"Let's go, Philip," he said calmly as he could. DuPre would've heard the shot and be back in seconds.

"Maman?" DuPre's voice came from the porch.

Colter pushed open the shutters. "Out the window, Philip. Keep running straight ahead and get help."

The boy nodded and sailed out the window. He dashed across the yard toward Connemara. Colter hoped he wouldn't get lost.

"Boy, come back here," DuPre yelled. He jumped from the porch and started after Philip.

"Damn," Colter said. He leaned out the window. "Run, Philip," he called to his son. To the murderer, "In here, DuPre. Come face a man if you have the nerve."

Philip never broke his stride and vanished into the woods.

The wiry man turned and looked back at the shack. Colter's blood froze as he realized DuPre was looking, not at him standing in the window, but at something nearer the ground.

"Well, Mrs. Dexter, I presume, how charming." DuPre approached the house.

Colter drew the revolver. "Stop, DuPre. Leave her out of this."

He felt DuPre's measuring gaze.

"Don't think about it, Ahern." DuPre hefted the knife in his hand. "I'll wager I'm better with this than you are with that gun. I can have the blade between your lady's lovely eyes before you can get me in your sights."

Colter believed him. He lowered the barrel of the revolver.

"Come, Mrs. Dexter." DuPre approached Kitty and pulled her to her feet. He held the knife to her throat and they started for the front of the building.

They came up the steps.

"Careful there, my dear. There are hogs sleeping under the house. They don't like to be disturbed."

"So that's why it stinks so badly." Kitty glared at him over her shoulder.

"Kitty." Colter whispered a warning.

Gaston DuPre shoved her into the front room of the shack.

"What a charming lady. It's no wonder Dexter had rather die than let you take her from him. It would have worked, too, if not for your bastard." He tugged at her shawl. Kitty's hair had come loose from some of the pins. Tendrils framed her face in a wanton disarray.

"Lovely, indeed," DuPre muttered, his fingers toying with her hair.

"Take your hands off her."

"No. I have a better idea. Lay your weapon on the couch."

He heard Kitty's gasped breath as DuPre's knife came closer under her chin.

"Colter, don't do it. He'll kill us both."

"Colter, if you don't," he mimicked her, "I'll slit her throat."

He really had no choice that he could see. Biding his time, he moved slowly across the room and lay the revolver on the threadbare couch.

"Very good, Ahern." DuPre dragged Kitty over to the bedroom door.

Colter could tell from her expression of horror the second when Kitty caught sight of DuPre's mother lying on the floor.

"You didn't kill my mother, did you, Ahern?"

"I didn't touch the disgusting hag."

"What a way to speak of a man's dam." DuPre looked again into the bedroom. "Umm, looks like I'm an orphan. You know sometimes boys go bad when they don't have the gentling influence of a mother."

While DuPre amused himself with his own wit, Colter looked at Kitty, willing her to return his gaze. He prayed she was as quick as he'd always believed her to be.

"Darlin', are you all right?" He took a step toward them, one hand out as though to help her.

"Stay back," DuPre warned.

Kitty frowned at him. "What are you talking about?"

"You look pale, darlin'. Remember how easily you faint. I'm fearful you'll cause Mr. DuPre to hurt you if you fall forward."

Her eyes widened just enough for him to know she received the message. "I'll be all right, Colter. Really, I.... Ahh...." She fell backwards on DuPre's chest, away from the knife.

"What?" DuPre said in confusion, wrapping his arms around Kitty’s waist as she slid down to the floor against his body and lay at his feet, still as though she'd really fainted. DuPre stood over her, momentarily off balance.

Colter lunged, missing DuPre by a hair's breadth. The man jumped toward the revolver laying on the couch. Colter went after him, falling on his back and slamming him into the floorboards. DuPre's desperate grab only dragged the revolver to the floor. The men reached for it, pushing it under the couch and out of reach for them both.

They scrambled to their feet. Colter snatched DuPre's shirt collar and pulled his arm back for a punch in the weasely little nose.

"Colter," Kitty's scream came in time to warn him of the impending danger of DuPre's knife. The point punctured Colter's skin.

"Damn," Colter cursed on a drawn breath.

The pain was minimal, but he knew how close he'd come to being sent to his Maker. DuPre had the blade turned perpendicular to Colter's ribs and only this had stopped the attack from becoming a killing stroke.

Instead of delivering the blow to DuPre's nose, Colter swept his arm downward and knocked the knife-wielding hand away from his side. The knife flew to the corner. Colter knew he wouldn't be so lucky a second time. He had to finish this.

He tightened his hold of DuPre's collar and raised the man up to look into his eyes.

Kitty pulled the Deringer from her pocket and held it up in front of her, both hands steadying it. She watched, circling the two men and waiting for an opening.

Colter grimaced at her.

"Put the damned gun down, Kitty."

"Ah, no, cherie, fire right here," DuPre chortled as he turned, presenting Colter's back as her target.

"I am coming, mon petit." The warning of Josette DuPre’s rattly voice came too late.

Kitty felt the double-barrels of the shotgun press against her neck, as an ominous click echoed above the noise of the fighting men. She stood still, her Deringer now seeming too puny to help.

"You were trying to hurt my son? Evil woman." The crone pushed the barrels harder against Kitty's neck. "Hands up in the air."

Kitty did as she was ordered. She raised her hands way up over her head. Way, way up, back behind, until she held the silver-plated forty-one whatever Colter had called it over the old woman's head.

"Now, drop your weapon."

"Well. All right." Kitty let the gun fall from her hand.

Right onto the woman's head. The sound of the little gun going off as it landed on the floor made both women jump.

"What the hell!" Colter yelled.

"Owww." The hag whined. "Ma tete. Oh, you are the evil woman."

Kitty whirled and took hold of Josette's wrists, twisting as she had seen Colter do in trying to get the knife away from DuPre.

"Let me go," Josette cried. "Oh, you hurt Josette."

"I'm going to do more than hurt you if you don't... let...go...."

It appeared that the son wasn't the only one who was stronger than he looked. Maybe it was just that she was crazy. Crazy people sometimes didn't realize they weren't supposed to be doing what they were doing.

All right, then, Kitty thought, if she won't drop it, I'll just have to make her. She let go of one of Josette's wrists and pulled back her arm, making her hand into a fist. Then she let fly right into the old woman's face, just like she'd seen the pugilists do in England.

Then she howled.

"Ow," she shook her hand. She hadn't expected it to hurt.

The pain subsided, however, as she realized she'd accomplished her goal. Josette DuPre lay unconscious on the floor.

She looked toward the men just in time to see Gaston sweep one leg toward Colter's feet. Colter fell, pulling DuPre with him, but the fall caused Colter to loosen his hold. DuPre glanced toward the shotgun.

Kitty reached for it at the same instant.

DuPre was faster and had the shotgun in his hands before Kitty could scramble close enough.

Colter was there and the men resumed their struggle, this time over the shotgun. DuPre managed to raise the barrel toward Colter's belly.

"No," Kitty screamed, unable to stop herself.

Colter forced the barrel toward the floor and just managed to get his foot out of the way when DuPre pulled the trigger. The shot blew a two-foot hole in the rotten floorboards.

A horrific howling and squealing poured through the aperture sounding like the suffering souls trapped in the depths of Hell. Two mangy hounds and a sow crawled through the space and made out the front door as thought their tails were aflame.

Then Colter and Gaston DuPre replaced the escaped souls with muffled oofs and a thud as they hit the ground.

Kitty ran to the hole and looked down, waving away the dust raised by the two men rolling there, shotgun between them. She followed their progress as they tumbled, one over the other, from under the house and into the yard. DuPre stopped their motion when he was on top and jabbed a knee into Colter's groin.

“Holy God!”

Colter's agonized yell caused Kitty to wince. DuPre wrested the shotgun from Colter's hand and stood up, dropping the barrels toward Colter's belly.

He pulled the trigger.

Kitty slapped her hands over her ears and screamed.

But there was no shot.

Colter lurched to his feet and grabbed a handful of DuPre's shirt. He pulled back his fist and landed a solid blow to the murderer's chin.

DuPre landed in a heap on the ground. Colter stooped beside him and rolled him over.

She watched, waiting, hardly daring to believe it might actually be over.

Colter stood and turned, breathing heavily. He wiped sweat out of his eyes with the back of one hand and she saw him wince as he touched a cut over his right eye.

Then their eyes met and held. It seemed like an eternity before he started moving toward her. Her heart pounded with the fear that he might have been more seriously injured than she'd believed.

He finally got to the window. She fell gladly into his outstretched arms. Colter pulled her out the window and they held onto each other desperately.

"Hush, darlin', it's over now." He smoothed back her hair and wiped away tears she didn't know she'd shed. "Shhh," his lips made the sound as they brushed her forehead and cheek.

Kitty pushed away and looked him over. "Oh, my darling, you're cut and...." She pulled his shirt out and checked on the knife wound in his side. "Thank God. It's not bad, just a little cut."

She threw herself into his arms again. He held on.

Her eyes opened on the sight of DuPre's still form in the yard.

"Colter, is he...?"

"No, Kit, he's not dead. Not yet." Colter turned an icy stare back toward DuPre. "But he will be as soon as he can be tried and hung."

Colter squeezed her again. "Let me find something to truss him up with." Finding no rope or cording, Colter settled for DuPre's necktie.

He checked the house and made sure there were no other weapons. Josette was still unconscious, but alive and not seriously injured. He put her in her bed and covered her up, then closed the shutters to the gaping windows.

Kitty gathered up her borrowed shawl and the bag of valuables which had purchased Philip's life.

Colter hefted DuPre over his shoulder and they started down the hill to the River road, and home.

Chapter Twenty Four

April, 1857

Patrick rose and lifted his glass.

"My friends and my kinsmen," he said, "’tis a grand day to be sure for the Ahern family. To my son, Colter, and my daughter, Kitty, and proud I am to be able to say that."

Patrick's eyes were glistening, and Kitty knew there was more than champagne and a touch of fine Irish whiskey behind his emotion.

"Your happiness brings us happiness. Kitty, Maeve and I would also like to thank you for agreeing to marry the boy and trying to do something with him." Patrick waited for the laughter and the few ribald comments to die down before he finished. "To a long, happy life together, children. It's a long time coming. Make the most of every day."

He raised his glass and then drained the champagne.

"Here, here," came the responses and then the rest of the assembly followed his example.

"Kiss," Colter's brother Michael called out as he tapped his spoon against his glass. Soon, the huge Ahern dining room was awash with the sound of tinkling crystal.

Colter grinned and turned to Kitty. He lay his finger against her chin and tipped her face up. She smiled and accepted the chaste peck he applied to her lips.

"C'mon, Colter, you can do better than that," Philip shouted from the other end of the room.

The whole assembly, mostly Aherns by this time of the evening, roared with approval at the boy's encouraging words.

"Aye, boyo, that I can," Colter replied. He stood and took Kitty's hand and helped her stand. "Mrs. Ahern," he whispered.

"Aye, Mr. Ahern," she answered.

He took her into his arms. She let her own go around his waist. Colter glanced over at Philip and Liam. "Here, boys, is how it's done."

"Ah, come, Colter, less talk, more action, if you please," Seamus piped in. "Sure 'n the girl deserves more than a lot of air."

Colter smiled at his brother's taunt. "Come, girl, let's show 'em."

"Come ahead, boyo," Kitty replied, just tipsy enough to not be embarrassed by the gale of fresh hilarity she caused.

With that, he swept her up into his arms and carried her down the hallway to the kitchen.

The cheers of the wedding guests followed them.

"Colter, where are you taking me?"

"Tell me, my girl, are you up to a little adventure?"

She smiled. "I don't know. We're not going to chase a kidnapper, are we?"

Colter laughed. "No, darlin', just a dream."

She was a bit confused and it wasn't just the champagne.

"Where are we going?" she asked again, as he passed the stairs to the second floor.

"You'll see."

He set her on her feet at the door to the kitchen, then took her hand and pulled her behind him.

A basket sat on the worktable. Colter grabbed it and handed it to Kitty. Just before they passed through the back door, he picked up a large quilt and a couple of pillows.

As her head cleared a bit in the spring night air, she realized where they were going.

"Colter," she whispered, "how wonderful."

He turned to her and smiled.

The lights of Connemara burned brightly behind them as they moved off to their private place.

His eyes turned heavenward, Colter asked, "Do you remember, Kit? The moon was just like this."

She nodded. "I remember every single detail."

Putting his arm around her shoulders, he pulled her closer. When they reached the tree which had served as the canopy for their first bed, he took the basket from her hand and set it on the ground, then spread out the quilt.

"I have a little surprise for you, darlin'."

Colter reached into the basket and produced a candle and a match. Once lit, the candle illuminated the tree's trunk where Kitty saw a deeply etched heart surrounding an inscription. She leaned closer to read it.

CPA -- KAF, 1843, 1857 to forever.

Her smile turned to a breathy laugh of delight. She threw herself into his arms.

"Colter, it's beautiful." Kitty encircled his neck and pulled his lips to hers, initiating the first private kiss of their married life. When she broke the seal of their lips, they were both breathless. "Thank you, darlin'," she whispered, imitating his brogue.

"You're welcome, darlin'," he answered, his lips barely apart from hers.

Colter tightened his arms around her, lifting her from the ground just enough that he was able to walk. She laughed.

"Seems to me you said you didn't mean for this to happen here."

"Well, this time I do mean for it to happen here." He stopped and looked a bit uncertain. "That is, if you want to, darlin'. If you'd rather, we can go back to the house."

"Enough talk, Colter."

He smiled. As they knelt together on the quilt, his mouth wandered along her cheek to her ear. All the while, his hands started at the two dozen pearl buttons on the back of her dress.

"Drat, Kitty, how come you had so many bloody buttons put on this thing?"

The frustration in his voice both amused her and fueled her own growing need.

"I didn't want to make it too easy for you," she whispered in his ear.

"Oh, God," he moaned. His hands tugged with greater insistence.

In his haste, he ripped off nearly half the buttons, but Kitty didn't mind. She was much too busy tasting the salty sweetness of his cheek and neck and nibbling the tender lobe of his ear to worry about a few buttons.

She let him slip the garment from her shoulders and shivered as his lips nuzzled at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

Kitty moved her hands to Colter's face and pulled him to her mouth for a hungry kiss. She let her hands slide down to loosen his necktie and pull it off. Her fingers made quick work of his buttons and she slipped her hands inside his shirt to encounter the warm, firm flesh of his work-hardened chest.

"Kitty," he sighed into her mouth at the touch of her fingers, then retightened the seal of their lips.

She answered his tongue's sparring as she slid his jacket and shirt off his shoulders, then moved slightly away so she could look at him. It occurred to her that she'd never seen him like this.

My God, she thought, he's beautiful.

His steel-blue-gray eyes clouded and his breath came more quickly. He slipped his arms around her and pulled her closer, his eyes never releasing hers. She felt a tug and then relief as he loosened the ties of her stays. A delicious shiver coursed through her as his fingers stroked her spine with each pull on her laces. And with each lacing, Colter found another place to kiss, to lave, to nip.

Under his tender ravishment, Kitty grew ever more fevered. Her hands moved of their own volition over Colter's naked shoulders. Her fingers reveled in the feel of the crisp black hair that lightly covered his chest and followed it down to the place where it continued into his waistband.

Her trembling fingers struggled with the buttons of his woolen pants. After a few infuriating moments, she got them undone and ran her hands unencumbered along the hard muscle of his back all the way to the rounding of his firm buttocks. His exquisitely proportioned form delighted her and she actually laughed with the feeling of discovery and possession.

"Finally," he whispered, his voice more hoarse and his breath coming shorter. With a flourish, he pulled the untied stays from her body.

Clad now only in her chemise and stockings, Kitty felt the cool night air stroking her, but it did nothing to dissipate the fever that burned in her very depths.Bolder than she'd ever have believed herself to be, she pushed Colter's trousers down to his knees, to mingle with her dress.

For several moments, Kitty could only gaze at him in open admiration. His perfection awed her.

"Now you, Mrs. Ahern." Colter raised his hand and pulled the tie at the neckline of her chemise. The bodice fell open. He lifted the edges apart and bared her. She heard his breath catch. "Oh, Kitty."

With a gentle movement, Colter pulled her chemise off her shoulders and down to join the rest of her clothing around her knees. The motion caused him to bend down and he took the opportunity to kiss her breasts, both of them, taking the tip of one into his mouth.

"My God, Colter," she whispered. She threaded her fingers through his hair, marveling at the softness of the wavy strands, and held him at her breast.

He lay his left hand alongside her right breast and molded his fingers to the roundness. His work-roughened thumb stroked across her nipple and the resulting sensation worked its way down to settle deep within her. The tugging of his lips and teeth on one and the stroking of his thumb across the other drove her nearly mad.

"Colter, please." The ravening hunger of desire made her pull his head away from her breast and bring his lips to hers for a kiss of incinerating heat.

He helped her to lie back on the quilt, then reached down, still bound to her by their kiss, to remove the chemise and dress from her legs. When he broke away from her to get his own legs free from his bunched-up pants, Kitty moaned in despair.

As he moved back to her, she reached for him, starving for the feeling of him. He stretched out alongside her and took her into his arms. His lips returned to hers while his hands stroked.

Kitty tugged at his arms, mindless with the need to bear his weight, to enfold all of him within herself.

"Please," she begged, with no pretense of self-control, "now, please."

"Yes, darlin', now, at last," Colter whispered. He rested on her, laying his aroused flesh against her belly. He closed his eyes. "Begorrah."

His exclamation was a growl of unrelieved anguish. Kitty might have laughed if not for her own desperation. She only ground her hips into his, ripping another growled moan from his throat.

Colter moved one knee between Kitty's legs and pressed gently. "Let me in, darlin'."

"Yes, yes." She opened for him.

He shifted his weight and rose to his knees between her legs. She was so ready for him, his entry was easy and deep.

"Kit, my darlin'," he sighed against her neck.

His breath sent a jolt along her spine. She arched against him, urging him even deeper, faster, harder, grasping him, holding him, releasing him only reluctantly, yearning for his return. With each thrust, she rode higher and higher on the wave that would take her to that glorious explosion her body still remembered so well.

Kitty wrapped herself around him, arms, legs, soul. He plunged again and again. Again and again she took him in. Then the eruption began. She writhed as though possessed.

"Colter," she cried, clutching his shoulders as though her life depended on him.

She heard a voice cry out. It was a cry of victory. It was her own voice. Then Colter rested his head against her shoulder and gave himself over to his own satisfaction. Once more he thrust into her warmth. He shuddered mightily, made a sound much like a sob against her neck, then fell onto her.

Kitty held him tight, still wrapped like a vine around him. He lay still, pillowed on her, his breathing shallow and rapid. She moved her hands over him, learning him as she'd never been able to before.

After many moments, he raised his head. His eyes spoke the volumes he had no words to say. She smiled, hearing every word.

He lay there, half-on her and gazing into her eyes. "You know, Kit, there's something I've been wanting to do ever since that night. Every time I've seen you, in fact."

She raised one eyebrow. "Really? And what is that?"

Colter moved off her and then helped her sit up. "This." He pulled every pin out of her hair and let it fall. With reverent hands, he raised a tendril to his nose and breathed. His smile was angelic, she thought.

He arranged the two pillows he'd brought against their tree and gathered Kitty to lie in the crook of his arm. When he'd pulled the quilt double over them, he reached for the forgotten basket.

Kitty raised her eyes to his in a question.

He retrieved a half-bottle of champagne and two glasses. Handing her both glasses, he uncorked the bottle and poured them each a half glass.

He set the bottle aside and accepted one glass from Kitty.

"To my wife. I swear you will never regret binding your life with mine." He raised the glass to his lips and drained it.

Kitty followed his lead. "To my husband. You may, in fact, at times regret marrying me." She waited for him to stop laughing. "But I swear, I'll always make it up to you."

She tipped the glass back and drank it in a single swallow.

When she returned her gaze back to him, Colter's expression was one of consideration.

"What did you mean you'll make it up to me?"

"Shall I show you?" she asked.

"I think you should, just so we both understand."

After dropping both glasses into the basket, Kitty tossed the blanket off them both, moved astride him, and proceeded to make sure her husband understood her perfectly.

"Colter?" she whispered some time later, as the first tinges of pink appeared on the eastern horizon.

"Ummm?" He was almost asleep.

She rested on his shoulder, snuggling against his warm, hard body, her own eyes heavy. "Do you suppose we might do this in a bed sometime?"

The only answer she got was a snore.

Author's Notes

I hope you've enjoyed Bloodlines and that you'll join me for other romantic adventures. The Raven's Lady, a pre-sequel to Bloodlines, is coming in February 1999 and Presidential Liaison is planned for a Spring 1999 release. Both are from New Concepts Publishing <http://www.newconceptspublishing.com>.

I'd enjoy hearing from you. E-mail me at AnneKas@aol.com or come visit my website <http://www.eclectics.com/annemanning> for contests and news on release dates of my future works.

Electronic publishing is the new frontier for writers and readers. Internet connectivity provides the ability for nearly instantaneous communication with people around the world. I'm proud to be involved in this new medium and I predict it will be the method of publication for the future.

Now, here's a sample of Presidential Liaison, my 1998 Golden Heart finalist and a Spring 1999 release from New Concepts Publishing. I hope you enjoy this unconventional love story.

Anne Manning, May 1998

A sneak peak at

Presidential Liaison:

Chapter One

The plane landed at Dulles Airport at four-thirty pm on the dot and Cassandra Mercer lugged her carry-on down the interminable jetway. Never had the end of a tunnel looked so inviting. Passing through the double-doors and stepping into the terminal, she started searching for....

"Cassandra, darling, here."

Cassie smiled and raised her hand in answer, quickening her pace through the opposite current of human bodies toward the tall, elegant woman in the cream wool suit.

"Mother," she whispered as her mother's arms enfolded her. She dropped her carry-on and purse and hugged back, squeezing just as hard as her mother did, inhaling the ephemeral scent of White Diamonds.

Finally, Astrid Montgomery held her away a bit. "Let me look at you, darling." One fine eyebrow raised under the pure white waves of her fashionable haircut. "You're thin and pale."

Direct. That was Mother.

"And you're beautiful, as usual." Cassie glanced around. "Where's Daddy?"

Astrid leaned closer. "He had to go to the head. He's taking those prostate pills, you know. Should be right along."

Cassie laughed at the sound of navy jargon coming out of her mother's mouth.

"Here's my little girl." Jim Mercer's booming voice drowned out all the noise around them.

"Daddy!" Cassie threw herself into her father's arms.

In spite of all her best intentions to keep her eyes dry, big, fat, happy tears plopped down her cheeks. Astrid took out a lacy handkerchief and wiped away Cassie's tears, then dabbed at her own.

"Your father has talked of nothing but your coming home ever since you called with the news."

"Ah, like you've had anything else on your mind," Jim responded. He loosened his hold on his only child and looked down into her eyes. "Your mother has been planning which restaurants we're going to eat at for the next three weeks."

"Restaurants? You still don't know how to cook, Astrid?" Cassie asked.

Jim hooted. "Lost cause, love."

"Then why on earth did you marry her, Daddy?"

"She's the best newsman I ever met." Jim put his arms around them both and winked at Cassie. "Got a killer body, too."

"Jim, stop it."

Ignoring his wife's pretended outrage, Jim pulled them toward the signs pointing to the baggage claim area. "Let's get your luggage and get you home, sweetheart."

"Before we go home, if you don't mind, Daddy, I have to go to the bureau office first. I'm supposed to see Charlie about my assignment."

"It can't wait a day for you to get some rest?" Astrid asked.

"The bureau chief in Paris was adamant that I get over to the Washington office as soon as I got here. Didn't bother to say what the hurry was, though."

Astrid and Jim exchanged a glance that Cassie, with twenty years' experience in the news business, could hardly have missed.

"What?" Her eyes flicked from one to the other. "What was that about?"

"Nothing, Princess." Jim pulled them on.

"Oh, look. Cassie Mercer. That's her." The young woman's voice carried across the corridor. "Hi, Cassie."

Cassie jerked her head toward the sound of her name and waved, somewhat flummoxed.

No more than twenty paces further, another young woman, this one with a toddler in tow, cut in front of them and turned, walking backward in front of them.

"Ms. Mercer, would you autograph my copy?"

"Sure.... Your copy of what?"

"Modern Home. The one with the poll." The woman waved the magazine in front of Cassie's eyes.

As she read the words on the cover, Cassie's mouth dropped open.

She took the magazine and looked into her own eyes. Her standard publicity shot graced the cover. Beside her cool, professional smile were the words: Cassandra Mercer, the most trusted woman in the world.

"This is a gag, right?" she asked, turning to her parents.

"Nope. Here," Jim said, his voice crackling with amusement as he handed her a pen.

Cassie mechanically signed the cover of the magazine and muttered, "Thank you."

"Come on, Princess, before more of your fans swarm us."

Approaching the baggage claim area, Cassie finally recovered from the shock of the long flight and unexpected celebrity.

"Okay, guys, what's going on?"

"Well," Astrid said, pulling a copy of Modern Home from her own bag. "Read it for yourself."

Cassie took the magazine and leaned against a pillar, scanning the article while her father went to collect her baggage. The yearly poll asked readers of this -- the largest circulation women's magazine in the world -- to name the people who had earned their trust.

It hadn't even been close. She'd outdistanced the second place finisher, the President of the United States, by twenty percent.

"Your quick trip home starting to make sense?" Astrid asked.

Cassie nodded, closing the magazine and handing it back to Astrid. "Cassandra Mercer is the most trusted woman in the world, and ATV is cashing in on the positive publicity."

"The honchos at ATV have something cooking and it looks to me like you, my treasure, are the main ingredient."

"Come on, girls, we're parked right across the street in the short-term lot." Jim led the way out the automatic doors, wheeling Cassie's two oversized suitcases. When he reached the shiny brown Lincoln parked in the first row, he pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. Over his shoulder he said, "Maybe you'll get that new prime-time news magazine ATV's got in the works."

The prospect was a pleasing one.

"That would be nice," Cassie replied. "I hear there's going to be a big-time budget for real investigative journalism." Even as she said this, she noticed her mother's well-fed-cat smile. She slipped into the backseat behind Astrid, commanding, "Give, Mother."

"Oh, I have my hunches."

Jim huffed as he got into the car and twisted the key in the ignition. "Don't listen to her, Princess. She doesn't have any facts to back those hunches up."

"Oh, Jim, you know perfectly well...."

Her parents' voices dimmed to a hum as Cassie's eyes were drawn to the grimy rear of the bus that chugged along ahead of them toward the four-lane access road. She sprang forward.

"Do you see that?" Cassie pointed to the bus. On the big sign on the rear was her picture and the stylized clock that served as ATV's logo. And one more thing.

America trusts Cassie Mercer.

Astrid turned around, her Cheshire smile even broader.

"They're all over -- busses, billboards, newspapers. And you know, darling, the grapevine is full...."

"Astrid, don't spread rumors."

"What rumors?" Cassie asked in spite of her father's warning.

Astrid glanced over at her husband. "Jim, Cassandra knows how to evaluate unsubstantiated information." She turned back to Cassie. "There are big changes in the making at ATV. My money is on your replacing Rebecca Winston at the White House."

"Why would they want to replace her?"

"It's a personality conflict. Now, I understand that the President's political views are a bit, ah, reactionary, but Winston's been so confrontational that no one at the White House will even talk to her. She has zero access over there."

Jim snorted. "If I was still bureau chief, she'da been pounding the pavement looking for another job by now."

"Yes, dear. If you were chief," Astrid cooed, quirking a look at her husband, then turning to Cassie. "I have to get him back to work. He's driving me insane."

Cassie grinned, stretching on the luxurious leather seat. "Maybe we can find a nice warzone for him to report from. Bosnia? Rwanda? Ah." She sat up and leaned on the front seat and whispered in her father's ear. "The Vatican, seat of international intrigue."

"My sainted mother would haunt me if I started looking for dirt on the Holy Father." Punching a button on the radio, Jim smiled in the rear-view mirror at her as the local country-music station came on. "Sit back and enjoy the ride, Princess. Looks like we're in for some traffic."

"Thanks, Daddy," Cassie said, pecking his cheek. Floyd Cramer's patented plunky piano style introduced Crazy. "Ah, Patsy," she whispered as Patsy Cline's voice filled the air. She did as her father commanded, sitting back and enjoying the smooth ride, the good music, the sound of her parents' voices as they argued about the possibilities for their daughter's future.

But, right at this moment, it didn't really matter to Cassie where ATV's plans had her going.

After ten years, it was just good to be home.

Five-thirty. Way too early to be leaving the office. Way too much to do, but.... Bill shrugged off the guilt and out of his suit jacket, slinging it over his shoulder as he waited for the elevator to arrive. He smiled at the squeal of the doors as they opened.

"You'd better get this thing into the shop for service, Raymond," he said to the elevator attendant.

Raymond laughed, his dark face crinkling in good humor. "I'm waitin' to trade it in on a new model. What's the chance, sir?"

"Not a one, man. I promised to cut expenditures, you know."

"You might be taking the stairs soon, then. Ol' Bessie here ain't in the best of health."

"Wouldn't hurt me or any of the rest of this bunch to take the stairs once in a while." Bill leaned against the wall of the ancient elevator as it creaked toward the second floor.

"Early night, sir?"

Sliding his hands into his pockets, Bill nodded. "I couldn't concentrate."

Raymond echoed his nod. "Are you doing all right today?"

Bill couldn't hide the fact that he knew exactly what Raymond was talking about. First anniversaries were the hardest, he'd been told.

"I'm okay, Raymond. Thanks for asking."

"I hope so, sir." The man's dark eyes reflected the concern Bill heard in his voice. "This is going to be a bad night for you. If you need some company, I'll be glad to stay."

Bill's throat went tight and he couldn't respond. Raymond didn't seem to notice, though Bill knew there was little the man didn't see.

"She was a fine lady. What happened was a terrible thing. If there is anything you need, even if it's just somebody to talk to, you call me or Jack or Henry."

"That means a lot to me, Raymond."

Raymond shrugged. "It ain't nothing, sir." The man smiled. "Besides, you got the best beer in Washington, and there ain't no other place in this town to get a decent game of cards."

The elevator shuddered to a stop and the doors opened with much protest.

Glad for the chance to lighten things up a little, Bill laughed. "It's been too long, that's for sure. We'll get a game together soon." He stepped out into the hallway.

Raymond's smile broadened. "Good deal, sir. Good night."

The doors closed, leaving Bill alone in the wide corridor.

Just like everybody had told him, it was getting easier. Usually he could walk by the room where so much of his life had ended without stopping, without the lonely ache eating at him.

He forced his feet to walk toward the large sitting room at the end of the hall, past her room.

You're doing all right, Bill, he told himself as he got to the door, but froze as a tickle taunted his nose, just the hint of lilac. The door opened at a touch, though he'd ordered it locked, and the scent of lilac flooded out. He'd hoped one of the domestic staff had spilled her perfume on the carpet, but as he passed through the door, he looked for and found the antique crystal bottle in its place on the dresser.

The gentle scent that had been her signature for as long as he'd known her wafted around his head, evoking memories of the days when he'd longed for it, for a glimpse of her trim ankles, for the feel of her glossy raven hair.

Her presence, signaled by the scent, was so strong he thought she must be here. She wouldn't be the first spirit to roam this house.

No, he thought, the truth was more prosaic. He just couldn't let her go yet.

At that moment, his eyes lit upon the brass urn on the dresser, the urn which contained her ashes. Crossing the room, he picked it up with hands that trembled.

"I'm home, honey," he whispered to the ashes inside.

Afraid he'd drop it, he set the urn back on the dresser and backed against the bed. Just like that morning, when he'd found her -- so still and pale, yet still so beautiful -- his knees gave out and he sank to the floor. Just like that morning the tears, tears he'd thought long dried, came.

Resting his elbows on his knees, he gave himself over to his grief. It was all he had left of her.

Chapter Two

Jim edged the Lincoln into an open spot in front of the ATV building.

"Here we are, Princess. If you don't mind, we'll wait out here, just in case the cops come by with the boot."

"That's fine, Daddy. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Cassie grabbed her shoulderbag and jumped out. Before catching the elevator, she ducked into the ladies room on the first floor to fix her makeup and brush her hair.

"Darn." She raised her hand to the few strands of white that showed up too well in the honey-brown. "Guess it was bound to happen."

With the sudden discovery of her graying hair came the concern that ATV would be less interested in the trust the American public had in her than in the advantages of firing her to make room for fresher, read younger, personnel.

Raising her chin, Cassie evaluated herself. For a woman of forty, she looked pretty good. Beyond the fact that she wasn't a gargoyle, she knew she was regarded as the best newsman of her generation. Her position was as secure as anybody's could be.

So, why the butterflies in her stomach? Could they be caused by the prospect of seeing Charlie Rinaldi again after all these years?

Cassie waited for the old sad clutching around her heart at the thought of Charlie. When it didn't come, she was surprised. For a long time, she'd been afraid she'd never get over him, but his memory was now no more than a headline. Even the mental photograph of him in their bed with another woman was fading to a faint black and white.

"Good," she whispered, stepping back and taking one last look before leaving the bathroom and catching the elevator to the top floor.

Cassie hadn't liked thinking she might make a fool of herself over him after all this time. If she had to be alone the rest of her life, at least she wouldn't spend it mooning over an unfaithful lover.

That thought did bring a twinge of regret.

She shook it off. Nothing but depression and insanity down that path, Cassandra. Dwell on it and you'll end up living in a rickety house full of cats and unopened mail.

The elevator muzak twanged with an instrumental version of Crazy.

She laughed softly. "How appropriate," she whispered.

The doors opened and there he was, male model smile in place, along with every single hair.

"Hi, Cass."

His voice brought back a flood of memories. Most of them were good, but there were enough bad ones that her smile was less broad because of them.

"Charlie." She held out her hand. "How are you?"

"Doing great." Charlie took her hand with his left. The empty sleeve on his right side reminded her of too many nights spent by his hospital bedside.

"Let's go into my office. Get us some coffee, will you, Gretchen?" he asked his secretary as he stepped aside and let Cassie enter first. If she hadn't known, she wouldn't have suspected that his right leg was prosthetic.

Charlie perched his still-perfect rear on the edge of his desk. "Have a seat. How was your flight?"

"Great. You know I love to fly, whatever the reason. No, thanks." Cassie shook her head at the cup of coffee the secretary offered and took a seat in front of Charlie's desk.

Niceties completed, Charlie got right to business. "I won't beat around the bush, Cassie. You've seen the advertisements we've been running? ATV is projecting substantial on-camera changes by the end of the year and you are the linchpin of all the plans."

"Me?"

Charlie smiled and nodded. "Kent Bishop is getting senile, Cass. Nuttier every day. We need to replace him before he really embarrasses the network. We won't even mention our ratings. When the Modern Home poll was released, the board decided it presented the perfect solution to our dilemma. You become anchor on the evening news and Kent moves to strict commentary."

Cassie thought maybe she'd missed something somewhere. "Anchor?"

Charlie nodded. "Anchor, sole, only. The first woman anchor on a non-cable network. Do you want it?"

Hesitating only an instant, Cassie knew it was what she'd waited for her whole professional life. She wasn't so green, though, that she'd jump at the offer like a Doberman at a hunk of meat. There was one small detail to clarify.

"Naturally, I'll also take on managing editor duties."

"Naturally," Charlie replied, so smoothly that Cassie could see it had already been discussed and the answer decided upon. "Kent's contract is up at the end of the year. Until January, you're being assigned to the White House as ATV's chief correspondent."

"What about Rebecca Winston?"

Charlie shrugged. "She'll be all right. I told her to play nice or she'd be canned faster than a tuna. She's done us a lot of damage over there. You'll have some bridges to rebuild."

"You're sending me over there to fix her problems?"

"Not her problems, Cassie. Our problems. Even more important, though, the White House is the one place where you'll be on the air every day. So, you'll stay in Washington for six months, make some contacts, get America used to listening to you with their dinner." Charlie grinned, his perfect teeth burning white in his tanned face. "Hopefully, you'll help us get out of the ratings cellar. Then in January, you go to New York and take the anchor chair."

Cassie's practical side took over her brain. "I imagine with the new responsibilities, we'll be renegotiating my contract."

Charlie smiled. "Jim would be proud. Your agent can arrange for the negotiations as soon as it's convenient. I've also been authorized to offer you use of ATV's furnished apartment on Connecticut Avenue, near the Zoo." He raised one well-shaped eyebrow. "Upwind, of course."

"That sounds great. Thank you, Charlie."

"Great. It'll be good to have you around again. Tell you the truth, if it were up to me, I'd keep you at the White House and get rid of Rebecca altogether. Moving you to the anchor desk is a waste."

"A waste?"

"Hell, yes. Listen, anybody can read the news. That imbecile Kent Bishop does it every day. But not everybody can be a newsman, Cassie. I suppose it's in your genes, though, huh?"

"Guess so."

Charlie nodded. "Be here tomorrow at seven-thirty and Rebecca will take you around to process you for the White House, you know, pass, security, all that stuff."

Before she could nod her understanding, he asked, "Listen, Cassie, how about meeting me for dinner tonight?"

Cassie shook her head.

Charlie reached around to his empty sleeve. "I suppose I understand...."

His forelorn expression was so patently fake that Cassie laughed in spite of herself.

"Please, Charlie," she said, "tell me you don't use that as a come-on line. I'd lose all the remaining respect I have for you. You know that had nothing to do with what happened to us."

"Cassie, give me another chance."

"Why? I'm not stupid, Charlie." Grabbing her purse by the strap, she stood up. "Besides, I hear you've been spending a lot of time in New York with Frau Panzer."

At the mention of the young widow of the late CEO of ATV who'd taken up the mantle with a ruthless dedication to the network her much older dead husband could never have expected when he left her his shares of stock, Charlie smiled. Cassie knew she'd hit the target.

"She's a great lady, but I'm not as hot for her as I was for you."

"Right," Cassie snorted. "Oh, well, live with the disappointment, buddy. I'm going to cook dinner for my daddy tonight." She opened the door and left Charlie in his office, his bemused expression broadening into a smile.

"Good to have you back, Cass," he yelled across the hallway, turning heads up and down the corridor.

"Good to be back, Charlie," she answered as the elevator doors shut.

An hour later, Cassie stood at the large center island in the kitchen of her parents' home, slicing chilled flank steak into thin strips. A tiny TV hung suspended from the cabinet by the sink.

"Ah, news time," she said, reaching over and turning up the volume. As a picture of the late First Lady appeared on the screen, she went still.

Kent Bishop mumbled something about a one year mark and Rebecca Winston from the White House.

"So, that's Rebecca Winston," Cassie studied the woman she would replace tomorrow.

"One year ago today, U.S. First Lady Lainie MacAllister was found dead in her bed by her husband. Though the coroner's report indicated there was no sign of foul play...."

Cassie frowned, irritated. Why even bring it up, then?

"... Questions continue to be asked by many, including Dr. Marcus Fraser of the Horizon Group, a Washington think-tank."

"Phfft." Cassie knew all about this guy.

Fraser was a well-known forensics expert who jumped on every conspiracy theory that came down the pike. The camera widened the angle to include him in his seat at the newscaster's side.

"Dr. Fraser, why do you believe there may have been a cover-up in the First Lady's death?"

"Well, Rebecca, the report of the coroner was done in only twenty-four hours. Simply the speed of the investigation troubles me. Then there is the matter of the mix of chemicals in the First Lady's blood. She was legally intoxicated, though no one can say that she was a drinker. She had barbituates in her system, though no one can produce a prescription. The most troubling piece of evidence is the presence of mood-elevators."

"What are mood elevators?"

"Chemicals often prescribed for depression. This, too, is puzzling. There are no records of which I'm aware that the First Lady was being treated for depression."

Cassie sat up and listened closer.

"What do you think this means, Dr. Fraser?"

The man clasped his hands before him on the desk. When he spoke, Cassie heard the measured delivery of his words.

"I'm concerned that the First Lady's death might not have been accidental."

Eyes widening, Cassie couldn't believe he'd actually said that.

"Do you have any evidence of who might have wished to kill the First Lady?" Rebecca asked.

"No," Dr. Fraser said. "However, I think the questions I have raised warrant consideration and further investigation."

As Rebecca continued with voice-over description, the President appeared on the screen, face lined with sadness, his eyes red-rimmed and exhausted, delivering his statement from that terrible day.

Cassie seethed with sympathetic anger. Whoever'd planned and approved this little hit-piece ought to be fired.

No fan of the President's politics, Cassie knew him to be a man of integrity. This made it look like he should be investigated for murder.

Not to mention the pathetic figure it made of the First Lady, which almost made her madder.

The voice-over continued. "With White House security in question, the Secret Service response naturally was that this was simply a tragic accident. But," Rebecca paused somewhat over-dramatically, "what if foul play was involved in the matter of the death of the First Lady? What if a murderer has acted in the White House itself, right under the noses of the vaunted Secret Service? If this was not the accident it has been purported to be, will a murderer escape justice? Rebecca Winston, ATV News at the White House."

Cassie muttered in disgust and went back to slicing the steak, not really wishing a certain White House correspondent were under her knife.

It was a classic propaganda ploy. Raise a question as speculation, present an expert -- some hired gun like Fraser -- to validate it, then re-state it as fact, in this case, that a murderer was escaping without punishment.

"What a pile of...." She grabbed her iced tea to drown her sudden case of potty-mouth. "What about motive, huh, Becky, sweetie? What about that?" she shouted at the TV.

White House guests sign in and out at the front door. Secret Service litters the hallways. The whole place is a security showplace. The next logical step was that the President himself was the murderer, because who else had the opportunity? If this was the slop that passed for objective reporting in Rebecca Winston's book, Cassie could see why she was being replaced, albeit, temporarily.

Well, Cassie had worked too hard to let her reputation be sullied by association with such sensationalist pap. What was Charlie thinking about to let Rebecca Winston go on with this?

She sipped her tea, wondering exactly how many bridges Charlie expected her to rebuild.

Chapter Three

"Bill, are you all right?"

Turning away from the voice that had intruded on his grief, Bill sniffed and tried to surreptiously wipe the traces of it from his face.

"Bill?" The intruder came closer.

"Jeez, Mac, are you trying to give me a coronary?" he asked, trying to keep his voice light, hoping to send his bloodhound-nosed brother off the track.

John MacAllister, Mac to everybody, stood in the middle of the hall. "That would be preferable to the press finding out you're talking to your dead wife. Just what we need the year before an election."

William Allen MacAllister, 44th President of the United States of America, turned. "Don't start with me. I haven't decided to run again."

"You'll run," Mac snorted. "You like being President. Besides, I like being Chief of Staff and I'm too close to retirement to look for another job." He glanced at the dresser, at the urn. "Trying again to get her to forgive you for being a jerk?"

Resisting the impulse to punch his older brother in the face, Bill asked, "You want a beer?" He left the room without looking at Mac and went into the sitting room. The small refrigerator in the corner was freshly stocked with his favorite long-necked bottles. He took out two and tossed one over to Mac.

"Where's the chilled mug?" Mac whined.

"Drink it out of the bottle like a man." Bill twisted the top off his own and tipped it up, draining half the beer. "You only get chilled mugs when the Cowboys are in the Super Bowl."

Mac smiled. "Here's to chilled mugs in January." He raised his bottle in a salute that Bill returned.

"Amen."

They drank on it.

"Man, I needed that," Bill said. "Now, tell me what you're doing up here so late. I thought you'd gone home."

"I brought you some homework." Mac sat on the sofa and laid his briefcase on the coffee table. Reaching inside, he pulled out a two-inch thick file and tossed it to Bill, who managed to catch it and keep the loose papers from flying.

"The Qeshim negotiations are stalled again."

Bill dropped onto the sofa and opened the folder. "What's the problem?"

"Your old law school buddy Asan has turned Islamic fundamentalist since he went home and became Prime Minister."

Shooting Mac a glance, Bill said, "Asan has his problems. There are certain factions he has to reassure or he'll find his head separated from his shoulders, just like the guy who held the job before him."

Mac shrugged. "Anyway, the Queshimi negotiators are a little nervous of the impact an American military base will have on their country. They're objecting to the normal morale support facilities."

"What kind of facilities?"

"PX, bowling alley, Armed Forces Radio. Look, Bill, we can't send our boys and girls into a place with no smokes, no booze, nowhere to buy condoms."

Bill grimaced. "God forbid."

Mac grinned. "Those world citizens over at State are unable to reassure the Qeshimi negotiators that the United States will respect their culture and religion. You know, ugly Americans and all that. Ham wants some face time on this."

Bill slammed the folder on the coffee table. "What the hell does Ham get paid for? He's the Secretary of State. Tell him to handle it." Bill drained his beer and got up to get himself another. He took out two and started to toss it over, but Mac held up his hand.

"No, thanks, still got one. Besides, I'm driving."

Was that a hint? Bill wondered, even as he twisted the cap off the second bottle.

"Put him off as long as you can, Mac. I'm not up to a private session with Ham. It's beyond me how such a brilliant man can be so boring except when discussing the foreign policy aspects of the War of 1812."

"Oh, boy, the charisma shor'nuf runs like the mighty Mo then, don't it?"

Bill couldn't help chuckling at that. Mac's grin said he'd counted on it.

"I'll keep him off the calendar for a week or so. Anyway, Asan'll be here in a couple of days. Maybe the two of you can write the agreement on a cocktail napkin or something. Now, read," he ordered, holding out Bill's glasses.

With a resigned sigh, Bill took the glasses and slipped them on, then reached for the folder. His eyes slid over the rainbow of classifications, caveats, codewords and warnings of dire consequences if divulged to anyone not having the proper clearances, growing heavy the instant they hit the terse executive summary. All the while he read, he felt Mac watching him. He waited. When Mac was ready, he'd say what was on his mind.

He didn't have to wait long.

"Bill," Mac finally said, "I want you to call the girls to come clean their mother's things out of that room."

Bill didn't even look up. "No."

Mac let his head drop back against the back of the chair. "It's been a year...."

"I know how long it's been." Bill was sorry for the edge in his voice.

Sitting up, Mac rested his elbows on his knees.

"Okay, I've let this go on long enough. Listen to me, Billy, you've wallowed in self-pity long enough. For your good and the good of the country, you've got to get control of yourself."

"The country is fine."

"The country is fine my ass. If Congress knew what was going on, you'd already be on trial in the Senate. More important, with the election next year, your approval numbers are going soft. There's a sense of unease about you among the electorate."

Bill cut Mac a look. "You get that from a focus group?"

Mac ignored the comment. "Have you taken a look at the Federal Register lately? Regulations are shooting from every bureaucratic wazoo in this town and you pledged to stop that kind of thing."

"What are the Department secretaries doing?"

"Most of the secretaries are new. Don't you remember appointing all those new-fresh-scrubbed faces in the last year? Most of these people don't have the slightest idea of what you want them to do. You don't see anybody you don't absolutely have to see and I have to tie you to the chair to get that. The career bureaucrats are having a field day while you spend your days and nights sitting on your ass on the floor of your dead wife's bedroom."

That wasn't fair and Bill was about to tell Mac that, but Mac wasn't particularly interested in being fair. He was making a point and Bill -- brutally honest with himself for once -- knew it was a long time in coming.

"You've got to get control of this government again and start making some decisions before something really bad happens."

Bill cast his eyes to the floor, studying the rich Persian pattern in the rug, and admitted that Mac, once again, was right. He nodded in agreement and raised his eyes again to Mac's.

"The first thing you're going to do is read that." Mac pointed at the thick file that lay on the table in front of Bill. "When Asan gets here, you're gonna sit down with him and soothe his ragged nerves and get him to agree to something. Then we'll be able to put out that the President was giving his flunkies a chance to do their jobs, but when they couldn't deliver, the big guy himself had to step in to save the day. It'll play great in Peoria." Mac sipped at his beer and sat back. "Then maybe we can work on the other thing," he muttered.

"What other thing? What else am I screwing up?"

Mac opened his mouth and started to breathe out to say -- something. Then he clammed up and frowned.

"No. This isn't the time."

"Come on, Mac. You're dumping on me. Might as well empty the bucket."

Mac studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded.

"All right." He took a big breath. "You need to think about getting back out among people." He sucked down another breath, sounding just like Alfred Hitchcock. "Well, after all, you were a happily married man."

Bill narrowed his eyes. "Why does that sound like code for something else?"

"Because it is." Mac hurried on. "You were getting it pretty regular for a lot of years."

He couldn't be serious talking about this tonight.

"You're right, Mac, I don't want to talk about this. Not tonight."

"No, no." Mac held up both hands. "Now that I've started, let me finish." He got up and prowled around the room. "Look, Bill, Lainie and I got along like a cat and a dog. I won't deny that."

A smile tugged at the corner of Bill's mouth as he considered the understatement of that remark.

Mac smiled, too. "She was something, I'll give her that. Though I still don't understand how you got tied up with her."

Bill could have told him but Mac kept on talking.

"But, I know she loved you, even at the end. And I know she knew you loved her." He stopped and sat back down, leaning forward more, getting closer to Bill. "And I know she wouldn't want you to...."

"Isn't that convenient?" Bill cut him off, not masking his sarcasm. "I'm amazed how easy it is for the living to put words into the mouths of the dead."

"Are you saying she'd want you to act like you're the one that's dead?"

Since he couldn't honestly say yes, Bill kept his mouth shut.

"Bill, you're still a young man, just hitting your prime. You can't sit shut up in this museum day after day. The public feels sorry for you, but they're a little worried that the President is getting despondent. Not a good state of mind for the guy with the button."

This struck Bill as improbably funny. Mac loved talking about that button.

"Come on, Mac, you know as well as I do I can't launch so much as a spitball by myself."

"You and I know it, but they," Mac tossed a gesture over his shoulder toward them, the electorate, out there in fly-over country, "don't know it. They want to see you getting your life in order again. They want you to be seen in the company of ladies." Mac shrugged. "That's what the groups say."

"What do you propose, oh, mighty Chief of Staff? You obviously agree that the President would benefit from a romantic liaison." Bill sat back on the sofa, deciding to play along with Mac's game. "How am I supposed to meet a woman?"

Mac frowned in mock dismay. "It's got to be a woman?"

"Absolute must." Bill sat back with his beer.

"Well, let's see," Mac said. He puckered his lips and creased his brow, obviously giving the matter the serious consideration it deserved. His face lightened and a broad smile spread across his face. "Jennifer Shays would be willing to comfort you in your loneliness."

"You gotta be kiddin'. I was hoping for a member of my own species."

Mac only barely kept his mouth shut around his beer. When he was able to talk, he asked, "What's the matter with Shays? She's a great looking woman. Rich. Well connected." He wiggled his eyebrows. "Really well connected, especially where those long legs of hers are connected to that perky little rear."

"The woman's from Mars. She thinks she's Jackie Kennedy." Bill sat up. "She wants to redecorate the White House in Swedish Modern. Mac...." He leaned closer. "Her idea of a China problem is whether to use the Reagan or the Johnson dishes." He nursed his beer while Mac snorted, then added, "Let's not even talk about the habit all her husbands have of turning up dead."

"Yeah, but they all died with smiles on their faces."

When their shared laughter died down, Bill grew quiet again.

"You know what she's after, don't you? She wants the house, the plane, the band playing Hail to the Chief when we come into a room. I'd like more than that."

The realization that he did want more than that stopped him.

"What more do you want?" Mac finally asked.

The question hung between them for a long moment. Bill hadn't allowed himself to think much about the future, a barren, lonely place without Lainie. But now that the question had been asked, he knew the answer.

The emptiness inside him echoed with it.

"I want a woman who'll love me and fight with me and tell me when she thinks I'm full of bullshit. A woman who'll sit on my lap at the end of a rotten day and listen while I tell her just how rotten it was. I want a wife."

Eyes full of understanding, Mac nodded. But his nature wasn't to let hurt linger. He went for the laugh.

"Will you talk to Julie? I could use a wife like that."

Bill smiled. "C'mon, she's nuts about you."

"She'd have to be nuts to put up with me." Mac drained his beer and got up to take Bill's empty bottles. He dropped them in the recycle bin beside the refrigerator, then came up behind the sofa and laid his hands on Bill's shoulders and squeezed. "Get some supper and turn in. We'll finish this tomorrow. Good night, little brother."

"Good night, Mac." Bill listened to Mac's muffled footsteps fading in the hallway. Then he leaned back and listened to the silence.

Turn in, huh? Presumably to sleep. Well, that would be nice, he thought. It had been a while since he'd gotten a decent night's sleep.

They said you needed less sleep as you got older. If that were true, and if it also worked based on how old you felt, Bill figured he didn't need more than a catnap every other week or so. "You're feeling sorry for yourself again, Bill."

He got up and put on a Patsy Cline CD. The rocking beat of Walkin' After Midnight filled the room as he poured himself a scotch and soda and sat down in his recliner in front of the fireplace.

Two scotches and ten songs later, he fell asleep.

"Princess, I've forgotten what a good cook you are. You'll have to stay and feed me for a week or two."

"Thanks, Daddy. I'm glad you enjoyed it." She reached behind her to the sideboard and got the glasses and bottle of Glenlivet she'd brought from Europe -- it had been meant for her father's Christmas present. "How about a drink? I've got some news."

"Naturally," Astrid said, dryly.

"Ha, ha," Cassie tossed back. "Leave comedy to the professionals, Mother."

Jim guffawed at the exchange and poured his ladies each a generous Scotch.

Cassie folded her hands primly before her on the table.

"I would like to present the next anchor of ATV's evening news hour."

Astrid's mouth opened in a wide "O". Jim slammed his hand on the table, but was similarly speechless.

"Don't both of you congratulate me at once."

"Darling, that's wonderful!" Astrid finally found her voice. "I'm just so surprised." She jumped from her chair and came around the table to embrace Cassie. "I'm so proud of you, my treasure."

Jim also joined in the hug-fest. "I'm happy for you, Princess, but I can't think what they're using for brains. You're too good a newsman to waste behind a desk. Even that slickster Charlie Rinaldi ought to see that."

Cassie squeezed her father and they all sat back down. "Don't be too hard on Charlie, Daddy. He told me the same thing. But I guess the Board decided they wanted to capitalize on this poll thing."

"Very smart," Astrid said. "ATV is in the toilet, ratings-wise."

A snicker escaped Cassie's lips.

"So, when? Will you be based in Washington?" Jim asked.

"No. Well, yes. Until January when Kent's contract is up and they can move him to commentary. Until then, they've assigned me to the White House."

Astrid whooped. "Pay up, James," her mother ordered, one elegant hand slamming the table, much as Jim had earlier.

Jim waved her off. "Just a second. Princess, are you replacing Winston? Be very careful how you answer. Money's riding here."

Astrid sat up, expectantly watching her daughter.

"Come on, darling. It's worth two hundred dollars to me."

"Two hundred?" Cassie whistled. "Sorry, Mother. I'm not actually replacing her. She'll still be there and I think she'll return to the chief correspondent position when I move on. I think it was to get me on camera every day."

"Sounds to me like I just won two hundred dollars," Astrid crowed.

"Wait, my love. Winston hasn't gone anywhere. Cassie is going to the evening news in New York. I don't think you've won anything."

"We'll discuss this later." Astrid raised one hand and in a stage whisper said to Cassie, "When he's at my mercy."

Jim tossed back another Scotch. "I look forward to it."

Cassie laughed until her sides ached. "I missed you guys so much."

"Here's to our little anchorman," Astrid said, raising her glass before she shot the Scotch like a sailor.

"Here, here," Jim downed a fresh shot and poured two more.

They sat for hours, catching up on months of gossip and news that they'd gathered since Cassie's last trip home at Christmas. When the mantle clock struck ten, Cassie laid her glass on the table and stood to stretch.

"Goodness. I'd better clean this mess up. I've got a seven-thirty curtain call."

"Seven-thirty? AM? Why, that's absolutely barbaric. Who's up at that hour?" Astrid ran her long fingers through her snow white hair. "I'll take care of the dishes, darling."

"What?" Cassie asked. "You know how to do dishes?"

"Begone, you disrespectful whelp." Astrid was smiling when she stood and started clearing the table.

"Are you sure, Mother?"

"Go on and take a nice, long soak. I have some wonderful bubble bath up there."

"Go on, Princess," Jim said. "I'll make sure she doesn't burn herself heating the water." He winked broadly at Cassie.

So, Cassie had her nice, long bath surrounded by bubbles that smelled like a tropical garden -- sweet and tangy and spicy. She tossed aside her usual nightgown in favor of her favorite pair of baby-doll pajamas, still resting in the top drawer of her dresser after twenty years.

At last, nearly boneless from the flight, the long day, the Scotch, and the hot bathwater, Cassie pulled down the frilly lavender flowered coverlet and slid under onto the cool, clean sheets.

Her breath caught on a long sigh and eased out of her body in an expression of perfect comfort and peace. As she lay there, she let her eyes wander around the room where she'd grown up when she wasn't following her mother around the world.

Someone who didn't know Astrid might think it had been kept as a shrine to a departed child. Cassie knew better. Astrid was no more a domesticated housekeeper than she was a cook. The room had been kept clean, but no other changes had been made. Posters of late sixties heartthrobs covered the walls, which were still painted a pale lavender.

On the bedside table still sat the autographed picture of Mary Tyler Moore as Mary Richards. Beside it was a picture of Astrid and Jim on their wedding day.

The door creaked open.

"Everything all right?" Astrid asked as she entered the room and came to sit on the edge of the bed. "You're not too let down that I haven't redecorated, are you, darling?"

"No, Mother, it really is wonderful."

Astrid climbed into bed beside Cassie and took her hand. "It's so good to have you home. You'd think after a few years, I'd adjust, but every few days I'd come in and lie down and pretend you were here to talk to." She glanced at Cassie. "Silly, huh?"

"No. I used to do the same thing in Paris. Well, I did when I moved out on Charlie. I'd lie in bed and cry and tell you how horrible I felt. Then I'd picture Daddy beating the stuffing out of him and I'd feel better."

Astrid laughed gently and squeezed Cassie's hand. "So, how was it when you saw him?"

"I didn't feel anything at all, even when I realized he's sleeping with Panzer."

Astrid raised her eyebrows. "Really? Well, well."

Cassie saw her mother file that tidbit away before she asked, "So, if you're over him, why haven't there been any other men in your life?"

Cassie shrugged. "I've been out a couple of times, but there just hasn't been anyone I wanted to start a relationship with." She turned toward her mother and asked the question she'd asked a hundred times since she'd started noticing boys. "Mother, how did you know you were in love with Daddy?"

Astrid sighed and gave the same answer she always gave.

"Whenever I'd see him, my fingers tingled, my brain went blank, my mouth didn't work at all, or else I prattled like a fool. And," Astrid smiled conspiratorially, "sometimes I'd have a little orgasm when he looked at me."

"Mother," Cassie squealed. "You never told me that."

"I should hope not. But, you are forty years old...."

"Don't remind me."

"....And if you're going to find your soul mate, you'd better be ready to hear any signal he gives you."

Cassie laughed, a little bitterly. "I've given up on finding my soul mate in this incarnation, Mother. After Charlie, I thought for a long time about my life. It just didn't seem like I was meant to have a family, husband, kids, so I concentrated on my career."

"So, that's all there is? Your career? There has to be more in your life than the news."

"I'll do the news until they force me to retire. Then, I'll join the Peace Corps or something. Or buy one of those RV things and travel."

"Is that going to be enough for you, darling?"

She shrugged. "It'll have to be. I'm afraid at this point I'm too picky and not willing to make do with second best."

Astrid smiled and put her arm around Cassie. A big, squeezing hug later, she said, "Good. Don't ever settle for less than what you really want. I think you'll be comfortable with yourself. But, don't ignore it if the perfect man comes along. When it's right, there's nothing better in life."

They lay together for a few quiet moments, enjoying each other's warmth.

"I'd better be getting to my own bed. My soul mate is waiting." Astrid got up. "Good night, darling. Sleep tight."

She kissed Cassie on the forehead and smoothed her hair back, like she used to when Cassie was little. "It's true, you know, that children never grow up in a mother's heart." She smiled wryly. "Who'd have thought I'd be so maternal?"

Astrid gave Cassie another smile as she pulled the door shut behind her. The door to her parents' room clicked shut just a few seconds later. She lay in the dark, envious, wondering if maybe her soul mate was out there somewhere.

If he was, he'd better get it in gear if he wanted to find her before she was too old to do him any good.