Point of No Return

Without a word Brodie leaned down and brushed his lips against hers, then pulled her to him, wrapping her in his protective embrace.

"I should have done this before. . . ."

Hallie felt the words as he spoke them against her lips, felt their vibration as their meaning echoed in her head and a welcome warmth spread throughout her body. She held her breath as his mouth closed over hers, searching, unbridled in its intensity, and their bodies melded until she was aware of every inch of him flush against her. When his hands found their way to her hair, tangling, uncoiling, disheveling, she slipped her arms around his neck and clung to him. An exhilarating sense of abandon, like nothing she'd ever experienced, swept her along, urging her down a path she had not wanted to travel, but now could not leave. And she sensed through his touch and eagerness that he could not turn back either. Other Leisure and Love Spell books by
Melody Morgan: DEFIANT HEARTS ABIDING LOVE JAUNCEY Love & Honor Melody Morgan A LEISURE BOOK®

January 1998

Published by

Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
276 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10001

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

ISBN 0-8439-4341-6

The name "Leisure Books" and the stylized "L" with design are trademarks of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

Printed in the United States of America. To Karen,
They say being a middle child isn't always easy. But you've
made it look like a piece of cake with your beautiful
disposition and your loving heart.
Love, Mom

Chapter One

Lampasas, Texas, 1879

Bullets whined past his left ear, then his right, as Brodie dug his heels into the buckskin's sides. He crouched low in the saddle with the intention of keeping his head on his shoulders, just the way he liked it.

"Damn!" he muttered into the wind when another bullet, no more than a whisker away, whistled past.

He didn't have time to wonder why they were shooting at him or who they might be. With his life hanging in the balance, those questions seemed inconsequential. He focused on the copse of trees ahead, instinctively knowing by the slope of the ground that a stream lay dead ahead. Holding himself parallel to the ground, he used the movement of his body to guide the horse to the right, around the end of the trees and headlong into what he sure as hell hoped would be no deeper than a puddle. He tensed momentarily with anticipation before water pelted his legs and sprayed his face as the horse's hooves pounded along the bottom of the small creek. The thrill of the hunt, the thrill of the chase, was something he was used to, but until now he had always been the one in pursuit.

Silently, he urged his horse up the bank and across the plains. Concentrating on the lay of the land, he saw a town loom in the distance. Brodie hunkered lower in his saddle, trying to gain more speed, his face below the level of his horse's ears. Only the thundering of hooves on hard-packed earth and the whining of an occasional bullet coming too close filled his ears. Then one of the bullets found its mark as he felt a searing pain in the seat of his pants.

"Bastards!" He gritted his teeth and forced his mind to think only of the town ahead inching closer. Before he reached the outskirts, the bullets stopped flying, but he neither slowed down nor looked back. At a full, hell-bent-for-leather gallop he raced into town. Wooden storefronts blurred, along with a pedestrian or two jumping from his path. Realizing he was safe, he carefully eased back into his saddle.

"Whoa," he said calmly, gently stroking the buckskin with his voice.

Now that he sat a little straighter, a searing pain shot down his left leg. He leaned heavily on the right stirrup, hoisting himself an inch above the saddle. Jerking his hat off, he slapped it hard against his good leg and swore once more through clenched teeth. A cloud of powdery dust rose, then hung suspended in the still, dry air.

"Of all the miserable luck!"

He made a quick glance around at the storefronts facing the open square, hoping to spot a doctor's shingle. Nothing. Several yards away a boy sat on the edge of the boardwalk, drawing circles in the dirt. Brodie held back a groan as he carefully urged his horse toward him.

"Son," Brodie called.

The boy looked up, squinting one eye at him, then at the awkward slant of Brodie's saddle.

"This town have a doctor?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. Old Doc Summers's place." He pointed farther down the street. "It's over the saloon."

Brodie stared at the most ostentatious building he'd ever seen. Painted bright yellow and trimmed in red with varying shades of blue and purple, the saloon looked like a peacock in the middle of a chicken house. The overhead sign proclaimed this was the "Lady's Garter," but there was no shingle announcing Old Doc Summers's office. Only an outdoor stairway, which led to the second floor, suggested an upstairs office.

"Thanks."

"Hey, mister, you're bleeding. Looks like you been shot in the hind-side." The boy smiled a small sideways grin, wrinkling his nose.

In no mood for dallying, Brodie turned his horse toward the saloon, which looked to be about a mile away, but in reality was less than four buildings from him. When he reached the stairway he clamped his teeth together and prepared to dismount. Leaning as far to the left as he dared, he swung his right leg over the rump of the horse while the muscles of his stomach tightened. Then, supporting most of his weight against the saddle, he slid gently to the ground with just a small thud as his boots touched the hard dirt. Nevertheless, a quiver of pain gripped him. When it subsided, he tied his horse to the rail and limped onto the wooden walk before contemplating the long climb ahead of him. Take it one step at a time, he told himself while he focused on the lantern that hung suspended by a hook at the top of the stairs.

Right foot, drag the left. Right foot, drag the left, twenty-five times. Once he reached the landing, he rested heavily against the doorjamb before turning the knob. Beneath his tensed arm, the door moved noiselessly on its hinges.

Sitting at an oversized desk, a woman wearing a long white shirt bent over a large stack of papers, her pen busily scratching. ''I'll be with you in a minute," she said absently without looking at him.

When he continued to stand with the door open, she glanced up. Deep brown eyes stared at him through a small pair of spectacles, which rested on an equally small nose. Her dark hair was drawn back into a becoming thick knot with escaping tendrils framing her face. She removed the spectacles one ear at a time.

"May I help you?" she asked, pushing her chair away from the desk.

I'm here to see Doc Summers." The pain in his backside wasn't so great that he didn't notice the baggy pants she wore rolled to her ankles.

"I'm Doctor Summers," she explained without so much as a smile.

Brodie regarded her with blatant surprise. He might have believed she was a helper or even a relative, but he would never have suspected she was the doctor. "Is there another Doc Summers?"

"No." She frowned slightly. "What can I do for you?"

"Uh . . ." What a helluva predicament, he thought.

"Are you all right?" she asked, rising. "Please sit down. Over here." She pulled out a chair from alongside the desk and placed it near him.

"Uh . . . I can't do that." The tension in his voice, created by the pain in his backside, sounded strange even to his own ears. Lord, he thought, was he ever between a rock and a hard place! A woman doctor. Who ever heard tell?

She took a step toward him. "Let me help"

"No!" He stumbled backward, resisting her attempt to take his arm. "I mean . . . no, thanks."

"Obviously, you came here for help," she said from an arm's length away.

"Yes, ma'am." He clenched the doorknob in his fist.

She raised her eyebrows, as if asking him to go on.

"I was ambushed outside of town."

"Then maybe you need the sheriff's office."

"No, ma'am. At least, not first."

"You need a doctor first?" She tilted her head.

He nodded, wondering if just maybe the town had a good horse doctor.

"That means they were pretty good marksmen." She looked him over, head to toe.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Would it help if you called me Doc?" Her voice sounded sincere, but he didn't need sincerity; he needed a man's doctor for a man's wound.

"No, ma'am, I don't think so."

"Well, sir, where did they shoot you?" She emphasized the word "shoot" and it irritated him.

"Well?" She asked again when he hesitated.

He couldn't believe it, but he actually felt the heat of embarrassment rise up his neck. "In the back. That is, in the seat."

A glimmer of a twinkle lit her brown eyes, and he thought he saw the corner of her mouth twitch.

"I suggest you unbuckle your trousers and we'll take a look. But first you might want to close the door."

He definitely saw the twitch that time, and just about turned on his heel to go in search of that horse doctor.

"Or would you rather stand there and bleed?"

She had a point, he decided. The blood had already run down the back of his leg, drying in some places and pulling the hairs when he moved.

The doctor turned her back and walked to the glass cabinet, where she took out several instruments and a basin.

"Lie facedown on the table," she called over her shoulder. "I can cut away the trousers, if you like. They won't be much good to you anyway."

Brodie dropped his hat onto a nearby chair and removed his gunbelt. He decided he'd keep his pants, bullet hole and all, so he slid them down and climbed onto the narrow table, but he'd never dropped his britches so unwillingly. With both hands folded beneath his cheek, he turned his head away from her and faced the bare wall.

"So you've met our unsavory element," she said casually, as though he was nothing more than a duck at her Christmas dinner waiting to be carved.

He heard the clinking of metal against metal and the sharp crack of a towel as she shook it out.

"If you're talking about those damned bushwhackers, yes, ma'am, I sure have." A familiar acrid odor filled the room. God, he hated that smell. His stomach tensed and he felt the muscles in his buttocks bunch up, giving him a sudden dart of pain.

"Just passing through town?" she asked.

He clenched his eyes shut, waiting. When she swabbed the torn skin, perspiration popped out on his forehead. First he felt the coldness of the liquid, then its fire.

"No," he replied.

"Are you planning on staying in town long?"

The metal probe stabbed into his flesh and his eyes flew open as he inhaled sharply. He wished to God she'd quit talking and just get on with the job. Fast.

"Are you?" she asked again, probing that tender part of his anatomy.

He ignored her questions and stared at the crack in the wall. She didn't say another word. Endless minutes passed while she dug out the bullet. Finally, he heard the clunk and rattle as the bullet fell into the metal basin and rolled around.

Brodie blew out the air he'd been holding, puffing out the word "Damn!" Perspiration slid onto his hand from his forehead.

"Almost finished. It looks like you need a stitch or two."

Once again she poured the liquid fire on the fresh wound.

Brodie sucked a quick intake of air through his teeth. "Just make it quick," he growled.

He barely noticed when she stitched him up. Hellfire, he thought, it wasn't much wonder.

"Done," she announced at last. "You can get up now."

He glanced over his shoulder from his prone position to see if her back was turned. It was. Carefully, he slid off the table, pulling his pants up all in one motion.

"I would suggest you give that a chance to heal." She poured water into a basin and washed her hands. "That means staying off your horse and staying out of the line of fire."

Brodie slipped his gunbelt around his hips and buckled it. Easier said than done, he thought, since he lived by his gun. He picked up his hat and put it on, facing her.

"How much do I owe you?"

"One dollar." She moved to her desk and sat down, putting her spectacles on again. Without another word, she took up her pen and started writing.

He laid a dollar on her desk and turned to leave, halting at the door. "I'm looking for Henry Sinclair. Do you know where I can find him?" he asked.

Her head snapped up. Suddenly, with her full attention riveted on him, her brown eyes, made larger through the spectacles, bored into his.

"Why do you want to see him?" she asked. A frown creased the area above the bridge of her nose where her glasses rested.

He never discussed business with anyone, even if they had seen him without his britches.

"Do you know where I can find him?" he repeated, ignoring her question.

For a moment he thought she would insist on having her question answered before she would answer his.

"You'll find him at the apothecary. It's in the general store." She opened her mouth as if to say something more, then apparently decided against it.

Without giving her time to change her mind again, he nodded and walked out, closing the door firmly behind him. The stitches in his backside puckered with pain while he contemplated the stairs. Muttering a curse, he started down the long flight, but before he reached halfway, the door behind him opened. He stopped to rest and turned around to see her.

"You'll need to come back and have those stitches removed in about a week," she called to him, her white shirttails flapping in her haste to catch him. Brodie nodded at her, but he was thinking, not if he could find a horse doctor. He turned his back and continued on his way, one step at a time.

Once he stood on the boardwalk, he surveyed the buildings around the square a little more carefully this time. On the opposite side stood a new wooden building, so far untouched by the elements, with a large sign on its front declaring, SINCLAIR'S GENERAL STORE AND APOTHECARY. Brodie untied his horse and led him toward it.

Out of habit he studied the layout of the town. Most of the important shops and businesses occupied the prime locations on three sides of the square, while a few live oaks filled the square itself.

Brodie stepped onto the sturdy wooden walk after securing his horse to the rail in front of Sinclair's store. The door stood wide open and the cool fragrant air rushed out to meet him before he went in. The dim interior resembled any general store with its packed shelves of canned goods, a few bolts of cloth, and a row of fancy-store-bought boots for men and women. But in addition, there was a small area reserved for medicines.

"Hello," a man called to him as he came around the end of the counter and carefully scrutinized him. "Do you by chance happen to be Mr. Brodie?"

"Just Brodie," he replied with a single nod.

The man held out his hand in a warm welcome. "I thought so. Not many new people come into town anymore." He pumped Brodie's arm. "I'm Henry Sinclair. I'm glad you found our little town. I hope you didn't have any problems." Sinclair raised his eyebrows as if it were a question, not a statement. "Perhaps we could step into the back room for a little privacy," he went on as he headed in that direction.

Brodie followed him.

"Abigail," Sinclair said to a young woman dusting shelves, "would you mind staying in front for a few minutes?" He rested his hand on her shoulder and smiled as he passed her.

"Of course, Henry." Pretty blue eyes smiled at Sinclair before glancing at Brodie. She quickly assessed him, then slipped past with a quiet "Excuse me." When they were in the back room, Brodie asked, "Your wife?"

Sinclair turned, giving him a surprised look. "Abigail? Heavens no!" He shook his head. "I'm not married. Yet." He pulled up a chair for himself and indicated one for Brodie, which Brodie declined. "But I will be before long. At least I hope so."

Brodie watched him. He had clean clipped fingernails and probably had never worked hard a day in his life. He wore clean white aprons all day and handled clean medicines.

"And that's the main reason you're here," Sinclair continued. "My soon-to-be-fiancée is in danger and I need you to protect her."

Brodie stared at him. "You never said anything about guarding a woman." He leveled a piercing look at Sinclair and shook his head. "Absolutely not. I didn't ride all the way here, then get shot at for the sake of a woman." With three strides he reached the curtained doorway, ignoring the painful pulling of his wound.

"Wait!" Sinclair jumped from his chair and dashed to step in front of him. "I'll double your pay."

Brodie stopped dead still. The two men stood eye to eye. Money had a way of getting his attention, especially when he didn't have any. But didn't he have to draw the line somewhere? Especially where women were concerned?

"Double?" Brodie asked.

Sinclair hesitated momentarily, then replied, "Yes."

Brodie stared at the tall thin man before him. He appeared honest and the store seemed prosperous, if a thing like that could be judged on short notice.

"When do I get paid?"

Sinclair fidgeted. "The day she marries me."

"And when is that?" Brodie had to take care of some other business. He couldn't spend months chasing behind some woman's skirts even if it meant a steady wage.

Sinclair swallowed. "I'm not sure. Yet. Two months, maybe less?"

That was longer than he'd intended, longer than he should put off his real reason for coming to Lampasas. But the pay was tempting, so he asked Sinclair point-blank, "Can you afford to pay me?"

"Yes." Sinclair never flinched an eyelash.

Against his gut instinct, Brodie nodded.

"Thank you," said Sinclair, sounding relieved.

"So where is this woman?" It suddenly dawned on Brodie that a woman couldn't be too hard to keep out of trouble. What did they do all day but wash clothes and carry them to the clothesline? And cook. A little home cooking sounded pretty good after living on the trail for so long.

"I don't want to mislead you, Brodie. Guarding Heloise isn't going to be an easy task. She's pretty independent and a little headstrong. As a matter of fact, she doesn't even know that I've hired you." Sinclair lifted one corner of his mouth in an apologetic half smile. "I thought I'd wait until you got here."

"Are you telling me she's temperamental?" he asked, certain now that he had made a mistake taking this job.

"Oh, no! Not at all. Just independent. You see, her father raised her without a strong hand." Sinclair shrugged. "Actually, he practically let her raise herself. She doesn't listen very well to authority," he added conspiratorially.

Heloise sounded like a hellion. God, how did he get himself into this? He should be out chasing after men with bounties on their heads. "Where is she?"

"You'll find her above the saloon. She's the doctor."

Brodie narrowed his gaze at Sinclair. "The doctor?" "I know," Sinclair said, holding up both hands defensively. "It's unusual to find a woman doctor, but they're not as rare as you might think. At least, not in the East. And that's part of the problem. If we were in the East, I wouldn't have to hire you."

Brodie remembered the escort he'd had coming into town earlier. Undoubtedly, she wouldn't be safe leaving town, and undoubtedly she'd insist on going if he could believe Sinclair. Strange, he thought, she hadn't seemed like the kind of woman who would be hard to deal with. But then, with a woman, you never could tell.

"How long has there been trouble and what's the sheriff doing about it?" Brodie asked.

"Well, the feud has been going on for some time, before I ever came to town actually, but it's gotten worse in the last six months. And the sheriff, well . . . the sheriff takes a different approach to justice. He sees things his way and that tends to be influenced by McCullough. You see, if you're a friend of Chase McCullough's, then you're an enemy of Old Ben's. Anymore, most of the folks don't like either one. They're terrorizing the entire countryside. That sounds like a pretty simple explanation, and coming from someone who's a rather new fellow in town, I suppose it is. I happen to think this is a lot of uncivilized ridiculousness and what this town needs is good dose of the state militia, or whatever they call it out here."

Brodie knew he referred to the Texas Rangers, and by the sound of things, Sinclair was right, but he had no intention of staying around long enough to be a part of all that. Once he had his other business settled, he'd be hightailing it.

"So," Sinclair went on, "nobody else wants to run for sheriff. Too risky. Hangings and lynchings aren't exactly scarce in these parts, which is another reason I wish Heloise would reconsider and go back East. It's just too uncivilized out here."

Removing his apron, he hung it on a peg and took his hat from the one beside it. "Let's go explain all of this to Heloise. "Abigail, mind the store while I'm gone. We'll be at Heloise's office," Sinclair called to her on their way out the front door.

"Yes, Henry," she said, openly staring at Brodie while she dusted the counter.

Brodie left his horse tied where it was, following Sinclair across the square and up the long set of stairs once more to Doc Summer's office. Inside, the smell of carbolic still hung heavily in the air.

"Heloise?" Sinclair called, hanging his hat on a rack.

A door opened on the opposite wall and the doctor stepped through it. She smiled at Sinclair. Then a puzzled frown appeared when she saw Brodie behind him. Realization struck her and the frown deepened, leaving a look of grim determination on her face.

"Henry." Her tone sounded like a warning.

Henry looked nervous. "Now, don't jump to any conclusions, Heloiose."

"Jump?" she asked, placing both hands in the large pockets that had obviously been added to the oversized shirt she wore. "We've discussed this before. And I've already said no." She turned away from them and began sorting through instruments inside the glass-front cabinet.

"I know we did, but I thought we agreed that you would at least give it some consideration." He stepped up beside her. "Didn't we?"

She looked up at him. "We did, and I did. The answer is still no."

Brodie felt invisible, but that wasn't all bad. He'd never seen a lady wearing long baggy pants and a man's shirt before today, and with his own embarrassing episode behind him he was able to freely stare at her. He knew her shoes were women's buttoned high-tops, even though he couldn't quite see past her ankle. The oversized shirt buttoned neatly at the wrists and neck, with the stiff collar having been removed and a smaller soft one put in its place. He'd guess these were the clothes of her easygoing father. Somehow he couldn't picture Henry Sinclair giving her his clothes to wear.

''Heloise, the man is already here." He pointed at Brodie, but she didn't bother to look.

"Could we make some kind of a deal?" Sinclair asked her.

Now Brodie wished he really were invisible. He had no desire to witness an emotional encounter.

"Henry, how much are you paying this man?" she asked without even a glance toward Brodie.

"It will be worth every penny just knowing you're safe." Sinclair leaned down and kissed her cheek.

"What makes you so sure I'd be safe with him? He's a complete stranger. And sometimes I'm gone for a few days." Her voice rose slightly. "Did you think of that?"

"Of course I did. I checked his background thoroughly."

Brodie wondered how he had managed to do that, and suspected he was lying. He was beginning to think she had more sense than Sinclair did.

"Henry, I don't want to make any deal with you," she said.

He took her hands in both of his and appealed, "Then do it for me. I worry so much about you." His voice was low and he watched her with such intensity that Brodie felt downright uncomfortable.

"And you wouldn't worry if I were alone with this strange man?" Brodie cleared his throat in an attempt to remind them of his presence, and Sinclair turned around.

"I believe introductions are in order here," Sinclair said, apparently glad to skirt the issue. "Heloise, this is Brodie. Doctor Summers." Brodie didn't miss his emphasis on "Doctor."

"Ma'am," he said, touching the brim of his hat.

"Mr. Brodie," she replied stiffly, finally acknowledging his presence.

"It's just Brodie, Heloise," Sinclair corrected her, and her body stiffened at the obvious rebuke.

"Now I won't take no for an answer, Heloise," he went on. "It's for my peace of mind and I absolutely insist." As far as Brodie could see, Heloise's appearance looked just as insistent as Sinclair's words, but she remained silent.

"Well, now, we have details to work out," Sinclair said, clapping his hands smartly together. "Heloise usually goes on rounds twice a month, unless there's an emergency, of course. I'll expect you to accompany her whenever she leaves town and whenever she has to be about at night. Of course, during the day you are to stay within easy calling distance, and you are to be sober at all times. You can never tell when she might have to go out of town, and we can't have you gallivanting off somewhere, day or night."

Brodie nodded. "I'll go on over to the hotel and get a room," he said.

"Uh, well . . . I though maybe for the sake of proximity, and expenses, you could stay here in the office . . . in the storeroom."

Heloise opened her mouth to object, but Henry touched her lips with a fingertip and went on. "This way you won't have to search all over town for him. You could pick up your supplies and Brodie at the same time." He glanced from one to the other. "What do you say?"

"That's my sickroom, Henry."

Brodie shifted his feet. He didn't much relish the idea either. Blood and death didn't bother him, but smelly medicines did. He started to open his mouth to state his own objections.

"Well, if you need it for an emergency, then Brodie can spend that time at the hotel. How's that?" Before she had a chance to reply, he said, "Good. That's settled."

Brodie considered the saloon downstairs and the usual upstairs rooms just beyond the wall of the sickroom. Couldn't get much handier, he decided, and nodded his head.

"Great!" Then Sinclair turned to Brodie and shook his hand. "You can bring your things up anytime. There's a stable down the street for your horse. Just tell them to put it on my bill." He stood there looking happy as a schoolboy on the last day of school. "Well, I'd better get back to work."

Sinclair strode across the small room and retrieved his hat from the rack near the door. "See both of you later," he said, and closed the door behind him. They heard him whistling all the way down the stairs.

"I'll just get my things, ma'am," Brodie said, turning to go.

"Wait a minute." Her voice halted him dead in his tracks.

He decided to give her the opportunity to say her piece, but the way he looked at it, he was the one put in charge and that meant he called the shots.

"First, I prefer to be called 'Doctor,' not 'ma'am.' And second, I want you to know that I'm not exactly in favor of this arrangement." She stood with her hands still in her pockets, but he could see the fists she made through the material.

He rested his weight on his good leg. "Well, ma'am, I guess we'll each have to make the best of it." He tipped his hat ever so slightly, then walked out the door.

And Brodie certainly intended to make the best of it by hanging around town with his ears and eyes open, listening for that one name, watching for that one face, waiting for his chance. And he knew that chance would come; he knew the man he hunted was here in Lampasas, Texas.

Chapter Two

Doctor Hallie Summers dropped into the chair at her desk and stared blankly at the papers before her. This rough character was going to interrupt the well-planned routine of her life. She should have been more firm with Henry when he first mentioned this ridiculous idea a month ago. Now she was saddled with a hired gunman who would do nothing but attract attention and make the situation worse. And why had she said she preferred to be called Doctor when everyone in town called her Doc Hallie? Except for Henry, who insisted on using her full given name, Heloise.

If Henry intended to use this as a way of pressuring her into agreeing to marry him, he was mistaken. She knew Henry quite well, and it certainly wasn't beyond him to stake his claim to marriage by looking after her welfare. It was presumptuous of him to look after her safety just as it was presumptuous of him to think of her as his betrothed. Marriage wasn't something she was even sure she wanted, in spite of Henry's determination, or maybe because of it. When they had a private moment she would set him straight, politely but firmly. Until then she would make the best of it, just as the gunman had said.

She went into the sickroom to see what needed to be done to accommodate her unwanted boarder. The long, narrow room had one curtainless window facing Main Street, with a single cot against the opposite wall. He would have to use her bedding since she wouldn't consider letting him bring his bedroll into the nearly sterile room. She sighed, thinking how unsterile it was about to become, and rummaged through the chest at the foot of the cot for a couple of blankets. It was a foregone conclusion that all cowboys, and especially hired gunmen, were notoriously dirty. His habits would have to change, she decided.

Without wasting a movement, she draped the blankets over the cot and pulled back the top blanket. Thoughtfully, she tapped her chin while debating whether she should allow him to use the pillow with the spotlessly clean cover, or none at all. Undoubtedly, he slept without one, so she put it back in the chest.

Briefly, she looked around, and her eye caught the cupboard that hid a door leading into the upstairs bedrooms of the saloon. At least it would be a deterrent, she thought sarcastically, even if he discovered it, which most likely he wouldn't.

Suddenly, it dawned on her that he could very well steal something from her. After all, how honest could a hired killer be? She glanced around the sickroom, and then the small outer room, trying to see it all with the eyes of a stranger. Most of the things were of little value to anyone but her. Then she remembered the money box in the top drawer of her desk. Had he seen it when he'd been there that morning? She couldn't remember.

Quickly, she pulled the drawer open. There wasn't much in it. Nevertheless, it wouldn't be wise to leave it. She picked up the small wooden box and glanced around the room, trying to find a hiding place.

Footsteps on the stairs sent her heart racing. Where could she put it? Her eyes fell on her worn riding boots beside the door. She only wore them when she had to go out of town since her everyday shoes were unfit for horseback riding. With only a few seconds to spare before he opened the door, she dumped the box into her boot and the sound of coins spilling to the bottom filled her ears. She raised up and turned around all in one motion just as he walked in the door.

Hallie stared at him feeling both foolish and wary, foolish because a man the size of Brodie wouldn't bother with the few dollars in her boot, and wary because a man of his type was capable of anything. Why had Henry put her in this position?

Brodie barely glanced at her as he stepped inside the door, carrying his bedroll in one hand. She eyed it suspiciously, looking for signs of vermin, but said nothing since she wasn't sure of the best way to approach the subject. He was such an imposing man. The word "big" was totally inadequate, but she couldn't think of another that could describe him. It wasn't just the size of him that was imposing, it was the attitude he carried almost like a badge. He seemed neither to listen nor to care what someone else might have to say, which could make a person either angrily defensive or frightened. Hallie wavered somewhere in between.

"You're going to find yourself rather bored, Mr. Brodie. I don't really go out of town that often." She went to her desk and tried to casually put the box back and close the top drawer. "And I would think that in your line of work you're used to a lot of. . . . excitement."

"I guess that's one way of putting it." He dropped his bedroll on the chair near the door. She relaxed a little.

Hallie sat on the large chair before her desk and picked up her pen. Acting as though he wasn't there, she finished writing an order for the new instruments she needed to replace some of her father's. There were some advertisements sent to her by a doctor in Chicago that she would like to read, but she decided it would be impossible to give it her full attention with Brodie in the room. So she settled for carefully writing the names of the items and the cost of each one on the forms before her.

"I'll just go on in and get settled," he said, picking up his bedroll and heading for the sickroom.

Hallie jumped from her chair. "You won't need that," she said, pointing at his bedroll.

He stared at her.

"I have blankets that I prefer you to use." She looked at him and saw a frown settle between his eyes. He was almost frightening even when he didn't frown, but now he looked positively ferocious, and she wondered if perhaps she'd been a little hasty.

"I mean, the room is a sickroom and very. . . . uh. . . . clean."

"If it's a sickroom, how could it be so damn clean?"

She had definitely not handled that well at all. Hallie figured she could very well be in more danger with this man than without him. Henry was going to get more than an earful before the day was out!

"Mr. Brodie," she began, hoping to sound stern and determined, "you may feel you are in charge of my well-being, which is disputable, but I am in charge of my office and my practice. And that includes what comes into these rooms." And what goes out, she said to herself. "If you do not like it, then you do not have to take the job."

Brodie clamped his jaws together. She thought he looked as though he would like nothing better than to leave. So why didn't he? she wondered.

She squared her shoulders bravely. "Perhaps you should leave them in the livery with your horse," she suggested, hoping it didn't sound like an insult. Her intention wasn't to make an enemy of him, but to keep her office rooms clean and organized the way she always kept them. Without a word, he swung away from her and opened the door, giving her a venomous look over his shoulder before slamming it behind him.

Hallie sank into her chair. She felt as if she'd just confronted a buffalo, head-on, and won. Such a minor skirmish, yet it had left her weak-kneed. What would she do when they disagreed on something really important? And they would undoubtedly disagree again. She could feel it in her bones.

The rest of the day she took care of her patients while a new, unfamiliar tension settled between her shoulders, giving her an aching head. She couldn't keep herself from watching the door, expecting his return at any moment.

As the day quickly wound down, her stomach rumbled, reminding her she'd missed the noon meal again and that it was nearly time for supper. There was no point staying here, she decided. So she tidied up her desk and checked to make sure all of her instruments and bottles were put away. They were.

If she hurried, maybe she could avoid another meeting with Brodie. She grabbed the sign that said "Gone" and hung it on the outside of her door. Not many of her patients could read, but they knew if the sign was there she was either out on a call or at home. She left the key to the door in the pocket of her baggy pants since Brodie would be there twenty-four hours a day. Then she went down the stairs and headed straight for the general store.

Inside she found Abby tending two customers at the counter, but Henry was nowhere to be seen. A lighthearted whistling drew her attention to the storage room, so she made her way around the counter and through the open doorway.

"Henry," she said, not caring that her irritation with him was evident in her voice.

"Yes?" he replied, turning and smiling at her. Then, seeing the look of annoyance on her face, he set down the sack he was holding and came to her immediately. Grasping her by the shoulders, he peered thoughtfully into her eyes.

"You're angry with me," he said, then kissed her forehead. "Please, don't be. I'm only being selfish, I know. I could never live with myself if anything happened to you. I feel responsible for your safety. I am responsible."

"No, you're not."

"I said I was being selfish." He smiled down at her. "But it's only because you're the light of my life. Without you everything would grow dim, even dark. Can't you humor me in this? Hmm? Just for a little while?"

"How long is a little while?" She wished he wouldn't turn the tables on her like that, making her feel heartless and hardened toward his affections. He wrapped her in his embrace, then turned so as to shield them from any prying eyes beyond the doorway.

"Well, until we're married," he replied quietly. "Whenever you say the time is right. You know it can't be soon enough for me." He kissed the soft tendrils of hair at her forehead.

"Henry, are you trying to force me into a marriage I'm not ready for?'' she asked, leaning backward from his embrace, looking earnestly into his face.

"What? Of course not! I'm hurt you'd think such a thing. Heloise. It's your welfare I'm concerned about. Honestly, it is," he replied sincerely, and she felt a bit of remorse for having spoken her thoughts. "I don't want one hair of your beautiful head to be bruised." He kissed the tip of her nose. "Not one."

"Then why have you put my entire body in possible jeopardy by giving that hired gunman complete accessibility to me? For heaven's sake, he's probably killed his fair share of men! And that's not even mentioning what he might have done to women."

A momentary frown crossed his face, and she wondered if maybe an ounce or two of fear was mixed with it.

"You are in no danger," he reassured her. "I am certain of it."

"Well, I'm not so certain of it," she returned. "And I don't mind telling you that it makes me uneasy having him underfoot all the time."

"Ah-ha," he replied. "So that's what's really bothering you." He gave her a tsk-tsk click of his tongue as he chucked her gently under the chin. "Your independence is rebelling, my dear."

"I'm a doctor. I have to have that independence."

He sighed, pursing his lips in resignation, and said, "I suppose so."

Inwardly, Hallie sighed, too. She didn't want to go through another discussion about independent women. At least he had never disagreed with her about being a doctor, and that was what had endeared him to her in the beginning. Most men, and some women, scoffed at her credentials and her choice of professions the way Brodie had. Henry never did. Although sometimes she wondered if he thought of her as a possible feather in his cap, just the way he felt about his ownership of the mercantile-apothecary.

"Just let me have the satisfaction of knowing that you're safe," he said softly. "That's all I ask. It's a small interruption in your routine; it's not really robbing you of your precious independence." He kissed the tip of her nose again.

"But it is!" she insisted.

"I'm only thinking of your safety." Then, relenting a bit, he added, "Just until we get a real sheriff who can stop all this feuding. All right?"

He hadn't said one word as he usually did about not wanting her to go out of town on house calls. She knew he was trying to compromise by giving her the freedom she needed and giving himself the comfort of mind that he needed. Was it really so much to ask of her? Even as a friend?

"All right," she conceded at last. "But when they elect a new sheriff, Brodie leaves town."

"Agreed." He squeezed her to him. "That's my girl."

Hearing those words, she felt a renewed resistance rise within her. What should have been a term of endearment seemed more like a statement of possession.

"Shall we have supper at the hotel?" he asked.

"Does Brodie have to accompany me?" she countered, giving him an arched look.

"Not as long as you're with me."

That niggling feeling of rebellion rose once more, and she opened her mouth to object, but he took advantage of the opportunity and kissed her. Somewhere in the center of her lonely being, in spite of her call for independence, she needed him. He was a friend, a confidant, counselor, and supporter all rolled into one. Since the death of her father she'd had no one to fill all those shoes, until Henry came into her life. He was the one person she'd been able to turn to whenever she'd had a trying day; she could always count on him to understand and bolster her spirits. She had told herself over and over that it didn't matter if she didn't truly, deeply love him, that in time she might. They could build a life together on a foundation of friendship first, and love would surely follow. Someday, when she was ready to think of marriage.

"I'll stop by after Abigail and I close the store," he said, dismissing her with a friendly shove toward the door and a caressing pat on her bottom.

"Henry!" she exclaimed wide-eyed, as she turned that part of her anatomy away from him and covered it protectively with both of her hands.

"My apology," he said with a slight bow, but his eyes twinkled. "I didn't mean to embarrass you. I just couldn't help myself."

"Well, you'll have to try," she said, quelling his enthusiasm with a dark look. He'd never acted so familiar with her before, and it was more disconcerting than she supposed it ought to be. But the bare truth was, she simply didn't like it.

"I am truly sorry. Please forgive me." He looked contrite enough, she thought, so with a nod she let it pass. "I'll see you in about thirty minutes?" he suggested.

She nodded again and walked into the main area of the store where Abby was sweeping crumbs away from the counter. Hallie supposed the young woman had heard, if not seen, what had transpired between her and Henry, but she knew Abby wasn't the sort to spread gossip. And even if she did, it would matter little to Hallie. Her reaction to Henry's gesture had nothing to do with propriety, but had everything to do with her feelings. The moment was unexplainable, and most likely it didn't deserve such introspection. But still. . . . Behind her, Abby called a cheery good-bye to Hallie as she walked out the door and into the bright sunshine.

Leaning on the top of her broom, Abby considered what a lucky person Doc Hallie was, seeing as how she had a man as wonderful as Henry Sinclair sweet on her. She sighed. What a lovely couple they would make. They had everything. Even a romantic meeting in the back room, some of which she couldn't help but overhear. She tried to visualize what must have happened to make Doc Hallie reproach Henry so sharply, and her face turned a vivid pink in the process.

"Nearly finished daydreaming, Abigail?" Henry's teasing voice said from behind her.

"Oh! Yes. Yes, of course." She bent to scrape the crumbs and dirt into a tin dustpan. "Sorry, Henry," she said upon straightening. "I was just thinking that it's such a lovely day"

"That you'd like to leave early," he finished for her.

She enjoyed his lighthearted teasing even more than she let on. Actually, she enjoyed just being around the handsome, blond store owner, whether he teased her or not.

"Leave early? My goodness, no! I expect to put in a full day's work for a full day's pay," she replied, but the truth of the matter was, going home wasn't something she looked forward to at all. "The lovely day will still be there in another hour."

Henry pulled his watch from the small pocket in his vest and said, "More correctly, another twenty-five minutes should do it. But we don't have to wait that long, since I'm the proprietor."

She smiled. "Whatever you say, Henry." She loved the way he always took charge of everything, the way he was always so sure of himself. Doc Hallie was a lucky woman, she thought to herself for the umpteenth time that week.

"Well, I say it's time to go home, and don't worry about the full day's work. You always put a day and a half of work into one day, and that makes me feel guilty so I insist that you run along and enjoy yourself."

"Well. . . ." she replied reluctantly, sorry to cut short her time at the store.

"I do indeed." He took the broom from her with a dramatic flourish, making her laugh.

She removed her apron and hung it on the peg behind the counter. "Tomorrow I'll dust that top shelf of cans on the north wall and"

"Now, now," he said, shaking his head. "No talk of work and no talk of tomorrow. Just go and enjoy yourselfthat's what I intend to doand let tomorrow take care of itself." When she hesitated, he shooed her gently with the broom.

Dodging him, she laughed as she hurried out the door. "Thanks, Henry!" she called inside. He tipped an imaginary hat at her, then disappeared toward the back room.

She set herself in the direction of home, and the smile on her face slowly slid away.

Perhaps she ought to go ahead and wile away the rest of her free time as Henry had encouraged her to do. A leisurely walk around the square was the only option, since she had so few friends left anymore. But the thoughts going through her head right then weren't any she cared to share, even with a friend. No, she couldn't discuss any of those things with anyone. So she let her daydreams overtake her as she dawdled along the boardwalk.

If wishes could become reality, she'd wish she was the kind of young woman who would attract the interest of Henry Sinclair, and she meant that in the most romantic sense. Of course, the idea was practically adulterous since everyone knew he was nearly betrothed to Doc Hallie, and beyond that, it was scandalous too, and probably, if the truth be told, ridiculous. After all, why would a man in his late twenties want anything to do with a girl of only nineteen? And a poor girl at that, she thought with a sigh. Well, if wishes were silver dollars she'd have a barrel of them, and then she wouldn't be so poor, she told herself, and then she might have a chance.

Across the square she caught sight of the man named Brodie, who had been in Henry's store earlier. He was of an impressive size, although she easily admitted to herself that he was rather frightening with those heavy-looking pistols he carried on each hip. Of course, if she needed someone to guard her as Doc Hallie did, he would certainly be the man for the job. Abby's steps slowed as she watched him push through the swinging door of the Lady's Garter. Coming to a halt, she continued watching from her safe distance as Brodie accidentally bumped shoulders with a man coming out of the saloon. Both men stopped for a second and stared at each other, and neither spoke. Then Brodie adjusted his hat firmly on his head as though he'd just settled something and went in, leaving the doors to swing behind him. There was no doubt in Abby's mind that he was a fine-looking man, but definitely not the sort she was looking to marry. She wanted someone who was sensitive, understanding, and made her laugh. She doubted very much that Brodie had ever laughed in his life.

When he disappeared out of sight, she turned her attention back to the boardwalk in front of her, her steps still lagging. She might as well go home since there wasn't anyplace else to go, she decided. Granny Woods had always said that ignoring unpleasant things didn't make them go away, it just made them seem to last longer. Well, she'd like to know what would make unpleasant things go away for goodmore particularly her brother Rafe.

In spite of her slow progress, she was home before she was ready. She stood on the front porch, hesitating and listening. Nothing but silence greeted her. No snoring, no boot stomping, no swearing. Rafe must be gone, she thought, and she carefully pushed the door wide.

Through the parlor doorway she could see her younger brother, Zack, sitting at the kitchen table.

"You're home early," he said, rising to meet her.

"And so are you." She looked into the water bucket to see if he'd pumped it full of fresh water.

"I just brought that in and I brought in a load of wood, too," he said.

"You're such a good boy," she said, teasing him and reaching up to tousle his hair. Even though he was two years younger, he was more than a head taller.

"Quit." He grinned and ducked away from her hand. "I'm not a little boy, you know."

"Oh, really?"

"Really." He backed away toward the table. "There's something I want to tell you."

She drank from the dipper, waiting and watching him over the rim.

"I'm going to ride with Old Ben's outfit."

Abby choked, coughing to regain her ability to speak. Finally, she croaked out, "No, you can't! Don't, Zack! Don't get involved in that feud. Especially not against Rafe. Please."

Zack's eyes turned hard, something she'd never seen in him before, and it frightened her. "Rafe isn't as tough as he thinks he is," he said.

"He's worse," she replied. "Don't push him. Leave him be. You know what Granny Woods always said and she was right. If you look for trouble, you'll always find it. And Rafe looks for trouble. Don't let him find it in you! Please, Zack. You're all I have left."

She went to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. How had he grown up so fast? she wondered. And why hadn't that troublesome seed of their father's bypassed him? Wasn't it enough that Rafe had turned out just like their father?

Zack folded her in his protective embrace. "Nothing's going to happen to me, Abby. I can take care of myself."

"But you're only seventeen, not really a man, at least not one who can take on Chase McCullough and Rafe," she pleaded.

"I'm not taking on anybody. I'm just going to work for Old Ben. That's all. You know I've always wanted to be a ranch hand."

"Then go north or even south."

"You're sending me away?" he teased, smiling at her.

"No! I want you safe. I want you to become a fully grown man with a family of your own someday."

"Whoa, there," he said, backing away. "You sound more like Granny all the time. I'm not in any hurry to be getting married. I just want to ranch, or at least be a part of a ranch, but I won't ride with the same outfit as Rafe."

Angrily, Abby turned her back on him. She could feel trouble brewing, as if a sixth sense was telling her that all the happenings of the day were pointing in that direction. She thought about Brodie, a hired gunman who was just looking for trouble, and she thought about the feud between the two ranchers, which certainly meant trouble. Until this moment those things had been separate situations, and had had only little effect on her life, but she knew that had all changed now. It was bad enough to deal with Rafe's arrogance and meanness when he came to town, but now she'd have to worry about Zack more than ever.

She wondered if she should tell him about Brodie, even though she'd never repeated the things she'd heard at the store, no matter what they were, for fear of the repercussions. And this could have the worst repercussions of all. So many things were at stake. If the trouble got worse, not only Doc Hallie's safety would be in jeopardy, but the safety of the entire town. Even so, it wouldn't be long before everyone knew, including Rafe.

She faced Zack once more. "I wish I could stop you."

"I'm a grown man. I need to make my own way." He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb.

She stared at him a long while. Then, with a resigned sigh, she replied, "I know."

He smiled broadly and said, "Thanks, Abby."

She couldn't return the smile; her heart was aching too much. Since there was nothing else to be said, she focused her attention on fixing supper. She had no choice but to let him take charge of his life, just as she had to take charge of hers. There was big trouble brewing, she could feel it in her bones, and she needed to be ready for it. Somehow she'd turn things around for herself and Zack, too.

Chapter Three

Hallie stood on the landing outside her office with her key in the lock, trying to get in, but the door was wedged shut from the inside. She'd had a restless night after an eventful evening meal with Henry, and she was not in the frame of mind to deal with being locked out of her office. She paused a moment, considering her options in the early morning sun. Her first thought was to find Henry and make him understand that this would not work; her privacy was being invaded and she didn't like it. But searching for Henry would take too much time, especially since he'd argue with her, as he had over supper, and she'd likely give in again anyway. Her second option was to bang on the door and make such a commotion that Brodie would have to get up and let her in. Unfortunately, half the nearby neighborhood would hear her. The only other choice was to wait. She decided to wake Brodie up and hope for the best. ''Brodie. Open the door. I need the use of my office today." She leaned forward, her ear to the door.

Nothing.

A little louder, she said, "Brodie. Let me in." She knocked on the door, then waited. The heat from the sun penetrated her clothing, forming beads of perspiration between her breasts and down her sides.

Still nothing.

What little patience she had left quickly deserted her and she pounded on the door twice making it rattle on its old hinges. "Mr. Brodie! Open this door!" By now she didn't care if the entire town heard her; she needed her office, for heaven's sake!

After a few moments she heard the scrape of a chair's legs. Then the door finally opened.

"I didn't have a key to lock up so I figured this was the next best thing to keep out any thieves," he said.

Without benefit of shirt or boots, he stood before her not even trying to suppress a yawn. He swung his arm wide and stepped aside, saying, "Come on in."

"Thank you. How kind of you to invite me," she replied, breezing past him.

"It's your place." He stretched and yawned again.

"I'm glad you remembered."

"A little out of sorts this morning?" he asked. When she refused to answer, he went on. "Look, lady, I locked the damn door to keep your stuff safe, not my hide. I carry Colts for that." She glanced at his hips, where his holsters should have been.

"Well, I don't sleep with them on," he replied drily.

"Of course." She busied herself with her usual morning routine: putting on the coatlike shirt to cover her blouse, laying out the clean towels she'd brought with her, and drawing back the curtains to let in more light. When she turned around, he was still standing there bare-chested and in his stocking feet.

"Would you mind getting dressed, Mr. Brodie? I doubt if Mrs. Johnson would appreciate your lack of clothes." She would have added her own feelings on that subject, but decided that her vocation would belie her words, especially since she'd already seen more than his chest bare.

"It's Brodie," he reminded her. Then he turned and walked into the sickroom, closing the door behind him.

Hallie tried to concentrate on getting ready for Mrs. Johnson's arrival. She checked her medicine cupboard for arrowroot, which would be combined with a very small dose of laudanum, the usual treatment to help a woman through her time of the month. It was the only available help for women like Mrs. Johnson.

A knock at the outside door warned Hallie that her patient had arrived, and Brodie hadn't yet come out. She started for the sickroom door to tell him he would have to leave, but Mrs. Johnson's knock became so insistent that she went to answer it.

"Come in," Hallie said, trying to forget about Brodie's presence. But she couldn't keep herself from glancing at his door again as she ushered the woman to a chair.

"I'm not at all well, Doc Hallie," Mrs. Johnson said. "I tried everything you suggested, but nothing would work. Not a single remedy."

The sickroom door suddenly opened and Brodie walked out, buttoning his shirt. Mrs. Johnson jumped in startled surprise, clutching at her throat.

"Oh, my!" she exclaimed.

He settled his hat on his head and gave them a nod. When he reached the door he took his holsters and guns from a peg and strapped them on, tying each side to a thigh.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Mrs Johnson said again, "Oh, my."

"I apologize for the intrusion," Hallie said. "I promise it won't happen again."

"Is he a friend of yours?" she asked.

"Not exactly. He's an acquaintance of Mr. Sinclair's and it seems he's to become my shadow."

"Your shadow?"

Hallie smiled at her. "He's of no concern to us at the moment. We need to see to your well-being."

"Yes," Mrs. Johnson said, glancing at the sickroom door as though another man might appear. "Of course. That is why I came here." She smiled back.

"So," Hallie began, seating herself across from the woman, "the same old problem has returned."

"I fear it has. I know I've told you this before, but I just want to say it again. Your father was a wonderful man, God rest his soul, but I'm so glad we've got you now. I just never could talk to him about these things. And, oh, how I suffered!"

Hallie had heard the same comment from a dozen or more women about a variety of ailments, all of them personal in nature. There was a great need for women doctors; she'd discovered that when she'd assisted her father. Even when she was a young girl with no formal training, women patients would take her aside and ask for her help. Later, she would relate their problems to her father and he would in turn give her the remedy if he knew of one. So many times, the help was limited because they would not consent to being examined by a man.

"Times are changing," Hallie told her.

Without warning, the outside door burst open and Brodie walked into the room. Not so much as an apology passed his lips as he walked past them, his boots jarring the floor and his spurs ringing loudly. He disappeared into the sickroom for a few minutes, then jarred the floor again as he crossed back the way he had come. When the door closed behind him, Hallie and Mrs. Johnson simply stared at it.

"My goodness," Mrs. Johnson said quietly. "He's a friend of Mr. Sinclair's, you say?"

But Hallie was too angry to respond, and was instantly on her feet racing for the door. When she stood on the landing, she called out, "Mr. Brodie!"

Halfway down the stairs, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder at her.

"You may not enter my office without knocking first!" She moved two steps toward him, inwardly glad that she now towered over him. "My patients are to be given respect and privacy. I will not tolerate such rude behavior! And furthermore, this arrangement simply will not work. I suggest that you remove your belongings and tell Henry that you are no longer in his employ. I hope I make myself quite"

Before Hallie could finish saying all that was on her mind, she heard a child crying out for her.

"Doc Hallie! Doc Hallie! Come quick! You gotta come quick!"

Young Marcus Elton appeared at the bottom of the stairs from around the corner of the building. He bent forward, placing both hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. After a few moments he raced up the steps toward her.

"You gottaMa saidit's Dorie!" He turned and ran back down the steps. "Hurry!"

Brodie reached out and lifted the boy off his feet. "Hold on, son. Just calm down. You're not making much sense. Take a few deep breaths and tell us what happened." Marcus stared at the big man who held him. "Dorie fell in the well," he said, trying hard not to cry. "Ma said I'm the man of the house now that Pa's gone and it's up to me to get help. I caught a ride with a drifter, but he wouldn't come all the way into town so I ran the rest of the way. Please, mister, help us get Dorie out."

"Oh, my God," Hallie whispered, reaching toward Marcus as she descended the stairs. Gathering the boy close, she spoke to Brodie. "My horse is at the livery. We'll meet you there."

He nodded, already moving in that direction.

Hallie turned to Marcus. "Sit down right here and I'll get my bag. Now don't move. Understand? We'll get Dorie out."

His face finally crumpled as he buried it in his arm, which lay across his knees. Repressed sobs shook his small shoulders. With a consoling pat, she left him and hurried to prepare for the unknown.

With steady hands she grabbed her father's bag, which she kept filled with the necessary items for emergencies. A quick look at her shoes was all the time she could spare even though they were unfit for riding. She simply couldn't waste precious moments unbuttoning them when they had so far to go. She shouldn't have given in to the feminine temptation to forgo her riding boots for the high-tops.

After a short explanation to Mrs. Johnson she dashed off down the long stairway, collecting Marcus as she went. At the livery she found her horse nearly saddled as Brodie tightened the cinch, then dropped the stirrup into place. Hallie fastened the small black bag where a bedroll normally rode. Then she pulled herself up into the saddle.

"The boy can ride with me," Brodie said, placing Marcus on his horse before he stepped into the stirrup and seated himself. "You lead the way," he said, but she was already out of the livery.

About ten miles out of town they came to a small ranch, and Marcus pointed the way toward the well, where his mother stood frantically twisting her apron.

"Oh, Doc Hallie! Thank God. My baby's in there!" Mrs. Elton ran to her and clung to her leg so that Hallie had to disentangle herself in order to dismount.

Brodie reached the well before her and asked, "Is there water in it?"

"No," Mrs. Elton said. "It's been dry for as long as I can remember. We should've caved it in somehow, or boarded it over better or. . . . or . . ." She covered her face with her apron and started crying.

Brodie knelt and leaned over the hole, peering into the darkness. "Dorie?" he called. "Can you hear me?"

"She won't answer," her mother cried, nearly hysterical. "I been callin' and callin', but she won't answer! Get her out! You've got to get her out!"

Hallie took the woman firmly by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. With quiet authority she said, "We will. And you have to keep yourself together. For Dorie's sake. She's going to need you to stay calm when we bring her up out of that well. Do you understand me?"

Mrs. Elton nodded, her eyes staring vacantly at Hallie. "Y-yes."

Hallie had seen that look before on other faces that had lost hope, that had felt the grip of grief. She took the woman's hands in hers and held them tightly for a long moment, trying to transfer some strength, wanting to instill some hope.

"We'll get her out," she repeated, and all the while she prayed the child would be all right. From the edge of the well, Brodie called to Marcus, "Get me some rope, son."

Marcus tore across the open country, a cloud of dust at his heels as he headed toward the small barn.

"I'm going to go down there and I want you to hold Sam's head while you lower me," Brodie said to Hallie. She glanced at the horse and then at the hole and finally at him. There was no other choice; he'd have to be the one to go down. She knew she didn't have the strength to hold onto an injured child and a rope to bring Dorie out of the well, so Hallie nodded in agreement.

Brodie positioned Sam, speaking quietly while he walked around him and checked the cinch for tightness. He took the rope from a breathless Marcus and looked it over for soundness. After he secured it to the saddle, he motioned for Hallie to hold the bridle.

"Just back him toward the well until I tell you to stop," he said as he fashioned a loop at the other end of the rope. "When I get hold of her I'll let you know. Then walk him away from the well, and keep it steady."

He reached behind the saddle, pulled out a leather duster, and put it on. Hallie didn't need to ask why. She knew it would give him the best protection from the snakes that most likely lived in the old well. It was her greatest fear for Dorie. If she'd been bitten when she'd first fallen in, that meant hours had gone by and there would be little hope of saving the child. But if by some miracle she'd escaped the bites or was bitten as Brodie was being lowered, then her chances were good. Hallie prayed for that miracle.

Brodie sat on the ground at the edge of the gaping hole, his foot in the handmade stirrup. Hallie gripped the bridle and moved the horse to add a little tension to the rope as he eased into the darkness. "Steady," she said, her voice as calm as she could make it. "Steady, Sam." They backed toward the hole slowly, and the silence in the air was punctuated only by the sound of rocks echoing as they bounced within the walls of the well. Still no call from Brodie. With only two or three yards to go before the horse stood at the edge, Hallie could stand the deadly quiet no longer.

"Marcus," she whispered just loud enough for him to hear, not wanting to alarm the horse. He came to her and waited for instructions.

"Call to Mr. Brodie. Ask if he's all right. Try not to shout."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, his eyes large with fear.

Hallie continued backing the horse an inch at a time, waiting for the call to reverse her direction and pull them to safety.

Marcus leaned toward the hole and called, "mr. Brodie? Can you see Dorie? Is she all right?"

After a few long moments he called back, "Not yet. It's so damn dark down here I can barely see my hand in front of my face. Am I running out rope? Wait! I hear her crying."

Hallie halted Sam, her breath caught anxiously in her chest. With her eyes closed, she waited for the next sound from the well.

Brodie cursed snakes, old wells, and men who left them in disrepair. He strained his ears as well as his eyes in hopes of locating where the crying was coming from, but it was difficult since the soft sounds echoed.

"Dorie?" he called. "Your mother sent me to get you out safe and sound. Tell me where you are, Dorie. I can't see much in this" He started to say hellhole, but finished with, "darkness. Answer me so I can find you." He struggled to hear. A rock cascaded to the bottom and he was rewarded with a solid thunk. Thank God the well really was dry and it seemed as though he was closer to the bottom than to the top.

"Dorie?"

"Here. I-I-I'm over here." He heard her sniffle. Was she above him? Had he gone right past her somehow? Were there outcroppings or ledges?

"Where?" he asked.

"Up here."

He lifted his head and saw her silhouette against the light that was coming through the well opening.

"Marcus, tell the doctor to pull me up a little because I found her," he called. He felt himself being raised and he reached out toward the little girl. "Okay, Dorie, grab my hand."

"I'm afraid," she said, and started crying again. "My head hurts something awful."

"Just grab my hand and I'll do the rest. You'll be safe. I promise."

The soft skin of her hand brushed his calloused one, but he couldn't grasp her at all. He tried to get some swinging motion so he could reach her more easily, but all the rope wanted to do was send him in a circle. At last he stopped turning and tried reaching out once more. He knew he had only one chance to grab hold of her and pull her to him. If he didn't, she'd fall to the bottom.

"I'm here, Dorie." His hand caught her arm and he tightened his grip. Without a movement to spare he quickly pulled her to him and felt her arms go round his neck.

"Hang on," he said, but she already had a death grip on him. He folded her inside the heavy duster as best he could.

"Take us up!" he shouted, and they rose in slow ascent. Small showers of dirt filtered down around them as the rope bit into the rim of the well. Near the top, he had to use his foot to push away from the walls, but there they stopped. Without any way to climb out, they dangled helplessly a foot below the rim.

Suddenly, Hallie appeared above them. "Let me try to take her," she said.

"You can't. It's too far to reach and you'll probably drop her."

"I won't drop her," Hallie said, getting down on her knees, then leaning toward them.

"No! Just keep Sam moving and we'll make it," he said sternly. "Go on and do as I say."

Angrily, she stared at him for a second, then replied, "We can't pull you over the edge that way. You'll never be able to hold on."

His hand was tired, but it was the only choice and he knew it. He'd been in tighter scrapes than this, and as long as he didn't break his trigger finger he'd be all right.

"If you're going to stand there and argue with me, then I'd say you might win this one." Then with a sharp edge to his voice he commanded, "Do it or I'll tell Marcus to do it."

Over her shoulder she called to the boy, "Slowly, Marcus, go ahead slowly."

Inch by inch they moved higher until Brodie's hand that held onto the rope scraped against the rocky ground. He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the bruising that his bones took. The weight of his body pinned the tired hand and bent it into an abnormal shape. When Hallie tried to reach for Dorie, he snapped at her. "No! Stay back."

A few more inches and Hallie stretched herself out on the ground, ignoring his orders to stay clear. he couldn't fight her the way he wanted to or he might jeopardize his tenuous hold on the child. With outstretched arms she lifted the child from him, having to practically pry her small arms from his neck.

With Dorie safely in her arms and Brodie out of the well, Hallie turned her complete attention to the child, laying her on the ground, feeling every bone and looking for snakebites. How had the child been so lucky as to escape with nothing more than cuts, scratches, and a bad ankle sprain? But that was exactly what had happened. Mrs. Elton snatched her daughter into her arms the very moment Hallie stopped searching for injuries. Marcus wrapped his short arms around both of them as best he could and cried along with them. And that was when Hallie turned to Brodie.

''Let me see your hand," she said, reaching for him.

"It's all right," he replied, his voice harsh.

"I'll be the judge of that."

"No, I will," he said, stepping closer and towering over her. "Do you realize that you might have gotten us all killed?" She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could he went on. "When I give an order you'd better listen. I don't especially like the idea of laying at the bottom of a snakeinfested pit with a helpless child and a stubborn woman."

"I don't take orders," she replied, her voice raised to match his. "And"

"Well, it's about time you learn!" With that he turned away from her, shrugging out of the hot duster and moving toward his horse as though that were the end of the discussion.

She saw him rub his bruised hand and started to insist on looking at it, then changed her mind. If he wanted her professional attention, he'd have to ask for it. In the meantime he could just suffer if he wanted to.

On the way back to town, Hallie turned her horse off the path they had ridden to the Elton place. As long as she was out this far she decided she ought to see Claire Hancock, even though it was two months before she would deliver her first child.

Brodie brought his horse to a halt and called to her, "Where are you going?"

"I've got a patient out this way," she said over her shoulder as she continued riding. It made no difference to her if he turned around and went back alone. She'd been this far many times by herself. As a matter of fact, she hoped he would go back without her. He was rude and arrogant, and she did not need his help or his gun. Getting Dorie out of the well was something any man from town could have done in his place, and if he hadn't been there at the moment Marcus showed up, she would have gotten someone else. Taking orders, indeed! She fumed silently as she urged her horse forward into a lope.

Moments later he was riding alongside her, looking straight ahead. If she turned her head she knew what she would see: thick dark hair shagged back by the wind, his hat notched forward, and his left hand riding on his thigh. But she didn't look.

At last a cabin came into view and they approached it slowly, giving the owners time to judge who the riders might be. Before long Claire came out from behind the cabin, her arms full of clothes, which she juggled so that she could send them both a wave of welcome. Nathan came through the front door to greet them, too.

"Howdy, Doc Hallie," he called. "What brings you out this way? Weren't worried about Claire, were you?"

Hallie dismounted and pushed the strands of hair from her face. "No, I wasn't worried," she replied smiling.

"Got nothin' to worry about," Claire said. "I keep tellin' him that, but he don't pay me much mind. Guess he figures I don't know much about what's goin' on in here." She patted her belly and grinned teasingly at her husband.

"Can't help it," he replied. Then, extending his hand to Brodie, who hadn't dismounted yet, he said, "Who's your friend?"

Accepting the outstretched hand and answering for himself, he said, "Brodie."

"Welcome, stranger. Come on in out of this blasted sun and have some coffee. The women got female talking to do and you can keep me company whilst they do."

After they all went inside, Hallie followed Claire behind a partition that sectioned off their bedroom from the rest of the cabin. A lovely counterpane lay spread on the bed, and on the floor nearby was a cradle with a small replica of the counterpane covering it also.

"I'm ready, Doc Hallie. Ready as can be." Claire sat on the edge of the bed, her face a wreath of smiles.

"It's early yet, so don't rush it."

"Oh, I know. But I got all the little gowns sewed up and the blankets hemmed. I'm just a-waitin'."

Hallie sat beside her, placing her hand on Claire's protruding stomach, and was promptly rewarded by a kick. Both women laughed.

"I think he heard me," Claire said. "I talk to him a lot." She lowered her voice. "So does Nathan, but don't tell him I told you.'' Hallie shook her head that she wouldn't. "He's scared stiff," Claire went on. "Nathan, that is. I told him more 'n once that I helped my mama birth two babies and I know we're going to get along just fine."

"I know you will," Hallie responded. "Is there anything you want to ask me or tell me about?"

"Hmmmm." Claire thought for a minute. "No, I reckon not. I figure I got maybe two months, maybe less, judging by the way the baby's layin'. Don't you think?"

Hallie knew there was no real science to knowing when a delivery would begin. And as often as not, she relied on the mother's instincts, unless there was a complication. "I'd say you're probably right," Hallie agreed.

"Well, good. Now, then, will you folks stay and eat with us? Please? I appreciate you comin' out here and givin' Nathan some peace of mind. We ain't havin' much, just some stew and cornbread. I'd have done better if I'd known you were comin'. Now, I won't hear no for an answer." She pushed herself up from the bed. "Ain't I a sight?" she said with a laugh. ''But it won't be long and things will be back to normal." She patted her nonexistent waistline. "Now tell me you're stayin'."

Hallie nodded, realizing that most folks couldn't pay for her services any other way. And besides that, the aroma was absolutely tempting.

When she and Claire entered the kitchen area, Nathan was talking in a low voice to Brodie as they sat at the table. Hallie heard him mention the name "Old Ben" before suddenly ending the conversation.

"We got company for dinner so get yourself cleaned up and by the time you come back it'll be on the table," Claire said, scooting him out the back door.

Hallie half expected Brodie to announce in a gruff tone that they wouldn't be staying, but instead he followed Nathan outside. Soon the sounds of water splashing could be heard through the open door. Their muted voices filtered back inside, but not their conversation, and Hallie found herself straining to catch a stray word. What exactly was Brodie up to? He certainly wasn't the sort of man to have anything in common with a man awaiting the birth of his first child. Was he taking the job of bodyguard so seriously that he was delving into the details of the feuding that was going on? Well, he might as well not, she thought while she helped Claire set the chipped dishes on the table, because he was out of a job as far as she was concerned. She'd already made that perfectly clear before leaving town. Obviously, he didn't believe she meant what she said.

Through the meal Brodie sat quietly devouring his food. If he listened he gave no indication, but then the subject of new babies and women doctors wouldn't have much appeal, Hallie knew. Claire wouldn't allow her to help with dishes, and insisted she and Brodie head on back to town where Hallie had patients who needed her.

On the ride back neither Hallie nor her companion spoke. Occasionally they broke into a lope, then back to a walk, but silence filled the air between them until they passed the edge of a copse of trees and headed for the open country. A shot rang out, followed by another and another. Hallie gathered herself into a ball close to the saddle and prepared for flight, but the next thing she knew Brodie had her horse by the bridle and was leading it into the nearest group of rocks.

"What!" she began, but the bouncing gait of horses attempting to gallop side by side wouldn't allow her to speak.

Inside the protective barrier of huge rocks, Brodie climbed down from his horse, shouting at her over his shoulder, "Get off that damn horse!"

She didn't need to be told twice. Actually, she didn't need to be told once! Bullets ricocheted in all directions, and while there didn't seem to be a safe place to hide from them, she knew she was an easy target on top of her horse.

"Get down on the ground!" he shouted.

"I am!" she shouted back, finding a niche to crawl under.

He returned fire, and she was amazed at the arsenal of ammunition he carried on his body. She hadn't noticed the rows of bullets on his gunbelt before. Why, he was prepared for a siege! What sort of man had Henry put in charge of her safety? A bullet pinged and whined off a nearby rock, and she involuntarily screamed, covering her head.

A sudden barrage of bullets broke upon them, forcing Brodie to take cover, his back to the rock that he hid behind. Soon, a thunder of hoofbeats sounded, heading away, and faded quickly as their ambushers fled.

"Do you get shot at often, Doctor Summers?" he asked, a strong dose of sarcasm lacing his words.

"Not often," she replied calmly, climbing out from her niche and dusting off her pants. "I usually just ride as fast as I can toward town, which is what we should have done. Those were probably Old Ben's men. They were only trying to scare us. You simply wasted your ammunition."

"I don't enjoy taking a bullet in the seat."

She would have smiled at that under other circumstances; nevertheless, she felt the corer of her mouth twitch.

Mounting up, he waited for her to do the same. "Do you always ride out here alone?"

"Yes." She slipped her foot into the stirrup and swung her leg around. It was more difficult than she cared to admit, and she wasn't sure if it was because of the shaking of her knees or the fact that she hadn't worn her boots. "They don't usually shoot at me. And never when I'm in the buggy." Seated now, she clicked to her horse and moved ahead of Brodie.

"From now on you'll take the buggy, emergency or not," he said.

Under her breath she replied, "We'll see about that." Hallie Summers, M.D., wasn't taking orders from anybody.

Chapter Four

When they arrived back in town, Hallie found three people sitting on the stairs to her office. She had intended to go straight to Henry's and get this issue of Brodie settled once and for all, but her patients came first. One had a grazing wound from a bullet, the second had a puncture wound from a pitchfork, and the third needed a house call in town for a feverish child. After leaving the child she went in search of Henry, to no avail. Abby informed her he had ridden out to look after one of her patients while she was gone and he hadn't returned yet.

Hallie sighed and thanked her. It was common practice for Henry to go to her patients when she wasn't there. Most people knew that he was knowledgeable about medical practice, and allaying their fears with a promise to pass along their problems to Doc Hallie usually sufficed until she could get there. He had been a big help from the start, and she was grateful. With his easygoing bedside manner, nearly everyone responded to him, and some of the cases even improved after his visit, although he administered nothing more than advice. She'd asked him once why he hadn't become a doctor, and he'd merely shrugged and smiled. Henry was a good man, she reminded herself as she walked home. He was kind and giving. He seldom asked anything in return for his kindnesses. She was beginning to feel guilty. After all, he was only concerned about her welfare. Perhaps there was another way around this situation with Brodie, one that would not require her to jeopardize their friendship; her intent was simply to get rid of the gunman.

Brodie left the livery after taking care of Sam and headed toward the saloon, where he could wash the dust from his throat. The lady doctor had her hands full, judging by the line outside her door, so she'd be in no danger, which meant he could spend some time listening to the locals talk. He knew you learned more from listening than you did from asking questions, so he found an empty table and waited.

"Back again?" asked the pretty girl dressed in bright satin.

"No reason not to be," he replied with a smile.

She started to sit down, then changed her mind. "Be right back. We're not supposed to entertain unless we've got a bottle. Or go upstairs," she added, glancing expectantly at the floor above.

"Bring two glasses," he said with a wink.

She made a disappointed face, then hurried to the bar. When she returned she had a bottle wedged between her arm and her breast, adding pressure to an already tight bodice. In her hands she carried two glasses.

"You pour," she said. "But not much for me 'cause I get drunk too easy." She flashed him a knowing look. He poured both glasses full and she smiled.

"Name's Carrie. I don't look much like a Carrie, do I? Most of the girls change their names to something fancy, but, hey, with me, what you see is what you get. I got nothing to hide."

And she didn't, not from where he was sitting. It seemed there was as much hanging out as there was on the inside of her dress. Maybe more, now that he looked closer.

"I been here for two years," she went on. "I like it okay. The town's pretty busy what with all the fighting going on. A clean and tidy town doesn't do my kind of business any good, if you know what I mean."

He nodded and took a drink.

"Not that we get only the gunfighters. I've spent a fair share of my time with the dandies of this town, too." She sipped her drink. "But guess what? They don't pay as good as the gunfighters." She sat back in her chair, eyeing him. "You sure don't talk much for a gunfighter. Who're you riding with?"

"Nobody."

"Nobody? Everyone is with somebody. You just don't want to tell." She smiled. "Bet I can get you to tell if you come upstairs with me. I got ways of making men say things they never thought they would. And it won't hurt a bit."

"I wouldn't take that bet," he said with a grin.

"You're a smart man." She leaned back against the chair, smiling broadly. "I knew that the moment I laid eyes on that handsome face of yours."

They sat for several moments just staring at each other.

"You're not going to take me up on it, are you?" she asked, still taking his measure.

Shaking his head, he replied, "Not this time." "Hmm. Well, at least you didn't say never." She took a long pull on her drink, keeping her eyes on him. "I like a man who knows how to make me wait."

The sound of horses thundering up the street and halting in front of the saloon followed by a volley of gunshots had Brodie reaching for his guns.

"Calm down," Carrie said, still relaxing in her chair. "It's only McCullough's men. They like to make a big show when they come into town. Just giving some of their own excitement to everyone else, I guess. Makes good business in here. Just watch. Before long there won't be standing room at the bar."

Brodie studied the crowd of men as they jostled each other through the doorway, laughing, elbowing, and slapping one another's backs in what appeared to be good-natured fun. He stared at them and wondered if any of them was at the ambush today. Maybe all of them were.

"C'mon, Carrie!" shouted one of the men. "Get that cute little bottom of yours over here."

She rose from her seat, leaning across the table so that Brodie had a good view, and said, "Got one last chance to change your mind. I'd far rather spend my time with you"

"I said get over here." The man grabbed her by the arm and pulled her backwards.

She slapped his hands hard and replied, "Ask me nice. Or I'll slit your gullet while you're sleeping."

"You little wildcat, I don't know why I put up with you," he said, nuzzling her bare neck.

"I know why," she returned playfully. Then he wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her off the ground until she squealed. "Put me down!" He hauled her toward the bar and shouted at the bartender for a bottle. Brodie kept his seat and watched, and listened. He waited for a name, just one name. He'd traveled a lot of miles and was certain that he was close. If not today, tomorrow. If not here, then somewhere else. It didn't matter; he'd wait.

One of the men at the bar caught his eye in the mirror and held it, then slowly turned around to look at him. Unflinching, Brodie held his stare until the man elbowed his neighbor, who turned around. They spoke to each other before walking to Brodie's table, then sitting down without an invitation.

"New around here, aren't you?" said the one with his hat scooted to the back of his head. The other man just grinned while he lounged back.

"Could be," Brodie said.

"That mean you been here before?"

"Who wants to know?" Brodie asked.

"Jake here does," he replied, jostling his lounging friend. "Don't ya, boy."

"Sure do." He leaned back until two of the legs of his chair came off the floor. "We're supposed to keep track of strangers."

Brodie eyed each of them, his hand still resting near his gun.

"Now, we're askin' real polite," Jake said. "But you can't never tell when we won't be polite anymore." A grin spread across his young face. "You know, I think we've met before."

"Then I'm not a stranger," Brodie said.

Jake laughed. "Guess you got a point there."

"Gonna be in town long?" asked Jake's friend, his face not nearly as young or smiling.

"Maybe."

"Got a bit of advice for you," he went on. "Keep them Colts of yours in their holsters." "I usually do unless someone starts shooting at my back," he replied, remembering his unwelcome entrance into town.

Jake's chair came down hard on all fours. "We ain't no back-shooters." Then he grinned again. "Unless we have to be. Right, Charlie?"

Charlie ignored his friend and spoke to Brodie. "Just remember what I said." Rising from his seat, he said, "Come on, Jake. Let's have a drink like we intended. I got a powerful thirst after our ride this afternoon. A powerful thirst."

After they left him alone, Brodie mulled over the possibilities of one against eight. His finger itched. His jaw flexed. But those days were past; he didn't have the law on his side anymore. He wiped the palm of his hand down his thigh in order to relax. No sense in ruining everything now, not when he was this close, and not over some careless-mouthed jackasses. He'd wait.

Before long a crowd had filled the saloon, just as Carrie had predicted, and there wasn't any standing room at the bar. There wasn't even an empty table. Some men lined the wall, holding their glasses and congregating in small groups. Brodie hadn't heard or seen anything of interest, so he rose from his seat, then slipped some coins into Carrie's hand as he passed her.

"Thanks for the company," he said. "And the drinks."

"Awww. Now, you're not leaving so soon, are you?" She put on a frown just before she was tugged deeper into the crowd. "I want to see you again!" she called to him.

Outside, the sun had lowered enough that the air was a few degrees less than blistering. It wasn't yet supper time, so he figured the good doctor was probably still in her office mending bones, dressing cuts, and picking out slivers. When his eyes came to rest on Sinclair's store, he saw the young woman, Abigail, sweeping the boardwalk. He noticed she had a smile for everyone who passed. Then she glanced up and caught him looking at her, and quickly went inside. Right after that Sinclair came out and motioned for Brodie to join him, then started walking to meet him halfway.

"Where have you been?" Henry asked. "I've been looking for you. Why aren't you with Heloise?"

"I was having a drink. I didn't think I had to be by her side twenty-four hours a day."

"No, you don't. But someone said there was an emergency and you had to go out of town. I heard there was trouble. Is she all right?"

"Why don't you go ask her yourself."

"Heloise doesn't appreciate being disturbed during office hours."

"So I've noticed."

"She must be all right or you would have come and told me. Right?" Sinclair still looked worried.

"She's fine."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness. See why I worry?"

Brodie nodded. He did see, but he didn't think there was much Sinclair could do about it. The lady doctor was headstrong, just as he'd been warned. No point in saying so because Sinclair was headstrong, too. Before long, they were bound to go at it and he planned to stay out of the way. Actually, he was on his way to ask Sinclair for an advance to have a little gambling money in his pocket. That way he could keep out of the doctor's hair and vice versa.

"What's the chance of an advance?" Brodie said.

"You mean you want to be paid now?"

"Well, I can't just sit around and stare at the walls up there while she wipes runny noses, can I?"

"You make it sound so boring," Sinclair replied dryly. ''It is."

"You're being well paid."

"Not yet I'm not."

"Well. . . . I suppose an advance isn't out of the question," he said. "How much?"

"Enough for a good game of poker."

"A good game. . . . Really, Brodie. That's too much. I'm a working man, not a philanthropist."

"All right. Whatever you can afford." The way he saw it, he'd already earned it by getting his backside shot at twice.

"Come on over to the store. We'll conduct our business there."

Brodie followed him into the building and waited while Sinclair went behind the counter at the apothecary end of the store. He pulled out a tablet, wrote a sum of money on it, and pushed it toward Brodie.

"Sign it."

Brodie picked up the pen and wrote his name.

"I'll be back in a minute," Sinclair said, and disappeared into the back room.

While Brodie waited two women entered the store, commenting on the heat of the day and striking up a conversation with the young woman.

"Hello, Abby, dear. How have you been?" said one of the women.

"Yes," said the other woman. "How have you been? You poor thing."

"And your brother? Has he . . . that is, have you heard anything from him at all?"

"Zack? Oh, he's all right," she replied.

"No, not Zack. Rafe."

Brodie stood still, his back to the women, waiting, listening for more. <><><><><><><><><><><><>

"Rafe?" Abby nearly whispered the name. "Well, I don't . . . really . . . know." But what she wanted to say was: Why do you ask? How can you stand there and politely ask me such a thing? Her heart hammered in her chest. "I seldom see Rafe anymore, Gladys." It was true; he hadn't been to the house for a longer spell than usual.

"Oh, I see. And I heard that Zack was now riding with Old Ben's bunch? That must be terribly hard on a young girl like you. To see your brothers go into such a line of work, and fight against each other to boot." Gladys clucked her tongue in sympathy. "What would your granny have said?"

Everyone knew what Granny Woods would have said. She never minced words, and right now Abby wished she had the same gumption. She ought to tell these two ladies it was none of their business what her brothers did, and furthermore, that she had no control over what they did. Lord knows she'd found that out.

"You poor thing," repeated Gladys's sister, Mona.

"Actually," Abby said, her head high and feeling a pinch of Granny's gumption filling her veins, "I almost never get the chance to feel sorry for myself, and you shouldn't feel sorry for me, either." She smiled politely.

"But living by the gun" said Gladys before abruptly ending her sentence.

An ominous silence filled the room, and all three women turned to stare at the back of the man who had recently come to town. With his guns hanging at his hips within easy reach, he was a menacing sight they couldn't stop staring at. Gunfighters weren't new to Lampasas, but this one was different from the others; he had a quiet determination that seemed more lethal than the arrogance of those who strode the streets trying to intimidate everyone they encountered. "I suppose," Gladys went on, "we should be on our way. We didn't mean to pry, dear, by asking about Rafe"

The man slowly turned around while his gaze caught Abby's and held. One of the ladies gave a slight gasp, then nudged her sister, but was immediately shaken off.

Abby knew instinctively that it was Rafe's name that had brought his attention to her. She'd felt it when the ladies had first spoken of him. Perhaps it had been a flinch of the gunman's body or a new angle to the tilt of his hat. Whatever it was, she'd sensed it. Now that he stared at her, there was no doubt. He was looking for Rafe.

Henry stepped from the back room, making his way toward Brodie past the sacks stacked along the wall and jingling a harness that his shoulder brushed.

"Here's your advance," he said.

Brodie nodded and put away his money. As he strode from the store, his spurs rang loudly in the wake of silence. While he crossed the square to the saloon, all the ladies watched as though transfixed.

Then Abby cleared her throat and said, "Is there something I can get for you ladies today?" But there was no distracting them.

"That man is nothing but trouble."

"That's right," said Mona. "Nothing but trouble."

And deep down Abby had to agree.

Brodie had wanted to talk to the young woman to find out more about her brother so he could be sure he had the right man, but since the women hadn't shown any signs of moving on, he'd left. With their suspicious gazes openly assessing him, he'd headed for a game of poker at the saloon, and to wait. What he didn't need was the town gossips listening to his conversation with Abby. He'd already stirred up enough interest.

Now Brodie leaned back in his chair, his mind intent on his opponent, when his eye caught the figure of the lady doctor going into Sinclair's store. He had purposely positioned himself at the table so he had a clear view while he waited for Abby to head for home since it wasn't long before closing time. Then he'd have some answers. Shifting his thoughts back to the game, he grudgingly admitted that it wasn't likely that he'd turn Sinclair's advance into anything worthwhile. He'd played distractedly, his mind going back to another town, to a different hot summer day.

The man across the table slapped down some coins on the pile and stared knowingly at Brodie. He fidgeted slightly, then settled down to wait. Brodie studied his own hand. Three of a kind. Not likely he'd win this time, judging by the way the other man fidgeted whenever he looked at his cards.

Then a movement in front of Sinclair's store caught his attention again. This time it was Abby.

"C'mon, drifter, you gonna fold or you gonna take the pot? Which is it?"

"Fold." Brodie threw in his cards and scraped back his chair. He had waited too long for this chance; he had no intention of letting a poker game get in his way. He strode from the saloon and made his way across the square beneath the shade of the oaks. She had already gained some distance on him as he stepped onto the boardwalk, but in no time at all he was beside her.

"Ma'am," he began, not wanting to frighten her, "could I speak to you?"

She stopped and turned to face him. "I know what you want, Mr. Brodie, but I don't know exactly where my brother is. He works for McCullough, that's all I know." Then a frown crossed her face. "You are looking for Rafe, aren't you?"

"Yes," he replied, giving no other information.

She nodded, glancing away and looking sad. "I thought so. I really don't know where he is, and whatever he's done, I'm sorry."

Brodie was more than sorry; he was more than angry, but he knew he had to take that up with her brother, not her.

She looked up at him. "Henry thinks you're here to watch over Doc Hallie."

"I am."

"Two birds with one stone," she said quietly. "Well, I'd better be on my way. Word could get back to Rafe that you stopped me on the street and then he'll know you're in town. That could ruin your surprise, if that's your intention." The corners of her mouth turned down slightly and he saw the sadness in her eyes. "If you'll excuse me."

As she walked away, he wondered if she'd been pulled into the ranching feud by standing between two brothers who'd each taken a side. From the little bit of talk he'd gathered at the saloon and the more detailed information he'd gotten from Hancock when he'd gone with the doctor, if you worked for Old Ben you were an enemy of McCullough's men and vice versa. And if you happened to be rotten to the core anyway, it was just as likely that you had plenty of enemies to begin with, and that made Brodie wonder just how safe Abby might be.

Chapter Five

Abby liked her job at the store, and with every day that passed she liked it more than the day before. The work wasn't hard and she enjoyed visiting with the customers, many of whom were friends of hers. But most of all she enjoyed spending every day with Henry. He was so cheerful that it was easy to forget her worries and problems. Actually, working in his presence turned her mind toward more pleasant, albeit forbidden, musings. Still, she kept them to herself so they were perfectly harmless. The last thing she wanted to do was to wedge herself between Doc Hallie and Henry, even though she felt deep down in her heart that she, Abby, would make a wonderful wife for Henry. And lately that thought had been plaguing her regularly, especially since the talk she'd overheard between Doc Hallie and Henry a week earlier. As she dusted the shelf of canned goods, she wondered if there might be some changes around the bend. "Abigail?" Henry called to her from behind the counter at the apothecary end of the store. He'd been working on his ledger all morning, his nose so deeply buried in the book that he'd hardly said a word to her. "Come take a look at these numbers for me. I think my brain is getting scrambled because no matter how I add them I never get the same sum twice."

Leaning over his shoulder, she looked at the column of figures. He'd often sought her help, commenting on her ability to cipher and easily praising that ability. Working with him, being this close to him, was especially nice. She liked the smell of his shaving lotion, a little spicy, a little sweet, and very much like Henry himself. A warm glow spread throughout her body, and her private musings took a turn that made her face feel hot.

"I've given myself a headache," he said, pinching his nose and leaning back in his seat. His shoulder brushed her breast, and she jumped away as though she'd been scalded. Unaware of her reaction, he said, "Perhaps you could sit here and see what you can do." He stood, arching his back.

"Certainly, Henry." She quickly took his chair, noting the warmth his body left on the seat, and buried her face in the ledger, hoping to hide the pink of her cheeks that she was sure would give away her thoughts. Running her finger down the column of numbers, she jotted down sums on a well-used piece of scrap paper. Checking her work once more, she was able to turn her now-cool face to him and smile.

"Just like that," he said, snapping his fingers. "I spend all morning juggling those figures and just like that you're finished. Abigail, you always amaze me."

He was doing it again, making her feel special.

"You've just been at it too long, that's all," she said.

He pinched his nose as though more than the headache was bothering him. "I suppose that's true." He sat on the edge of the counter near her. "But I suspect it's more than that, if I were to be honest."

"What is it, Henry?" she asked, real concern creeping into her voice. He had been distracted lately but she hadn't considered that anything serious was wrong.

He sighed, crossed his arms over his chest, and leveled a sincere look at her, a look that said he was about to share a confidence. Her heart hammered as she wondered what it was.

"You're a woman. Maybe you could help me understand."

She couldn't find her voice, so she nodded, all the while thinking that he didn't see her as a girl after all. He actually said she was a woman! Her heart soared.

"Heloise came to talk to me last week and we had a rather heated disagreement."

Abby had heard them. Doc Hallie had flatly refused to allow Brodie to ride anywhere with her. She'd said that he was a menace and drew more attention to her than if she'd been seen in her nightdress. Furthermore, she believed Henry had stepped far beyond the boundaries of friendship, and she'd emphasized that word quite clearly. Just one more step and there wouldn't be a friendship.

"I'm concerned about her safety, but she thinks I'm interfering," Henry now said.

"Doc Hallie is a very capable woman," Abby replied.

"Capable or not, she's in danger every time she goes out into the countryside."

"Nobody has harmed her yet."

"I'm afraid it's just a matter of time. She's so accessible." He sighed. "And stubborn."

"You're not giving her much credit."

"It's not that. I'm not underestimating those men who ride for the sake of injustice, but she is!" Abby flinched. He was talking about her brothers, even though indirectly.

"II'm sorry," he said, frowning at his own blunder. "How thoughtless of me. I didn't mean. . . . That is, I don't want you to think that I'm accusing your brothers . . ." He stopped, wiped his hand down his face, and stared long and hard at her. "Please, accept my apology. This whole feud is difficult for everyone. It's absolutely ridiculous the way good people such as you and Heloise and myself must alter our lives to suit the likes of Old Ben and McCullough. Absolutely ridiculous. And I'm forced to hire the likes of someone like Brodie to keep Heloise safe."

Abby stared down at her hands in her lap. What he said was true, but the reason she suddenly felt so turned-inside-out was the shift in the conversation. This was the first time that he'd spoken to her so intimately, and yet he spoke of another woman. She wasn't sure how to respond, so she didn't.

"You're not going to forgive me, are you?" he said, lifting her chin with a finger and giving her a smile.

"Of course I am," she replied, enjoying the touch of even one finger.

Suddenly looking a little self-conscious, Henry pulled back his hand and folded his arms across his chest once more.

"I don't have any say in what Rafe and Zack do, but if I did" Abby began.

"I know," he interrupted. "And everyone understands your situation. I'm certain they do."

"Not everyone," she replied, giving a small shake of her head. "But I don't feel obligated to everyone."

"Well, you needn't feel, uh, obligated to me," he replied, stuttering over his words.

"I suppose that's the wrong way to put it," she said. "I meant to say that I care what you think, Henry."

"Oh . . . Well, you shouldn't. . . . I don't want you to"

"But I do," she said quietly. "You gave me this job and you're always so nice to me. I enjoy working for you."

The tips of his ears turned pink and he fidgeted on the edge of the counter. He cleared his throat and said, teasing her, "It isn't necessary to flatter me, unless you're looking for an increase in wages." His smile told her that he was trying to make light of her words.

She smiled back and said, "No, that isn't it. I just truly do care what you think."

"Well, I think you are one of the best workers I've ever had." He stood. "So what do you say we get back to work now that my columns have been added correctly?"

"Of course," she replied, rising. Then she leaned up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. "Thanks for the compliment. It means a lot to me."

At first he looked taken aback. Then he stuttered something about some harnesses and disappeared into the back room. Abby knew she'd flustered him, but she wasn't sorry; she was simply being honest. Embarrassment was something that came and went like the wind, Granny Woods used to say, so there wasn't much point in paying it any mind at all. As time went on, it always lost its power. And as far as Doc Hallie was concerned, Abby didn't think her conversation with Henry had sounded much like two people in love. Instead, it had sounded more like two people who were about to end a friendship. Well, at least one of them wanted to end it. To be perfectly honest, Doc Hallie had never appeared to be a woman in love with Henry. Henry seemed to be enamored with Doc Hallie, but that was because he didn't know what true love was as far as Abby was concerned. Abby turned toward the commotion of jingling harnesses and rattling cans, and smiled. But he soon would.

Hallie climbed the stairs to her office, her buggy hitched and ready to take her on her monthly rounds. Pushing the door open, she stared toward the room where Brodie lay sleeping off the effects of a night at the Lady's Garter. She felt a stab of irritation so physical that she nearly flinched at the pain. She had made herself as clear as she possibly could to Henry and then to Brodie. Neither one seemed to take her seriously, which only increased the sharpness of the irritation. She had ignored Henry for a week, refusing to see him, but she knew he expected her to eventually see things his way and forgive him, which she hadn't. And as for Brodie, she had thrown his things out twice, only to find that the next morning he was back in her sickroom as though he belonged there. Why was the man so insistent on staying where he was not wanted? He had wedged himself in like a tick under the skin and there was no pulling him out.

Previously she had tried sneaking around her own office, hoping to set out without his knowing, but he had the ears of an ass as well as the stubbornness. So this morning she made all the noise she wanted as she collected the necessary bottles of medicine and equipment to fill her bags. Trying to put his irritating presence from her mind, she thought about the route she planned to take, the patients she would see, and what their needs would be. She had two pregnancies to visit as well as a woman who suffered from melancholy, a rancher who had broken his leg, another who had been gored by a bull, and several children she liked to look in on for the sake of prevention. It never hurt to know what sort of illnesses might be lurking and possibly spread. ''Heading out somewhere?" Brodie said from the sickroom doorway, making her jump in surprise.

"Not that it's any business of yours," she replied as she picked up her bags and turned on her heel, leaving him behind. She made her way carefully down the stairs to where her buggy waited at the bottom, half listening for his boots on the treads behind her. With her things stowed securely under the seat, she climbed inside, reached for the reins, and released the brake. Before she could click to the horses, he was standing beside her.

"I'll get my horse and catch up to you," he said.

"That won't be necessary. I've already told you that your services are no longer needed. I've been taking care of my patients for quite some time and I'm still here to tell the story. So if you don't mind, I prefer to go alone."

"I do mind." He walked toward the livery without another word or even a glance over his shoulder. No acknowledgment whatsoever that the choice should be hers and hers alone.

She felt that familiar pain of irritation again, and actually massaged her neck to relieve it. Then she clicked to the horses and the buggy moved along the street. She didn't have time to waste arguing with him, nor would she give him the satisfaction of waiting for him. She had rounds to make, alone.

Outside of town she urged the horses to a comfortable trot and set her mind on the first patient she would see, Hiram James. A week ago his wife had brought him to town in the back of a buckboard lying on a mattress. He'd been gored in the upper thigh by one of his bulls and had bled profusely even though his wife had done a good job of binding the wound. Fortunately, blood was all he'd lost, and he'd been the first one to comment on that.

Hallie studied her surroundings, always keeping a vigilant eye open for trouble in spite of Henry's belief that she wasn't capable. The terrain was flat and open, not even a boulder for an ambusher to hide behind, and the day was beautifully calm, which also meant that it would be scorchingly hot before noon. Sitting in the shelter of the buggy, she let the heat relax the muscles of her neck and shoulders. She'd been under a strain ever since Brodie had come to town. Just the presence of the man irritated her. And lately something else had bothered her. Why was he so persistent in guarding her when she had made her wishes clear? Obviously it wasn't because he liked her company since he hardly showed her any consideration; if anything, he seemed to mock her abilities as a doctor. Certainly, Henry couldn't be paying him so much that he was content not to look for further employment. So why did he stay in Lampasas?

As if on cue, she heard the sound of hoofbeats coming up behind her. Without even looking, she knew it was Brodie and, involuntarily, she massaged her neck again.

"I'm glad to see you took my advice and used the buggy," he said.

"I didn't take your advice. I always use the buggy when I make my rounds. It seems you've forgotten that I told you that." She sent him a quick glance of defiance, but he wasn't looking.

"How many calls do you have to make?"

"I spend a full day, and that might mean four calls, six calls, or maybe just one. I never know what to expect. Why do you ask? Is there some important business that you've left behind?" she asked

He rode for a while without answering, then replied simply, "No."

After that he rode beside the buggy, silent and watchful. She, too, kept her silence. In time they came upon Hiram's house, located amidst a series of buildings, corrals, and cattle roaming free. A hired hand helped Hallie from the buggy and took charge of the horses while she went inside with Mrs. James. After an awkward introduction, she left Brodie to fend for himself.

"He's in here, Doc Hallie, and just as ornery as that bull that got him," Mrs. James said. Hallie followed the woman into the house. "I tried to get him to stay in bed, but he won't listen to me at all. He insists on going out to see what's going on in the stable, as if things couldn't run without him."

"They can't," said Hiram, half sitting in a chair at the table, his leg outstretched.

"Oh, they can, too," insisted his wife.

Hallie sat near him, placing her bag on the table. She knew she was not going to get much information from him, since he was one of the few men who had never taken to the idea of her replacing Old Doc Summers.

"How's the wound?" she asked, hoping for something substantial to get a proper diagnosis.

"It's mendin' well enough," he responded gruffly. "Bring us some coffee, Mabel." Mabel brought a cup for Hallie and filled Hiram's, too.

"Is there any redness extending beyond the open sore?"

"Hell, yes. But what can you expect? She keeps pouring my good whiskey on it! I told her to just make a poultice of mud and manure and save the whiskey."

"Pshaw!" replied Mabel with a disgusted wave of her hand. "I'd never put a concoction like that in my dishpan, so why in heaven's name would I put it on raw flesh?"

"Well, it's a bad waste of good whiskey, I say. You wouldn't believe how much she's used," he grumbled.

Hallie knew the cleansing effect was certainly better than that of his poultice, and said so. Ignorance was an enemy she constantly battled. "Are you using the ointment I gave you?" she asked.

"We ran out of that a few days ago," said Mabel. "I couldn't get to town so I hoped the whiskey would suffice."

She sorted through her bag for the small tin container she'd brought, and put it on the table. Then she questioned him further, trying to discover if there might be permanent damage to any of the muscles. Satisfied that he was going to mend nicely, she said her farewells and went in search of her buggy. Hiram insisted on hobbling along with her.

"Who did you say that fella is that's ridin' with you?" he asked.

She slowed her gait to match his, although she wished she could hurry in order to avoid any discussion of her unwanted companion.

"His name is Brodie," she replied, looking around and wondering where the object of their conversation might be.

"Hmm. Seems like I've seen him before," Hiram said thoughtfully. "Can't remember where, though. Seems like it had somethin' to do with some rustlin'. But it's been some time ago, that's for sure."

Hallie turned her attention more closely to Hiram's words. She hadn't spent any time wondering about Brodie's past or where he had lived before coming to Lampasas. She'd assumed he was a drifter and a gunfighter, so just how much of a past could he have? But now that Hiram suggested he might know him, her curiosity was piqued.

"Figured if I came out here with you and got a better look at him, I might recollect something. Funny how some things just sorta bother you."

When they finally reached the barn, Brodie was mounted on Sam and waiting alongside the buggy. Hallie secured her bag and climbed up, watching Brodie for a sign of recognition when Hiram spoke to him. "Surely does seem as though we've met before," Hiram said without any preliminaries. "But I can't locate in my memory where that might have been. How about you?"

Hallie thought Brodie's look was guarded, but she might have misinterpreted it since he always had a wariness about him.

"Can't say as I recall," he replied.

"You from this part of Texas? Or maybe south of here?" Hiram continued.

"I've never been in this part of Texas before," he replied, and this time Hallie was certain that his guard was up. He edged his horse forward a step.

"Well, I suppose I could be faltering in my memory, but I sure do hate to admit it," Hiram said good-naturedly. "I know you got other places to go, Doc Hallie, so I'll let you be on your way."

She agreed with him, and urged the horses to head back up the lane. All the while her thoughts were on Brodie's past and his reluctance to share any of it. Not that there was anything unusual about a man in his profession refusing to talk about the things he'd done and places he'd been, but the fact that Hiram thought he knew Brodie seemed to suggest that he wasn't a stranger from other parts. Perhaps he was from this area of Texas or close by. Perhaps there was another reason he was in Lampasas in the first place. Well, that was all the more reason to get him away from her.

The rest of the day went smoothly. She spent some time with Annie Larson, whose melancholy worried Hallie more than the condition of any of her other patients; she had no cure or even an offer of help for Annie's husband, other than to suggest a visit to Annie's family in Houston. At noon they'd had lunch with the Walkers, whose seven children kept Hallie busy with their stories. Mrs. Walker, expecting her eighth, was full of energy and was convinced it was a sign that labor would begin within the week. After that they visited the rancher with the broken leg, who was behaving to the point that his poor wife did all the work, since he refused to allow any hired help on the place.

By the time the sun was getting low in the sky, Hallie still hadn't seen two other families who had several children each and one other woman who was expecting her third child.

Hallie wiped the perspiration from her forehead with the sleeve of her shirt. The day had been extremely hot, and even now there wasn't much relief. She searched one-handed for the canteen under her seat. Then, finding it, she removed the cap and took a long swallow. It was as warm as a cup of barely cooled coffee, but it quenched her thirst. The other calls she had to make were on the return side of the circle, so she was, in effect, headed for home.

Brodie had taken to riding ahead of her as though he were scouting the area. Was that what he'd been, a scout? She watched the erectness of his posture, one hand on the reins and one hand at his side, and sometimes riding on his thigh. He appeared almost military in his bearing, but his clothing was that of a typical gunfighter-drifter.

Suddenly he urged his horse into a lope, and Hallie sat a little straighter in her seat, trying to see what had attracted his attention. But the openness of the land showed there was nothing out of the ordinary, not a single rider on the horizon, not even a herd of cattle, nothing but a flock of vultures. Surely that hadn't caused him to hurry ahead, she thought, unless. . . .

With a flick of the reins to increase her horses' gait, she followed his path, eating the cloud of dust in his wake. When he reached the spot where the birds had been feasting, he dismounted and hunkered down to investigate. As Hallie approached, she could see that it was the carcass of a longhorn that had been dead for quite a while, judging by the few remains.

"Whose grazing land is this?" he asked.

"Old Ben's," she replied.

"I saw two others further back."

She hadn't seen anything, but then her mind wasn't on butchered cattle, and this one had obviously been butchered. Setting the brake, she tethered the reins and climbed down, mostly to stretch her legs and give her backside a rest from the hard seat.

"Were the others like this?" she asked, thinking that this would only fuel the already burning fire of the feud.

He nodded, rising. "How far is it to the McCullough ranch?"

She pointed east and replied, "Maybe ten or fifteen miles. I'm not very good with distances so it's just a guess. Why?" She shielded her eyes from the sun behind him as she tried to see his face while he responded. Did he have something to do with the feud? she wondered.

"We're not far from the spot where I took a bullet in the seat. I just want to get an idea which side did it."

"Well, if I were to guess, I'd say it was McCullough. He doesn't like anybody riding across his land. Even I stay clear of it." She looked at the carcass once more. "I wonder how many others there are."

"Most likely several, and each one is a little bit closer to Old Ben, just a little more daring than the one before it. Sort of like a game of cat and mouse, but in a feud it's hard to tell which one is the cat and which one is the mouse."

She agreed. It was impossible to take sides because neither was right. Rather, it was a case of who was less wrong. The feud had started so long ago that nearly everyone had accepted the fact that the two ranchers would never get along. But it had escalated to a point where all-out war was inevitable. So far the only casualties were the cattle, but that could change any time soon.

Chapter Six

Brodie woke from a sound sleep to the cracking of gunshots followed by hoots and hollers in the street below. Not wanting to catch a stray bullet through the window, he stayed put and listened to the men as they called ribald remarks to one another, laughing in drunken delight. This wasn't the first night he'd been brought from a dead sleep to complete wakefulness by gunplay. For a while he'd wondered where the sheriff might be and why the raucous behavior had been tolerated, but he'd soon learned that the sheriff was nothing more than someone who stood behind the badge, not for it. The sheriff had made it clear to the citizens of Lampasas that if they didn't want to get shot, they should stay off the streets while the two ranchers worked out their difficulties.

Another volley of shots rang out before it became quiet enough to hear snatches of the conversations below his open window. He heard the words "burned out" and "run like hell" followed by fits of uncontrollable laughter. Then he heard someone call out the name Jake.

Brodie sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for more. When nothing else was said, he moved to the window, where a light breeze brushed across his bare chest. Then, looking down on the street, he watched as seven or eight men mounted their horses. The light was too poor to make out any of their faces clearly, but he was certain that the man he wanted wasn't there.

"Run like hell, boys!" shouted the familiar voice of Jake, and the others responded with gunshots and laughter once more.

Brodie had instantly disliked Jake when he'd met him in the saloon. He was young and brash and reckless, a dangerous combination in the best of situations, and this was far from the best. He reminded Brodie of the man he was looking for, except that Rafe Woods was wild, mean, and unpredictable, just the sort that would take up with the likes of Jake.

Brodie watched for a while longer as the men raced around the square and finally out of town. The sudden quiet was almost deafening. As far he was able to see on all sides of the square, nobody was out and about. The clock in the doctor's office, which at first had kept him awake for several nights, struck the hour of two. Below him the lights from the saloon went out, leaving only darkness where shadows on the street had been.

Brodie returned to his bed, stretching out in order to make the most of the breeze that floated over him. Wide awake now, he thought about the advantages of staying in the doctor's office where he had a view of everything going on, even though she was dead set against him being there. When she'd thrown his things outside, he'd simply put them back, twice. It was just too convenient a location, and as long as Sinclair was willing to pay him, he was staying. Following her around wasn't difficult or even dangerous, at least not for him, and it gave him plenty of opportunity to talk to some of the locals. In the meantime, she was barely tolerating him, although he didn't know for how much longer. Sinclair had been right. She had a real problem when it came to independence and dogged determination. Damned if he'd ever seen a woman work so hard at being determined. She was determined to be independent, determined to be a dedicated doctor, determined to work long hours, and determined to get rid of him. Well, it wouldn't be long before she'd have her way, just as soon as he figured out how to take care of Rafe Woods. And this time it would be legal as well as final.

The next morning Brodie walked over to the hotel early for breakfast. He'd slept surprisingly well considering how few hours he'd actually spent in bed; he was also surprised that he slept in a bed at all. For years he'd preferred a bedroll under the stars where he could keep an eye on what might be coming at him. He berated himself for getting soft. As soon as he got this settled he was going back to his old way of living.

He ordered a hearty breakfast, and just when it was set before him, he looked up to find the doctor standing in the archway of the lobby. For a moment he thought she might be looking for him, but then he realized she would never ask for help, especially from him. She was carrying her small black bag, which had the look of being many years older than she was. She spoke to the clerk, who quickly ushered her up the stairs, and Brodie found himself straining his neck to follow her ascent. Then, catching himself, he adjusted his position and concentrated on his food.

Without intending to, he lingered over his coffee after his meal was finished, wondering what was taking her so long. She was perfectly safe, he told himself. The job of guarding her was definitely becoming too much of a habit, he decided somberly, keeping one eye on the stairs. After two more cups of coffee, she finally descended the stairs in a leisurely walk. Without even realizing or at least acknowledging he was there, she left the hotel. He paid his bill and walked out into the heat of the day, looking to see if perhaps her buggy was hitched and ready to go. It wasn't. Then he saw her head up the stairs to her office. As long as she was going to stay put, he guessed he might as well find a chair in front of Sinclair's store where he could get a good view of the goings-on in town and still watch her office stairway.

When Sinclair came to open his business for the day, he stopped in front of Brodie and said, ''Good morning. I trust you slept well?"

"Did anybody?"

"I know what you mean," he replied, shaking his head. "Things seem to be getting worse. If we had a sheriff who would uphold the law, we might have a little peace. There's been talk about running him out of town, but of course that's only talk since most folks are terrified of McCullough and his men. And no wonder that they are, actually. I can't help worrying where it's all going to end."

Abby came up the walk and stood beside Sinclair.

"Mornin', everybody," she said, looking particularly happy.

"Um, morning, Abigail," Sinclair responded, turning a little pink around the collar. "Well, shall we get started on that inventory? I've put it off far too long." He turned to Brodie and nodded before disappearing inside with Abby directly behind him.

With the shade of the porch over him, and his chair leaned against the wood siding, Brodie reclined in a comfortable position for the next hour. Then all hell broke loose.

A group of horsemen rode into town surrounded by a cloud of dust. In the lead was an older man whose gray hair was in stark contrast to his broad build and height in the saddle. Brodie was certain the man had to be Old Ben. The horses slowed as they passed Sinclair's store, and Brodie saw the look of hatred on the man's face. He knew the feeling of that look; he'd felt it on his own face. Old Ben brought his horse to a sudden stop in front of the sheriff's office and dismounted with the agility of a much younger man, but anger could do that, red hot anger. He stood a fair distance from the boardwalk, his rifle in his arms and his men behind him.

"Davis!" he yelled, his voice booming in echo across the square. "Get your yellow-belly jackass hide out here! I want the people of this town to know just what kind of a man you're not!"

Minutes passed. Then finally, the door opened and Davis stepped outside carrying a rifle of his own.

"We're not having a shouting match in the street," Davis said calmly. "If you have something to say to me, then come on inside. If not, then be on your way."

"I'll be on my way, all right, but not before you make tracks to McCullough's ranch and arrest the son of a bitch."

"We'll talk about this in my office," said the sheriff, stepping aside to let Old Ben pass.

"Like hell we will! What I've got to say will be said here with some witnesses to hear so you can't say I never told you." He turned to everyone who waited on the boardwalks surrounding the square. "Last night McCullough and his men burnt down one of my line shacks, stole my cattle, and shot up one of my men! You all hear me? And I want this good-for-nothing sheriff to arrest his damned hide!" Brodie set his chair down on all fours.

"Did anybody get killed?" asked the sheriff almost defensively.

"Damn near," called out one of Old Ben's men. "They're bringing him to the doc's now."

"If he dies there's going to be a hanging, legal or otherwise," Old Ben said. "Mark my words."

"There won't be any lynching in my town," said Davis. "I'll ride out to McCullough's and check on it. Are you satisfied?"

"Not hardly. I want him in jail where he'll rot."

"I said I'll go out there, as soon as I look in on your man," Davis said.

"Ain't nothing you can do for him except arrest the men who did it." Old Ben stood unmoving, waiting for more satisfaction than he was getting.

From the crowd somebody yelled, "I think you ought to do something, Sheriff!"

"Go on about your business," Davis said to those around him. "And I'll go about mine." When nobody moved, he said louder, "Go on, or you'll all find yourselves sitting in my jail for a spell!"

Slowly, the crowd dispersed, leaving only a few brave spectators as well as Old Ben with his men. Across the square a buckboard pulled up in front of the Lady's Garter, and by the look on Old Ben's face when he turned around, Brodie suspected it must be the doctor's new patient.

Sinclair had stepped outside and watched the entire confrontation silently, but when the buckboard stopped near the doctor's office, he approached Brodie.

"I suggest you go over there and keep an eye on that bunch. Stay with her until they're all out of town," Sinclair said, frowning. "I don't trust either side of this feud." Brodie was out of his chair and on his way. He had no intention of missing an opportunity to hear firsthand what was going on and possibly finding out where Rafe Woods might be.

On the landing outside the office he was stopped by a rough-looking character who barely came to Brodie's chin.

"You're not going in there. Nobody is," the man said.

But Brodie just brushed past him without a word, barely noticing him, then positioned himself inside near the doctor. She glanced up at him momentarily, and he was surprised that her usual look of irritation was gone. Instead, she was all concentration.

Old Ben never took his eyes from the man on the table, who lay unconscious and covered in blood. He'd taken three bullets in the leg, one in the shoulder, and one in his side. A crease in his skull would undoubtedly give the man the worst headache of his life, if he survived. Brodie studied the doctor as she quickly cut and tore the shirt and a good portion of his pants from the man's body. Her instruments, wash pan, and carbolic were within easy reach on the table beside her, and she wasted no time dousing the wounds with the acrid-smelling liquid. Involuntarily, Brodie sucked in his breath, thinking the man could be damn glad he was out cold.

She went for the ugliest-looking wound first, the one in his shoulder. After a few probes, he heard her say in a low voice, "The bone is shattered." Bending over her patient, she spent what seemed like forever probing and cleansing until at last she retrieved the bullet. "That's one." Another length of time was spent in removing as many splinters of bone as she could.

Brodie let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. A trickle of sweat ran down his back between his shoulder blades, but one glance at her told him she looked as cool as a spring day. She inspected the wound in the man's side and said, "No bullet here. This one passed on through." So she turned her attention to the three in his leg. Positioning herself for the best light and best access, she went through the same process as before: probing and cleansing and probing again. "Missed the bone," she said softly. Within a short time they all heard the ring and ping of the bullet in the metal basin.

At the sound, Brodie released an uncontrollable shudder. God, he hated watching this, but he was spellbound just the same. She worked efficiently, quietly, and gently, and with such an air of assurance that Brodie felt a grudging respect where before he'd held disdain for just the idea of a woman being a doctor. In no time she had the other bullets out, and went on to the next step of stitching him up and dressing the wounds.

For the first time since Brodie entered the room, Old Ben looked up. "Is he going to make it?"

"He's lost a lot of blood, but I think he has a good chance as long as infection doesn't set in. His dressings need to be changed and his wounds kept clean."

"You mean let it fester so the poison comes out."

"No," she replied. "Keep them clean so they don't fester." She went to her cabinet and took out some tins of ointment. "Use these."

Old Ben accepted the tins and nodded. "You're sure he's going to make it."

"He's got a good chance. That's all I can promise you. I'll stop by to check on him when I go on my rounds."

"If he dies, there's going to be a hanging. I meant what I said." Then he called to a couple of men and instructed them to carry the unconscious man out of the office and down to the buckboard. <><><><><><><><><><><><> When they had all gone, including Brodie, Hallie sank in the chair behind her desk and rested her head on her hand. If the wounded man died, there would be a lynching. The words went straight to her soul. She'd done her best; she really had. Now everything depended on whether or not he got infected, which was always the problem. Her friend in Chicago, who was a surgeon, had spoken often in his letters about their battle with infection at the hospital in which he practiced. He'd also kept her up to date on the latest theory of fighting infection, which he called Listerism, and the resistance he'd met with when he'd tried to introduce it. She could certainly imagine. Trying to educate her own patients was difficult at best, but she couldn't give up. That, too, was part of being a doctor.

Sitting back in her chair, she rested her hands in her lap and stared at them. It was a habit she had, and she knew it. She turned them palms up and then palms down. This month she would make an exception and go on her rounds twice in order to look in on Old Ben's man. She felt the weight of his well-being rest solidly on her shoulders, perhaps more than she should.

Outside, she heard the pounding of feet on the stairs coming up to her door, which was unusual since normally she was so engrossed in her work that she heard nothing until it burst in upon her. When the door opened, she wasn't at all surprised to see Henry. As a matter of fact, now that she thought about it, she was surprised he hadn't come sooner. But then he'd sent Brodie, so that explained it.

"Heloise, are you all right? I expected Brodie to report to me after everyone had gone, but he didn't."

"I'm fine."

"You don't look it," he replied, sitting on the edge of her desk. She smiled. "You know me too well, Henry."

He nodded. "So what is it?"

"The man was pretty shot up just as Old Ben said out there in the street."

"Is he going to be all right? Is that what's worrying you?" But he went on before she could answer, as he did so many times in their conversations. "Heloise, you take these things so seriously. Too seriously, in my opinion. My God, these men are outlaws at heart!"

"Henry!" She sat back further in her chair, stunned by his callous words. He had always agreed with her about her medical dilemmas, especially the ethical ones.

"I mean it. They live by the gun and, face it, they die by the gun. The choice is theirs, Heloise. Not yours. You patch them up and what do they do but go out and get shot again. And again! How can you possibly feel anything even remotely akin to sympathy for them?"

"I didn't say I felt sorry for him," she replied defensively.

"Well, no, I guess you didn't. But you feel responsible and that's worse. You didn't pull the trigger and put a bullet in his body."

"Five bullets."

"Really? Five?" he said quietly, then sat silent, staring at the desk top, a frown deepening his brow. "This place is uncivilized." Then he looked up at her. "Why do you want to stay here? Especially when you could be practicing medicine on people who need you and would appreciate your abilities."

"These people do need me. And besides, this is my home. I belong here."

He studied her face a long time, and she studied his.

He had a sensitivity that was expressed in the fine lines around his eyes and mouth, showing that he smiled often. His heart was soft and vulnerable. And even though he sounded callous at the moment, she knew it was because of his concern for her. She could forgive him for that.

"Heloise, won't you come away with me?" He reached for her hand.

"Henry . . ." she began, not knowing how to go on. She looked down to where his large hand hid hers.

"No, don't say it. Forget I mentioned anything about it. I can tell you're not ready."

"I have to say this," she told him. When he pulled his hand away, she said, "Please, Henry, listen to me." She paused. "This is very difficult." Again she paused, but not long, because she was afraid he'd take over the conversation the way he always did and she'd lose her chance to explain her real feelings, not the ones he thought she had.

"I have to make this very clear for both our sakes. Marriage isn't something I want right now. I'm not sure when I will want it. You are a wonderful friend and I've always enjoyed our talks. Actually, I've needed our talks. So many times you've helped me through a trying moment, when I wasn't sure of myself. But I am sure that it isn't the right time for me to get married."

"I'll wait. I didn't mean to rush you," he said quietly, almost like a chastised child.

"That isn't it."

"You don't love me."

"Of course I do! But not as a wife would."

"As a friend." He looked so downhearted that she almost regretted putting him through this. But she couldn't allow him to continue believing that she would someday give in to his inevitable marriage proposal. It couldn't go that far, or they would certainly lose their friendship, too. "As more than a friend. Nobody could be a better friend than you have been."

"Maybe if we give it some time . . ."

"My life is very full. Time won't change that. It would be wrong of me to tell you otherwise."

"I don't mind that you're a doctor, Heloise," he said hopefully. "I rather like it."

"I appreciate that," she replied, smiling. "That's one part of our friendship that's so special to me."

"What's another part?" he asked, tentatively returning her smile.

"That I can always count on you."

He reached for her hand. "You always can. No matter what."

"I'm sorry, Henry. Inever meant"

Softly he replied, "No, don't say anymore." He shook his head as if to ward off her next words. "I'm going to need some time. To think." He shrugged a shoulder. "I'd thought for so long that, well, you know . . ."

"Yes, I do know. I should have made it more clear right from the beginning of our friendship."

"Let's not talk about it now," he said quietly, and she regretted the pain she was causing him. "I think I'd better get back to the store. Abigail and I are working on inventory and I don't want to leave it all to her." He spoke with a weary sigh in his voice.

"Henry," she began, but he rose from the desk and brushed at the air as if to stop her words before they reached him. Her heart felt heavy.

He walked to the door and there he turned, saying, "I'll talk to you later. If you're not too busy?" There was a question in his voice.

"I'll be here." He nodded and went out, closing the door quietly behind him.

A great weight rose from her, although she had to forcibly push away the feelings of guilt that tried to wash over her. She had never meant to encourage him, and in fact, she hadn't. It was true that friendship had been her only intention right from the start. But somewhere along the line Henry's feelings had moved into another realm, and she'd believed that she could hold them in check. She'd been mistaken. And it wasn't fair of her to let it go on, she told herself, regretting the hurt she'd inflicted on him. No, she reminded herself, she hadn't inflicted anything on him. In all honesty, he'd rejected her words time after time. She'd been forced to take the situation in hand and get it settled.

Keeping busy was the best way to stave off thinking, so she cleaned up the basins and instruments she'd used on Ben's hired man. She washed the blood off the raised table, scrubbing at the places where it had dried until her fingers were tired. After the instruments were put in the cupboard and the room was returned to its usual orderliness, she went to the window. Leaning against the frame, she looked out on the square below. Large oaks cast their shade for those who sought shelter from the sun, just as they had when her father was alive, just as they had when she'd taken over his practice. There was security in carrying on where he'd left off, in the town where he'd chosen to make their home. This was where she belonged.

Across the way a familiar figure walked beneath the oaks and crossed the dusty street. He was tall, dark, and very foreboding. But no longer would she have to put up with his presence, having her privacy invaded and her work looked down upon. No, his services would quickly be terminated, by her if not by Henry. Setting her shoulders, she looked forward to the encounter that was about to happen.

Brodie entered the office and at once knew the lady doctor was ready to do battle. Her dark eyes sparkled and her lips, held taut, nearly smiled with expected victory. She took a deep breath, and her breasts rose attractively beneath the white shirt she always wore while working.

''I'm glad you came by," she said, obviously wanting to savor the moment.

He knew what she was going to say because Sinclair had already said it, but what she didn't know was that he had no intention of obliging either of them, for his own reasons.

"There has been a change in plans," she said. "You are no longer needed as a bodyguard. So you may consider yourself free to go about whatever it is you want to do."

Well, she was right about that, he thought. He certainly would go about the business that had brought him there in the first place.

When he looked puzzled, she asked, "Do I need to say more?"

"Actually, I've grown accustomed to the job," he replied with a smile. "So I'll be staying on."

Her mouth dropped open slightly and her eyes widened. "You'll what?" she said, her voice raising.

"I said I'll be staying on."

"I heard that part," she replied testily. "Just what do you mean by it?"

"I like the job." He grinned in spite of himself, enjoying her angry reaction.

"You won't be paid," she threatened.

"Yes, I will." But he didn't tell her that his pay wouldn't be in money, but in justice at long last. She had provided the perfect distraction for him, the perfect reason for being in Lampasas, and he wasn't going to lose that now, no matter what had brought on the change in Sinclair's plans.

"I won't stand for it! I'll have you arrested for . . . for . . . for harassment!" she stuttered.

"By that coward of a sheriff? I'm not too worried."

She surveyed him from hat to boots, then took another attractive breath, which he admired even more than the first one.

"I won't allow you to sleep in my office, and then you won't have any idea when I have to leave on a call."

"Don't count on it. Nothing much gets past me."

"I'm not going to ask you why you're doing this. I can only assume that your motives are underhanded and untrustworthy. Therefore I will respond in like manner." Her arms were crossed beneath her breasts and she leaned menacingly toward him. "So be forewarned."

"I accept the challenge." As a matter of fact, he thought he might even enjoy it.

Chapter Seven

The rest of the day Hallie was kept busy by an onslaught of patients with various ills. She suspected that the reason for the sudden rash of stomach pains, back aches, and headaches had more to do with the patient she'd had in there that morning, since she'd answered the same questions over and over. Yes, the man would most likely live; no, she hadn't been threatened by Old Ben; yes, she would do her best to make sure the man stayed alive.

After Gladys Hartley, her last patient, had gone, she walked to the window where she could get a good view of Henry's storefront. Sure enough, Brodie sat there big as brass, his chair tipped back, his hat shading his eyes. He'd been sitting there all afternoon, and she knew he was watching her office. Each time she'd seen him, she felt a renewed anger burn through her. He had no right! No right to watch her, no right to follow her, no right to invade her privacy. She was half tempted to spend the night in her office just so he wouldn't follow her home. But on second thought, she refused to be dominated. She would continue on with her life as though she'd never met Brodie. So after tidying up the way she always did, she locked the door to her office the way she always did and walked home without even a glance across the square. All the way down the boardwalk, she resisted the urge to look over her shoulder, and when she turned onto the street leading to her house she again refused to see if she was being followed.

As she approached the small cottage-type house with its porch cozied across half of it, she felt a sudden weariness come over her. This was where she let go of the worries of the day and when that happened, the tiredness seeped in.

She walked to the back door and unlocked it. It had never been locked when her father was alive, before the feud had made its way into town and taken over. Inside the kitchen, she found a covered dish on the table with a note attached. Hallie smiled. What would she do without Mrs. Henderson? For as long as she could remember, the older woman had taken care of Hallie and her father, tidying the house, baking pies, and doing laundry. When her father passed away, Hallie had given his key to Mrs. Henderson, and now she used it whenever she needed to come to clean or cook.

"You'll find a pot of soup on the stove. Hope you enjoy the berry pie," said her note.

Hallie checked the coals, then added a few pieces of wood, just enough to boil some water for tea. She put the kettle on, then sampled the pie. Delicious. Mrs. Henderson knew it was her favorite. Then she went through the house and opened the front door in hopes that the heat radiating from the stove would get caught in a breeze toward the back door. When the tea was at last steeped and poured into a cup, she took it to the parlor room and sat in her father's favorite chair. The seat was lumpy where the horsehair had bunched from the many nights he'd fallen asleep before he'd ever made it to bed.

She loved her little house, mostly because of the memories, not its furnishings, which were sparse and simple. There had been no time for frivolities since she had long ago dedicated her life to following her father's footsteps. And she'd been pleased with that. Actually, she'd been happy as well as fulfilled. So why did she have this sudden feeling of loneliness? Perhaps she was worried about losing Henry's friendship, but she knew that wasn't it. Henry would remain a friend as long as he lived in Lampasas.

She sipped her tea and closed her eyes.

No, she wasn't truly worried about Henry. So what then?

The quiet of the house encroached upon her thoughts. So silent except for an occasional crackle of the wood in the cookstove. Was she too alone? Other than Henry, she had no close friends; her work kept her too busy to form many friendships. So why did she suddenly feel so bereft?

Standing outside her door, she watched as the sky turned all the beautiful shades of oranges and purples above the roofs of her neighbors, giving her the same sense of wonder she always experienced. But tonight she found herself wishing for someone to share it with, someone who would appreciate its solemn beauty.

When the house became dark, she roused herself to make ready for bed. By now, there was no doubt that the conversation she'd had with Henry was affecting her feelings. As she stretched out on the cool sheets, she went over again all the things she'd said. She'd told him she was not interested in marriage because her life was so full, but it seemed tonight that it was very empty. <><><><><><><><><><><><> Abby walked toward the store with the heat of the sunshine beating down on her even though it was early in the day. When she saw Gladys Hartley and her sister, Mona Harrison, waiting for her, she nearly turned around and headed for the back door of the store. Instead, she swallowed back her groan and put on a smile.

"Good morning, ladies." She knew what had likely brought them, and was in no hurry to hear their latest "concerns" about her brothers.

"Hello, Abby dear," said Gladys, making her way in front of Mona to get closer to Abby. "It's going to be a hot one today for sure."

"It certainly is," said Mona, always in support of Gladys.

Abby pulled the door open and left it propped by a small wooden keg she dragged outside. Henry usually kept the door closed until she arrived because he worked in the back room most mornings.

"Oh, you shouldn't be lifting that!" scolded Gladys.

"No, no, you shouldn't," repeated Mona.

"There!" Abby exclaimed when she'd finished. "Won't you ladies come inside?"

They followed her into the cooler interior and stood by the counter while she went to get her apron from a peg.

"Do you have your lists?" Abby asked, hoping beyond hope that each of them actually had one. Unfortunately, they didn't.

"Truthfully," began Gladys, "we came to talk to you."

Mona nodded in agreement.

"I don't suppose you missed that horrible confrontation in the streets yesterday morning, did you? Of course you didn't. I doubt there's a soul in town who didn't hear it or at least hear about it. And it's been the main topic of conversations ever since. As a matter of fact, our ladies society called a special meeting last night and it is our intention to rid this town of the riffraff that just think they can wander in here."

"That's right," Mona seconded.

"It's time we put an end to the shootings and make our town a safe place once more. Why, I remember when we were able to walk on the boardwalks without fear of being shot. And if such things did happen, the sheriff would put an end to it lickety-split. But that was a different sheriff."

"Indeed it was," Mona said.

"I know your granny would have wanted you to be a part of this campaign, in spite of the actions of your brothers."

Abby blinked in surprise. "What campaign?"

"Well, the one that we ladies of the town have decided to put into force. We're going to use our influence on our husbands to get them to replace Sheriff Davis and, if need be, bring in the Texas Rangers."

"They do this sort of thing in other parts of Texas," Mona said, giving more of her opinion than Abby had ever heard from her.

"I suppose they do," Abby said. "But I don't have a husband, Gladys."

Gladys smiled in tolerant understanding. "I know that, my dear. We only meant that perhaps you could use some persuasion on Mr. Sinclair, since you spend so many hours a day with him. He could be very useful in our attempts to restore order to our town. Don't you think?"

"Well, I suppose he could, but I really don't think I can influence Henry. I'm not sure that I should. The decision is up to him, isn't it?"

Gladys smiled knowingly at Mona, who mirrored it.

"My dear, you have so much to learn." Then she lowered her voice and leaned across the counter. "We might be the weaker sex, but we are not addle-brained. If there is strife that threatens our loved ones, then women must use every wile known to relieve that strife. And we must not shirk our duties."

Abby gasped. "What are you suggesting, Gladys?"

Gladys fluttered her hands and shook her head. "No, no. I mean within our boundaries of influence. Whatever did you think I was suggesting?" She looked almost horrified at the obvious misunderstanding.

"Oh, well . . . of course, I see . . . what you meant." Abby looked away from the women, feeling the color in her cheeks. "I'm afraid that I can't help you. I wouldn't feel right trying to influence Henry."

"Hmmm. I see. Well, perhaps then you could help us in another way. Actually, this might prove more beneficial than anything else you could do."

Abby was afraid to ask, and waited for Gladys to go on.

"If you had some information, any information, from your brothers about the men they work for, we could make sure it got into the right hands. Now before you decline, think about what's happening to this town and exactly where it's heading. We all know where it's heading if we don't do something. And soon. So far the men of this town haven't responded at all. That means it's up to us to see to it that they are properly motivated. And we cannot withhold anything helpful."

"Absolutely." Mona nodded.

"Don't you agree?" Gladys prodded.

Abby hardly knew how to respond. She did agree with part of what the women were telling her, but the other part meant risking her brothers' lives beyond the risks they were already taking. And she was also taking a chance on what Rafe might do to her if he found out she'd been passing information along. She'd never felt anything resembling brotherly affection from Rafe; in fact, he'd always treated her as though she were a nuisance, just someone who was in his way. Things were different with Zack. They had been close from the earliest time she could remember, and she knew he would like to see this feud come to an end. But how much danger would she put him in if she agreed to cooperate?

"I really can't help you."

Gladys studied Abby's face. "When you change your mind, let me know."

"We'll be back again," Mona said, and both ladies turned away, walking out into the heat.

Abby wished with all her heart she could do something about the feud, somehow stop the shooting and protect Zack. She tried not to worry about him, but that was impossible. As long as he was in the thick of it, and fighting against Rafe, she would worry.

Brodie leaned his chair back against the building, raising two legs off the boardwalk. He hadn't slept well, and so he found himself dozing in the bright sunshine as the afternoon wore on. The rest of the time he kept his eye trained on the doctor's stairway, like a good bodyguard ought to do. It would have been boring as hell if he hadn't overheard most of the conversation of the gossipy women who tried to get Abby to give them information about her brothers. He was certain she knew more than she was telling. He was also certain that she felt under pressure just having him sit out front of the store. That could work in his favor, he figured.

Nobody asked him what he was doing there; it seemed as though the word had gotten around, which was also in his favor. The more people who thought he was watching the doctor, the fewer who would suspect the truth. He needed the element of surprise on his side, and he needed to gather as much information as he could. There would be no mistakes on his part.

Across the square a movement coming down the stairway caught his eye. The lady doctor was carrying her bag and heading out. It was early in the afternoon, so he figured she'd had an emergency call. Perhaps it was in town. If so, he'd just stay put. But when she started in the direction of the livery, he followed her. This would be their first real confrontation. He considered those other confrontations just skirmishes.

By the time she entered the dark interior of the livery, he was only half a block behind her. Not wanting to begin battle where they could be heard, in case anyone should realize he wasn't her bodyguard after all, he waited until she rode out of the building before going inside. Then he saddled Sam and kept a leisurely pace with some distance between them.

Once they were out of town, he put his horse into a lope until he caught up with her. He knew by the set of her shoulders that she suspected he'd been following her all along.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, keeping her gaze forward.

"Just thought I'd ride out for a while." He kept his eyes on the countryside before him instead of looking over at her. "Who are you going to see?"

"None of your business," she replied.

"Got an emergency?" he asked since she wasn't driving the buggy.

She refused to reply.

"Maybe out to the Hancocks to check on the woman?"

She still refused to answer.

"Or maybe to Old Ben's to check on the man you patched up?"

"I'm making a few routine calls, if you have to know." ''Then why aren't you taking the buggy?"

She reigned her horse to a complete stop, facing him. "I'll take whatever I want to take and I'll ride wherever I want to ride. I'll go on emergency calls and make routine calls. In other words, I'll go about my regular business, which is none of yours, and I do not intend to consult you or Henry before I do."

He grinned at her. "So you had a falling-out with Sinclair. There's no need to take it out on me."

"I did not have a falling-out with Henry. We just came to an understanding."

"A lovers' quarrel," he said, interpreting her words.

"We were not lovers." She turned her horse away from his and moved ahead. "I don't have to explain any of this to you."

"I thought Sinclair said you were getting married."

"Did he tell you that?" She faced him once more. "I can't believe Henry would say that."

"He said that," he replied matter-of-factly.

She continued riding, but in thoughtful silence.

Brodie left her to her thoughts as he surveyed the landscape, letting his habit of keeping watch take over. She was right. Whatever went on between her and Sinclair was none of his business. His concern lay out there, ahead of him, around him, and he needed to remember that. His purpose was to find Rafe Woods, to draw him out and finish what had been started five years ago.

He knew when they'd headed out of town that they weren't on her regular rounds, at least not the ones he'd been on with her. Always before they'd been near or on Old Ben's land, but this was McCullough's territory, where he'd been riding when he'd been shot in the backside. As they approached the creek where he'd galloped across it hell-bent for leather, his hand moved closer to his holster. He studied every tree and brush carefully, expecting to see a movement and ready for it if he did. He wanted to ask her why the hell had she picked this route when it was such a natural ambush site, but then he figured she wouldn't know anything about ambushes until she'd been in a few.

Every muscle in his body tightened with vigilance. He scanned the area for an avenue of escape, a place of refuge. He rode beside her, slowly maneuvering his horse until he rode between her and the creek, as a protective shield. She seemed unaware of his intentions, her pace leisurely and her posture relaxed. They continued following the creek at a safe distance for quite a while before he realized that she intended to cross over it. Having the possibility of an ambush in his full vision was one thing, but having it at his back was another. He tried heading her off by crowding her forward and away from the creek.

Finally, she responded to his maneuvers with irritation. "We need to cross here."

"No. Keep riding and stay beside me."

"Why?" Her body became suddenly alert, but he gave her credit for not looking around.

"Just a hunch, that's all. It may be nothing. Keep riding."

For once she did as she was told without any argument. When they reached the bend in the creek, they followed it; then Brodie had his chance to study the banks on both sides. Empty, for as far he was able to see. He let out a breath of relief. Evidently, he'd only been a little gun-shy after what had happened to him weeks ago in the very same spot, but a man couldn't be blamed for being too careful, not when his hide was on the line, and hers, too. Now that she rode ahead of him again, he thought her backside was a lot nicer to look at and probably more important to protect. They hadn't gone fifty yards after that last thought when a hail of gunfire rained around them.

Brodie danced his horse in a quick, tight circle while searching for the source of the bullets. Then with a sudden movement he reached out and slapped the rump of her horse while he kicked the flanks of his own. Both animals shot forward as he hollered encouragement to them. The shots came from behind, almost as though they'd been followed rather than ambushed. Hallie slipped behind, but he heard her shouting encouragement of her own, and soon she came abreast of him. With one mind they dashed their horses toward the bank of the creek, sliding down the steep slope to where shelter awaited. They quickly dismounted, and Brodie returned fire toward a small outcropping of rocks about twenty-five yards away where their assailants were hunkered down, shooting at them.

When Brodie had to reload, he braced himself against the loose dirt of the creek bank alongside Hallie.

"Don't you carry a gun?" he asked, sparing one quick glance at her. "I could use a little help." Then he looked again. A bright red stain stood in sharp contrast to the white of her sleeve and her hand tightly clutched her upper arm as blood seeped through her fingers. "Damn!" he said. "You've been shot."

"Very observant," she replied drily. "You look as though you've never seen a gunshot wound before."

He hadn't, not on a woman. At least, not on a live woman. He'd seen massacres where men and women had been shot, more than once, but they'd been dead when he got there. This was different.

A shot whistled above their heads, making them duck. Then it became quiet.

"Hey! Lady doctor!" shouted someone from behind the rocks. "Are you hurt much? Do you need us to fetch a doctor?" Loud guffaws followed his words. When the laughing subsided, he went on. "Guess you can tell we don't much like you taking care of that riffraff of Old Ben's. So if you don't want any more of our kind of trouble, then you'd best leave well enough alone. You hear?"

Hallie stared up at Brodie, her brown eyes large with unaccustomed fear.

"This here warning goes for you, too, Brodie," the voice continued.

He knew that voice. He'd heard it in the saloon, bragging and itching for a fight. He'd also heard it in the streets the night Old Ben's line shack had been burned.

"That you, Jake?" Brodie yelled out.

"Might be."

"Well, the next time you come into town you might want to bring that rock you're hiding behind. I haven't got much use for a man who shoots a woman."

A shot rang out and took a bite of dirt from the edge of the bank over their heads.

"And I haven't got much use for a man who hides behind a woman!" Jake shouted back.

His words came a little too close to the truth, and Brodie didn't like the way it felt. He hadn't thought of himself as hiding behind her; he considered what he was doing as simply a way of keeping attention away from his real reason for being there. But what was the difference? he asked himself. Unwilling to deal with that at the moment, he called to Jake, "She's bleeding pretty bad."

"Well, we wouldn't want those skirts you're hiding behind to just up and die, now would we?" Jake shouted. A round of laughter was followed by a round of gunfire. Then the men mounted up rode away. Brodie turned to Hallie. "How bad is it?" he asked.

"Just a flesh wound really."

He pulled up her sleeve and was relieved to see that she was right, thank God. If he had to remove a bullet from her arm, well, it likely wouldn't get taken out. At least not until he could find another doctor. As it was, it had grazed her upper arm, but deeply.

"Guess it's time to take my own medicine, huh?" She glanced up at him with a sheepish look on her face, but he took no pleasure in what was about to take place. "Get my bag from the bedroll behind my saddle," she said.

Brodie had to track down her horse, which had run several yards along bottom of the creek away from the shooting. When he brought it back, he tethered it to a scrub tree near where Sam stood patiently waiting. After retrieving the small scarred leather bag, he laid it on the dirt beside where she sat.

"Open it for me," she said.

Inside were instruments, some sharp, some not, along with a few rolls of bandages neatly coiled and some corked bottles that he wished he would never have to smell.

"Take that one," she said, keeping pressure on the bleeding wound. "On the end. That's right. Pull out the stopper, then lay it inside the bag. Give me the bottle."

He followed her directions and tried not to inhale.

When she poured some of it on the wound, she gasped, then bit on her bottom lip. "Now," she said, her voice tight, "take one of those bandages and bind up my arm. Really snug."

He wrapped the bandage around her arm while she held the bloody sleeve to keep it from falling in his way. The front edge of his hat bumped against the top of her head while he worked; he moved back a little. Loosened tendrils of her dark hair floated around her face in the light, hot breeze that quickly passed between them. She sat quietly, not moving, just watching as he wound the material around her arm, again and again. Once, he accidently brushed his knuckles against the side of her breast, and she raised her arm slightly. He noticed that the fair skin of her face had faded except for two very bright spots on her cheeks. He smiled to himself, thinking that the doctor wasn't as unfeeling as she'd wanted him to believe.

"How's that?" he said when he finished.

"Fine." She glanced up at him with a tentative smile, then back at the bandage, which she fingered lightly, testing its tightness. "Thanks."

He pushed his hat to the back of his head and studied her.

Without looking up again she replied, "I know what you're thinking."

"You think you do, huh?"

"Yes. You're thinking, 'I told you so.'"

"Not exactly. I'm thinking, what if I hadn't been here."

"To be perfectly honest, so am I."

They sat awhile, saying nothing. Then he asked, "How does it feel?"

With a sideways smile, she replied, "Not at all like I thought a gunshot would feel. It hurts a whole lot worse."

"Try having one in your backside, bullet and all," he replied drily.

"No, thank you," she said with a shake of her head and a grimace. "That reminds me, what about those stitches?"

"I found some one else to take them out. At the livery." He couldn't help looking shamefaced.

She laughed out loud, the first he'd heard her do since he'd met her, and he liked the sound. Light, yet throaty, soft, but sincere. "Are you joking? Most people wouldn't let him touch their horses, let alone their own hides." Her brows were raised in humor as she asked, "And how are you feeling?"

He felt his face flush when he said, "Better. Now. I took Mrs. James' advice and put some good whiskey to bad use."

She laughed again, and he felt a sort of camaraderie they hadn't shared before. "You should have come to the office and saved your whiskey."

But he didn't agree. He had no intention of repeating that first experience at all.

"Well," he said, "I think your routine calls are going to have to wait, don't you?"

She sighed. "I'm afraid so."

When she struggled to get to her feet, he grasped her by her good arm and steadied her. She stood within inches of him so that the scented perspiration of her body rose to him like a musky perfume. He stared down at the top of her head and resisted the almost uncontrollable desire to lift her chin. Sensing that she would refuse to look at him, and knowing the reason why, he dropped her arm.

"Are you ready?" he asked, stepping away from her.

When she nodded, he brought her horse around. Then grasping her by the waist, he helped her to mount up.

"Thanks," she whispered with barely a glance at him.

He mounted up, too, and led the way down the creek bed to where the banks weren't steep. They headed back to town, a different kind of silence between them now, but one just as disturbing.

Chapter Eight

Jake and his group of men rode onto Chase McCullough's land, whooping, hollering, and making a race out of getting to the stables first while the dust they stirred up followed them like a trail of smoke for a quarter of a mile or more. Rafe Woods leaned against the door frame, grinning and waiting to flag the winner with his hat. Jake clearly beat them all.

"You ain't nothin' but a damned cheat," said one of the losers, but he pounded Jake on the back good-naturedly.

"And you sure as hell better never forget it," Jake returned with hearty laughter.

Rafe stepped into the circle, a grin still on his face, and said, "Quit foolin' around. You got somethin' to tell McCullough?"

"We sure as hell do," Jake roared, and the others laughed again.

All seven of them crowded through the back door of the sprawling cabin-style house as they followed Rafe toward the boss's office. The bare-beamed room was sparsely filled with straight-back chairs and two large desks, one of which was set before a window that overlooked a good view of the ranch. Chase McCullough swiveled his heavyset frame around in his chair when the men came to a stop outside his open door.

"Come on in," he barked.

Rafe admired this man more than any other on the face of the earth. He was big and rugged. His face was leathered by years in the hot Texas sun, which added an extra toughness to his personality. He took what he wanted whenever it pleased him and he didn't care a damn what anybody thought. If the law wouldn't listen to his way of thinking, then he bought the law, simple as that. And if anybody else got in the way, then they were a fool. And everybody with a lick of sense knew that Old Ben was a fool, and if he wasn't careful he'd be a dead fool.

Each of the men entered the room, hats in hand, and shuffled their boots enough to make a godawful noise of jangling spurs. Rafe glanced at them, and wasn't surprised to see the respect and fear on their faces. That was the effect that Chase McCullough had on all of them. But it was their fear that impressed Rafe the most.

"Well?" McCullough boomed, and every man's spurs jangled in a nervous response. "Is someone gonna speak up or do I have to pound it out of you?" The walls practically vibrated when he spoke.

"We got our chance today," Jake said.

"I figured that, or you wouldn't be here." Even when his tone was quiet, his voice was resounding.

"Yeah, well, un. . . . We followed her and that guard, Brodie, out to the creek and we really caught 'em by surprise." Jake grinned and elbowed the man beside him. "We got her, too."

"Got her?" McCullough asked, raising his thick brows.

"Yep. Shot her. Right here," he said, pointing to his own upper arm. "Just what she needed to scare her. And we give her the warning you told us to. I'll bet she won't be causin' no more trouble."

"You don't think so, huh? Well, what about that man who's always with her?"

Rafe waited to hear more about him, too.

"Brodie?" Jake waved his hat in dismissal with a shake of his head. "He ain't nothin' but a bag of wind. All talk. I ain't once seen him pull that trigger, until today."

But Rafe knew better. Brodie was a helluva lot more than all talk and Rafe had the scars to prove it, although he didn't speak up and say so. It wouldn't be right to contradict his friend's word in front of the boss. Even the boss didn't think too kindly of that.

"When he first come to town we shot him in the backside and he never so much as lifted his gun. Did he, boys?" Jake grinned, and the others chuckled at the memory.

"Naw, he's all talk," someone else agreed.

"Hmmm." McCullough leaned back thoughtfully in his chair. "I'm not convinced. He doesn't sound like the kind who just gets himself shot at without getting even later. I want him watched."

"We've been watching him. And it's real easy to do. All he does is sit in front of Sinclair's all day watching the lady doctor's office," said Jake. "How do you suppose we caught 'em so easy today?"

"Naw, he ain't tryin' to hide," said one of the others.

Rafe felt uneasy hearing about what easy targets Brodie and Doc Hallie were. That wasn't the way Brodie usually did his business. No, he was careful and sneaky if he had to be. Underhanded if necessary. Brodie was impossible to figure out, and right now that made Rafe damned nervous. He knew Brodie better than anybody in the room did, but he sure wasn't about to admit it because they'd want to know why that was so.

''Hmmm." McCullough frowned. "Well, we can't be too concerned about the doctor or Brodie, unless they step on our toes again. Right now I'm thinking that Davis ought to make a trip out here, just so we can find out what he plans to do about that line shack of Old Ben's."

Everyone stood in attentive silence until McCullough spoke again. Then they all jumped. "Jake," he barked. "Go back to town and talk to Davis. Tell him I want to see him right away."

"Sure thing," Jake replied.

"But before you go, take some men with you and check to see how many of Ben's cattle are at my water hole. He's had plenty of warnings. If they're drinking up my water, shoot a couple of 'em and drag 'em back to Ben's. Then bring the rest of 'em here. Rafe, you go with 'em."

Rafe nodded. He'd help with the cattle, but there wasn't any way he'd go into town where Brodie could get a look at him and likely corner him. When they met it would be on Rafe's terms. He'd call the shots.

Rafe rode out with the others to the water hole, and just as McCullough had suspected, some of Old Ben's cattle were there. Rafe drew his gun and fired first, dropping one of the cattle in its tracks. Then Jake did the same.

"Me and Tom will take the rest of these back to the ranch," Rafe said. "While you and the others drag those two on over to Ben's."

Jake gave him a disgruntled look. "Why don't we just leave 'em here by the water hole? That way they'll know what we mean."

"They'll get the message, so just do it."

Finally, Jake gave in without further objection. Nobody wanted to get caught on the enemy's land, and it was a sure thing that Old Ben's men had orders to shoot on sight at the first sign of trouble. Actually, rustling was a hanging affair, the real private kind. Rafe didn't blame Jake for not wanting to take the chance, but McCullough said it had to be done.

Rafe and his partner rounded up the remaining cattle and headed back. He looked over his shoulder to see Jake and the others hauling the carcasses away, and wondered how Old Ben was going to retaliate. He also wondered what sort of plans McCullough had in mind. Neither man would let this be the last of it. Things were going to heat up a whole lot real soon, he thought, grinning. Yep, real soon. And maybe, just maybe, Brodie would find himself in the middle of it, right where Rafe could get him in his sights.

Later on, Sheriff Davis rode up to the McCullough ranch alongside Jake and the others. They dismounted at the stables and headed for the house just as Rafe did when he saw them coming. He wanted to be a part of the conversation, or at least hear it.

As they all crowded into the office, shuffling around as they'd done earlier, McCullough stayed seated. He barely scanned the group of men before staring meaningfully at Davis.

"I didn't have you brought out here just to ask you what you intend to do about Ben."

"I figured as much," Davis replied drily.

"I'm telling you, with my boys here as witnesses, that I don't want you doing one bit of investigating into that line shack business. I've got everything under control as long as Ben cooperates. And I think he will now."

Davis shook his head. "You're wrong about that. Ben isn't going to rest until somebody pays. He's even threatened a lynching if that man of his dies. Didn't anybody here tell you that?" He looked around at the others for verification.

"Sure, sure, they told me. But that was just Ben's way of saving face in front of the town."

"No. The town didn't even know about it until Ben came riding in and shouting it all over the square. He wanted to make sure you understand and he expects me to deliver that message."

McCullough rose suddenly and leaned across the desk. "So what message are you delivering?"

"None. I'm here because you sent for me." Davis held his ground, and Rafe wondered if the sheriff could be trusted after all. He wasn't as much under McCullough's control as everyone had thought.

"But," Davis went on, "I don't think it's wise to shoot a woman. That news is going to spread like wildfire and I won't be able to ignore it. Line shacks, men, and dead cattle are one thing, but a woman is another."

"If a woman isn't smart enough to stay out of my way, then I have no choice."

Rafe agreed completely with McCullough. Staring hard at Davis, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, they even needed a sheriff at all. He'd talk to McCullough later, when everyone had gone. As the feeling of importance came over him, he couldn't hold back a grin. McCullough always took his suggestions seriously, and sometimes Rafe was allowed to carry them out. Yessir, he thought, this would take some thinking. <><><><><><><><><><><><> Hallie pried open a bottle of carbolic using her good arm and as much of her injured one as she could. Biting her lip, she grimaced, trying to ignore the pain. She refused to ask Henry for help for fear he would misinterpret her plea. In her situation it was almost more tempting to ask Brodie, since there could be no misunderstanding what she wanted, but she refrained from that also. When push came to shove, her patients could be counted on to remove, retrieve, or lift anything she needed. Most of her work, thankfully, she'd been able to do one-handed, except change her own bandage.

She'd decided to practice her own idea of Listerism on herself. Once the bandage was removed, no small feat, she cleansed the wound, letting out a small shriek. A bead of perspiration popped out on her forehead, and she wiped at it with her sleeve.

"Now for a new bandage," she said half aloud. Winding it around her arm, then catching it against her side to hold it while she wound it around again, she made decent progress and felt competent once more. But when it came to tying the ends, she found it impossible to use her teeth and one set of fingers. The wound was simply not in the right location for that approach. In exasperation she closed her eyes and leaned solidly against the table, only to hear the roll and crash of her bottle of carbolic as it crossed the table and hit the floor.

"Damn," she said as the noxious fumes filled the air.

"What's that, you say?" asked Brodie standing in the open door, a wide grin on his face.

"Nothing." She bent to pick up the pieces of glass, then soaked up the liquid with a cloth.

"You sure do love that stuff, don't you?" he said, making a face. "Tell you the truth, I don't mind sleeping at the hotel at all. It's even worth the price just to be away from that smell." "What are you doing here?" She stood up, straightening slowly in order to keep her bandage from unraveling. She deposited the broken glass in a bucket.

"Just wondered how your arm was feeling." He eyed the loose ends of cloth hanging limply while she held her arm tight to her side. "Looks like you could use a little help with that."

She wished she could deny it, but the truth was, she did need some help. With a sigh, she replied, "I guess I don't have enough hands."

He crossed the room and stood beside her, lifting her arm and raising the white sleeve a little higher out of the way. The bandage she'd so painstakingly put on showed a bright red stain.

"Still bleeding, huh?" he asked.

"It's bound to do that. I'm not worried."

"I am, but not about this." He untangled the strips of cloth and wound them snugly. "I don't like the way they've singled you out."

"Neither do I. But I can't exactly leave my practice. I have too many good people depending on me." She thought about Claire Hancock's first baby due to arrive before many more months, and the others with their assortment of ailments and injuries. She was needed here.

He tied the ends. "But maybe you shouldn't go out to Old Ben's to check on his hired man."

She looked at him sharply. "If that man dies . . ."

"So you think you're responsible for that?"

She turned away from him without a thank-you for his help. "I think I had this conversation yesterday with Henry."

"He told you that you weren't responsible, too." He said it as a statement, not a question, and she didn't like the way it sounded. "I'm always responsible. I'm a doctor. I'm supposed to save lives." She almost said, not take them like you do. But she remembered how frightened she'd been when they'd been ambushed, and if it hadn't been for his presence. . . . Well, she didn't want to think what might have happened to her. She hated guns and what they stood for, but she had to concede that this one time his gun probably had saved her life. She didn't like to concede that either. The idea of being beholden to him for anything took away some of her independence. And it seemed that since Brodie had arrived in town, she'd been losing a lot of things, not just her freedom. Her life was changing, her town was changing, and her friendships were changing. She no longer felt safe. She no longer had Henry to lean on, to confide in, or even to speak to at this point. And the one common factor in all of these occurrences was Brodie.

"I'm also very busy. So if you'll excuse me . . ." She turned away from him, wishing he would leave so that she wouldn't have to think about the changes she was forced to deal with, and could go on with her work. She rolled down her shirt sleeve and fastened the button as best she could. But when she looked up, he was still there, standing in the doorway.

"I really came to find out when you intended to go to Old Ben's ranch. Or if you were planning on it at all," he said.

"Of course I'm going, but I don't know when."

"You're not thinking of going out there on your own, are you?"

She had only slightly considered doing that, but she knew it would be a foolish move. And putting herself in jeopardy would also put her patients in jeopardy if anything happened to her. So she responded, "No." After a few moments' thought, she went on. "I should go check on him tomorrow, though."

"We'll ride out early."

"I'll be waiting at the livery," she said.

Chapter Nine

With the sun less than two hours high on the horizon, Brodie and Hallie rode out of town in her buggy. He felt certain they were asking for trouble by going to Old Ben's, which wouldn't have bothered him much if he'd been alone. As for the hired man, well, Brodie wasn't as worried about him as Hallie was, and he figured she'd probably go by herself whether she was afraid or not. And he knew she was afraid, even if she wouldn't admit it. He'd never met a woman with such determination, and she had more independence than one woman ought to have. He glanced over at her as she rode beside him. Her back was straight and she kept her chin held high. There was a grace about her no matter if she were taking bullets from a man's body, riding a horse for hours, or even getting shot.

"Is your arm bothering you?" he asked as he drove her buggy with Sam tied to the back. "A little."

"You shouldn't have come."

She gave him a reproachful stare. "Don't lecture me. I would imagine that my patient is feeling much worse than I am." That was probably true, but Brodie didn't consider that reason enough to risk her neck.

They arrived at Old Ben's ranch to be met by an escort of men. Some of them called her Doc Hallie. With a wary eye for Brodie, they surrounded the pair and took them all the way to where Old Ben waited for them at the front of the house.

Brodie helped her down and retrieved her black bag before she approached the stern older man.

"I came to look in on my patient," she said. "Where can I find him?"

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Back at the bunkhouse."

"Thank you," she replied, and started walking away.

"Heard you got shot," he called after her.

"I'm mending just fine," she said as she stopped and turned to face him.

"It was on account of me."

Hallie looked up at him, squinting against the bright sunshine. "I'm not holding you responsible."

"Don't matter. That's just one more thing McCullough's done that I won't tolerate."

"Please, no, don't do that." She walked toward him, lines of concern pulling tightly at her mouth and above her brows. "I wouldn't want any blood shed over me."

"Seems he's the one who's shedding blood, and looks to me as though he isn't partial whether it's female blood or not." Angrily, he motioned her away. "Go on and see to your patient." Then he turned and went back into the house. Brodie walked alongside her as she headed toward the bunkhouse. Just as she reached the door, a young man came up to her.

"Hello, Doc Hallie," he said. "I just wondered if you could tell me how my sister is doing. I haven't had a chance to get into town for a spell so I've been wondering if she's all right."

Hallie returned the man's smile. "Abby is fine, Zack. I think Henry keeps her pretty busy but she seems to like the work."

"Yeah, I know she does." He fidgeted a moment with the hat he'd taken off when he started speaking with her. "Well, tell her I'll be in town when I get a chance." He started backing away. "I don't want to keep you. Nice seeing you again."

She nodded and said, "I'll make a point of letting Abby know I saw you."

Brodie propped himself against one of the hitching rails as he watched Zack walk across the open area toward one of the corrals. A group of men staring through the rails yelled encouragement as a young horse was put through its paces. Wedging himself between Zack and another spectator, Brodie leaned his arms against a rail and watched.

"Nice horse, if they can break him," Brodie said to Zack.

"Sure is. I hope I can get a chance at him," he replied in an enthusiastic voice.

When the rider took a fall, a round of hoots, hollers, and whistles went up along with a few ribald remarks, which made everyone laugh. Some of the men had climbed up to sit on the top rail in their excitement, leaving a little more space for standing.

"You don't think they'll give you a chance to take a spill like that?" Brodie asked. ''Nah, I'm new here. It takes time to work your way up through the ranks, if you know what I mean."

Brodie knew that was true no matter what sort of ranks you were working your way up through.

"Not that it won't happen. I plan on making sure it does." Zack grinned. "Then I'll take my turn just like the others."

"How long you been with this outfit?"

"Not long enough to be treated like anything but a greenhorn," he said smiling.

"But you're from around here, aren't you? I heard you talking to the doctor."

Zack nodded. "My sister lives in Lampasas." Then he turned suddenly, facing Brodie with a look of concern. "I saw you ride in with Doc Hallie. You're the bodyguard I heard everyone talking about."

Brodie could almost read the young man's mind. He was worried he'd said too much about Abby, that he might have brought her to the attention of a dangerous, untrustworthy man.

"I've met your sister. She's a nice young woman," Brodie replied pleasantly, and he saw Zack visibly relax. "But it's your brother I'm curious about."

Zack lost his smile and his jaw tightened. "Why is that?"

"Well, I knew him a long time ago and I'd like to meet up with him again."

"You and a lot of others." Zack studied Brodie's face for several minutes. "He works for McCullough."

"I figured that much. What's the chances of running into him?"

"Pretty good, as long as he's got the upper hand."

"Any way that you could arrange it?"

"Nope. I haven't got anything good to say about him or to him. So it isn't likely I'd have a chance to give him any messages. He doesn't care for me anymore than I do him."

Brodie thought that information could come in handy later on. At least it was good to know that he didn't have to worry about having a brother chase after him when this was all over.

Behind them, he heard Hallie talking to one of the men, so he left Zack and headed back toward the bunkhouse. Brodie and Hallie walked back to the main house, and after helping her into the buggy, he climbed in after her. When they left the ranch, the same escort of men took them safely to the end of the ranch's boundaries.

"How was the patient?" he asked when they were out of earshot.

"I think he's going to be all right. I'm still worried about infection because that can happen at any stage. But barring anything unusual, his wounds should heal. Although that doesn't mean he'll be back to herding cattle any time soon."

"So you don't have to worry about anyone getting lynched after all," he said with a grin.

Turning, she gave him a warning glare. "Are you mocking me?"

"I think your worries are misplaced. Take a look at your sleeve."

"Don't you think I know it's bleeding?" she snapped without looking at the stain. "It's nothing to be concerned about. I'll take care of it when I get back."

"Feeling rebellious for a specific reason?" he asked.

Silence.

They rode for a mile or so before she spoke again. "Turn south. I'm not going back to town yet. I have other calls to make since I'm out this far."

He wasn't exactly in a hurry to head back, but it made him damned nervous to have her out and about right after calling on that particular patient. She'd been warned by McCullough's men to stay away from Ben's hired man. And he felt too vulnerable with his horse tied to the back of the buggy instead having the saddle underneath him.

"Turn south, I said." She reached over as if to take the reins, but he kept them from her reach.

"You're forgetting why you got that gunshot wound," he said.

She turned to stare at him. "How could I forget? Everyone keeps reminding me and making me feel that any blood shed from this point on could be my responsibility." Angered, she tapped her chest. "I'm the one who's trying to save lives, remember? While you and Old Ben and McCullough are out there shooting at one another! Putting bullet holes in each other! What is it with all of you, anyway? Henry was right. All this feuding is ridiculous! For what good reason is all this blood being shed? Because someone's cattle is on someone else's grazing land or at someone else's water hole? That's supposed to be a good reason to shoot another person? And now Old Ben thinks he's going to avenge my attack by an attack of his own. Well, no, thank you! That sort of thing should be a thing of the past!" She sat back hard on her side of the springy seat, making it bounce only slightly. ''Now turn south. I have patients to see."

"It's your neck," he said, and turned south.

For the rest of the day they crossed the hot countryside, visiting one patient after another. Some of the places were new to Brodie and a few were not. He waited for her each time they stopped, keeping to himself and watching the surrounding area for a group of riders. He was certain that McCullough's men had continued to follow them, watching and maybe waiting for the right time to attack again. Driving that buggy felt like being a tin can on a fence post at ten yards. It was only a matter of time. McCullough's time. Brodie heard very little from Hallie as they traveled, although he noticed a few times that she studied the creek banks and outcropping of rocks before they approached them. It wasn't hard to figure out that she was nervous, although she'd never admit it.

"Don't you ever carry a gun?" he asked.

"You already asked me that once."

"And I think you said they never shoot at you." He let the implication hang between them.

"So you think I should shoot them, then take out the bullets later, is that it? What a dreadful way to get business."

He had to grin at that. "Just thought it might make you feel more secure."

After their last stop, every muscle in Brodie's body felt taut as he surveyed the land around them. The sun had lowered in the sky more than he liked, especially since they had miles to go before reaching Lampasas. The creak of the buggy blocked out the usual sounds, and he found himself straining to hear the inevitable.

His first indication was Hallie's hand gripping his arm. He turned to see what had caught her attention, and that was when he saw the riders bearing down on them from her side of the buggy, coming almost from behind. He whipped the reins, trying to send the horses into a gallop, but they balked and pulled against each other. Hallie stayed on her side of the small seat as much as she could, giving him the room he needed. With the reins held tight in his hands he brought the horses under control and called to them, once and then again, until finally they were on the move. But there was no way they could outrun the riders with an old buggy that had a horse tied to the back. Brodie had been caught even though he'd been tingling with awareness, and it galled him. He should never have given in to her notion of seeing patients, which could end up costing her life. He should never have tied Sam to the back of the pitiful buggy. And worst of all, he should never have let Rafe Woods get the upper hand.

Shots blasted the air around them and he felt Hallie move closer to him. As the buggy careened, he feared the wheels would come off, and cursed his bad judgment once more. Without enough speed they were sure to be overtaken, but with more speed they were sure to be wrecked. Either way, they'd lose. So he held the horses on as straight a course as possible, urging them forward with a fleeting glance to the wheel nearest him. When it wobbled too much he let up on the horses. When it was under control he urged them forward.

Beside him, Hallie coughed as the choking dust stirred up by the horses' feet filled the air, nearly blinding him as well. Then, in his peripheral vision, he saw a horse and rider come up along Hallie's side of the buggy. She screamed and hid her face against him. With both hands too busy with the reins, Brodie could do nothing. His guns hung at his sides, but he was helpless to use them. He cursed beneath the deafening sound of hoofbeats as he turned the horses away from the rider. That was when he felt his gun being lifted from his holster. With one glance he saw Hallie raise the heavy weapon in both hands, pushing her weight back against his body for support and stability. Then the gun fired and she screamed. He couldn't look to see if she'd hit her mark. He had to concentrate on the animals in front of him. But he knew the rider was no longer beside them, so she'd been successful in keeping the ambushers at bay, at least for a while.

Then from Brodie's side came another group of riders, shooting, and at first he thought that he and Hallie were the target. But the closer they got the more he realized they must be Old Ben's men. They covered the ground between them in a matter of minutes and rode on past, their guns firing. Brodie allowed the horses to slow down, but he had no intention of stopping. He had to get Hallie back to Lampasas, where she'd be safe.

Rafe signaled to his men to head for cover when he saw the others riding hard toward them. They were outnumbered two to one, and those weren't the kind of odds he liked. So they hunkered down behind the nearest thing to a shelter for protection from the flying bullets, and cursed the lack of a creek bed. That wasn't the only thing that he cursed as he watched the buggy get away. Brodie and that woman doctor had hightailed it.

He returned fire, emptying one gun, then the other. Lying back against the rock, he reloaded while the barrage of bullets hailed overhead. When he got out of this scrape, he and Jake were going to Lampasas. It was time to pay another visit to his dear little sister, and she'd better speak up if she knew what was good for her. He wanted Brodie's hide. And she'd damn well better cooperate with him.

A bullet took a bite out of his hat and he swore loud and long, then turned around to give better than he got. Rafe liked being in control of situations; he liked seeing the fear on his opponent's face and he liked winning. But right now, he wasn't in control, and he blamed that on Brodie and the woman doctor. They had made allies of Old Ben and that spelled trouble for Rafe, but not for long. One day real soon he'd slip up behind Brodie and put a bullet in his back. That would take care of everything.

With careful aim, he fired and a man almost fell from his horse. His boot got caught in the stirrup and he took an upside-down ride with his head bouncing on the rocks. Rafe laughed. Yessir, he looked forward to doing worse to Brodie and enjoying it more.

Abby hung the closed sign in the window and shut the front door, turning the key for added privacy. The day was over and it was time to put her plan into action. She listened for Henry in the back room, and heard him whistling while he stacked some of the inventory on empty shelves. Her heart gave an extra thump. She'd thought about this all day long, actually all week long, and she wasn't changing her mind now. She clasped her hands together in nervousness, then rubbed her damp palms down her skirt. There were things she needed to know, and she never would if she didn't go through with it.

Chapter Ten

"Henry?" Abby called as she stepped into the doorway of the back room. Without any windows, it wasn't well lit by the kerosene lamp sitting on Henry's worktable, so she hoped he wouldn't see the bright pink of her cheeks.

Turning around, he smiled and said, "The day's over? And I was just getting a good start on these shelves. Well, why don't you go on home. I think I'll stay and finish up."

"I don't mind staying to help," she said, moving farther into the room.

"Oh, no, that's not necessary." As she got closer, he added, "Really."

She stopped when she was less than a foot away. "I enjoy helping you," she continued, reaching absently toward the shelf to touch one of the canned goods he'd been setting in order.

"Uh, well, you don't have to. . . ." With her gaze looking steadfastly into his, she said softly, "Henry, there are some things I'd like to talk about with you."

"Things?" he repeated, looking decidedly uncomfortable but also curious. "What sort of things?"

"Well," she began, letting her hand drop away from the can she'd been touching. This was even harder than she'd expected. Maybe if she actually touched him she could draw some courage from his closeness as she always did. She lightly rested one hand on the front of his apron. That helped.

"Henry, I've told you how much I enjoy working for you"

"Yes, yes, you have," he interrupted. He started to remove her hand, but didn't. "And I'm glad that you do. I suppose if you'd like to help you could start right here." He turned away, indicating the shelf, but she kept her contact with the front of his apron, seeming to pin him to the spot.

"Let me finish," she said.

He visibly swallowed, then said, "All right." He shifted his weight to the other leg.

"First of all, I want to tell you that I think you're one of the smartest men I know. I watch you every day and it's so easy to see why your business is such a success. Everything you do is right."

"Abigail, I prize your high estimation of my abilities, but to be perfectly honest, I don't do everything right. I wish that I did."

"Oh, but you do! Your shelves are always stocked with exactly the right things and the store is arranged so nicely. And all the ladies comment on the quality of your yard goods. Why, there isn't another store in town that even tries to bring in that much assortment for their customers, simply because it might cost them too much. But you know how much better it is for your business if you go ahead and invest. You have a real talent for understanding how to run a business, Henry. And look at your apothecary! It's an absolutely wonderful idea."

Henry smiled. "You're very good at boosting a man's morale, but I must object. Other towns have apothecaries. It isn't really a new idea."

"I'll bet nobody else could make it work as well as you do. You seem to know exactly what people need. I swear, most of your customers think of you as a doctor. They all admire you so much." She studied the blue of his eyes, so clear and honest that she almost felt like butter on a hot day.

"I think you might be exaggerating a little," he said, avoiding her steady gaze. "Not that I don't appreciate what you're saying," he added in a rush.

"But none of them admire you more than I do." Her voice was hushed, but in the silent store it seemed to echo.

"Abigail. . . ." She would have sworn that he'd turned a shade of pink, but the lamplight wasn't strong enough to be sure.

"No, let me say it. And there's more." Now it was her turn to blush. She tipped her head down, fixing her gaze on the place where her fingers touched his chest. "I feel very strongly about you. . . . I mean, for you. What I mean to say is I care about you like Doc Hallie ought to." Now she'd done it. She had blurted it out, making it sound all wrong! She hadn't meant to bring Doc Hallie into the conversation at all. Truthfully, she was the last person Abby wanted Henry to start thinking about, especially now.

"Abigail, let me say that I'm extremely flattered. Really, I am. But before you go on, I need to say that I'm several years your senior and" "I'm a woman full grown. I had hoped you would have noticed."

He cleared his throat. "Well, I shouldn't notice such things. After all, you are my employee."

"Can't we set that aside for a moment? Can't we just be a man and a woman?" She felt a renewed surge of determination to go through with what she'd been dreaming about. She leaned her body toward him as every nerve in her being anticipated her next move. When he didn't retreat, she was heartened. He does care! she thought. Just knowing that was all she needed.

Closing her eyes, she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips to ease their tightness. Then reaching up on tiptoe, pressing her breasts against his chest, with the lightest of touches she brushed her lips against his. The moment was electric. She took in a quick gasp of air and opened her eyes, half expecting to see the remnant of a lightning strike, right there in the room with them.

"Did you feel that?" she asked in awe, still wondering if a summer storm had suddenly come over the town.

"Mmm," he replied, wondering the same thing that she did. "I'd swear I could smell the burnt ground."

"Really? Should we try that again? Just to be sure we weren't imagining things?"

"Definitely." But he didn't move.

"What's wrong?" she whispered.

"Not a thing." He leaned down, wrapping her in his arms until she was crushed to him. Their breaths mingled pleasantly awhile before his lips barely touched hers. Once more the electrical current was strong enough that each of them nearly backed away, shaken.

"That's amazing," she said, feeling as limp as her dust rag. "Is it always like that?" "I've never noticed it before, not ever." And he hadn't.

"Is there more?" If there was, she was almost afraid of what it could be.

"Oh, yes," he said. But again, he hesitated.

"I want to know, Henry. And I want it to be with you."

She felt the resistance run through him, saw it in his eyes and in the firmness of his jaw. But she saw something else, too; something she'd never seen before this moment. There was an intensity in his gaze that was akin to the smoldering coals of a fire waiting to be ignited by a dry piece of tinder, and she knew she was that tinder.

"I don't think we should sample any more, Abigail."

"I will simply burst if we don't, Henry." With her arms tightly cinched around his neck, she pulled him down to her. This kiss wouldn't be light and electric like the others, she promised herself. It would be deep and penetrating and consuming, exactly what her body was calling out for.

And she wasn't disappointed.

Abby succumbed to the feeling of soaring beyond herself and yet being wonderfully grounded in his arms. The taste and texture of his lips, his mouth, were sensations she couldn't get enough of, and she found herself searching boldly in a fashion she hadn't known was possible. His reaction to her boldness caused even more reactions within her beginning in the same, low, central part of her being. A fire, slow and unyielding, spread from that place following every fiber of her body to the ends of her fingers and toes. It warmed her, then heated her until it nearly singed her. With her heart pounding and clamoring for more, she pressed that vital part of her body closer to his in hopes of relieving the need, but she was so restricted by layers of clothing.

When he pulled her up tight against him, she thought she would die. Then he lifted his lips from hers, burying his face in her hair, his breath rough and ragged in her ear.

''Abby, Abby," he whispered, his voice harsh with restraint. "We've gone too far already."

She shook her head, unable to speak.

"Yes. Yes, we have. I should have known better. I did know better." He kissed the hair at her temple and she felt the fire burn higher.

"Don't stop, Henry," she managed to say. "Please."

He shook his head, and hers moved with it. "This is the hardest thing I've ever done." And he started to set her away from him.

"Please, don't push me away now. Not while I'm feeling this . . . this . . . I can't put it into words," she whispered.

"Euphoria," he said. "I feel it, too, but it frightens me."

"Why? It's wonderful. I wish it could last forever." She kissed his cheek, keeping her lips pressed there, smelling that sweet, spicy fragrance that was Henry's alone.

"Euphoria can't last. It isn't real."

"Then you're wrong. This isn't euphoria, it must be something else. Something that lasts but feels the same." She knew the name for it: love. But she couldn't say it first. He had to be the one to say it.

She felt him smile as his cheek moved against hers. Then he lifted his head to look at her, clasping her face in his hands, keeping her close and making her feel precious, and she nearly lost her balance with the headiness of his stare.

"I suppose you think you could love me even though you don't know me. Abby, Abby. You're so young." He smiled at her.

"I'm not that young," she replied teasingly. "And I do know you. I know you well enough to be sure about my feelings."

He bent his head down, kissing her tenderly, yet firmly, and her body reacted to that kiss by pressing against him. As she wrapped her arms around his neck, she found herself right back in the same warmth that threatened to build into a consuming fire. But Henry held it in check as he slowly put a little distance between them.

"I think I've kept you long enough," he said, whispering into her hair.

"I don't want to go," she mumbled into his shirt collar.

They stood entwined, savoring the touch, marveling at the newness of their feelings, but knowing that it must end for now.

He kissed her forehead.

She lowered her arms, sliding them down the front of his shirt.

"I'll walk you home," he offered.

"That's all right. You finish up your work."

He took her hand in his and walked to the front door with her. Then he raised her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said, and stepped outside while he held the door. She gave him a secret wave and headed for home.

Suddenly her entire world looked different. It was more colorful, more beautiful, less noisy, more cheerful. She felt like laughing. She even felt like singing, but couldn't bring herself to share her newfound feelings with anyone but Henry. And she was sure everyone would know that Abigail Woods had changed, that Abigail Woods was in love.

After dawdling along the street, inspecting every new leaf and petal she hadn't seen before, she finally reached her house. For once she didn't mind going inside, since her usual fear that Rafe might be there was replaced with a consuming joy and she doubted that even her brother could diminish that. But as she approached the door, she heard his voice coming from the kitchen and her heart sunk. All her newfound happiness immediately felt tainted. Of all evenings, she wondered, why had he picked tonight to show up? She had so much to think about, so much to plan, but now she had to hide all of it away, locked inside her heart, so that Rafe wouldn't know. If he discovered what she was feeling and why, he would surely try to ruin it for her. He had a mean streak that made her fear for Henry's well-being. Rafe couldn't be trusted at all. With each step she took, her anxiety and dread increased. Why couldn't he just leave her in peace?

"Abby!" he shouted when she opened the front door. "Git in here and fix us some grub. Me and Jake are real hungry after that ride this afternoon, aren't we, Jake?"

"You bet we are." Jake stared openly at Abby, assessing her from head to toe. "So this is your little sister. You didn't tell me she was a looker."

Rafe gave Abby a sideways glance. "I didn't think she was." Then he laughed. "And I was right. She's just a kid."

Jake shook his head. "She ain't no kid, are ya, honey?" He reached out towards her, but she skirted around him. Keeping the table or a chair between them was her best chance at avoiding being touched. She loathed the idea of being in the same room with him, let alone cooking for him.

"You're kinda ornery, ain't ya?" Jake said playfully. "That's all right. I don't mind."

Abby glared at him, giving him a warning that he'd best keep his distance if he knew what was good for him.

"I said we're hungry," Rafe said.

"I heard you," she replied. With her back half turned away from them, she busied herself fixing the quickest meal she knew. The sooner they were out of there, the better she'd feel. "There's a man in town that I need to get rid of," Rafe said. "You know who I mean?"

At first she thought he must be talking about Henry, and she felt such a strong sense of panic that she actually grabbed the edge of the cupboard. Then she realized he couldn't know about her feelings for Henry, and the panic drained from her, leaving her almost weak. Rafe must have thought she was ignoring him, so he went on, but the truth was she could barely speak.

"Name's Brodie," he said. "You know him. He's guarding old Doc Summers' girl." He gave a short laugh that sounded more like a disgusted snort. "But he ain't foolin' me. I know what he's up to and I aim to put a stop to it."

Abby's spoon stilled in her hands as she listened to him. He'd done something terrible to one of Brodie's friends or family; she knew it for a fact because she felt it in her bones. A man didn't hunt another man for something small, and Rafe wouldn't squirm the way he was doing if he wasn't guilty as sin. A cold chill settled over her and she shivered in spite of the Texas heat.

"I need some information and you're the one who's going to get it for me." Rafe looked straight at her. "And don't give me any sass either, if you know what's good for you."

She wouldn't do it. She couldn't be a part of his lawless plan, no matter what. People would get hurt, possibly die. No, she could never be a part of that.

"You listening?" he shouted at her.

"I'm listening," she replied, her voice raised as a result of the tension she felt.

"Go easy on her," Jake said. "After all, you said she's just a kid. Course, she still don't look like one to me." She heard the grin in his voice even though her back was turned. "Besides, what can she tell you that everybody don't already know? He just sits in that chair watching the doc. Or else he's out riding around with her. Nothin' to know, is there?"

Rafe squirmed in his chair. "He's up to something else. I'd bet on it."

"Like what?" Jake asked. "Maybe he's after McCullough? You think he's working for Old Ben?" The new idea lit up Jake's face. "I'll bet you're right."

"Sure." Rafe said, apparently warming to this viewpoint. "Everyone will get so used to seeing him sittin' there that pretty soon they'll forget about him, and that's when he'll make his move. He sure as hell ain't there for his health. He's up to something."

"I'll bet you're right," Jake repeated. "But what can you do about it besides shoot him first?"

"Nothing, as long as he sits there in broad daylight. But if he were to go somewhere out of town, then I'd be waiting for him." He lounged back in his chair, grinning.

"Yeah," Jake agreed. "You mean plan it all out."

Abby turned on both of them, her heart pounding with fear at the prospect of saying no, but it wasn't a matter of choice. She simply could never do anything even close to what he was suggesting.

"Leave me out of this, Rafe Woods." She wiped her hands on the towel she'd been clutching. "I won't plot murder with you. Not now, not ever."

Rafe rose slowly from his chair. "I didn't exactly ask you, now did I?"

She kept her gaze steadily on him, doing her best to look brave.

"I'm telling you, not asking you," he said as he approached her. "And I won't hear any sniveling about it either. You're a little bit too old to have any favorite toys to break, but there's that half-brother of mine that you set such store by. You wouldn't like to see him hurt, now would you?"

"Leave Zack alone!"

"Then you'd better listen real good and do as you're told." He grabbed her hair at the back of her head and pulled until she cried out. "You listening now?"

Jake stood up. "Hey, you ain't gonna hurt her, are you?"

"Shut up!" he shouted at Jake. Then he stared at Abby and grinned wickedly. "I just got another idea. Ol' Jake here seems to have taken a shine to my little sister. Now, I'm not real sure how he treats his women, but then . . . I don't really care."

Abby closed her eyes and stifled back a sob, but in spite of her attempt to keep from crying, tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and burned down her cheek. He could do something horrible. She knew that and had feared it for a long time. And now that the moment had arrived, she thought for the first time in her life that she might be able to kill another human being after all.

"I treat 'em real good, Rafe. None of 'em ever complain. Much." He laughed, and Abby felt revulsion roll over her.

"You got a choice, Sister. Do as I say or Jake does what he wants. Which is it gonna be?"

"Leave me alone," she cried, tears flowing freely now. "Just leave me alone."

"Can't do it," he said, shaking his head with false remorse. "We got a problem and you're the only one that can help us. You better say yes, because I think Jake's lying. All his women complain."

Silently, she glared at him while he punished every strand of hair at the back of her head.

"Well, now. Maybe I didn't make myself clear. If you don't care about yourself, then we'll just throw in that little brother. Now you see what happens when you don't deal with me right away? You lose twice."

"No!" He yanked her hair backwards, making her cry out again so that she couldn't protest further.

"What's it going to be?"

"Why won't you just go away?" she cried. "And leave us in peace."

"Families are supposed to help each other, aren't they? Now, I've got a problem and my family has to help me."

Abby clutched the edge of the cupboard behind her while she searched frantically for an answer. He would kill Zack. He would do everything he said he would. She couldn't let that happen.

"Speak up!" He twisted her hair tighter.

"All right!"

With a hard shove, he sent her reeling until she collapsed on the floor in a heap as sorrow and misery filled her.

"I want some time to think this out," he said. "There can't be any room for mistakes."

"Maybe we should tell McCullough about this," Jake said.

"No. We'll handle this ourselves."

"But if Brodie's working for Old Ben and he's planning on layin' for McCullough"

"I said no! We'll take care of it. Besides, we can't be sure what Brodie's plans are. That's why we need to be careful. We need to surprise him."

Jake smiled. "Yeah. We've surprised him before but this one's gonna be the biggest of all."

Rafe kneeled down to Abby where she curled up against the wall, watching him. "You'd better not repeat a word of this to anyone. Understand? Or you could set things into motion a whole lot quicker, and that won't do you one bit of good." she closed her eyes and turned her head away, nodding.

"Good." He rose to his feet. "Forget supper. We aren't hungry anymore. Come on, Jake. We've got some planning to do."

When they'd gone, Abby sat staring at the door as tears streamed down her face. Her beautiful evening had turned into a nightmare, but worse than that, Zack's life was in danger. Without any real choice, she had committed to doing the unthinkable. Unable to hold back the sobs, she crumpled into a ball and cried like she hadn't cried in a long, long time.

Chapter Eleven

Everyone in town, including Brodie, had been wondering when Old Ben would retaliate for having his line shack burned and his man shot. Rumor had it he was waiting to see if it was just an ambush to avenge, or a death. Rumor also had it that several cattle had been shot and others rustled, and that was equal to a killing in Old Ben's book. It was only a matter of time, Brodie had heard people say. Yessir, just a matter of time.

As the energy of the town seemed to intensify and gear up for a showdown, Brodie watched the coming and going of residents, merchants, cowhands, and even gunfighters as he kept his vigil while the tempo of their steps increased. The gunfighters looked a little more edgy, the residents looked a little more nervous as they glanced at every horseman who rode into town, and the merchants looked out their front windows more often. Brodie sat in his chair in front of Sinclair's, watching it all. Waiting. The time wasn't right yet, even though everybody sensed that it was. He knew about these things; he understood what set off that last stick of dynamite, and he was dead sure there was plenty to come before that match was lit. He'd wait. And in the meantime. . . .

His gaze swept across the busy square to the windows over the saloon where the lady doctor worked. Twice he'd caught her staring back at him before she'd ducked from view, and he'd smiled to himself. He'd been surprised that she had time in her busy day to spend one moment daydreaming at windows. Or had she been watching him instead of daydreaming? He tipped back his hat until it covered his face, and grinned. Maybe she was watching him.

He'd barely gotten settled when two riders came past the store and caused a stir among the customers going into Sinclair's.

"Isn't that one of Old Ben's men? And isn't that young Zack with him?" said one of the women.

Brodie sat forward, putting his hat where it belonged, and studied the two riders. Sure enough, it was Zack Woods with a fellow Brodie didn't recognize. They stopped in front of the sheriff's office, tied their horses, and went in. It seemed everyone on the street waited, or went to retrieve a friend to wait with them. Before long, both men emerged without the sheriff. Zack headed for Sinclair's and the other man went to the saloon.

Zack went right on past Brodie without seeming to notice him. Then he asked Sinclair where Abby was. Brodie didn't wait around for that conversation. Instead he made his way through the crowds until he stood in front of the saloon. Already the place was filling up, allowing only standing room along the walls. Rumors and tales of what ought to be done about the feud, the sheriff, and every other problem would soon be as thick as smoke. He shouldered his way to the bar until he stood next to the man who rode in with Zack, and ordered a drink. Several others pressed in, asking questions and offering advice.

''What did Davis say, Parker, when you gave him the word from Old Ben?" asked a tall fellow who was dressed well enough to be a banker.

"Mayor, I can't repeat it even in this here company," Parker said, then laughed with those who were friends of Old Ben.

"We got a right to know," someone else called out.

"Well, all right," Parker said slowly as though considering what he ought and ought not to say.

At that moment Carrie wedged herself between Brodie and Parker, giving Brodie a wink and a wiggle. When Brodie didn't respond, she gave him a pouty look, then immediately grinned at him.

"Come on, Parker!" shouted a man farther down the length of the bar. "Tell us."

"Well, it's like this. Ben said to tell Davis he'd had enough and if Davis isn't going to act like a sheriff, then maybe Lampasas doesn't need one."

"Sounds like a threat," Brodie said.

"More or less," said Parker, nodding as he turned to look at Brodie. "Old Ben means what he says, too. Most folks can vouch for that."

"Tell us more!" called several others practically in unison. It wasn't lost on Brodie that the energy he'd been feeling from the town was being fed right here in the saloon, but the time still wasn't right.

"Well," Parker went on, "Old Ben is sick and tired of losing cattle. And he ain't got much use for back-shooters and those who shoot women either. Davis says he agrees but his hands are tied." Parker grinned. "That ain't the only thing that's gonna be tied, and stretched, if he doesn't start enforcing the law around here."

Brodie swigged his drink and said, "Lynchings are against the law, too."

"He's been warned," Parker said defensively. "That's more 'n our boys got out at that line shack. And what about the lady doctor? You were with her. You call that fair? We sure don't."

"Davis isn't the one who did it," Brodie said. He knew who had fired that shot and he was keeping track. He also thought it interesting that Jake hadn't shown his face in town since that incident.

"You know who did it?" Parker gave Brodie a hard look. "Tell me and we'll fix the bastard real good."

Brodie returned the steady look. "I'll take care of it."

Parker seemed to consider it, then nodded. Everyone knew what Brodie's job was, and apparently they were willing to let him do it.

The crowd milled around them, and talk flowed freely along with plenty of bravado about what should have been done. An occasional angry shout caused a ripple of jostling that eventually made its way to the bar where Brodie and Carrie stood. Then she turned and winked at him again, but he just smiled and turned his attention toward Zack, who elbowed his way through the crowd in order to reach the bar.

"Just wanted to let you know," he said to Parker, "I'll be at my sister's for a while. Something's wrong. Henry said she didn't come into work today. He's going to go check on her later, but I want to see for myself that she's okay. I'll be back here as soon as I find out she's all right." Then he made his way back through the crowd and outside. Carrie looked at Brodie. "His sister the one that works over at the general store?" When Brodie nodded, she said, "I see her all the time out there sweeping and talking to folks. Seems like a nice lady." She frowned but didn't say anything more. After a while, she wandered through the crowd, stopping to flirt or sit at a table.

Now that she was out of hearing distance, Brodie asked Parker with his voice as low as he could get it and still be heard, "Did something else happen out there that might have brought you two into town?"

Parker stared into his drink and replied with a quick nod, "Could be."

"But you're not telling."

Parker turned to study him silently, then said, "I got orders not to say too much to the wrong people."

"And I'm the wrong person."

"Don't know. For sure."

Brodie took another swig, emptying his glass, then laid his money on the bar. "When you figure it out, let me know."

Brodie knew he wouldn't get any more information out of Parker, but it would eventually become common knowledge and he'd hear about it. Since there wasn't anything else to be gained by staying in the saloon, he decided to check on Hallie. Maybe she knew something about Zack's sister. It stayed in the back of his mind that Abby could be in danger, but he wasn't sure he ought to stir up either Hallie or Zack when he had nothing certain to go on. Maybe he'd mention part of it to Hallie and watch her reaction.

Standing outside her door, he pushed it open to find her sitting at her desk going over papers. She seemed unaware of his presence until he moved, but even then she didn't look up.

"I'll be with you in a moment," she said as her pen scratched across the paper. When she glanced up and saw who it was, she quickly removed her spectacles. "You really ought to learn how to knock, Brodie." She opened a drawer and put the spectacles away, almost as though she'd been caught. Smoothing her shirt, she rose gracefully from her chair, and it came to his mind again that she did everything gracefully.

"What is it?" she asked.

He crossed the room and sat on the edge of her desk, casually glancing at the papers lying there.

"Those are some orders I meant to make out some time ago," she said as she carefully stoppered her ink bottle and set it aside. "If you've come to find out if I have any calls to make, the answer is no. At least not yet."

He crossed his arms over his chest in a relaxed position and stared at her. She in turn shuffled her feet, smoothed her shirt again, and finally put her hands in her pockets, then looked him squarely in the eyes.

"Do I have some of my breakfast still on my face?" she asked, her head tilted sideways.

"No." He grinned. "I was just wondering why you wear those clothes."

"For comfort."

"Hmm. Comfort," he said, nodding while he considered the likelihood of her answer. "Most women aren't too concerned about that, or so it seems with all the trappings they put on."

"And you're an expert on women's dress as well as guns. What an interesting combination of tastes you have." She put one hand on her desk and leaned toward him slightly, giving him the feeling that she wished she were an inch taller.

"Not an expert. At least not where women are concerned. I just think it's unusual for a woman to want to dress like a man in a man's kind of business. But I guess you don't agree."

Her brown eyes sparkled, but not with animosity. He suspected she enjoyed the idea of challenging his viewpoints. Inwardly, he admitted he liked that in a woman, although Hallie was the first he'd come across who appreciated a challenge. Actually, there was a lot about her to like.

"You're right," she said. "But that shouldn't come as a surprise since we haven't exactly agreed on very many things. And I don't expect that we will. As far as your opinion that this is a man's business, I would beg to differ with you, but on the other hand, I won't since I'm the one with the practice, not you." She arched an eyebrow as if to say, your turn.

She was also fearless. He liked that, too.

"Well, I didn't really come in here to irritate you. It just sort of worked out that way." He smiled broadly at her, letting her know that he wasn't going to take the bait, not this time anyway.

"Then why did you come in here?"

"I saw Abby's brother Zack over at the saloon and he seemed worried that she wasn't at Sinclair's today."

"That isn't like Abby. Maybe I should drop by on my way home to check on her." She sat down at the desk, looking thoughtful. "Her situation is such a worry, what with each of her brothers involved on opposite sides of the fighting. Perhaps I should talk to Henry first. He might have an idea about what's going on since he sees her every day."

Brodie didn't know if Hallie understood the depth of brutality that Rafe was capable of, and he wasn't sure he should tell her. As long as she was wary, he figured he'd leave it at that; otherwise, she'd want to know how he knew so much about Rafe. And he wasn't willing to reveal that information.

"Do you want me to go with you?" Brodie asked. "No. This will be a perfectly safe call to make. I can certainly handle walking down a few streets by myself." She wasn't sure, but he almost looked as though he was serious. "For heaven's sake, it's broad daylight. Things haven't gotten that bad yet."

He got up from the edge of the desk and walked to the door. Hallie noticed once again what an imposing man he was, but it wasn't just his size. He had an impenetrable barrier surrounding him that kept everyone out, unless he chose differently, as he'd done a few moments ago when he'd bantered with her and even smiled. Now the barrier was back in place, and she couldn't understand what had caused that to happen.

"I'll be out front if you need me," he said as he walked out onto the landing just in time to bump into Zack. They maneuvered around until Zack was able to enter her office. Then Brodie hesitated before descending the stairs.

"Doc Hallie," Zack said, greeting her as he removed his hat. "If you aren't too busy today, I was wondering if you might visit Abby. I just came from there and she's looking poorly." He shook his head. "She won't tell me what's wrong. She just says she isn't feeling well but she'll be fine tomorrow. I'm worried about her."

"Of course. I'll stop in and see her first chance I get."

"Mr. Sinclair is worried, too. At least he looked like he was when I went in to look for Abby. That was when I found out she hadn't gone to work, and that's not like her. She really likes working at the store. Mr. Sinclair said he was sure she would be all right, but he didn't sound convincing. And that's why I decided to ask you to look in on her."

"I'm expecting a couple of patients this afternoon, but after that I should have some free time."

"Thanks. I'd appreciate it." He backed toward the door. "I have to be going. Parker will be waiting for me." Giving her a polite nod of farewell, he hurried down the stairs.

Hallie's thoughts were on Abby until she could finally get away from her office, but it was much later in the day than she'd expected. At last she was able to tidy up the cabinets and check her leather bag, although she suspected she wouldn't really need it for Abby. If she had been sick and needed a doctor, she would have come to Hallie on her own. More than likely it was a personal problem, which she probably wouldn't share with her brother or her employer, and quite possibly not even her doctor, but Hallie would try.

As she approached the modest two-story house with its neat little yard and a few brave little flowers, Hallie remembered the days when she visited Granny Woods with her father. Granny Woods had been a spirited person with a generous heart, not unlike Abby, who was always full of smiles and unafraid of most anything.

After knocking on the door, she waited, and waited. Peering through the glass, she knocked again, louder this time, and called, "Abby? It's me, Doc Hallie."

In a few moments the door opened to reveal a more subdued Abby than Hallie had ever greeted.

"I'm sorry I took so long getting to the door," Abby said. "Come in. Please."

Hallie entered the parlor room while Abby closed the door behind her in spite of the fact that a welcome breeze had come up.

"Zack asked you to come, didn't he?"

"He was worried about you."

"I appreciate your stopping by, but really, I'm fine. Just a little under the weather, that's all," she said, but the smile she put on was only skin deep.

"You don't look fine to me." And she didn't. There were dark circles around her eyes and she looked as if she'd been crying. "Do you want to talk about anything?" Hallie smiled encouragingly and added, "I'm a good listener. And I never repeat what my patients tell me."

Abby produced a hanky from her sleeve and wiped at the tears that seemed to spring suddenly from nowhere for no reason. "I wish I could." Her chin quivered and the tears turned into quiet crying.

"Let's sit over here," Hallie said, leading her toward a couple of chairs. She pulled hers closer to Abby's, then gently stroked her arm. "Don't you know that when two hearts pull at the same load it seems lighter?"

Abby gave her a genuine smile, even though more tears came into her eyes. "Granny Woods always said that."

"And my father shared it frequently with his patients. I hope Granny wouldn't have minded."

Abby sniffled and shook her head. "I know she wouldn't have minded at all. She would have been glad. Doc Summers was a good friend to Granny."

They sat quietly together while Hallie waited patiently and Abby considered the possible consequences of lightening her burden.

With a deep sigh, Abby said, "I've got a problem." Then she stopped for a moment. "That sounds too simple and there's nothing simple about this." She looked up at Hallie. "I'm not sure I should get you involved. It's so dangerous." When the tears threatened to overwhelm her again, she took a deep breath and dabbed her hanky at her eyes.

"I'm not afraid," Hallie replied.

"You're a brave woman to say something like that, especially after being shot. I'm not sure that I could."

"Are you afraid for yourself?"

She started to shake her head no, then changed her mind. "I mean, I am but I'm more worried about someone else." "Like Zack, maybe?" Hallie prodded gently.

"Yes, but I don't think it would stop there." A fresh batch of tears overflowed. "I just don't know what to do. I've thought and thought until my head hurts, but I can't come up with anything."

"It's going to be all right. Shhh," Hallie said, trying to comfort and soothe. When Abby got herself under control again, Hallie said, "I'd like to help."

"You don't know what you're asking. Really you don't. You'd be in danger then, too." She blew her nose, then clasped her hands tightly together in her lap.

"Abby, this doesn't sound like something you can solve by yourself. If you won't let me help, then why not ask Zack or maybe Brodie?"

Her eyes grew wide with dread as she motioned frantically with her hands. "Because they're the ones I especially can't tell!"

"All right," Hallie said reassuringly. "Let me try to sort this out. You're afraid to tell Zack or Brodie about this problem. Are you saying they're involved in it?"

"Yes, but they don't know" She stopped and took a deep breath. "You're right. I can't solve this by myself and I'm going to explode if I hold it in any longer. But you have to promise me that you won't tell anybody."

"I promise," Hallie responded without hesitation. Her job as a doctor often required her to become a confidante, and she never thought twice about doing it. She could plainly see that Abby needed help and that was what mattered.

"Rafe came here last night and he had a friend with him." Abby shivered visibly. "He threatened to hurt Zack if I don't do as he says."

"What does he want you to do?" Hallie sensed there was more than just the fear that her brother might get hurt. "Somehow, I'm supposed to get Brodie to go into the countryside where Rafe and his friend can ambush him. I think he means to kill Brodie. Oh, Doc Hallie, he'd do it, too! And he'd kill Zack just for meanness, and hand me over to his friend." She started to cry again. "What should I do?"

Hallie stared in shocked silence at Abby, who was now bent over and crying into her skirt. She had listened carefully to everything the girl had said, so certainly she hadn't misunderstood. But why would Rafe want to do such a thing? True, he'd always appeared to be callous and rough, but to commit such brutal crimes . . . Was he completely without mercy at all?

"Abby, we have to report this. Neither you nor I can control this situation."

Raising her tear-streaked face, Abby said, "No! You promised. He'll hurt Zack, maybe even kill him! I can't take that chance. You won't go back on your word, will you?"

She was so distraught that Hallie felt compelled to say, "I gave you my word."

Abby relaxed slightly, propping her head with one hand. "I'll figure out something. I have to."

Hallie was puzzled as well as shocked. "Why does he want to kill Brodie?" The whole scheme seemed to be aimed at getting rid of him. He'd even do bodily harm to both his sister and brother in order to get Brodie. Why?

"He didn't say what his reasons were, but it was plain to see that he meant it. I've seen that look of hatred in his eyes. . . ." Her voice dwindled away, leaving the rest of the sentence unspoken.

Without a doubt, Hallie knew that Abby was experiencing the aftermath of a terrible ordeal. She'd seen the same responses in victims of fires who had managed to save their own lives but had lost everything else. ''I can't leave you here," Hallie said. "I want you to come and stay with me until this is settled."

Abby shook her head. "No. He'll know that I've told you and then he'll kill Zack. I have to stay here so that he doesn't suspect. If he finds out, then you won't be safe either." She covered her face with her hands. "I don't know what to do."

"You're not safe here."

Abby looked at her. "I'm not safe anywhere."

She was probably right, and that was all the more reason that Hallie couldn't leave her. "What if we talked to Brodie? He might have an idea of how to handle this."

"And maybe that idea will get Zack killed. No, I can't risk that."

"What if you warn Zack about what Rafe is considering?"

"I should have while he was here today, but . . ." She began crying again. "I was just so afraid that Rafe would find out like he always did, and Zack would pay for it. Oh, Doc Hallie, he's so mean. You don't know how mean. . . ."

"Oh, Abby, Abby. We'll think of something. Shhh." She wanted to console her, but she didn't know what to say that would truly help. And she had so many questions that neither she nor Abby could answer, only Brodie. Her thoughts took a new path as she considered the possibilities of Brodie's role in all of this. He was hiding something behind that barrier of his and if it had anything to do with Rafe, then he could just get it settled without causing any harm to Abby. She had promised not to speak to anyone concerning Rafe's plan, but she would find a way around that, one way or another.

A brief knock made both women turn their heads to see a man's profile outlined against the curtain hanging on the front door.

"It's Henry!" Abby whispered, jumping from her chair. "Tell him I'm sick or I've got a headache, but I don't want him to see me." She touched her swollen face with a cry of despair and ran from the room.

Hallie stared in astonishment as Abby disappeared around a corner. Was there something going on that she wasn't aware of? She turned back to see Henry still waiting for the door to open. Abby and Henry? Shaking her head in confusion, she walked to the door and opened it.

"Heloise, I'm so glad you're here. Is she all right? I was concerned when she didn't come to work this morning, but I became even more worried when Zack stopped by." He glanced around the room. "Where is she?"

"She's lying down. There's nothing physically wrong with her."

"Thank goodness." He looked relieved. Then he frowned. "What do you mean nothing physically wrong? Is there something else? Is she upset?"

Hallie couldn't lie to a friend like Henry. "Yes. But to be perfectly honest, she doesn't want to discuss it. She wants to be left alone."

"She said that?"

"In so many words, yes."

"Did she talk to you about what's bothering her?"

Hallie half nodded, not wanting to betray a promise. "She became upset last night, and that's really all I can say. I'm sorry, Henry."

"Not half as sorry as I am," he said, staring down at his shoes.

"I think if she gets some rest, things will be better tomorrow. Maybe she'll even feel like working at the store."

He focused on a spot beyond her shoulder instead of looking directly at her. "I'll understand if she doesn't. Would you tell her that for me?"

"Of course." He nodded absently. "Will you stop by and see her tomorrow?"

"Yes, I think I will."

"Good. Well. I'll be going."

Hallie said good-bye and closed the door behind him, but before she could wonder at his forlorn look, Abby stepped into the room.

"Poor Henry, he doesn't understand, but I can't let him get mixed up in this," she said. "I've done enough harm by telling you my problems."

"We're going to have to tell someone, Abby. Maybe Henry is the best choice."

"But if Rafe finds out. . . . No, I can't. There has to be another way."

But Hallie wasn't so sure. She had given her word, but she couldn't stand by and allow Abby to be threatened by Rafe, and especially when it was really about Brodie. He would have to fight his own battles, and somehow she was going to tell him so.

Chapter Twelve

Hallie spent a restless night. She dreamed about Abby, Rafe, Brodie, and gunfights. She also dreamed about getting herself shot again. In spite of Abby's words of praise about her bravery, Hallie wasn't at all brave, and getting shot hurt worse than she'd even imagined.

She lay in the darkness of her bedroom, listening to the sound of the clock nearby, wondering how long until daylight broke. With her good arm, she touched the bandage she still wore. The wound was still very tender, but she'd been able to continue working. She'd made sure, by carefully following her practice of Listerism, that infection had not set in. It was healing nicely, but from now on she had no intention of being anywhere near a gunfight.

And that was the reason she hadn't complained too loudly about Brodie's unwelcome presence. Grudgingly, she admitted he had become an appreciated companion. Countless times during the day, she'd found herself staring down at him from her office window. She'd tried to convince herself she was only checking to see if was still there, but when he'd caught her looking and she'd dodged from his view, she knew she'd been looking for other reasons, too. Alone now and faced only by the darkness, she could acknowledge the fact that she had been studying him.

He was unlike any other man she'd ever met. The assumptions she'd made about him when he first came into her office were giving way to new perceptions. She had thought he was nothing more than a gun for hire, callous, arrogant, and shiftless, words that fit Rafe Woods better than Brodie. Maybe it was the way he looked after her safety, especially when she'd been shot. He hadn't been callous or arrogant at all. And he frequently stopped in to see if she needed help with anything, which her independent side generally took offense to. During those times he didn't seem at all like a shiftless gun for hire. In spite of his apparent vocation, she thought he was honest, which made her feel even more foolish when she thought about the time she'd put her money into her riding boots.

Adjusting her nightdress and the sheets beneath her, she turned on her side, trying to keep her sore arm comfortable. Wide awake now, she stared out the window into the night, her thoughts fixed on Brodie.

He had a handsome face in a rugged sort of way. Nothing at all like Henry, she mused, who was fine-featured, slender, and even a little finicky, which Brodie was not. Henry fussed over his food; Brodie inhaled his. She imagined making love to Henry would be as exciting as eating day-old bread. But making love to Brodie . . . well, that she couldn't imagine.

Uncomfortable again, she rolled to her back and pushed the sheet to the foot of her bed since the night was too warm for even the lightest covering. In the distance she heard the sound of thunder.

She thought about the way he stretched out his legs in front of him while he sat in front of Henry's with his hat covering his face, which would easily lead anyone to believe that he hadn't heard or seen anything. She knew better. And now, she was wondering how many people believed, the way she had, that he was only there to be her bodyguard. She knew better than that, too. But what exactly was his purpose? She wasn't sure. It had to have something to do with Rafe, which made the job as a bodyguard nothing more than a pretense. So what was he hiding? Whatever it was, he used that barrier wall as a means of keeping it hid.

Outside, the thunder rolled again and a steady rain beat on the tin roof. The sound lulled her until at last she felt tired and slipped into another dream-filled sleep.

In spite of her lack of sleep, Hallie rose early and ate a sparse breakfast of leftover biscuits and jelly. The idea of stirring up the cookstove when the heat of the day would soon bear down upon her was unthinkable. She preferred to go without coffee and enjoy the rain-washed, cool morning.

She arrived at her office on schedule, and was soon thrust into the beginning of a hectic day. There was little time to wonder about Rafe or even Abby, although she'd promised herself to check with Henry when she could. Hopefully, Abby felt well enough to go to work. At least she'd be safer at Henry's since Brodie sat right out front. Occasionally, she looked out the window just to make sure, and he was always there.

Early in the afternoon, when her patients had stopped coming by, she sat at her desk with her head propped in her hands. Tiredness crept up her back and along her shoulders. Arching her neck, she groaned aloud at the welcome relief that the stretching gave her.

"I noticed you missed the noon meal," Brodie said from the doorway.

Hallie recoiled instantly, nearly wrenching her neck.

"Don't you ever knock?" she asked.

"I brought you something to eat from the restaurant."

"How about coffee?"

"I didn't know you drank it. I thought all women drank tea. But then I thought all women wore dresses," he said with a wicked grin.

She ignored his remark and said, "I learned to like it when I was in school in Iowa."

"School, huh? And here I thought you just sort of walked into your father's shoes." He grinned again, apparently happy with his poking fun at her clothes.

"Very funny." She accepted the dish of boiled potatoes and fried chicken. As the tantalizing aroma filled the air, she realized how hungry she was.

"Next time I'll bring some coffee."

"Thank you, I'd appreciate it." She picked up the chicken and took a bite. "Delicious."

"Eat with your fingers, too, huh? What would the ladies society say?"

She swallowed her bite, glaring at him. "I'm sure you didn't bring me this dinner just to watch me eat."

He sat in the chair opposite her. "I don't know. I'm learning new things all the time. No napkin either?"

"That's your fault. You didn't bring one." She took another bite.

"I could give you this," he said, reaching for the bandana he always wore around his neck.

"No, thank you. I'd rather lick my fingers." And she did. Then she rose from her seat to retrieve a towel from her cabinet. Wiping off the sticky residue, she returned to her dinner.

"Did you see Abby last night?" he asked.

She nodded. "Did she come into work today?"

"No."

Hallie paused, then looked at him. "You seem unusually interested in the welfare of my patient. Is there a reason for that?"

Instantly, the barrier went up and the camaraderie of moments ago disappeared as though it had never happened. His bearing changed, he seemed more stiff than relaxed, and the smile she found herself looking forward to slipped away.

"Pardon me for being so impertinent as to ask." She pushed her plate away and sat back in her chair. He did not intimidate her, and he might as well know it.

"I do not have an unusual interest in Abby. It was only a matter of . . . courtesy that I even asked," he replied. But the wall was still in place and she wasn't accepting his easy explanation.

"I guess I hadn't thought of you as the sort of person who was concerned about courtesy," she said.

Rising from his chair, he leaned across the desk toward her, planting his hands near hers, and her heart picked up an extra beat. She'd felt it at other times, too, such as when he caught her staring at him out the window and when he smiled at her while their gazes held. Those moments felt almost like a physical connection of their minds, and her heart simply reacted, making her suddenly breathless.

"There's a lot about me that you don't know," he said. With his face barely inches from hers, she found herself responding just as a sliver of metal would to a magnet.

Breathless, and voiceless, too, she stared into the deep green of his eyes. Then his head dipped slowly toward hers, bringing them as close as a whisper, and Hallie's heartbeat became a throb at the base of her throat. For a wild moment she was sure he was going to kiss her.

"You have a piece of chicken on the end of your nose," he said softly, then grinned at her like the demon she now accused him of being.

As if she'd been burned, she scooted backwards in her chair, grabbing for the towel and wiping her face. Beneath her breath and into the folds of material, she told him exactly what she thought of him.

He straightened, then headed for the door. "Call me if you need anything," he said over his shoulder, still grinning, and then he was gone.

"In a pig's eye!" Angrily, she threw the towel onto the desk, then changed her mind and picked it up as she walked to the water bucket. Dipping it in, she quickly cooled her heated cheeks, then applied it to the spot where her heart still pounded. He was exasperating as well as infuriating, and she couldn't believe she'd so completely disgraced herself by falling into his trap. Picking up some order forms, she fanned her face. Those green eyes of his had lured her into embarrassing herself, and he had thoroughly enjoyed it.

Casually, she strolled past her window for a quick look to see if he was sitting in front of Henry's. He wasn't. So she glanced around the square as far as she could see, but he was nowhere in sight until she looked down and saw him lounging against a tree with his arms crossed over his chest. He gave her a quick salute and a smile, but she ignored both and moved quickly away from the window.

She had business to attend to and patients who would be coming in soon; she couldn't be wasting time thinking about what she'd almost done, or even what she wished had happened. Her life was full and satisfying, and she didn't need any schoolgirl flirtations to get in the way.

For the rest of the afternoon she looked after her patients, keeping her mind strictly on the problems at hand. When she had a break, she walked to the restaurant and returned the plate that Brodie had brought, then carried a cup of coffee back with her. Before she'd finished it, more patients arrived, and so she was happily involved in work again.

At the end of her day, when most people were sitting down to their supper table, she prepared to go home. She had to look in on Abby; then most likely she would try to puzzle out a solution to the girl's problem. Certainly, something would come to one of them and a disaster could be avoided.

As she stood on the landing outside her office, locking her door, she heard her name shouted from the street below.

"Wait! Doc Hallie, wait!" Nathan Hancock brought his horse to a sudden halt and jumped to the ground. "It's Claire!" he said, climbing the steps two at a time until he stood beside her. "The baby's coming but something's wrong. Can you come? III don't know what to do.''

"Claire?" Hallie knew it wasn't time and Claire wouldn't have allowed Nathan to leave if there wasn't something terribly wrong.

"I didn't want to leave her, but I had to get help. If anything happens to her . . ."

He looked so distraught that Hallie forced down her own worries in order to comfort him. "I'll do everything I can. Go to her now and I'll be along as soon as I get my things together. Go." He didn't need to be told twice, and was halfway down the stairs before she finished speaking.

Hallie hurried back into her office for more supplies, wanting to be prepared for any complications. Then, hating to take the time but knowing it was necessary for a fast trip, she unbuttoned her shoes and slipped into her boots, only to find the money she'd put there when Brodie had first arrived. Quickly, she poured the coins onto her desk, then put on her boots. Then grabbing two leather bags, the old one of her father's and the new one she'd recently purchased, she dashed down the stairs and ran for the livery.

As she reached the front doors, she slowed and called to the man to saddle her horse. Brodie, who must have been watching, reached the livery at the same time.

"Where are you going?" he said, taking both bags from her.

"Claire Hancock is having trouble." She pointed to the old leather bag and said, "Put that one behind your saddle, and be careful how you wrap it." She took the new one and rolled the blanket around it, tying it securely while the livery man cinched up her saddle.

Brodie wasn't ready when she rode through the doorway, but she couldn't wait for him. It was a long ride to the Hancock place and every minute was important. At least he hadn't said she couldn't go. Not that that would have stopped her, but an argument was something she didn't have time for, and neither did Claire.

As she rode across the countryside, her mind considered all the possibilities that she might encounter when she arrived. She'd seen so many wonderful, simple births and counted each one a true blessing, but she'd also seen her share of complications, which sometimes took the mother or child, or sometimes both. With a feeling of dread, she mentally went through her bags, hoping she hadn't forgotten to pack a vital instrument or even one not so vital. Then she went over everything she could remember that Claire had said about her pregnancy, and couldn't come up with anything that would indicate a problem she should have been alerted to. Hopefully, Claire had miscalculated when her last monthly was, and therefore the baby wouldn't be as early as they suspected. She wished she would have asked Nathan how long ago she'd begun labor, since that, too, would help her conclude what the problem might be.

She didn't dare race her horse across the open land, although that was exactly what she wished she could do. Instead, she paced the animal by walking for short periods of time, and that was how Brodie caught up to her.

"Don't you know better than to ride off like that?" he scolded, his voice raised. "Are you looking to get that other arm shot, too?"

"Don't lecture me. Save it for someone who needs it." She urged her horse forward, hoping to keep ahead of him and away from his bad disposition, but he wasn't about to allow the opportunity to pass. He brought his horse alongside hers.

"At least you had sense enough to wear boots this time," he said.

She ignored him.

"Someday maybe you'll start carrying a gun."

"Why should I? You always seem to be around, whether you're invited or not."

"Lucky for you."

One fierce glance toward him and she saw that he stared stonily ahead, which suited her fine. She didn't want to argue with him; she didn't even want to talk to him, and that had as much to do with what had transpired between them earlier in the day as it did with the things he'd just said. And she hoped he realized it.

Before long, the Hancock place came into view and Hallie broke into a gallop without punishing her horse. She paid little attention to Brodie, who stayed right with her. She would have paid no attention except for the fact that he had a precious cargo behind his saddle.

Nathan came through the front door as they approached.

"She needs you real bad, Doc Hallie," he said, holding her horse while she dismounted. "I wouldn't tell her, but I'm scared. I've never seen her in so much pain."

Hallie handed the reins to Brodie, then removed the bags from their safe places and followed Nathan, but before they entered the house, Nathan blocked her path. A look of misery showed plainly in his eyes while determination was in the set of his jaw.

"If she's going to die, you have to tell me," he said. "I have to know the truth."

"She's not going to die, Nathan."

He shook his head doggedly. "You don't know that. So I want you to promise to tell me the truth."

She studied his young face. "I promise."

His shoulders slumped in relief. Then he nodded.

"But I will do everything I possibly can to make sure Claire and the baby will be all right. I promise you that, too." She gave him a smile, and he tried to return it.

"Don't think too awful of me, but it's Claire that I care about, not the baby. I love Claire." Tears formed in his eyes, and he dashed them away with the back of his hand. With a stiffened chin, he said, "Don't let her die."

"I won't."

She hurried into the house and toward the partitioned-off room where Claire lay writhing on the bed.

"Oh! Doc. . . . Hallie! Good" Claire gritted her teeth and pulled on the sheet tied to the bedpost.

"Oh, God! Doc Hallie, do something!" Nathan ran into the room, and dropped to his knees beside his wife. "Claire, honey . . ." Hallie took him by the shoulders and gently urged him to his feet. "I want you to go put a pan of water on the stove and when it's ready come and tell me. All right?"

He nodded, a vacant look in his eyes.

"Go," she said, then immediately removed the necessary items from her bags, laying them out on the nearby table, which was already occupied by a pitcher and basin. Hallie rolled her sleeves to the elbows and washed her hands as well as her wrists, drying them on the fresh towels Claire had set out.

"Claire, I'm going to check your baby." Hallie lifted the nightdress above Claire's misshapen stomach as a strong contraction gripped her.

"Help . . . me. Pleeaaase!"

"I will." Out of habit, she kept her voice soothing and quiet. "We'll work together and have this baby out here where he belongs."

Hallie sat carefully on the bed at Claire's feet, her hands expertly searching for the baby's head. It was still high up in the cervix, which had dilated completely. Now her greatest fear had been confirmed. The birth channel was not going to allow the baby to descend normally, if at all. She pulled the nightdress back into place.

"I'm going to speak to Nathan," she said. "I'll be right back."

Quickly she left the room and nearly bumped into Nathan.

"When did her pains start?"

"Last night. She refused to let me go get you and I was scared to leave her. But today I knew I had to, and so did she."

After a few more questions, Hallie nodded. "Is that water ready yet?"

"Yes, that's just what I was coming to tell you." "Bring it and a couple of clean basins, too. Oh, and a bucket of cold water for dirty linens. Now, go get Brodie for me, will you?"

"Brodie? Why?"

"Just go get him. I promise to explain."

When Nathan had gone, Hallie stroked Claire's forehead with a damp cloth, and said, "I need to ask you something."

"It's bad . . . isn't it?" She writhed once more, rolling her head back and forth on the pillow. When it subsided a little, she croaked out the word "Ask."

"The baby isn't going to be able to be born normally." She waited until the next contraction abated. "I know of only one way to get him out safely."

"Do . . . it."

"There is a risk to you."

"Don't . . . care. . . . Do it."

Hallie wiped the cloth across Claire's flushed face once more. "We'll do it," she said softly.

When Nathan returned, he stood expectantly in the doorway while Brodie waited a good distance behind him. Hallie stepped away from the bed toward them, gradually forcing them to back into the next room.

Quietly, she said, "Claire is having great difficulty and so is the baby. And unless we take the baby from her, there is little chance that either of them will live. You wanted me to be truthful."

Nathan nodded, but looked as though he'd been run over by a team of horses.

"Claire has given me permission. I'm asking for yours, too."

"Save her, please. That's all I ask." His voice was hoarse from worry. He waved his hand tiredly before his face. "Don't explain. Just do it." "I want you to go out to the barn and wait until we come get you. All right?" When he nodded, she went on. "You can shout, scream, or pray."

"Will she be in pain?" he asked, his own pain mirrored in his eyes.

"No, she'll be asleep."

"Thank God," he said with a deep sigh. Then he turned and headed for the back door.

Brodie started to follow him, but she called him back. "Wait. I want you to stay."

He made a slow turn, a look of incredulity on his face. "Me?"

"Yes. I need someone to administer the ether."

Chapter Thirteen

Brodie stared at her in total disbelief, until he realized she was dead serious.

"Wait a minute," he said, shaking his head and backing away. "You've got the wrong man." He pointed to the door that had just closed behind Nathan. "This is his wife, not mine.''

"Precisely. It would be impossible for him to do the job without going to pieces. And please, keep your voice down."

"I won't do it," he whispered, already imagining that he could smell that stuff she called carbolic. He heard the woman in the bed groan, then let out a scream that made him want to run.

"She's going to die without this operation. I need your help. I can't possibly do this alone and Nathan would be worse than no help."

"I would be worse than no help!" he whispered back. "I don't know a damn thing about babies or medicine or anything in that black bag of yours." Inside his chest he felt the strain of holding back the urge to shout and scream himself.

Another pitiful groan filled his ears.

"I'm not going to let that woman die. Are you?" She leveled a look at him that a convicted murderer would have had a hard time resisting. Waiting with the patience of a saint, she stared at him. Her deep brown eyes were relentless as they searched his. He felt as though his soul had been probed.

He raised his hand futilely, then let it drop against his side in defeat. "Okay."

"Good."

She'd won this battle, and he knew it was a big one; big enough to make him feel as though he'd lost the war. When this was over, he swore to himself, he'd get even. Somehow. Now all he had to do was get through it.

"I'll explain what you need to do as we go; that way you don't have to remember anything." She gave him a sideways smile, and he decided this score definitely needed settling.

He followed her into the bedroom and saw the woman thrashing on the bed. Beside her was a table full of instruments and bottles and cloths. Immediately, he broke into a sweat that had his collar soaked in no time.

"Help me move this table down to this end of the bed where I can reach everything better." When they had it positioned where she wanted it, she pushed a chair toward him, indicating that he should sit.

"Take this," she said, handing him a cone-shaped object that just fit in his hand. "I want you to hold this over her nose and mouth, then put just a few drops from this bottle on the end when I tell you. Be very careful with it." He held the small bottle in his large hands, feeling clumsy. "Now, just a couple of drops before we're ready to begin.'' He kept his hand steady, which he considered remarkable considering the smell of it. When she took the cone from him, she leaned down to speak to the woman, who continued to moan and groan.

"Claire, I'm going to put something over your nose and I want you to breathe it in. All right?"

Claire nodded wildly.

"Don't pay attention to the smell, just listen to my voice." Hallie slowly brought the cone down over her nose while she continued to talk softly. "Don't struggle, just breathe. And again. That's good. Soon now, you'll be asleep. We're going to take care of you. Breathe in, that's right. Good."

Brodie watched as the woman relaxed. First, her arms stopped thrashing until they finally lay limp at her sides. Then her fists unclenched. At last, her chest rose and fell with even breathing instead of the gasps she'd been taking.

"Hold this. There's no time to lose. She can't be under the effects for very long and the baby has to be taken soon if we're going to save it." He held the cone, positioning it as she had. "Just a few drops when I tell you," she said.

Hallie raised the nightdress, and Brodie shifted his gaze to the table, where she quickly turned and poured some of the bottle of carbolic over her hands, then dried them on a towel. The smell in the room made his gut lurch while the sweat popped out on his forehead. And he knew this was the easy part. The scene before him was only going to get worse.

Hallie checked Claire's eyes beneath her closed lids and said, "A few more drops. That's fine. Good."

When she took a sharp-looking tool from the basin where she'd poured the carbolic over her hands, he turned his head away, staring at the cone while he wished he had no side vision at all. But he did. At first all he could see was a thin red line and her hands working in a fashion that fascinated him, until he realized he was chancing a direct look.

"If her lids flutter at all, give her a few more drops," she said, bending over her patient, exchanging instruments with a sureness of hand, then becoming intent on widening the thin red line.

Turning his head, he kept his vigil over Claire's eyes, as he'd been instructed. As time passed, he saw her lashes move, then her lids. When he added the drops the movements ceased, so he chanced another look at Hallie. Unbelievably, she worked with her hands practically inside the woman's stomach, gently touching, moving, then cleansing, and finally, carefully lifting until she produced something shiny and wet. Mesmerized, he continued to watch.

"It's a boy," she said softly. Then she laid him on the towel beside the mother, wiping the slimy sheen from his eyes, nose, and mouth. "He's beautiful."

"Is he all right?" he heard himself ask.

Endless seconds passed before she answered, "Yes." With hands that looked to him as though they were permanently stained, she covered the baby with a blanket. Then she quickly rinsed her hands in carbolic.

"I have to hurry with these sutures first."

He watched as she pulled a long string attached to a needle from one of the basins with carbolic in it, then carefully set to work. But this time Brodie didn't watch. His gaze moved to the small baby boy, who hadn't made a sound. Unconsciously, he held his breath while he waited for the child to move or cry.

"Watch Claire," she reminded him. "I'm almost finished."

He dragged his attention back to the mother, wishing this whole thing was over and done with and everyone was all right. Then he could quit smelling the fumes that made his head swim and his legs weak.

At last, she turned to him and said, "No more drops." Then she bent over the child, drying him and checking over his entire body.

Brodie set aside the cone and bottle of ether, feeling the tension in his back ease somewhat as he sat up. He wondered how she could continue working in that position without resting once. When she was finally standing straight, she cradled the baby in her arms and Brodie leaned forward for a closer look.

"Hold him while I bandage Claire and get her into some fresh clothing." She placed the little boy in his arms, and before he could say no, he was amazed at how light and fragile the bundle was. He'd never been so close to anything so little. He studied the wrinkled face with its miniature nose and puffy eyes. Such tiny little hands, he thought, all doubled into fists as though he was already thinking about taking on the world.

"He's so small," Brodie said.

Hallie glanced up at the same time he did and they shared a smile. "Yes, he is small, but that's not all bad, especially for Claire."

"Is she going to be all right?" He looked at the baby's mother, who seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

"Everything went better than I'd hoped. Now it's a matter of keeping out infection. We did the best we could and I'm sure she'll be fine." She paused, and he thought he saw a look of uncertainty cross her face. Then she gave her head a small shake and looked at him. "Thank you."

"Me?" He glanced away, unable to accept gratitude for the small bit of help he'd given. "Remember, you had to twist my arm." "No, I didn't." She stood in front of him with her arms crossed over her chest and smiled.

She was wrong about that, but he was grateful that she didn't rub his nose in it.

"I suppose you should go after Nathan and bring him to see his wife and son," she said.

"Yeah, the poor fellow is probably wondering what's taking so long and expecting the worst." Under the same conditions, he knew he would bethat is, if he were ever to get in those same conditions, which, of course, he wouldn't.

"Let me take the baby while you push that table out of the way," she said, taking the tiny bundle from his arms. When he got up she took his seat and groaned happily. "This feels wonderful."

On his way out the door, he stopped and turned around. The room was a different place than the one he'd stepped into an hour ago. She had worked a miracle.

"What is it?" she asked, tilting her head as she often did when she was either puzzled or trying to get the best of him.

"Nothing." He couldn't explain to himself the feelings that he had, so he knew he could never explain them to her. "I'll get Nathan."

He strode through the house and out the back door to find Nathan sitting beside the horse trough with his back propped against the well and his head in his hands. When he saw Brodie's boots he looked up with fearful eyes and scrambled to his feet to hear the outcome.

Brodie grinned and reached for his hand to shake it. "Congratulations."

A wide smile spread slowly across Nathan's face as the good news gradually dawned on him. "Thank God!" Then he pumped Brodie's arm. "Thank God!"

"Hallie said you can go on in." "Really? You don't have to ask me twice!" He let out a war whoop that echoed off the barn, then ran for the house.

Brodie walked toward the corral, glad to be outside in the fresh air once more, and Sam's friendly nicker was an invitation he couldn't resist.

"Hey, fella. How's it going out here, huh?" He ran his hand along the horse's withers, scratching now and then, making Sam's hide shiver. "Feels that good, does it? Yeah, well, sometimes the simplest things in life are the best."

Behind him, he heard the sound of gravel beneath boots, and turned to see Hallie approaching. She walked with a tired but satisfied gait, her hands in the pockets of her once-white shirt, which now was smudged with Claire's blood. Leaning back against the rails of the corral, she inhaled deeply, smiling and looking contented. She propped one boot on the bottom rail and stared off into the distance.

"It's evening already," she said, watching the brilliant display of colors across the sky in the west. "This is my favorite time of the day. It's the only time I feel I can relax." She breathed deeply again.

Sam sniffed the back of her head and nickered. Laughing, she turned to rub her hand along his neck.

"We were just talking about the simple things in life before you got here," he said. "I guess he agrees with me."

She tilted her head and gave him that sideways smile. "The simple things in life?"

"Hmm. That didn't sound quite right, did it? I guess you'd have to hear the whole conversation before you'd understand."

Still tilting her head, she said, "I wish I would have."

Feeling embarrassed about the direction of things, he turned until he leaned both arms on the rail and stared across the open land at nothing in particular. "I want to apologize for the things I said before . . . you know, before the baby was born." He turned to stare at her, a new thought having occurred to him. "That is called being born, isn't it?"

She nodded, giving him a sincere smile. "Born is born, no matter how it happens."

He shook his head with the wonder of it. "I never heard of such a thing. It seems impossible even now."

With a small shrug, she said softly, "It does to me, too."

All he could say to that was a thoughtful, "Hmm."

"And don't apologize. You came through wonderfully, and that's what counts."

He gave her a shamefaced grin. "It's a wonder I made it."

"Oh, such confessions," she replied with a laugh. "I'm sorry. I'm really not making fun. Actually, I was worried that you might faint."

"Pass out," he corrected. "Women faint."

She laughed again, more heartily this time. "What difference does a word make? It's the same thing. But the point is, you didn't and I'm very grateful."

Changing the subject, he asked, "How is Nathan taking all of this?"

"Like a duck to water."

He nodded and turned to watch the sunset with her. Shades and hues of colors blended before their eyes until brand-new, undefinable ones spread along the horizon. She was right when she'd said this was the best time of the day. Even the wind seemed to be in awe as it quieted to a mere breeze.

"I love it here," she said, her voice almost reverent. "I don't believe there could be any place as beautiful."

They continued watching as the sun dipped lower and the colors deepened before fading into dusk. It wouldn't be long until they were surrounded by darkness, which meant to Brodie that they weren't going anywhere until morning.

"How long are you planning on looking after Claire?" he asked.

"I won't relax until I see how she comes out of the ether. I'll need to go over some things with Nathan so he can properly care for her. So I'll definitely want to stay until morning since I doubt if Nathan would remember anything I said to him now."

Hallie felt the horse nudge her back, and turned to give him some attention.

"I've already spoken to Nathan about staying the night." She felt suddenly awkward in telling him the sleeping arrangements. "The house is so small that I thought you might be more comfortable in the barn."

"What about you?"

"I'll just lay a pallet on the floor in the kitchen." She concentrated on scratching a particularly welcome spot on Sam's shivery hide. "That way if Claire needs me, I'll be right there." She felt as if she were making excuses why he'd have to go to the barn, and that was ridiculous. Perhaps it was because they'd just come through something so intimate and personal, but the problem was, it seemed more like they'd shared it rather than just gotten through it. His unusually solemn face made her think he felt the same way.

"Well, I suppose all the men in this house must be hungry." She offered a tentative smile in hopes of breaking the mood that had fallen between them. Near-darkness surrounded them, and she couldn't see those green eyes that had held her spellbound earlier that day. Had it only been that morning when she'd thought he was going to kiss her?

Without a word he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers, then pulled her to him, wrapping her in his protective embrace. "I should have done this before. . . ."

She felt the words as he spoke them against her lips, felt their vibration as their meaning echoed in her head and a welcome warmth spread throughout her body. She held her breath as his mouth closed over hers, searching, unbridled in its intensity, and their bodies melded until she was aware of every inch of him flush against her. When his hands found their way to her hair, tangling, uncoiling, disheveling, she slipped her arms around his neck and clung to him. An exhilarating sense of abandon, like nothing she'd ever experienced, swept her along, urging her down a path she had not wanted to travel, but now could not leave. And she sensed through his touch and eagerness that he could not turn back either.

With the darkness as a cover, they yielded to that need. His hand sought her breast, covering it, pressing its firmness until she moaned softly into his mouth. In response, he swiftly moved her until her back was against the corral post while his body pinioned her there, his weight a welcome relief to the urgency building within.

But somewhere outside this miraculous oblivion, a voice called her name, trying to bring her back to reality. Momentarily disoriented, she listened and realized it was Nathan, standing on the back porch, asking her to come quick.

"I have to go," she said, breaking away from Brodie's hold on her.

"No," he replied, his voice almost harsh with passion.

"I have to. It's Claire." She took his hands from her hair and pushed him back for enough distance to adjust her clothing and arrange her hair in a hasty knot without the pins.

When she started to walk away, he called softly to her through the darkness, "Come back to me later."

Without answering, she hurried toward the house.

Chapter Fourteen

Hallie half ran, half walked to where Nathan stared out into the dark. She didn't know if he'd witnessed their intimate scene, but she realized she didn't care. Then her mind quickly adjusted to the present moment in order to get her bearings as she concentrated on any possible complications. It was too soon, she thought, unless the baby was in trouble.

"What is it?" she asked, still breathless, but it wasn't just from hurrying to reach him.

"Claire is awake now. I thought you'd like to know, in case there's something you can do for her. She's really uncomfortable." Then he hastened to add, "But she isn't complaining. Far from it." The light from the kitchen shone on his face, and she could see that he was smiling.

"She's not going to feel like her old self for quite a while, I'm afraid," Hallie told him. "As a matter of fact, it's going to take several weeks before she can do anything. And that means you'll need to get someone out here to help you. Is there someone in town that you'd like me to send out?''

He shook his head. "I'll ask Hiram James if he has an extra man he can spare for a time so that I can take care of her and the baby." He grinned sheepishly, ducking his head. "I feel so lucky and we owe it all to you. If she would haveWell, I can't even think it, let alone say it now. And something else. What I said about not caring about the baby, I didn't mean it. I was just so scared." He shook his head again. "He's so small and helpless. He needs me as much as Claire does, and I love them both."

"I know," she replied, placing her hand on his arm, trying to comfort him. "It's all right."

His smile beamed at her. Then he turned suddenly to go into the house. Hallie lingered a moment, staring out toward the corral and wondering if Brodie was still there. His words echoed in her mind and silently she answered him: yes. Then she turned and followed Nathan.

Catching up to him outside the bedroom doorway, she peeked around his shoulder to see Claire lying there with a dreamy smile on her face and her baby tucked in the crook of her elbow beside her.

"I'm surprised you're awake," Hallie told her.

"I couldn't stay asleep when there was someone so important to see." She looked down at her child. "Ain't he beautiful?"

Nathan went to her and knelt alongside them, touching the silky strands of his son's hair. "What should we name him?"

"Exactly what we said we would: Nathan. I want him to grow up to be just like his father."

He leaned over and kissed her forehead so gently that he barely touched her. When Claire turned to accept the butterfly kiss, her face changed as though she experienced a pain. "Ow," she said softly. "Even turning my head seems to hurt my stomach."

Hallie stepped closer. "I was telling Nathan that it's going to be a few weeks before you can do even the smallest everyday things that you used to take for granted. It's important to take it easy." She knew Claire wasn't a woman to lie abed.

"She means it, honey. I'll take care of what needs doin'."

"I plan on listening to the doc, don't you worry about that one bit," Claire said. "Me and little Nathan are alive and we're going to enjoy every blessed minute we've been given. Aren't we, sweetheart?" She stroked his blanket with the hand that held him. Then she looked up at Hallie. "I can never thank you enough for what you've done.''

In spite of her happy smiles, Hallie knew Claire was in pain. "If you need something to make you a little more comfortable, I have some medication I can give you."

Claire shook her head. "My mama always told me that you had to watch what you eat 'cause it can make a baby colicky through your milk, so that means it's likely that medication could affect him, too. Don't worry about me. I'll just grit my teeth and get through it. Ain't nothing can be as bad as what I went through before you got here, Doc Hallie. I'll be just fine."

Hallie smiled and nodded in agreement.

The rest of the evening was spent explaining how to dress and change Claire's bandages, as well as giving Nathan a little training in diapering. Then Hallie helped Claire and the baby with the first feeding, with a little trial and error, making all of them laugh. When everyone seemed settled, she left them alone.

In the kitchen she checked the stove and found it still had plenty of hot coals, so she added a few pieces of wood and put on a coffeepot full of water. With that done, she looked around and found some cooked beef, which she sliced and put on a plate, then added a chunk of fresh cornbread slathered in butter. She nibbled as she went, surprised at how hungry she was. In the soft glow from the lamp on the table she moved quietly around the room, fixing another plate.

And all the while her thoughts kept straying to the man who waited in the barn. She knew what he was asking, and she knew there was only one answer.

As the water boiled, she added enough coffee to make a strong brew, then set it on the cooler part of the stove. While she waited, she took a plate of food to Nathan and returned with enough blankets to make a pallet on the floor, but she left them piled on a chair instead.

Searching through the open cupboards, she found something that could serve as a tray, and put the other plate of beef and cornbread on it. She poured two cups of coffee and balanced one on each side of the tray. Then, with her heart beginning to hammer, she draped one of the blankets around her shoulders, picked up the tray, and walked out the back door.

When she'd gotten almost to the corral, she stopped as she peered into the darkness wondering if he were still where she'd left him. Sam's soft blowing of air beckoned her closer.

"Brodie?" she called, her voice quiet but still carrying easily in the stillness. When he didn't respond, she almost felt like turning around and heading back to the house, but instead she bravely went to the barn and called again.

"Brodie? I've brought something to eat. Where are you?"

His voice seemed to materialize right beside her. "I'm here."

She jumped and heard the sloshing of the coffee. "Oh, you startled me!" He took the tray from her. "I didn't think you'd come back."

"I thought you might be hungry so I brought some food. And coffee."

"Is that the only reason?" His voice was low and its resonance found a complementary timbre in her own body.

"Don't you want to eat?" she asked as she pulled the blanket slowly from around her neck. "First?"

She heard him set the tray down before he took the blanket from her hands, and hazily she wondered how he could see so well in the dark when she could barely make out the silhouette of his body. She heard the soughing of the blanket as it floated down through the air and landed softly on a bed of loose straw. Then he sat on it, pulling her by the hand until she was sitting beside him.

Everything moved slower this time, and she had a greater awareness of him. His shirt smelled of dust and the musk of his body, mingling into a fragrance that was peculiarly his and peculiarly heady. His lips brushed hers, and she wondered at their gentle firmness. With his hands steady, he unbuttoned her shirt, then slid it from her arms along with her camisole, mindful of the bandage she still wore. The warm evening air felt cool in contrast to her bare skin, and she welcomed its temporary relief from the heat building within. Then he untangled her hair and let it cascade down her back, bringing a handful of it to his face.

"Your hair smells nice."

She would have told him that she did nothing special to it, but she couldn't respond.

Then he gently pushed her back onto the blanket and the straw rustled, giving up the scent of sunshine. As he lay across her, with his mouth close to hers, she felt the abrasion of his shirt on her breasts. She circled his neck with her arms and tried to see those deep green eyes.

"Did I tell you I'm glad you came back?" he asked.

"No. But I think I'm getting the message anyway."

She felt him smile as his lips touched hers lightly, then moved away. With the tip of her tongue, she wet her lips and he took advantage of the opportunity. Now she was lost. All thoughts of sensations outside her body were replaced by the sensations from within. She floated; she soared; she burned, and agonized with need. She cared about nothing except the blessed weight of his body against hers.

When he struggled out of his clothing, she helped him, all the while exploring and touching and leaving heated kisses in places that were forbidden. He left her momentarily to remove his boots and hers, discarding the remnants of material at their feet. Then he slowly moved up along her body until their mouths at last touched. A cry of desperation caught in her throat as he rolled with her, leaving her on top. Her hair fell around them, shielding them, deepening the darkness. With his hands molding her to him, she arched, breaking away from his lips to add strength to returning the pressure against him.

With a muffled cry of desire, he rolled with her once more until she lay beneath him, no longer able to hold back that ultimate contact, and she rose to meet him, wanting the sweet release she was sure he would bring to her. When he entered, she responded with a driving compulsion to soar even higher. Then the burgeoning ache within her became all-consuming, and she yearned for that release, expected it, needed it, just as he did. They climbed; they reached; they clung, until at last, the victory of achieving the inevitable brought them a euphoric peace. And slowly, slowly, they returned to the reality of lying quietly in each others arms. She smiled into the dark, feeling content.

He touched her breast, unable to comprehend everything.

She kissed his cheek.

He stared.

"I'm totally mystified," she said. "And I thought I knew it all." She snuggled against the languid warmth of his body, stroking the coarse hairs on his chest.

"Hmm. Me, too." But that was all he was going to say on that subject. He had too much to sort out, and that was exactly what he had to do before he talked about his feelings, and hers.

"You are?" She raised up on an elbow, although the darkness hid her face from him. "I would have thought you really did know it all."

"Me, too." He felt her finger trace a particularly vulnerable spot around his nipple and he took her hand in his, flattening it on his chest.

"Tickle?" she asked with a smile in her voice.

"Sort of."

She rested her head on his shoulder, pulling strands of her hair from beneath her.

"Ouch," she complained, then struggled, bumping her breasts and hip against him as she tugged a length of her hair free. He liked the silky feel of her skin, and the softness, and the firmness, and the fragrance. Damn, he just liked everything about her.

She sighed loudly and deeply, sounding contented. "Are you hungry?" she asked. "I am."

She started to rise to get the tray, but he held out his hand, holding her in place.

"I'll get it," he said, and moved cautiously across the barn floor. When he came back, he felt something squish between his toes. "Son of a" She started laughing. "Did you step in something?" Then she laughed again, soft, sweet gales of amusement.

He limped toward her, then set the tray down on the blanket and limped away again in search of something to clean off his foot. Damn moonless night anyway, he thought, scrubbing with clean straw until he thought his hide would come off.

"And I was beginning to think you could see in the dark," she said, her voice still full of laughter. "Wrong again."

He returned to the blanket, sitting beside her, and picked up the cornbread. Then he fed it to her, smearing only a little butter on her cheek.

"Maybe I wasn't wrong after all." As her eyes adjusted to the dark a little more, she felt the plate for the slice of beef and, locating it, aimed for his mouth, and missed.

"That was my ear." He turned and bit into the meat, just missing her fingers.

Laughing, she said, "Oh! That was close. Too close." Stretching her hand to the tray again, she said, "How about some coffee?"

He grabbed her hand. "Ah, let me. It's hard to tell where it might land."

"I doubt if it's hot anymore."

"No sense in taking a chance," he replied, lifting the cup to her lips first. She took a sip, then he took one.

"Warm," they both said together.

A thoughtful silence fell between them as they ate the rest of the food. Hallie wondered what it would be like to spend every night making love, eating in bed, and just sharing small, intimate touches.

When they'd cleaned up the plate and drunk their barely warm coffee, Hallie leaned against him and he took her in his arms as they lay back on the blanket.

"I wish there was a moon tonight," he said. "I'll just bet you do," she replied, smiling as she thought about his trip across the barn floor.

"No. I wish I could see you better."

"Hmm. And I thought you could."

"Not good enough. I'd like to really see you, warts, moles, and all."

"I don't have any." She nestled into the crook of his arm and he spread her hair across them like a blanket. "Do you?"

He gave a small shrug. "Don't know."

They fell silent again, enjoying the sounds around them, sealing this perfect moment in their memory.

"How is the mother and baby doing?" he asked.

"Fine. The father is quite happy, too."

"I sort of suspected as much."

They grew quiet once more.

When she huddled closer for a little warmth from his body, he asked, "Getting cold?"

"Just a little maybe."

"Do you want to go?"

She lifted her head, wishing she could see his face clearly. "Do you want me to?"

"No. Not yet." He pulled the blanket around her, wrapping her in it and cocooning them together.

So safe and secure, being close to a man this way, she thought. But not just any man. She couldn't imagine spending even a minute in such intimacy with Henry. She had made the right choice in telling him that there was nothing between them, and she was sure Abby would agree.

"Abby!" she exclaimed, nearly sitting up.

"What?"

"I'd forgotten about Abby, what with Claire and all. I meant to drop by to see her tonight."

"Won't Henry look in on her?" "Yes, undoubtedly he will." But she knew Henry couldn't help with the problem that troubled Abby, and it wasn't likely that any solution had presented itself either.

Hallie huddled next to Brodie, realizing that now she had a greater stake than ever in helping Abby solve that problem. If Brodie learned of it, he would surely go after Rafe and she could not be positive that Brodie would win. But if nobody did anything and Rafe was successful with his plan, she would lose the most important person in her life. This was the reasoning that brought her to know that she loved him.

Raising her arms to his neck, she pulled him to her. "Love me again."

Then he rolled over until he lay flush upon her, shutting out everything else.

Chapter Fifteen

"Toss the end of that rope up there. Toss it high. We don't want his feet touching the ground."

"Hold that lantern up so I can see what I'm doin'."

"Hold that damn horse, I said!"

Five of McCullough's men circled the perimeter of the tree. One carried a lantern and the rest had shotguns, but the lantern was the only thing they needed now.

Rafe leaned forward against the saddle horn, grinning at the events he'd brought to pass. "No, sir, we don't want his feet touching anything but thin air." He had enjoyed seeing the fear on Davis's face when they'd put the noose around his neck, and he was going to enjoy watching him swing even more.

"You won't get away with this," Davis said, his voice pitched high with fear.

"Now that's a stupid thing to say. Course we will. Who's gonna stop us? Your old friend Ben?" Rafe chuckled. "The law?"

The others laughed along with him.

Rafe rode closer to the man seated on the horse whose hands were tied behind him. "See what happens when you forget who the boss is? Now aren't you sorry?" he whispered.

"Sorry, hell," called one of the men. "He's gonna be dead so soon it won't matter how sorry he is."

"But I want him to be sorry," Rafe replied, still grinning. "I want him to wish he hadn't cottoned up to the wrong side."

"I didn't! I swear!"

Rafe sat up straight and shouted angrily, "Don't lie!" If he wasn't looking forward so much to seeing Davis swing, he'd shoot him where he sat. "You told McCullough that shooting that woman was a mistake. That was the first clue whose side you were taking. And when we heard that you promised Parker to look into those stolen cattle, that was your last mistake!"

"I never said anything like that to Parker! I swear! Whoever told you that is a liar!"

Rafe shook his head. "I don't think so." The truth was, Rafe was guessing about all that. When the word had come back to McCullough that Zack and Parker had seen Davis, Rafe figured it all out and convinced McCullough what ought to be done before things got out of hand where the sheriff was concerned. And as usual, the boss took his suggestion. Now they were going to have Davis swinging, and the town would be wide open so they could do as they pleased without having to be checking with any damn sheriff.

"Tighten it up, boys!" Rafe said as he reined his horse back toward the outer edges of lantern light. He wanted to see the whole show. ''Got any last words?"

"Go to Hell."

Rafe nodded. Then one of the men hit Davis's horse in the rump.

The limb overhead creaked under the weight of the struggling man as he twisted and turned in midair. Rafe was glad they hadn't covered his face. The contortions were always the same. And the color, too. They all watched for a while; then Davis's movements slowed to small jerks and twitches. Around them the silent blackness hid all but the dim shadow of lantern light, and the circle of men all but hid the man who dangled lifelessly.

"Jake, shin up the tree and loosen that rope. Leave it all in one piece. Don't cut it." Rafe motioned upward when Jake just sat and stared at him stupidly.

"What the hell for?" Jake asked. "I thought we were just gonna leave him here for the buzzards!"

"Now what good would that do? We want the whole town to know there's no sheriff. Right? So there's no point in making the town come all the way out here to find him, is there? We'll take him to town."

Jake stared at him, a look of rebellion forming in his eyes.

"Just do it." Rafe laid his hand alongside his gun, but didn't take it from his holster. Jake got the point and shinnied up the tree, while one of the men put Davis's horse under his body. Then they all headed for Lampasas.

After the long ride, the men quietly rode into the sleeping town and headed for the square. Rafe motioned Jake up one of the live oaks, and with minimal silent protest, he did what he was expected to do. The other men hoisted the limp body in a seated position while someone else tossed the rope up to Jake, who tied it. When they were sure it was good and secure, they hanged Davis again. Leaving Davis's horse tied in front of the sheriff's office, McCullough's men rode out of Lampasas. Rafe was the only one who looked back, and grinned.

Brodie and Hallie rode into town early the next morning, having spent a mostly sleepless night. She had slipped out of the barn long before dawn and freshened up before going to the house to check on Claire, who was doing as well as could be expected. After taking care of her patient, Hallie fixed a simple breakfast for everyone, then promised to stop at Hiram James's place and ask about an extra man for Nathan. When she'd finally finished everything she wanted done, Brodie brought the horses around and helped her mount up. The sun wasn't up for very long when they left Hiram James, and it seemed only a short time later that they were riding up to her front door.

Hallie dismounted and handed Brodie the reins.

"Thank you for taking the horse back for me." She brushed at her stained shirtfront. "I need a change of clothes before going to the office."

He stared down at her without saying anything for a moment. "Do you think your neighbors are listening to everything we say?"

She smiled. "I suspect so. They aren't used to seeing men ride up to my front door."

"Then I'll keep what I'm thinking to myself."

"I hope you won't keep it to yourself too long."

"Not likely." He returned her smile, touched the brim of his hat, and turned his horse toward the street with hers in tow.

Hallie watched him until he turned the corner and was out of sight. Then she walked to her back door, noticing for the first time that it needed painting. Stepping further back, she studied the house. Why, the entire house needed painting! How had she let it get in such terrible shape without even noticing? Well, she'd see to it right away, she promised herself, and hurried inside.

The morning's light beamed across the floor adding a lovely glow to the worn carpet. She stood in the pool of sunlight and stared down at her worn boots and rolled-up pants. Pants. Maybe she needed a little sprucing up, too. Heavens, she didn't have to wear old pants all the time, did she? Had she been trying to prove something to herself, just as Brodie had suggested earlier? She hadn't wanted to admit he could be right, especially when he seemed to be making fun of her. But now, with the warmth of his arms seeming still to be around her, she could look at herself more objectively and see the truth.

In her bedroom, she pulled off her boots and stepped before the mirror, then unbuttoned the dirty shirt and cast it onto a chair. Even her camisole was lacking the feminine touches most women cared so much about. Until now, she hadn't allowed herself to be aware of her femininity; she'd wanted nothing but to be the best doctor she could be, but last night had changed part of that desire. She dropped the pants to the floor, removed the camisole, and stood completely exposed before the mirror. Only the bandage on her arm stood out in stark contrast to the firm, yet soft skin of her body. She had always seen herself as the firm, determined doctor, not the soft, feminine woman doctor. But now she did, and smiled at the thought. Brodie had awakened that in her. Perhaps it was understandable that, being a doctor, she would only know about lovemaking from the anatomical side, not the near-spiritual, heart-changing side. Well, it was time to change some other things, too.

Gathering up the dirty clothes made over from her father's, she made the decision to visit the dressmaker's shop for a more becoming attire, something befitting her work as well as comfortable, yet feminine. She looked in her wardrobe, but knew she would find nothing but the same old pants and shirts. She sighed and thought, well, she would continue on as before until she had some new things sown for her. On her way to the office she would stop by Hannah's Dressmaking and get started right away.

She dressed quickly, then pinned back her hair, promising to experiment with that, too, when she had more time, and hurried out of the house. The morning smelled fresher and looked more beautiful than she'd ever remembered. And here she'd thought evenings were her favorite, she mused happily. She walked briskly along the boardwalk, wishing she had her shoes, which were still in her office, her one and only feminine vice.

She dodged several crowds of people, milling around unusually early. As she walked between some of them, she heard their excited words, and the word that made her stop in her tracks was "lynched."

She stopped in front of Henry's, hoping to see Brodie, but he wasn't there. Instead, she found Gladys and Mona with several other ladies of the town.

"Oh, Doc Hallie!" Gladys exclaimed. "Isn't it awful?"

"What? I haven't heard."

"It's Sheriff Davis," Gladys replied.

"He's been lynched," Mona finished for her, gaining a look of disapproval from her sister.

Hallie felt herself go cold. "Lynched? But why?" Fear crept through her as she wondered if Abby was all right.

"We all have our theories," Gladys said.

"Is Abby inside?" Hallie asked.

"Hardly," Gladys said. "And I don't blame her. Would you show up if your brothers, both of them, were involved in doings such as this?"

"I wouldn't," Mona added quietly.

"Neither would I," Gladys agreed. "I've been expecting something like this. Everyone, at least everyone of the ladies of this town, knew we had ought to do something about getting some real law in here and straighten the sheriff out."

"Well," said Mona. "Someone certainly did straighten the sheriff out, poor man."

"Poor man, my foot," Gladys chastised. "It isn't him that should concern us. We need to be putting a stop to this feuding before we all end up dead. Heavens, now they can come riding into town shooting and killing any time they like!"

"Excuse me, ladies. I have to see Henry."

Hallie made her escape quickly, dashing inside the store and glancing around. When she didn't see him, she called, "Henry!" as she hurried into the backroom. He wasn't there "Henry!" she called again, walking through the store, but it was obvious he had left the store unattended and gone to join the ranks of bystanders.

Making apologies, she pushed her way through the crowds as she searched first for Brodie, then for Henry. As she went she heard snatches of conversations that were all similar to Gladys's and Mona's. Their concern was, what might happen next? And Hallie's feelings of dread increased as she realized the one person she cared about most could soon be the topic of everyone's conversations. The townspeople were right. Something had to be done.

Finally, she recognized Henry's familiar face and made her way toward the base of one of the live oaks in the square where he stood.

"Henry, I've been looking all over for you."

"Heloise, where have you been?" "Delivering a baby. I'll tell you about it later. I just heard about the sheriff."

Henry looked up at the limb extending out over the street. "It happened right here."

"In the square?" She couldn't believe it.

"Their audacity is absolutely frightening, Heloise. How did everyone sleep so soundly while such a thing was going on? And not even so much as a yelp out of Davis." He shook his head.

"Where is Abby? She wasn't in the store."

"She hasn't been in to the store for two days now. I'm worried about her. I mean really worried. I know you said she'd be all right, but . . ." His gaze flickered away as he confessed, "It's all my fault, Heloise."

"What? Don't be ridiculous. It has nothing to do with you." Then remembering her promise, she added, "I'm sure of it."

He nodded solemnly. "Yes, it does. I'm afraid that I" He glanced around at the press of people and lowered his voice. "I want to talk to you about this, but I can't here." His face turned pink, and Hallie thought she might know what was bothering him.

"Henry," she said in a whisper. "You are very wrong. No matter what it is that you can't tell me now, let me reassure you that you are most definitely not at fault."

He stared at her. "Did she tell you?"

"She never mentioned your name in our conversation, but I would have to be blind not to know." She took his hand and squeezed it, giving him a smile.

"Heloise," he whispered, taking her aside where fewer people congregated. "I'm far too old for such a girl as Abby. And yet . . ." "And yet, age is nothing when you care for someone. Isn't that right?"

"Yes. But I'm still worried about her. She's never missed a day and she's never been late. I don't know what to think. So you can imagine what I did think." He paused, looking completely baffled. "I'm not making much sense, am I?"

"You're making perfect sense. I'll stop and see her again."

"She made it quite clear that I should not come by, didn't she?"

"I'll let you know if I find out anything new. I promise." One more promise, she thought.

"Thank you."

She turned to look around again, searching the crowds. "Have you seen Brodie anywhere?"

"Actually, nobody has seen him since yesterday, and I think that's quite odd. He's usually right in the midst of any trouble."

Hallie didn't comment on Brodie having been with her all night. She couldn't, not to Henry.

"There's going to be a town meeting, but I don't know when," he said. "It will take some time to organize it so I don't imagine it will be until tomorrow evening. Will you be there?"

"Yes. I agree that something has to be done and I want to add my support."

He nodded.

"Well, I'd better get over to my office," she said.

"Yes, well, me, too. I shouldn't have left the store unattended, but it didn't seem too likely that anybody would be interested in buying much while all this is going on. You'll let me knowabout Abby, I mean?" He waited for her nod, then headed for his store.

For the rest of the day, Hallie tried to keep busy cleaning and organizing since very few patients ventured out to see her, but worry was still a constant companion. She looked out the window ten times if she looked once, and didn't see Brodie sitting in his usual chair outside Henry's all day. Where could he be? she wondered. Had Abby come up with a solution that would keep Brodie safe? Had he discovered the plan? What had happened to him?

Later in the afternoon, when she could stand it no longer, she hung her sign on the door and locked it, then headed for Abby's. She had to know.

She passed Hannah's shop, not in the least concerned about her looks or her new resolutions about dressing in more feminine clothes. She could think about only one thing: Did Abby do or say anything that might put Brodie in danger?

After knocking, she waited several moments, then tried again. When there was no answer, even after several minutes and more knocks, Hallie became concerned. Could Abby be in trouble? She was almost ready to enter the house uninvited when the door opened little more than a crack, revealing Abby at last.

"Oh, I was beginning to think something had happened to you," Hallie said, holding her hand over her thumping heart.

"I'm all right."

"I'm not the only one worried about you. Henry is nearly frantic. Would it be better if I came inside where we could talk?"

"No."

Hallie was momentarily taken aback by the change in Abby's demeanor.

"Are you alone?" she whispered, fearing that Rafe might be holding her captive for God only knew what reason.

"Yes. I'm all alone. If you're thinking that Rafe is here, he isn't. I imagine that most of the town is thinking the same thing after what happened last night," she said.

"How did you find out about the sheriff?"

"I saw him. Early this morning when I needed to get out. I wanted to take a walk and think without anybody seeing me. And that's when I saw him hanging from the oak tree."

"Oh, Abby." Hallie stepped forward to comfort her. "You shouldn't be alone now. Let me come in or let me get Henry. He really wants to talk with you."

"No. I'll be all right. I just have to be by myself. I have to think."

"You haven't decided what to do about Rafe and his plans?" Hallie held her breath.

"No."

"We have to tell somebody, especially now. It's all gotten out of hand and there's too much danger for you, as well as the entire town. We have to get help. Let me talk to Brodie."

"No! It's too dangerous for Zack. You promised! You can't go back on your word."

"No, I won't." She watched the strained look on Abby's face, and knew it wasn't good to leave her alone, but other than pushing her way inside, there was nothing Hallie could do. "I'll go, but I don't like leaving you like this. Please, if you change your mind, come and see me any time of the day or night. I mean that."

Abby nodded just before she closed the door.

Hallie stood staring at the curtained window just inches from her face, realizing that Abby couldn't take much more. She'd been through enough as it was. Then being the first to see the sheriff's body . . . The situation had reached a point where Hallie knew she would have to break her promise, as much as she hated the idea. But Abby's well-being and Brodie's safety were more important than a promise unwisely given. First she would have to give it her full attention so that she didn't make any mistakes. Then she would have to decide when to do it. She turned away, left Abby's house, and headed for home.

When she arrived at her own back door, she studied the peeling paint with less interest, and didn't bother to look at the rest of the house before going inside. The hour was earlier than usual for her, and she missed the homey, cozy feeling she always got during the latter part of the day. The sun was at the wrong angle and the shadows were too small. And the heat was nearly unbearable. She opened both front and back doors as well as a few windows to let out some of the pent-up heat. Mrs. Henderson hadn't yet stopped by to deliver supper, so at least the stove wouldn't contribute to the heat. She hoped it would be a cold supper, assuming she was even able to choke anything down at all.

Suddenly, she felt overwhelmingly tired. The effects of last night combined with the events of today had worn her down so that all she wanted was to climb into bed and sleep. She wished she could sleep until, miraculously, a solution would present itself and then she would wake up to a happy ending, but she wasn't childish enough to believe in those kinds of miracles. Still, the idea of resting was too much to resist. Maybe if she just lay down for a while, she'd be able to think more clearly.

Without undressing, she removed the heavy boots and stretched herself out on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Was it only last night that she'd been so happy and laughing the way she never had before? She tried to recall each of those wonderful moments, to relive the wonder she'd experienced in Brodie's arms, and for a moment she did. Then she slipped away into a dream-filled sleep that was less than restful and made her toss and turn.

When she awoke with a start, the house was dark. She sat up straight on the bed and listened. Had something startled her awake? With her pulse beating rapidly in her ears, she tiptoed out of her bedroom and through the parlor. She listened. Nothing. She waited beside the door to the kitchen, but heard nothing there either. Making her way to the back door, feeling around the table, she touched a dish that hadn't been there earlier. She sighed with relief. Mrs. Henderson must have brought supper over later than usual, and a cold one at that. Hallie smiled and sank week-kneed onto a kitchen chair.

Wondering what was in the dish, she reached for the lamp to light it when she heard a distinct sound at her back door. She froze. Somebody was out there, right beside the door, next to the open window.

''Hallie?" whispered Brodie through the opening. "Are you in there?"

Jumping up from her chair, she rushed to let him in. When she saw him, she nearly leaped into his arms.

"Do you greet all your midnight callers this way?" he whispered in her ear.

She could hardly talk, so she clung to him.

"Could we go inside before we're spied on? I'd hate to ruin your reputation, Doctor."

"Hold me tight."

"I thought I did." But he held her closer. "Was that a polite way of saying, no, you can't come in?"

She shook her head, nuzzling against his neck. Then he picked her up in his arms and carried her inside.

"Where have you been all day?" she said against the collar of his shirt.

"I should ask you the same thing," he said, hooking his leg around a chair and pulling it out. Then he sat down while he continued to hold her. "I took your black bags to your office this afternoon, but you weren't there. I was afraid you'd gone out of town on a call without me." He adjusted her to a comfortable position on his lap, and stroked her thigh. "You know, I've sort of gotten accustomed to these pants."

"Wouldn't you know. And just when I decided to give them up."

"You'd do that for me?" She could tell he was grinning.

She leaned away to look at him through the darkness. "You have no idea." Then she cupped his face in both of her hands and kissed him.

When she pulled away, he said, "You're sure you don't greet all your midnight callers this way?"

"I've never had any midnight callers, except for emergencies."

"Good. I think I'd be jealous."

She smiled and traced the outline of his mouth with a fingertip. "You would?"

He grabbed her hand. "I'd be careful about doing that, or we just might ruin your reputation after all."

"I'm not afraid. Besides, how would they know?"

"Because you make loud noises."

"I do not!"

He was grinning again. "All I can say is, thank goodness we were in a barn last night."

"You're making that up just to embarrass me."

"I'm sorry if it embarrasses you." He shrugged lightly. "It doesn't embarrass me. I kind of liked it."

"Now you're making fun of me."

"Not at all." He placed his hand at the back of her head and drew her to him, kissing her deeply and thoroughly.

When he finished, she sighed and pressed against his chest. "Did you come here to torment me?"

"Actually, no. I came for other selfish reasons. I wanted to make sure you were safe." "I'm glad you did, because now I know you're safe, too."

They sat quietly, each thinking about the events of the morning, neither wanting to bring it up and break the spell of enjoying the moment together.

At last Brodie said, "You know about Davis?"

"Yes."

"Do you know about the meeting tomorrow night?"

"Henry was telling me about it, but it wasn't for certain."

"It is now."

She rested her forehead against his, their noses touching. "I'm hungry," she said.

"Are you inviting me to stay for breakfast in the morning or a snack right now?"

"Supper. I haven't eaten yet. Have you?"

"A while ago. But I'm willing to sample your cooking."

"I hate to disappoint you, but I have a woman who cooks for me."

"Hmm. Then I'll wait and see what it is first."

Without turning on a light, she pulled the dish toward them and lifted it to her nose. "It's a berry pie of some sort. Supper must be on the stove." She started to get up, but he pulled her back down.

"Let's just eat the pie."

She dipped her fingers through the crust into the gooey mass and fed it to him. "What is it?"

"Mmm. I don't know, but I like it."

She tasted the remnants on her fingers. "Huckleberry. Mrs. Henderson is the best cook." He took her hand and licked her fingers one at a time, until her insides turned to mush. "I think maybe I should get us some plates and forks after all."

Surprisingly, he let her go. She lit the lamp first, using the matches she always kept on the table, then brought the plates and forks. After cutting each of them a piece, she pushed his plate to him and took a seat across the table. They sat quietly, eating and watching each other.

Then Brodie broke the spell.

"There's talk about bringing in the Rangers," he said, balancing the thick fruity pie on his fork. "You know what that could mean, don't you?"

"I haven't had much experience where the Texas Rangers are concerned, thank goodness, but I suppose it means more bloodshed."

He set down the fork. "It means war."

"You don't think Old Ben and his men will want a war, do you?"

"At this point, I think it's what McCullough wants that matters. Old Ben won't back down."

"Which side do you think hung the sheriff?" she asked.

He hesitated, then took a bite of pie, chewing it slowly. At last he said, "Could have been either side. Parker threatened him, but McCullough had just as much reason."

"Well, it doesn't seem at all like something Old Ben would do," she replied, watching him, but he didn't say anything else and she wondered if he might suspect who had done it.

Could Rafe have been part of it? She shivered even though the night was warm. His name had been cropping up a lot lately, which brought her back to her first concern: Why was he after Brodie? Did they know each other or was this a random thing on Rafe's part? For the space of a heartbeat, she almost told Brodie about Abby's predicament, but if she did and Brodie reacted as she feared he might, then he could end up like the sheriff. No, she'd hold it inside a while longer, just until she thought of something.

Chapter Sixteen

Brodie lingered over breakfast at the hotel, waiting for the time when Hallie should be in her office. He'd spent a terrible night thinking about things that a man in his position should never consider. After rolling around on his bed for hours, he'd punched his pillow more times than he cared to count, and ended up staring vacantly at the ceiling. He'd cussed himself out for a fool, then dreamed, wide awake, about that night in the barn with her. He'd even wished she hadn't let him leave her house when he'd insisted on not ruining her reputation. Instead, he was ruining his own reputation, and questioning why it was it was so important to keep it.

So now he sat staring vacantly into his coffee as though he could find some answers there that he hadn't found on the ceiling. He muttered an oath, and a few ladies sitting nearby turned to stare at him. Scraping back his chair, he dropped some money onto the table and strode from the room. Outside, the heat of the day had already reached an unbearable high, and he loosened his shirt collar a little. He glanced in the direction of her office, but decided he wasn't ready yet, so he headed for the livery to saddle up Sam. He'd seen almost nothing of Lampasas except the square and the street where Hallie lived, and now that he thought about it, he considered it a pretty nice little town, or at least it would be if it weren't for the feud. And Rafe Woods.

He figured that the energy of the townspeople was beginning to rub off onto him since he was feeling, too, that the time was about right. The match that was needed to set off that last stick of dynamite had appeared when Davis's body had been found hanging in one of the oaks on the square. That pressure, coupled with his own personal anxiety, had him just about ready to explode, and he needed to be careful. Any decisions made now could likely be the wrong ones, and he'd probably have to pay for them sooner or later. He needed to cool off, put a little space between himself and the problems of the town, and even his unexplained feelings about Hallie Summers, M.D.

He also needed to remember why he'd come to Lampasas in the first place, and that had to be settled before any of his other concerns, including Hallie. Especially Hallie, he amended.

Now he was certain what was really pressing in on him. He had to put a plan into effect; he had to decide how he would actually deal with Rafe Woods before the town did it for him, and it wouldn't be satisfactory at all if he didn't even the score personally.

He and Sam had been wandering aimlessly through the residential streets until he realized he'd stopped in front of Abby's house. She had answers he needed, but she was hiding and keeping them to herself. Well, he couldn't wait forever and he couldn't force it out of her, so he'd have to get the answers on his own. But that was all right. He was used to doing just that, and he hadn't been wrong very many times. His hunches usually played out, and they would this time, too. He moved Sam along, not yet ready to head back to where all the fuss and fury were taking place on the square. There was still plenty that he had to figure out, and he did that best in the saddle.

Hallie arrived at her office earlier than usual, only to find herself staring out the window and daydreaming. Occasionally, she was brought back to the present by what she saw. Once, Henry opened the front door of his store, stepped out onto the boardwalk, and looked momentarily in the direction from which Abby usually came to work; then he reluctantly went back inside. She also noticed that Brodie hadn't occupied his chair yet, and smiled, wondering if he might still be in bed, having spent a restless night just as she had.

She had tossed and turned, and daydreamed about the most wonderful, impossible sorts of things that she imagined all women dreamed about. First of all was not having to turn him away in the middle of the night when she desperately wanted him to stay. And she knew he felt the same way, too, even though he hadn't said so. Actually, she wished he would say it. Then she'd know for certain what he was thinking. But when he kissed her so tenderly and so thoroughly that the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, she had no doubt. It was after he was gone that she wondered, and wished he'd made it plain how he truly felt about her. She could voice her own feelings, and she had in the privacy of her bedroom, but those words were harder to say directly to him when he hadn't said them first. It was easier to wait than it was to chance rejection. Eventually, he'd come around. She hoped. Later that morning, she had a few patients stop by for minor problems, and they told her of their concerns about what they hoped would be accomplished at the meeting that night. Each of them asked if she were going, and she answered yes. This was her town and she intended to be there.

As the day wore on, Hallie frequently studied the square, watching it come alive with the citizens of Lampasas who formed groups under the trees, on the boardwalks, and in the stores. Opinions were undoubtedly given freely and with plenty of heated discussion. Everyone would be fired up and ready to speak their piece that evening.

But each time she looked at the chair in front of Henry's, Brodie wasn't there, and that worried her. He was up to something and he wasn't telling her. Of course, she was up to something, too, and hadn't told him, but that was different. Her problem concerned his safety, but he certainly couldn't be worried about her safety. So what was he up to? And would he be at the meeting? He hadn't said he'd be there, but she hoped he would.

That evening Brodie leaned against an oak tree while he watched the citizens of Lampasas gather in the square for the town meeting. It had been decided that if the weather was fit, they would hold it outside so there wouldn't be any restrictions on the size of the crowd. At one end of the square, a podium of sorts had been hastily constructed so that the meeting could be conducted in an orderly fashion and everyone could hear what the mayor had to say.

Plenty of daylight was still left, but torches were brought in and placed nearby in case the meeting had to continue after dark. The council members wanted to make sure everything got said that needed saying; then there couldn't be any complaints about a rushed meeting with an unhappy outcome. "Citizens of our fair city," the mayor began. "I'm glad to see so many of you here tonight."

"This ain't no election, Mayor," someone shouted. "Let's get to it!"

"I agree!" called another voice. "We have to do something besides talk."

The mayor pounded his gavel on the podium until he had order, then looked out over the sizeable crowd. With a booming voice, he said, "If we are to come to a conclusion tonight, let us be careful not to bring disorder to this meeting or we shall be defeated before we begin." He paused, frowning at everyone. "And we will come to a conclusion. So hold your opinions until we are ready to ask for them."

The crowd waited obediently, but Brodie felt the energy as though a thunderstorm had brewed and was ready to unleash its force. Without the mayor to hold a lid on things, it was only a matter of minutes before the obedient crowd turned into an unruly mob.

"We are not a court of law," said the mayor. "We cannot decide the guilt of any man or his proper punishment. But we can decide what steps we will take next in order to protect ourselves. It has been suggested that we call for help from the Texas Rangers"

A loud whoop of approval rose from different segments across the square. Hands went up and fists were shaken, ready to let the battle begin. The mayor lifted his hands also in an attempt to quiet the riotous bunch.

"Wait!" he said, over the noise. "Wait!" And the crowd quieted once more.

"There is more to calling in the Rangers than just writing an appeal and expecting them to swoop down on the enemy. There's going to be a helluvaexcuse me, ladiesa bad situation waiting for them. And we will all be caught in the middle."

"Then what are we supposed to do?" someone shouted. "Wait till we're caught in the middle anyway?"

"Yeah! This is as close as it gets. We could be next! Any one of us!"

"What about your neck, Mayor? Bet you wouldn't like it stretched!"

The mayor raised his hands again for quiet. "You're right. I wouldn't. But there may be an alternative," he said.

"Don't tell us about no new sheriff!"

"We don't want one! He'll just get bought like Davis!"

"Then hung by the other side!"

The mayor quieted them yet again. "We don't know who did it."

"Sure we do! A lot of us heard Old Ben's man braggin' in the saloon about threatenin' Davis," one man said from his perch on a limb.

"What about McCullough?" someone countered. "He ain't exactly lily white."

"Why don't we just round up both sides, then we'll be sure to have our man."

The mayor nodded as though he agreed. "Are you willing to run for sheriff, Tom? We could use a good man."

"II wasn't talking about me," said Tom.

"Is there anyone here who would hold the position even temporarily? We need someone who believes in justice, and I think that makes everyone here a prospect for the job."

All eyes turned to search out their neighbors as an uncomfortable murmur settled over the crowd.

"We'll take a nomination, then." The mayor stared hopefully at specific men, but there was no response.

"We want the Rangers!" said the man in the tree. "We want justice!'' And everyone else picked up his chant as the sound of it echoed off the buildings.

The mayor waited, not trying to stop them. He let them spend some of their energy until they gradually quieted down.

"It seems to me it must be unanimous," he said sadly. And the crowd cheered and whistled; then the chant was taken up again. This time it took longer for them to quiet down, but when they did, he spoke. "I admit I had hoped to bring about peace to this town of ours through the proper channels of our own law, to take control of our own town once more, and know that we were the ones who had accomplished it." He paused with deliberate intent. "We will dispatch a letter immediately." Then he stepped down from the podium.

A round of cheers went up, but the solemnity of the decision as well as the occasion that brought it about took away most of the jubilation. Slowly, the crowd dispersed as evening fell around them.

When Brodie turned, he found Hallie standing beside him. How long she'd been there, he didn't know.

"I suppose we'd better get prepared for this," she said.

He nodded. None of them realized what they were in for, but he didn't say so.

"I don't like it any more than the mayor," she said. "But I don't see that there's any real choice. If we had a sheriff, a real man of the law, that would be different."

Without asking, he walked her home and they talked about the meeting, the mayor, and the town in general. She told him things that she seemed surprised he'd want to know, giving him that sideways tilt of her head now and then just to see if he was losing interest. When he asked her about herself, she smiled.

"Why the sudden curiosity?" she asked. "I didn't know you cared about how a woman becomes a doctor." "I don't. Only how you became a doctor."

"Well, I followed my father around from the time I was very small. Actually, I can't remember when I didn't follow him. Healing and medicine were always a part of my life."

"What about your mother?"

"She died during childbirth."

"Maybe she would have lived if someone would have done for her what you did for Claire."

"Perhaps, but it isn't likely. Medicine has come a long way since then. There are so many wonderful new discoveries about healing going on right now" She stopped abruptly, and looked up at him. "I'm afraid this is a subject that I could go on and on about until I bored you to death."

"It isn't the bored part that bothers me. It's thinking about the actual doctoring that sort of gets to my stomach." He patted that area tenderly.

"You did very well at Claire's."

"It's a wonder. Just thinking about it now . . . well, I guess I don't want to. . . ."

They walked in silence for a while, a light fragrance on the breeze that made him wonder if it came from her hair.

"Have you always lived in Lampasas?" he asked.

"Always. Except when I attended the University of Iowa."

"Hmmm," he said thoughtfully. "University." He could hardly recall the last time he'd been in school, but he knew it was at a young age.

"What about you?" she asked. "Have you always lived in Texas?"

"Most of my life."

"Parents?"

"Not anymore."

"Brothers? Sisters?"

"No." She stopped and faced him. "You've been alone for too long. Just as I have." Reaching up, she touched his cheek. "Why is it when I most want to see those green eyes of yours we're in the dark?"

"I don't know." He took her hand from his face and held it, feeling the softness of it against his rough palm. Tugging, he urged her to walk with him again.

"I found out something very disturbing today," she said after a while. "Abby saw Sheriff Davis hanging in the square before anyone else. She'd been walking during the night, or maybe it was early morning. I can't remember."

He pulled her to a complete stop so suddenly that she swung around and landed against his chest, staring up at him.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice sounding frightened.

"Is that why she's hiding in her house?" Or was it something else more than that, something to do with Rafe?

"Partially. And who can blame her?"

"What's the other part?" He tried not to sound gruff, but he felt as if he was on the edge of learning something important, if she'd only tell him.

"Well, it's personal, but I suppose it would be all right to tell you. Henry and Abby have discovered they care about each other, and I think they don't know how to discuss it or even deal with it."

He waited for more, but when she didn't go on, he said, "That's all?"

She hesitated, then replied, "I suppose it seems like a lot to them."

He heard the hurt in her voice, and wished he could say what he'd been thinking for the last few days, but like Abby and Henry, he didn't know how to discuss the feelings he had for her. It was all new to him, and talking about it seriously just made him feel weak, like the smell of carbolic and ether. And even though he knew how he felt, he didn't know how to fit it all into his life, or how to fit her into his life. His thoughts were getting out of control and he needed to set them right, so he did the only thing he could. He kissed her. A deep, searching kiss that said he had no answers, only questions.

When he finally let her go, she looked up at him and said, "So much for my reputation."

He loved the sound of her voice at moments like this, so soft, yet arousing. He loved the feel of her hair, especially when it came undone and lay silky across his chest. He even thought he loved her. But they were so different that he couldn't figure out how they would ever be able live a life together. And that was why he had to set her apart from him, keep some distance so he could do what he came for. Then maybe he'd be able to answer those questions.

"I'm sorry about that," he said, holding her away.

"About kissing me?"

"No, about your reputation. I think I'd better let you go the rest of the way by yourself. That way tongues won't wag for long."

"I don't mind. . . ." But she didn't say any more when he stepped back, leaving her standing alone.

"I'd better be going," he said, wishing he hadn't hurt her, wishing he knew how not to hurt her. He touched the brim of his hat and quickly turned away. Without looking back, he headed for the hotel and another night of restlessness.

Chapter Seventeen

Abby arrived at work feeling as though every nerve in her body would jump right through her skin. The effort it had taken to walk out of her house was more than she'd anticipated, but she'd had no choice after the visit she'd received from Henry the night before. She hadn't let him in, but had spoken to him with the door barely opened. He had very politely told her that he was sorry for allowing his feelings to go beyond the bounds of propriety. She loved it when he talked so proper, and her heart had nearly burst to see him standing there telling her how he felt. Then he had gone on to say that he would know she'd forgiven him only if she came to work the next morning.

So here she was, wearing her apron and trying to steady herself for a day's work when her mind was racing along at the speed of a horse's gallop. She had pretty much decided what to do about her dilemma over Rafe and Zack, but when was the important question now.

Henry had politely said good morning when she arrived, then kept himself out of her way by staying in the back room most of the time. Poor Henry, she thought, he didn't understand, but she couldn't possibly tell him and get him involved. So rather than torment him, she'd left him alone.

As the day went along, he gradually ventured out of the back room more and more, and before long, he was talking to her. Nobody could make her feel as wonderful as Henry did, no matter if he asked her to check the supply of certain canned goods or if he simply smiled at her.

"Did you bring your lunch today?" he asked when noon had come and gone.

"No, I forgot it, but I'm not hungry anyway." And she wasn't. Lately, she hadn't been able to eat much of anything, which was why she'd probably forgotten her lunch, but she didn't say any of that to him.

"Well, I'm going over to the hotel and bring us back a hearty meal. I believe you've grown thinner." Then he immediately colored. "I didn't mean that I stare at your . . . that is, I only thought. . . ."

"I think dinner from the hotel sounds wonderful. Thank you for asking."

He muttered an embarrassed "You're welcome" before hurrying out the door.

When he returned carrying a basket filled with fried chicken, sweet potatoes, pickles, hot bread, and cherry cobbler, she could only stare at all of it.

"Henry, I could never eat half this much food if I spent a week at it!"

"That's all right. I just wanted you to have a nice selection They were out of sliced beef or I would have added that, too."

Smiling, she touched his cheek. "You're a dear to be so considerate."

He smiled in return and fumbled with the basket, shifting it from hand to hand. "I'll put it in the back and whenever you like, just help yourself."

"Could I join you now? I mean, it doesn't seem as though anybody is coming in, so maybe now would be a good time."

"Of course. That's a good idea. Right now. We can eat together. Certainly."

Poor Henry, she thought again. Somehow before the day was out she would have to make him understand and reassure him that he'd done nothing wrong, without telling him what the real problem was.

He turned up the lamp in the back room, then deposited the contents on the table one dish at a time.

"It smells wonderful." She was more hungry than she realized as she filled her plate with a little of everything. "This is really a treat for me. I've never eaten hotel food." She buttered a piece of bread and bit into it.

Henry helped himself to the chicken and potatoes. "I eat there too often, I'm afraid, but their cooking is so much better than mine. And it probably shows." He patted his midsection.

"I think you're very trim," she said, nibbling on a piece of chicken.

He blushed and replied, "Thank you."

"This is delicious. I don't blame you for eating there." Just being with him and listening to his voice relaxed her. She wished she could close her eyes and forget the awful problems facing her, and put her energy into making a relationship with Henry. Soon she would do just that, but in the meantime she would simply enjoy this moment. They spent a longer time than necessary over the noon meal, talking about business and medicine, which Henry enjoyed almost as much as Doc Hallie, Abby figured. He skillfully kept the conversation away from gossip and the events surrounding the lynching, for which she was thankful. When they looked into the basket again, they were both surprised to find how little was left.

"My goodness," Abby said. "I can't believe I was that hungry."

"Me neither," he replied, gazing over the edge of basket. Then he quickly tried to reclaim his words. "I didn't mean that you ate too much. I meant, me neither about how much I ate."

She couldn't help laughing, and he couldn't help laughing with her. Each of them sat back and stared at the other with the lamplight glowing between them.

"It's good to hear you laugh," he said. "I've been worried about you."

"It feels good, too, and you needn't worry about me. I'm fine."

"I almost believe you."

She smiled without saying more, and a comfortable silence settled around them. Almost forgotten was the store beyond the wall where they sat, until a polite "ahem" was heard.

Abby jumped to her feet, startled into action. "I'll clean this up," she said, putting the scraps in a dish.

"And I'll go out front. Take your time," he said as he disappeared around the corner of the doorway.

"Good afternoon, ladies," she heard him say; then the rest of their conversation was lost to her. For the first time since Rafe had come to the house, she'd had a little peace of mind, and she had Henry to thank for that. Sweet, sweet Henry. Nobody had ever treated her with such respect and tenderness, outside of Granny Woods and Zack, and even that was a different sort of tenderness. This was the kind shared between a man and woman who cared deeply for each other as God had intended. There was no doubt in her mind how Henry felt about her, and she hoped soon to let him know the same.

Late in the afternoon, after spending a pleasant day together, Henry told her he wanted to discuss some new medicines with Doc Hallie and if he wasn't back in time to just go ahead and lock up. She told him not to hurry.

After he'd gone, she got busy dusting shelves in an effort to keep her mind from straying toward the plan she knew she must carry out. She couldn't think about the danger involved; she had to concentrate on the danger she'd be diverting. Carried away with her plan, she didn't hear Gladys Hartley and Mona Harrison come in until one of them called to her.

"Abby?"

Startled, she nearly fell off the chair she was standing on.

"Is that you, my dear?" Gladys walked over to stare at Abby as though she'd seen a ghost. "I just can't believe it."

"Neither can I," said Mona.

"What can't you believe, Gladys?" Abby stepped down from her chair and stood stiff as a broom handle as she confronted the women.

"Why, I can't believe that you've come back to work so soon. I mean, how awful for you to have to show your face to everyone after what's happened. What must Henry be thinking of?"

"We can't imagine what Henry must be thinking of, can you?" Mona said, receiving a stare of disapproval from her counterpart.

Abby could hardly check her anger. "Why should we put this on Henry? After all, he isn't the one that you're so concerned about. Is he?" She wanted to use her duster to shoo them both out of the store, and shout at them to never come back.

"Well, quite frankly, no, he isn't. But we didn't want to be so rude as to actually say his name."

"It's Rafe," Abby said, loud and clear. "There now, I've said it for you."

"My dear, don't be so upset. We meant no harm. We only wanted to show our sympathy for what you must have to go through being here every day, listening to the awful things they say about your brother. You know, they're all blaming him more than they are McCullough, which, I believe, is missing the whole truth. But then his henchmen are doing a lot of bragging at the saloon, so who's to know the real truth anyway."

"I don't spend my time in saloons," Abby said. "So I wouldn't know what they're saying."

"Oh, my! Neither do we!" Gladys fanned herself with a glove. "But Mr. Hartley has been in there a time or two, just to quench his thirst as men do, and has heard the talk. I thought it only fair to repeat it to you. After all, it is your reputation that seems to be taking the brunt of it." She clicked her tongue and shook her head. ''I know it's unfair. But there you have it."

"There you have it," repeated Mona.

"I'll tell you what's unfair." Abby brandished her duster as she stepped toward the women, forcing them to back away from her. "Wagging tongues that have nothing better to do than to pronounce judgment on situations where they have no business sticking their noses!"

"Well!" said Gladys and Mona together.

"And another thing, I think both of you are rude and unkind!" She could almost hear Granny Woods cheering her on. Gladys held her ground, then stepped forward. "Young lady, I believe you've forgotten your manners to speak to your elders that way."

"Granny Woods always told me to give as good as I get, and sometimes manners don't count for phooey."

"It's plain to see that an ill temper runs in the family," Gladys said haughtily. "I only hope that you don't end up like your brothers and become the final shame to the Woods name. Mark my words, justice will be done, and if that means capturing that older brother of yours and sending him to jail forever, or worse, then so be it."

"So be it," repeated Mona.

Gladys turned angrily toward her sister. "Oh, hush up!" Then she gathered herself up like a banty hen and marched out the door with Mona right behind her.

As a wave of outrage swept over her, Abby clenched her fists and stifled a scream of frustration. Then she slammed the door behind them, making the glass ring with vibration. She had never been treated so meanly! They had no right to insult her! And with the pretense of offering sympathy to boot! Old battle-axes!

Her fit of fury would not leave her, so she put the closed sign in the window, but she was shaking so hard she had to do it three times before it would stay. If she had to speak to anyone she would likely throw them bodily into the street. She would explain to Henry later and hoped he'd understand.

The Woods name indeed! What was there to shame anymore? Rafe had done it all.

Standing in the doorway to the backroom, she pressed her back against the doorjamb. Slowly, her anger disintegrated and tears gathered, hot and thick, behind her eyelids. Her nose started to run and she sniffled, once, twice. Those old crows were right, she thought miserably. Everyone was talking behind her back, and undoubtedly Rafe was at the bottom of the whole affair with the sheriff just as they'd said. Slowly, she sank to the floor, sliding down the wall, as tears streamed unheeded along her cheeks. She pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them, and buried her face in her skirt while she cried uncontrollably. She was so lost in her misery that when Henry touched her shoulder, she jumped and leaned away from him.

He knelt beside her, brushing the wet strands of her hair from her face.

"What is it, Abigail? Tell me," he said in a voice that was kind and strong, and as healing as any medicine.

Instantly, she threw her arms around his neck and rose up on her knees to bring him close, and then sobbed against his stiff white collar. What a relief it was to have his arms around her, cradling her to him. He soothed her with words she could not clearly understand, but it didn't matter as long as he continued to stroke her head, her back, her arms.

"What happened?" he asked, still letting her cling to him and cry on him.

"IItheythey said" But she couldn't go on.

"Shhh. It's all right. Don't talk yet. We'll just wait until this passes." He kissed her forehead and then her cheek. "Poor Abby. Don't worry. I'll take care of you. Shhh."

After a while she lay spent in his arms. Nothing but an occasional hiccup remained, and soon that, too, diminished until it was gone. Still, he held her tight to his chest and she felt the beat of his heart through their clothes. She raised her face to look at him, and he smiled at her.

"Better now?" he asked.

"Yes." She sniffled and he pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket to give her. She accepted the hanky without losing her grip on him. "Thank you."

"Would you like to get up?" he asked.

"No. I want to stay like this forever with your arms around me."

They sat silently for a moment, trying to read each other's thoughts.

"Henry, would you kiss me now?"

"I was afraid you wouldn't want me to."

"Please . . ."

His answer was to touch his lips to hers with such tenderness that fresh tears welled up beneath her lashes. Oh, how she needed this, needed his arms to hold her, his mouth on hers, giving her everything, yet asking nothing in return. But giving was what she wanted to do, and so she invited him, drawing him to her, turning her head until his kiss grew deeper, more impassioned.

Now there were no tears rolling down her cheeks. The misery she'd felt was slowly leaving her and being replaced with a wonderful sense of belonging. She had come home. Being with Henry, like this, was what had been missing from her life, but that was all changed now. Never again would she be incomplete; never again would she be so alone.

He broke away just long enough to follow the line of her neck, leaving heated kisses as he went. The beat of her heart was so strong that she felt it when he pressed his lips against the hollow of her neck. She arched back, cradling his head and wishing he would go further, touch her where no man ever had.

Carefully, and clumsily, they maneuvered to the floor, bumping her head on the leg of a chair, jostling a length of bridle that jingled some glass jars, until at last he lay flush across her, their bodies as close as their clothing would allow. "Abby," he said into her hair. "I shouldn't. . . ."

She kissed his chin. "Yes. I want you to. . . . I want us to. . . ."

But he didn't let her finish. Instead he pressed her lips with a soft kiss while he cupped her breast. She raised her body against his hand, seeking more, needing more. Then his mouth was there, where his hand had been, and her body responded to the heat of his lips through the cotton of her dress. With one hand she unbuttoned the front, baring her camisole and wishing she hadn't worn it. But he pulled her sleeve down over her shoulder, taking the camisole with it, and her tender skin felt the rush of cool air until his lips molded her to his mouth.

She gasped at the unexpected sensation, arching against him and struggling to be free of her clothes.

"Abby, sweet Abby," he mumbled against her skin, tracing a line with his tongue back to her mouth. Hungrily, she deepened the kiss for him, taking him with her to a place they had never been together.

They were unable to break away from each other for even a moment as he helped her to unbutton her dress and slide out of it, leaving only the camisole to deal withbut its thin cloth was no barrier. Then she tugged at his shirt, loosening it from his pants, popping a series of buttons that clattered almost unheard across the wooden floor. She wanted to feel all of him next to her, and on her, and more. . . .

"Wait," he said, raising up long enough to shed his trousers and whatever else might separate his skin from hers, until at last there was not a stitch between them.

He explored, and she felt as if she was being taught all the things a woman should know. She explored, and finally knew more about a man than she'd ever guessed possible. Feelings, infinitely new and wondrous, rolled over her and through her, making her smile, then making her gasp with delight, with pleasure, with passion. She knew there was no turning back, but that idea was the farthest from her mind; she wanted the rest of what had yet to happen; she wanted the fulfillment that was within their grasp.

She marveled at how easily it all happened, so simple, yet so wonderful. It was like climbing inside one another until there was no separation of spirit and soul and body. They were totally united in seeking, aspiring, and striving, then ultimately achieving that sweet, sweet summit of happiness at a height she had never known existed.

Continuing to soar and float, Abby traced her hand down his back, making him shiver, and she shivered with him. She stretched luxuriously, pressing her foot on top of his, and he returned the pressure. She whispered in his ear, and he whispered back. She smiled.

"Henry?"

"Hmm?" he replied, nuzzling the hair at her temple.

"I never told you how much I like the smell of your shaving soap."

"I'll never stop using it."

"I think you're the most romantic man I've ever met."

He raised up to look at her. "You do?" Then he kissed the end of her nose.

"See what I mean? That was very romantic. I can tell because it made the inside of my stomach turn to jellyyou know, soft and squishy."

"So being romantic is like jelly. Apple or berry?" he asked, grinning at her.

"Hmm. Neither. Romance isn't a flavor, it's a feeling. Don't you feel romantic?"

"Now that you mention it, I guess I do." He gave her a tender, prolonged kiss, then said, "Yes, I really do." "I would judge that was a little more than romance that you're feeling."

He smiled devilishly. "True."

"Um, well . . . do you suppose the next time we try this we could choose someplace a little softer?" she asked, wiggling against the hard wooden floor.

He rolled to his side, taking her with him, then massaged her bottom. "Is that better?"

"That's nice, but not exactly what I meant."

"Ah, you would prefer someplace besides the floor? Away from the smell of varnish, saddle soap, and wheel grease? Why, whatever for?" he asked playfully, then shifted himself beneath her.

"Well, that's much better," she said.

He looked with interest at her breasts, which lay on his chest. "I have to say I couldn't agree more."

She leaned down and kissed him. "Is it proper to do that more than once?"

"It's not only proper, but quite expected."

"But what if someone should come into the store?"

"They would probably be very embarrassed and leave, which would be exactly what they should do considering the closed sign is in the window."

"But the door isn't locked."

"Would you like me to parade out there and lock it?"

She giggled. "You wouldn't! It's still daylight. Someone will see you for sure."

"Watch me." He rolled her off of him and rose to his feet, looking as dignified as ever, minus his clothes.

"Henry! Don't!" She sat up clutching her knees to her breast.

He peeked out of the storeroom doorway, then tiptoed across the floor, waiting momentarily behind the counter. In several large strides he reached the front door. She watched as he quickly turned the key in the lock and made a dash for the storeroom doorway again.

Laughing, she shook her head. "I can't believe you did that!"

"Small price to pay," he said as he sat down beside her.

"But we still have a hard floor to deal with."

"I have a remedy for that." And he stretched out on the bare wood, pulling her across him until their toes and noses touched. "I think this is where we left off."

"I think you're right," she said, kissing him without haste. Then she gave herself over to experiencing the joys of womanhood.

"Henry?"

"Hmm?" he said, cuddling her in the crook of his arm as they lay side by side, satisfied once more.

"I'm afraid I've probably sent away two of your customers. Forever."

He tangled his finger in a lock of her hair. "Really, who?" he asked, totally disinterested.

"Gladys and Mona. I told them they were rude and unkind."

"And were they?" He tangled two more locks around two more fingers.

"Yes." She didn't want to ruin the miraculous feelings flowing through her, so she didn't elaborate on the subject.

"Well, then we won't worry about it. They almost never bought anything anyway. Seems they prefer the other store across the square."

She snuggled against him, trying to avoid the nagging worries that had been plaguing her for days. "I'm glad you aren't upset with me." "Of course not. Nothing you could do would upset me. Ever."

She stared at a shelf of canned goods, and hoped he meant what he said, because she still had a problem to solve. And now she had more reason than ever to solve it, as soon as possible. Her stomach tightened. Tonight. It had to be tonight.

Chapter Eighteen

With the curtains drawn tightly together, Abby dressed by the light of the lamp in her bedroom. Laid out on the bed were some of Zack's clothes, the ones he'd outgrown, plus a well-worn hat that had a turned-down brim to hide her face. She hung her dress on a peg behind the door, then pinned her hair high on her head. After that, she put on the shirt and trousers and slipped into a pair of her own boots.

She didn't dare think about Henry and what they'd shared only hours ago; her mind had to be strictly on the business at hand, and that was to warn Zack about Rafe. The solution had been so simple when she'd finally decided on it. Why she hadn't thought of it right away was beyond her. But now that the moment was here, she couldn't deny that she was more than a little scared. In fact, she was terrified. Riding across the open country at night was dangerous enough for a man, but for a woman, it was a hundred times worse. Even Doc Hallie had been shot, and most everyone had considered her an unlikely target. But they hadn't reckoned on Rafe and McCullough's men. Well, she did, and that was the reason her heart pounded so fiercely.

She couldn't go unarmed, she decided, and searched for the gun that Zack had left for her. When she found it, she held the heavy revolver in her hand and knew the weight of it alone would keep her from using it. She was certainly no marksman and, given a situation of near-panic, she would run the risk of shooting herself. So she went to the kitchen for the only weapon she felt comfortable handling, a knife. Carefully, she tucked it into her boot with a little extra padding for safety. Then she took a deep breath, but her heart would not slow from its frantic pace.

After turning out the lamp, she walked through the dark house to the back door. Pulling the brim of her hat a little lower, she stepped outside, keeping to the shadows. First she had to get a horse from the livery. With her money in her pocket, she walked quickly, down the street, saying a prayer of thanksgiving that a cloudy sky hid the partial moon. Without that cover she and her plan would be exposed, but she couldn't allow herself to even consider failure. She had to reach Zack and warn him that Rafe would be searching him out and most likely there would be shooting. Rafe would do that just to hurt her. Then she remembered the sheriff hanging in the square, and her stomach turned over. Rafe was capable of anything.

At the livery she rented a horse, being particular to get a dark one that wouldn't be easily seen, and a gentle one, too, since she didn't often ride anymore.

''Abby, is that you?" asked Bill, who was in charge of the livery that night. "Yes," she replied, wishing it had been someone she did not know.

"You ain't goin' out ridin', are you?" He studied her outfit, head to toe.

"I appreciate your concern, but what I need is a horse." She pulled out her money and gave it to him.

"I don't know as I ought to let you go, what with all the trouble goin' on and all." He held the reins behind his back. "I thought maybe you wanted it for someone else, like your brother."

"I do," she said, thinking quickly. "I need it for Zack."

He looked doubtful. "Why didn't he come get it hisself?"

"He was busy, so I offered."

He nodded thoughtfully, producing the reins. "Well, if it's for Zack . . ."

"It is, believe me." She took the reins and mounted up. "Would you adjust the stirrups, please?"

"But if Zack wants it, then why"

"Just until I get to him, then he can change it to suit him. Please?"

"All right. But I don't like this one bit. Somethin' tells me"

"Thanks, Bill," she said quickly, then turned her horse around and headed out into the night. She threaded her way through town, remembering her mission and trying to keep her courage up.

As the open country lay before her, she urged her horse into a leisurely pace that assured her of reaching Old Ben's ranch in a reasonable amount of time. She needed the animal to be fresh to really run if necessary.

Straining her eyes, she kept watch, looking for any possible ambushers or riders appearing from nowhere. She listened, too, but the only sound she heard was that of her own horse, which to her ears was the equivalent of a hundred thundering hooves. But in spite of the attention she felt she was drawing, she finally approached the ranch undetected. With a sigh of relief, she slowed to a walk. Suddenly, out of a small copse of trees, rode three men. She jerked back on her reins, ready to whirl and run.

"Whoa! Hold on there," said one of the men as he grabbed her horse's bridle, capturing her, but she held her tongue so as not to give away her identity.

"Just where do you think you're going this time of night, son?"

She struggled to get free, her heart racing with fear.

"Seein' as how you got nothing to say, I s'pose we ought to go on up and see Old Ben."

"No," she said, no longer struggling when she heard Old Ben's name. "I came to see Zack Woods. Please, take me to him."

The man moved closer. "Who are you? Sure ain't no boy like I thought."

"I'm his sister, Abby."

The men peered at her, leaning toward her. "Sister, huh? Well, if you say so."

"I am!" In spite of her bravado, her fear didn't leave her, and it wouldn't until she saw Zack.

"Okay, okay. Settle down. Makes no nevermind to us who you say you are. We'll take you to Zack. We got no cause to keep women out, 'specially if they got nerve enough to ride all the way out here."

"Bring any more 'sisters' with you?" one of the others said, and they all guffawed.

"Let loose of my horse," she said, trying to gain control of the sidestepping animal.

"Okay, little lady. There you be. Now, stay with us so's you don't run into any real trouble. Those men of McCullough's are always hanging around. At least we wish they was!" Another round of laughter followed the joke.

She trailed along behind one of the men while the other two followed. She thought about her mission as they rode toward the ranch in the distance. As soon as she warned Zack, she would go to Brodie and explain all of it, and the rest would be up to him. Then she would find a way to avoid Rafe's anger, and that wouldn't be easy, but she had to find a plan for that, too.

Finally they approached the bunkhouse.

"Wait here," the first one said. "I'll get Zack."

In a few moments he appeared in the doorway. "Abby?"

She jumped down and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Zack! I have to talk to you."

He took her by the hand and walked with her to the end of the building.

"What in the devil are you doing out here? Do you realize how dangerous it is to ride alone? What were you thinking about?" He stared at her with a stern, disapproving look.

"I was thinking about you," she said, then immediately jumped into the reason she'd come. "It's Rafe."

"Rafe? What has he done lately, besides seeing to the hanging of the sheriff?"

"Do you think he did it?" she asked, wishing he'd say no.

"If he didn't actually do it, he was there supervising. It's his style. Mean and low-down. And he's McCullough's right-hand man, everyone knows that."

She nodded, looking down at her boots. Everyone did know.

"Hey, I didn't mean to yell at you," he said, touching her shoulder, "but you scared me to death. So tell me, what about Rafe?" "He's trying to get Brodie."

"Doc Hallie's bodyguard? Why?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, but he's going to try to make me help him ambush Brodie. And he said if I didn't go along with it he'd get you. He means it, you know he does. But I can't help him murder anybody!" She was close to tears again.

"Help him? He asked you that?"

"In so many words, that's what he meant, I know it."

Zack shook his head. "You can't go back to town alone. I'm not even sure you should go back at all, but I can't keep you here either."

"What are you going to do?" This wasn't the way she'd planned it. She only wanted him to be on the watch for any of Rafe's dirty, underhanded meanness, to cover his back at all times, to stay on Old Ben's ranch where he'd be safe.

"I'm taking you back to town and then I'm going to find Brodie." He started back toward the bunkhouse door.

"No! Wait! Zack, you can't do that!"

He stopped and turned around to face her. "There's no other choice. This has got to come to an end, one way or another." He left her standing there while he disappeared inside. When he came out, he was tucking a gun into his belt as he headed for the barn. She hurried to keep up, towing her horse behind her.

"Zack, you can't come with me. Are you listening?" she finally shouted.

"No! I'm grown now and I don't need my big sister telling me how to act like a man. I already know how."

She stopped in her tracks and stared at the broad shoulders ahead of her. He was tall and full-grown, and that wasn't the first time she'd noticed. Was it only a while ago that they had stood in their kitchen having a similar conversation? And she had noticed then that he had grown up, right before her eyes. He didn't require her to take care of him anymore. Instead, he was going to take care of her. How could those tables have turned in such a short amount of time?

He saddled his horse, and she waited, all the while thinking about how fast everything was moving, and changing, not only her life but Zack's life, and even Rafe's. Where would it all end?

"Mount up," he said, and she did. "Stick close to me." Then he looked at her clothing for the first time. "What are you doing wearing those clothes?"

"I got the idea from Doc Hallie. I figured it might be safer than having my skirts flying out behind me like a flag."

He considered her words momentarily and nodded, then urged his horse through the barn doors, and she followed close just as he'd said. They rode away from the ranch at a quick pace, both of them keeping an eye on the surrounding area as well as the darkness would allow. Then, to her alarm, the moon peeked out from behind a cloud, leaving an expanse of sky that showed a starlit heaven that seemed to have no mercy. Fear prickled along her neck and shoulders. If Rafe were to find them, she thought, he would be able to save himself a lot of time and trouble.

Her first indication of that trouble was Zack reaching for his gun, but it all happened so fast he hardly had time to pull back the hammer. They were surrounded in minutes and knocked from their horses amidst a round of shouts and threats. Abby swallowed her screams through sheer will, fearful of alerting them to the fact that they had captured a woman. But when one of them grabbed her by the waist while his other arm held her tightly across the breast, she knew the game was over.

"Hey!" he shouted. "Guess what I've got in my hand?" He laughed and squeezed her breast. "A woman! Honest to God!"

"Don't look like no woman to me," said another one, and she recognized the voice of Rafe's friend Jake. Her heart sank deeper.

"It is! I swear."

"Looks like a boy you're a grabbin' there, Gabe. Hadn't you ought to let him go?" The others guffawed.

"Hell, no." He ripped her hat off her head and yanked her hair loose from their pins, making her grit her teeth. "See?"

"I'll be damned. That's Rafe's sister." Jake came closer for a better look, and that was when Zack broke loose, jumping him from behind. Then one of the men brought his gun butt down on Zack's head, dropping him to the ground like a bag of feed.

Abby screamed loud and long, both feet kicking and sometimes landing a hit where she hoped they would. She fought wildly, biting, scratching, and arching her body in order to get free, but the man just tightened his grip and called for more help from his friends. Someone took hold of her feet, keeping her from doing any more damage, so she bucked and tossed back and forth, her hair blinding her as it flew about her face. Her only satisfaction was the taste of blood and knowing she'd carved someone's flesh with her teeth.

"Damn wild she-cat!" howled her captor.

"Give her to me," Jake said.

"If we let go she'll tear loose."

"Just give her to me." Jake grabbed a hank of her hair and twisted it tightly in his fist, keeping her body next to his. "Remember?" he said in her ear. "I saw Rafe handle you real well just like this."

Abby stiffened, but she held still. Painfully, every hair in his hand threatened to come loose in his grip. "That's more like it." She could hear the smile in his voice. "Now, I believe that must be your stupid brother on the ground over there. Am I right?"

She kept gritting her teeth and refused to answer.

"I thought so. Bet you wouldn't like to see him killed, would you?"

Panic ripped through her and she shouted, "No!"

"Good. Maybe we can make a deal, seein' as how I kinda like you." He ran one finger along her neck down to where the first few buttons had popped, exposing part of her breast. She struggled, but he twisted her hair tighter, making her groan and stilling her movements. "I think we understand each other now, don't we?" He reached a hand inside, cupping her breast.

Abby stifled the urge to scream. She loathed what he was doing to her, and what he was planning to do.

One of the others spoke up. "I think we ought to take 'em both back to Rafe."

"Yeah? Well, I don't. This is my catch, not his. And it just so happens that I don't like the way he handles some things. We do this my way." His tone was threatening and nobody argued.

"What about him?" Gabe said, pointing at Zack as he lay unconscious at their feet.

"Take his gun," Jake said. "Then use it on him."

Abby screamed, "No! No!"

"We ain't gonna kill him, just slow him down a little, that's all."

In spite of the pain Jake inflicted on her head, she struggled, jabbing him with her elbows, kicking his shins, until finally she broke loose, but the gun went off and she saw Zack's body jump with the reflex of being shot. In that instant, Jake had her by the arms, holding them behind her back. She choked back a sob, feeling herself go limp. She had no fight left in her. Zack, she cried silently. Oh, Zack, I'm so sorry!

"That's more like it," Jake said, tying her hands with something that bit into her skin. "Go ahead and scream all you want to, 'cause nobody's going to hear 'cept us."

But she couldn't scream; she couldn't even cry.

"Okay, boys, you head on back while the little lady and me finds us some privacy. And keep your mouth shut about all of this, you understand?"

They all muttered, but got on their horses and rode away.

Abby stared at Zack, lying facedown in the dirt, bleeding. She couldn't tell how badly he was hurt, but she knew he needed to see Doc Hallie right away. There was nothing she could do to help him. At last the tears started to flow. She had brought this on him with her ideas of saving him. If he died, it would be her fault. If she could do it all over again, she would do things differently. She should have gone to Brodie and told him everything, or she should have simply taken a gun and shot Rafe the day he threatened her, but all of that was useless thinking now.

"Come on, little lady, up you go." Jake put her on her horse, then took the reins himself, towing her behind. "I know a line shack not far from here where we can have a little comfort. Sure beats the bare ground."

Abby held to her horse with her knees, concentrating on staying in the saddle and trying not to think about what was in store for her. Her mind simply could not conceive of it. She stared vacantly ahead, seeing nothing but darkness until the moon peeked through the clouds once more. Then she saw her captor riding ahead of her as though he were just taking an evening ride. She turned around for one last look at Zack, and nearly lost her balance. Her heart broke as she saw him lying there. And she vowed that somehow she would get even. Whether it took twenty years or more, she would get even.

After a while a small hut appeared, but she could barely make it out in the dimming light as thick clouds began rolling in. When they stopped in front of it, she swung her feet over and jumped down, hoping to avoid Jake's touch as much as possible. But he grabbed her by the arm and pushed her through the open doorway, making her stumble across the broken wooden floor.

He struck a match, and for a minute the interior was visible: a lopsided table, a chair, and a bed with a bare mattress. Then the flame went out.

"Sit down there," he said, pushing her onto the bed, then forcing her to lie down.

Her heart pounded with panic. Frantically, she struggled with the rope on her wrists, but it only cut deeper into her skin. No, her mind screamed. Stop him!

He took her by the left boot, and then she remembered the knife in the other one. If only she could reach it. . . .

With another length of rope, he tied her foot to the bed rail. "That's so you don't decide to go anywhere before I say so."

"Unite my hands," she said. "Please. They're behind my back and it's impossible to . . ."

"You got a point there, little lady," he said. "We need to have a little freedom. Not too much, just a little," he said as he untied the rope.

She sighed with the relief of being loose.

"Maybe you're gonna like it." He pulled her shirt out of her britches and tore the rest of the buttons off, making them scatter across the floor.

Abby bit her lip to keep her silence, and clenched her eyes shut, wishing she could block out his hands as they moved across her bare skin. Then he lay across her, and she tried not to think about what he was doing. She twisted her face away, but he forced her to hold still, and that was when she began to scream and fight, scratching and bucking, raising her leg in order to reach her boot.

''Quit!" he yelled as he hit her in the face. Then at last, she grasped the knife and brought it to his back, fast and hard.

He arched away from her, then slumped, and she quickly scooted out from under his dead weight to the foot of the bed. For a moment she huddled there, her hands to her mouth, holding in the scream that would be unending if she gave in to it. He didn't move. Was he dead? She tried to get up, but couldn't; she was still tied. Again, she looked at his shape, lying there motionless. The knife. She needed the knife. With careful movements, she crawled forward just far enough to feel the handle protruding from his back. With a rush of determination, she gripped it and pulled. Once more, she recoiled to her place at the foot of the bed, and waited, the weapon in front of her. When he still didn't move, she turned to the rope and sawed at it for what seemed an eternity. All the while she watched him. At last, she was scrambling over his body to freedom. Backing toward the door and shaking so much she could hardly clutch her torn clothing to her as she tried to cover her breasts, she turned and ran for her horse where it stood patiently outside, the reins hanging loose.

Small sobs escaped her as she climbed into the saddle and slumped over the horse's neck, her energy completely drained from her. Feebly she kicked him and called to him as she headed in search of Zack.

Chapter Nineteen

Sitting alone at a table in the Lady's Garter, Brodie poured another drink from the bottle in front of him. He could hold his liquor with the best of them, but this was one time he wished he couldn't. Getting drunk sounded rather appealing at the moment, and he was doing his damnedest to get there.

He'd already spent more than one sleepless night dreaming and thinking, so he thought he'd avoid that problem. The company he kept in the saloon wasn't what he really wanted, but he knew better than to go to Hallie's, which was where he really wanted to be. Going to her house wouldn't be fair to her, and unless he had some answers, he'd best stay away.

"You been sitting here a long time, gunfighter," Carrie said, leaning over the chair opposite him. "Kind of makes me wonder what your problem might be. Care if I sit a while?"

He shrugged, so she sat down. "Maybe you're lonely?" she asked, looking hopeful.

She was close to being right, but he didn't let on since he wasn't the kind of lonely she had in mind.

"Still not much of a talker, huh?" She propped her chin on her hand and stared at him. "Did anyone ever tell you that you got the most interesting green eyes?"

He gave her a sharp look, then swigged his drink.

"Uh-oh. Guess I found something after all." She sighed dramatically. "Wouldn't you know it, there's another woman. Hmph. Bet she's not very smart if she lets someone like you get away."

"Maybe I'm the one letting her get away," he said, then wished he'd said nothing.

"Is that how it is?" she asked, brightening. "Well, now, I like that better, 'cause if you're not attached, I could show you what a woman's all about. I don't make an offer like that to everybody," she said, her voice low and provocative.

He met her gaze over the rim of his glass. She was young, good-looking, with exceptionally curly dark hair, and obviously experienced, and he was sure she meant what she said. But he wasn't interested.

"Sorry."

"You don't even know how sorry you ought to be," she said, still smiling. Then she leaned back in her chair. "I suppose I should know when to accept no, so I will, for a while." She took his glass away from him, poured a drink into it, and drank it herself. When she set it down on the table, she said, "Either make up your mind to go after her, or not. This ain't no way to live.''

She was right about that. It certainly wasn't any way to live, but his choices were more complicated than that, and he had to take care of first things first. His sleeplessness wasn't due entirely to Hallie, although he'd certainly lingered over each of the moments they'd shared, seeing her face, remembering her touches. But he also had spent much of his night-time wakefulness thinking about how he would go about bringing Rafe Woods to justice, real justice, and right now there wasn't any to be found in Lampasas.

Carrie slid the glass toward him. "Where are you off to now, with those thoughts of yours?"

But he didn't answer. His eye had caught a movement of white at the saloon door and without really looking, he knew it was Hallie. She surveyed the crowd, and he knew also that she was searching for him. He rose from his seat and when their gazes met, she moved between the tables without appearing the least bit awkward in the foreign surroundings.

"Uh-oh," Carrie said. "The woman in question is here." But she kept her seat and watched.

"Brodie, I need your help." Her voice was calm but her eyes told him she was in distress over something. "It's Zack. He's mumbling something about Abby being hurt."

"Where is she?"

"I don't know."

Carrie leaned forward. "You mean that girl who works over at the general store? Why, Bill was in here earlier and said he was worried about her. Said something about her getting a horse and riding off into the dark. He didn't like it much, but I thought he was just talking to be carrying on conversation."

Brodie took Hallie by the elbow and hurried out of the saloon, heading toward her office.

"No, not there. Zack came to my house. It's a wonder I even heard him. He's been shot and lost a lot of blood. I took out the bullet and left him sleeping in Father's bedroom. This isn't just a flesh wound, Brodie. I can't imagine how he ever managed to get back to town." He listened to her story as they rushed along the boardwalk with her half running to keep up with his long strides.

"There's more," she said. "I should have told you sooner, but I was so afraid of what you might do."

"Tell me later."

"No, it's about Rafe."

He came to a sudden stop, and she nearly passed right by him.

"What's he got to do with this?" he demanded.

"Everything. He threatened Abby to make her help him ambush you. But she would never do that, so she must have decided to warn Zack herself."

"Hallie, you're not making sense," he said, taking her by the shoulders. "Warn Zack about what?"

"Rafe said he would hurt Zack if she refused to help him, and that's why she must have gone to Zack."

He understood now, and resumed his fast pace to reach Hallie's house. Zack had to tell him what had happened and where he'd last seen Abby. When they reached the front door, Hallie led the way to the bedroom, where Zack lay as white as the sheet that covered him.

"Can he talk?" Brodie asked, leaning over the still form of the young man.

"I don't know. He's pretty weak." She gently touched his bare shoulder. "Zack? Can you hear me? It's Doc Hallie, and I've brought Brodie to help. Zack, answer me if you can hear me."

He blinked his eyes as though coming out of a deep sleep, then searched both faces leaning over him, but it was Brodie's that brought focus into his gaze.

"Abby. Hurt. Somewhere near Lucy's Creek. Find her."

"Has she been shot?" Hallie asked.

Brodie rolled his head in a negative answer. "Men. Alone. Help Abby." A tear rolled down his cheek and his chin quivered. "Please. . . ."

Hallie patted his shoulder, consoling him as best she could, but Brodie saw her hand tremble. "Rest now," she said. "We'll find her. I promise." She motioned to Brodie to go out of the room with her.

He followed her to the kitchen, and she stood near the table where the lamp burned bright, casting long shadows on the wall behind her. The room seemed so different from the night when he'd sat with her on his lap, licking berry pie from her fingers.

"You don't think Rafe kidnaped his own sister, do you?" she asked, incredulous at the idea.

He shook his head. "No. Zack would have given his name if that were true."

"Then they were McCullough's men." Hallie sank into a chair, her head in her hands. "I should have told you. This is all my fault."

He wanted to comfort her and tell her it wasn't, that it was really his fault for waiting too long, but he didn't. His mind was too busy trying to work out a solution. They had to find Abby first. Then he'd find Rafe and be done with the whole thing once and for all.

"I'm going to Lucy's Creek," he said. "When I find her, I'll bring her directly to you."

"I'm going with you," she said, rising to her feet, her back stiff with determination.

"No. You will stay here." He emphasized each word to show he wouldn't listen to her unreasonable suggestion.

"I'm going."

"Don't start being independent again. You're not going if I have to lock you in your room." And he meant it. "You wouldn't be any safer than Abby was, and you know the kind of danger she must be facing. That's not what you want to go through, do you understand?" He'd seen what men like Rafe and his kind had done to women, and he wasn't about to allow her to be subjected to that kind of inhuman treatment.

"I'm a doctor first, a woman second. Abby may need my attention right away. What can you do for her? Haul her in here across your saddle while she bleeds to death?" She stared at him with fire in her eyes. "I said I'm going and you can't stop me."

Every reasonable argument came to mind, and he was willing to present them all, but he knew that determined look. He also knew she would follow him, or worse, strike out on her own. There were no choices here.

"All right," he said harshly. "But what about your patient in the other room?" It was the only argument that he thought she might listen to.

"I'm going to ask Henry to come and sit with him."

"And what are you going to tell Henry when he asks where we're going in such an all-fired hurry?"

"I don't know. I thought I'd leave that to you." She turned away, heading toward the bedroom where Zack lay.

Brodie rolled his eyes helplessly toward the ceiling and swore.

Within seconds she was back. "He's still resting quietly. We'll have to go to the office and get more supplies, then we can stop at Henry's house." She stood at the door, waiting. "Aren't you ready?"

Thoroughly exasperated, he said, "Yes." Then he marched past her into the dark, wishing he'd thought to bring his horse, and even hers, too. They were losing too much time, and they couldn't be sure Abby was still at Lucy's Creek. He gave a quick glance at the sky, and was thankful to see that the clouds had vanished so he would be able to at least see well enough to follow tracks. He swore again, mentally kicking himself for letting this situation involve so many innocent people.

They walked to town and parted ways at the livery, where he saddled up both horses while she hurried off to get the supplies. When he led the horses to the foot of her stairway, she was waiting. Then she quickly tied her bag to the back of her saddle. Without speaking, he followed her quick pace as they led the horses to Henry's house, and against her wishes, he let her do all the talking.

"I have an emergency. Could you please sit with Zack Woods at my house? He's been seriously wounded and I don't want to leave him alone," she said, backing away in her haste to be on their way.

"Of course, I will." Henry rubbed his hand across his forehead as though there was more he'd like to say, but didn't.

"We have to go now. Thank you, Henry." Then she mounted up without a backward glance and they headed for the open country near Lucy's Creek.

Brodie kept her at his side, his horse just abreast of hers in order to watch over her better. The hairs along his neck prickled, a sensation that usually alerted him to danger, so he rode with one hand on his gun where it rested in his holster. If they didn't find Abby, he was positive they were going to find something, and that made him nervous. The light from the partial moon worked in their favor, but that also meant it could work in the favor of whoever had shot Zack. They both were easy prey, and he knew it. Now he was sorry he had given in to Hallie, and wished she was at her house where she belonged. He should never have given in to that determined spark in her eye. He silently swore again.

Finally they reached the creek and followed it to where a scuffle had obviously taken place. The meager moonlight revealed that several horses had trampled the area sufficiently to keep him from telling how many men there were. One set of tracks headed in the direction of town, and he decided those had to be Zack's. A group of others went in an opposite direction, and he thought for certain that Abby must have been with them, until he noticed two sets of tracks going off alone. His gut instinct told him this was her captor.

Walking so that he could see the tracks more clearly, he led Sam away from the area of the struggle until he was certain which way they were heading.

"Did you find something?" Hallie asked.

"I think so," he replied. Then he mounted up and led the way.

"We're on McCullough's land," she said, warily studying the trees near by.

"I know."

"You don't think they took her to the ranch, do you?"

He couldn't answer that, so he didn't. They moved slowly along, and occasionally Brodie dismounted to check the tracks when they became hard to see. Convinced they were still on the right trail, he mounted Sam again and they rode on.

"Look," she said. "Isn't that some kind of shack up ahead? See? Way over there. Or am I imagining it?"

No, she wasn't imagining it. Undoubtedly it was a line shack, and he felt the hairs on his neck prickle again.

"Wait here," he said.

"I will not!" she whispered vehemently. "I doubt if I'd be safer back here alone than with you."

"All right then," he said sharply. "Stay behind me."

Hallie halted her horse and waited until he passed her; then she followed directly behind Sam. Her nerves were on edge as she watched the hut grow larger as they quietly approached it. Then she saw the horse standing alone outside the door. Only one horse, and she feared the significance of that. Brodie held up his hand and she stopped, praying the horses wouldn't nicker to each other in greeting.

He motioned to her, and she rode up beside him.

"Stay here. I'm going to get a better look." The tone of his voice told her this was no time to demand anything, so she nodded obediently and took the reins of his horse when he handed them to her.

Stealthily, he made his way toward the side of the shack, and Hallie held her breath until he finally reached it unharmed. Then he hunkered down with his gun drawn, and inched forward. When at last he came to the door, she had to strain her eyes to make out his movements since he was on the shadowed side of the building. She prayed that whoever was in there hadn't heard them approaching and wasn't lying in wait with a gun trained on the door.

Then she heard his boot kick splinters out of the door as it thumped backwards, but there were no gunshots. Now she was unable to get a glimpse of his shadow, and guessed he must have disappeared inside. Without waiting anymore, she rode forward, pulling Sam along. When she was close enough, she slid from her saddle, then holding both sets of reins, bravely approached the side of the shack, listening. When she heard nothing at all, she stepped carefully toward the door, her heart pounding loudly in her ears.

"Brodie?" she called softly. "Is Abby here?"

"No, but I found someone. He's dead."

She started to enter the shack, but he called to her, "Go get my tin of matches out of my saddlebag so we can see who it is."

She hurried to the find the matches, digging into the bag and rummaging. When her hand felt something metal, she pulled it out and stared at it. Holding it up so the soft moonlight would reflect on it, she saw that it was a badge, not one but two badges that had become locked together. Carefully, she separated them, wishing she could see more clearly. Then she remembered the tin of matches, and searched again until she had it in her hands. All the while she was thinking: What kind of badges? Was he a U.S. marshal? And why two of them? Had he killed two lawmen?

Her hands shook as she struck the match against her heel. She held the flame to the first badge and read, "Texas Rangers." The second one said the same, but it looked different in design, although each was in the shape of a star. She blew out the match and dropped it. Who was he? Instead of getting answers, she now had more questions, which she wasn't sure she wanted to ask.

"Hey, how about those matches!" he called to her.

Quickly, she stuffed the badges back into the saddlebag, and hurried inside the shack. He took the tin when she handed it to him, and soon the room was lit plainly enough to see the body on the bed.

"It's Jake," he said. "He's been stabbed."

Blood drenched the mattress where Jake lay crumpled, along with bits of material that obviously didn't come from his clothing. Then the match went out and Brodie lit another. At the foot of the bed he found a length of rope that had been cut in half.

"Abby," Hallie said softly. "Oh, dear Lord, no." A cold chill sliced through her body. What had happened here, and where was Abby now? She reached out to Brodie, clutching his sleeve. Then the match went out. Once more they stood in darkness, but this time he didn't light another one.

"We have to find her," she said. "If some of this blood is hers . . ." Hallie couldn't speak the rest of what was in her mind, but she thought it just the same. If the blood was Abby's, then Hallie would carry that guilt with her forever.

Abby hid behind the cover of a patch of scrub trees, nuzzling close to her horse to keep him quiet while the two riders passed by, riding toward the shack. They were so far off that she couldn't be sure if they were some of the same men or not.

She'd been so numb with panic that she hadn't been able to get her bearings for a while and had ridden aimlessly, nearly getting lost. But now she recognized her location, and realized she'd somehow found her way back to the place where they'd shot Zack. Or at least it was close by. She was sure of it because the little creek wasn't far from where she stood. If she followed it, certainly she would eventually find him. Her heart rose in her throat when she considered what might have happened to him since she'd last seen him lying there.

Checking carefully to make sure there were no other riders, she mounted her horse. Feeling a desperate need to keep herself covered, she clutched her shirt together as best she could. Every bone and muscle in her body hurt. Even a place on her cheek felt raw.

She turned her horse in the right direction and followed a trail she thought would take her to Zack, but she could not find him, and once more panic filled her. She must not be able to remember correctly, she decided. She needed help. Her only other choice was to go to Doc Hallie and hope that Brodie could find Zack.

She leaned forward, and urged her horse into a gallop as she headed toward town. Fast and furious, she swept across the open space, keeping to a trail that everyone used and not caring anymore if she was seen. Fear was on her side and she lashed out with her reins, calling to the horse to hurry, hurry!

At last she rode into town, barely slowing down, and wound her way through the streets to Doc Hallie's house. It momentarily registered as a surprise that a lamp was still burning, but at the same time it almost seemed as though Doc Hallie was expecting her, even though the idea was ridiculous. Her mind was having trouble telling the difference between what was real and what wasn't. The death of Jake was real, but the death of Zack could not be!

Jumping down from the saddle, she landed on her feet for only a moment; then her knees gave way and she found herself stumbling until she thumped against the side of the house. Dazed, she shook her head, then found her way to the back door and pushed it open. Unbelievably, she heard Henry's voice.

''Hallie, is that you?"

When she saw him, her body immediately flooded with happiness. She was safe now! In two strides he was there, wrapping his strong arms around her, covering the top of her head with kisses, murmuring words she could not really hear.

"My God, Abby! What happened to you?" He lifted her chin, and she looked into his dear eyes as they frowned at what he saw. "Who did this?"

"Hold me."

So he did, speaking words of comfort and love. She wished she could stay like that forever, but she couldn't. They had to find Zack.

Leaning away from him, she said, "Zack."

"He's here." Then he pulled her close again.

She was certain she'd heard him wrong.

"He's here, but his condition is, well . . . he's in pretty bad shape." He walked with her down the hallway, keeping her tight against his side, and she was grateful for his support. Outside the bedroom door, she stopped and wrapped her shirt tighter, using her arms to hold it in place. Then she went in.

"I don't think he can hear you. I suspect Heloise gave him something to help ease the pain and help him to sleep," Henry said, pulling up a chair for her to sit on.

In spite of his words, she called to her brother anyway. "Zack," she said. Then, with one hand, she reached out to touch the dark hair on his forehead where it curled into what Granny always called a cowlick. He was so precious to her, and he was lying there possibly dying. Tears slipped down her cheek unheeded as she prayed that he would not die. He simply could not die. "Please," she said softly.

"Come with me," Henry said, helping her to rise from her chair. "We need to look after you now."

"I'd rather stay here," she said, sniffling and wiping her nose on her torn sleeve.

"He's resting and that's the best medicine. Come," he said, and she didn't resist this time.

They returned to the kitchen, where he took a kettle from the hot stove and poured water into a basin. Then he found some cloths and towels and soap. Turning to her, he washed her face, being particularly careful around her cheek.

"Ow!" she cried, making a face.

He said nothing, and he asked nothing as he ministered to her wound. And in saying nothing, he became all the dearer to her. Another tear slid down her cheek, and he wiped it away. Then he rolled up her sleeves and held both of her wrists where the rope had cut in, leaving scraps of flesh pulled loose and bleeding. She put her hands over the basin, and he carefully washed her as he squeezed water from the cloth over the raw skin, again and again. And the only sound in the room was that of the water splashing back into the basin. When he finished, he dried her with the fresh towel.

Through swimming eyes, she looked at him and tried to smile, but it turned into more of a grimace and she shook her head helplessly.

"I have to know," he said, bracketing her face with his hands and staring into her eyes. "Are you hurt anywhere else? Someplace where it doesn't show?"

She started to cry, but managed to say, "No."

"Thank God," he said as he folded her in his arms. "Thank God."

They stood together like that, with her arms around his waist, and felt more than gratitude fill each of them. He rocked her back and forth while she shed a flood of tears, wetting his shirtfront.

"It's all right now. I'm here, Abby," he said. "I'll always be here."

After a while when her tears abated, she sighed and looked up at him. "There's more."

Without a word, he nodded for her to go on.

"I think I killed a man," she said. "And I think I'm glad." She had no tears left, and if she did, she could not shed them for Jake. Not after what he'd done to Zack and to her.

"We're not going to worry about him now. We have to let the law take care of that, and I have to take care of you." He kissed her forehead lightly as though it might hurt her.

She closed her eyes, accepting his touch, and inhaled the wonderful scent of his shaving soap. There wasn't anything she wanted more than to have Henry take care of her, but she knew now wasn't the time to talk about it. She wanted to save it for later when she could truly enjoy what it all meant.

Behind them, the outside door opened and Brodie and Hallie walked in. "Abby!" Hallie rushed to her as relief flooded through her at seeing the young girl. Brushing back abby's tangled hair, she studied her face while Henry continued to hold her. Then she looked to Henry, and he smiled back as though to tell her that Abby was going to be all right.

"Here. Let me take you to my room and get you something else to wear," Hallie said, gently removing her from Henry's embrace. "And you'll be staying the night here." Abby nodded and went with her.

Inside the bedroom, Hallie lit a lamp and pulled down the shades.

"Is Zack going to be okay?" Abby asked.

"We'll know more by morning, but I'd venture a guess that he will." Hallie searched Abby's face for the answer to the question she was afraid to ask.

"I'll be fine," she replied. "Just some bruises that need healing, that's all."

Hallie handed her one of her white shirts and a pair of pants. "We were at the shack," she said.

"Is he . . .?"

"Yes. Brodie brought him back to town and left him at the undertaker's. If we had a sheriff, we'd have taken him there."

"What's going to happen to me? I mean, will the law get involved?"

Hallie placed a comforting hand on her arm. "Nothing's going to happen to you. Don't you worry about that for a minute. And as far as the law is concerned, well, we don't really have any. Not until the Rangers arrive."

Abby nodded and pulled off her boot to remove her bloody pants. When she dropped the boot, a knife fell onto the floor and Abby stared at it. Immediately, hallie knew what it was and quickly picked it up, then excused herself from the room. She took it to the kitchen and laid it on the table between the two men who sat there. Henry stared at it.

"Is this hers?" he asked, finally tearing his gaze away long enough to look at her.

"Yes. It was in her boot." She gently touched his arm. "I think we should get rid of it."

He nodded, and Hallie returned to the bedroom, where Abby sat half dressed. Across the girl's face was a bruise that had already discolored, and would be more black than blue by morning. Her chest also carried marks that would surely bruise, and her wrists were raw.

"I have some ointment that will help those," Hallie said, and wished she had something to heal the scars left on the inside. But only time could take care of those.

"If you need to talk about anything, I'm here," Hallie said.

Abby nodded, putting on the shirt and buttoning it.

"Brodie needs to talk to you, too. When you're up to it, that is."

She glanced up, then away toward the room where Zack lay asleep. "I should have gone to Brodie in the first place. I know that now."

Hallie knew what she was feeling. She felt it, too.

"Someone has to stop Rafe, and stop McCullough, too," Abby said. "I promise to tell whatever I know, if it will help. I'll talk to Brodie whenever he wants."

They all had been through so much these past few hours, but Hallie knew it wasn't the end. There was so much more that was yet to come.

Chapter Twenty

Rafe lounged carelessly back in the leather chair, boots up on Chase McCullough's desk. His eyes were covered by his hat as he listened to McCullough talk about cattle. He wasn't much interested in ranching, although he could do it as well as anyone and take the pay for a while. It was the benefits that decided if he'd stay on a job, and McCullough gave him the kind of benefits he always looked for: decent pay, freedom with a gun, and being second in command to the boss. And propping his feet up on the boss's desk was proof that he had the right job.

The sound of boots clumping down the hall toward the office made him lift the brim of his hat to see what was up. Outside the door stood a group of men waiting to be invited in, and when they were, they filed in singly, some of them hanging back. With several nods among themselves, it was silently decided who would be spokesman. "Jake's dead," said the one elected, without preamble.

Rafe's boots hit the floor with a thud as he came to his feet. Instantly, his blood raced through his body like a fire. "How do you know that?" he said.

"We were in town this morning and the word going around was that Brodie brought him in. So we went on over to the undertaker's and got it straight from him." The man nodded. "Brodie sure as hell brought him in. He'd been stabbed once. In the back."

Rafe knew that wasn't Brodie's style, but he kept that to himself just as he did his most personal secrets.

McCullough stayed seated, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. "Seems as though without a sheriff this Brodie fellow could get off scott free. Don't seem right to me, does it to you boys?"

They all mumbled in agreement and waited to hear what else the boss had to say.

"What about you, Rafe?" McCullough asked.

"It sure as hell don't seem right. I think he ought to be strung up." Rafe couldn't think of a more fitting end to a problem that had obviously been trailing him for some time. As far as he was concerned, there wasn't much point in waiting either.

"Well, then," McCullough began, "I say it's time for an election. Everyone in favor of Rafe as the new sheriff say aye."

The men all glanced at one another, smiles creeping up on their faces. "Aye," they said in unison.

Rafe stared at them all.

"Don't look so dumbfounded," said McCullough, grinning. "I don't know anyone I'd rather have behind that badge of Davis's. No, sir, not anyone."

Rafe let it sink in, along with the realization of what it really meant, and finally grinned. Lampasas would be his town now. Whatever happened would be up to him. If somebody new came into town, they'd have to deal with him first because he was the law. He'd run Lampasas the way he saw fit, no rules but his rules.

"I believe I like the idea," he said.

"Well, you won that election fair and square," McCullough said, and laughed. The others joined him and slapped Rafe on the back, shaking their heads at how easy it was all going to be.

Rafe wondered at the simplicity of it all; the way things had happened just to reach this point. Brodie coming to Lampasas, the feud, lynching Davis, and now becoming sheriff and owning the whole damn town. It seemed as though fate was on his side and life just couldn't get any better.

"Now, you're going to need a deputy," McCullough said, trying to look serious about the charade of an election. "You choose the right man."

Rafe considered for a moment, thinking if Jake was still alive he'd be the first choice. But Jake was dead and that was the reason Rafe was the new sheriff. So he looked over the group of men before him.

"Shorty. I believe you'll do."

"I accept," said the man, a large grin on his hairy face.

McCullough stood, leaning his bulky frame on the desk. "I suggest you boys get on into town and take ownership of those badges probably lying around the sheriff's office. We wouldn't want anyone else getting the same idea, now would we?"

Rafe hesitated. "You mean I won't be working out here at the ranch at all?" He didn't like the idea of taking on the job without the backing of McCullough, and he just wanted to be sure that was how things were going to be. "Course, you will." McCullough clapped him on the back. "You're my right-hand man, you know that. But now we've expanded our operations a little and you'll be in charge of what goes on in town. That's a much better job than being foreman out here. Besides, there isn't going to be much trouble out here anymore, so I won't really need someone of your experience watching over things."

Rafe got the idea. The McCullough ranch had just gotten bigger, and before long they'd have the whole county and everyone for miles around know the name of Rafe Woods. His name alone would put fear into the hearts of everyone who crossed him.

"Now, get your bedroll and head into town. You boys have got some news to spread." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Maybe you ought to take a posse with you, just for protection for a little while. Might be some folks who won't like this idea until they get used to the way things are going to be."

Nodding, Rafe said, "I'll take the rest of these fellas and a few more." He felt excited about riding into town, right up to the sheriff's door. Everyone would be watching, wondering, and he'd see fear in their eyes. After he put on the badge, he'd step outside where they could all see that he wore it, and that was when he'd tell them that he was the law from now on. He'd have his gun drawn, and his posse would have theirs. That way there wouldn't be any backtalk. Right from the start he'd show them who was in control. Yessir. Rafe Woods, the new sheriff of Lampasas, Texas. It sounded real sweet, he thought, grinning. Real sweet.

Abby sat beside Zack's bed as the morning sun streamed into the room, promising another scorcher. She dipped a cloth into the basin of water beside the bed and bathed his face to keep him cool. Doc hallie told her he'd lost a lot of blood and he needed to rest as much as possible so she shouldn't try to wake him, but it was the hardest thing in world to keep from calling his name. She wanted to hear his voice reassuring her that he would be just fine; she wanted to hear him say that she wasn't to worry anymore; she even wanted to hear him say that he was too grown up for her to fret over him. But he didn't say anything.

Crying would do no good, she told herself. Being strong and staying with him if he needed something was the best she could do, although it wasn't nearly enough. The water in the basin had become warm, so she took it to the kitchen to replace it with some fresh, cooler water from the bucket. Just as she was ready to pour it, she heard Henry's voice calling to her through the door.

"Morning, Abby," he said, stepping into the kitchen, then taking the heavy bucket from her and pouring it into the basin. When he set it down he looked at her face and touched the place that was bruised.

"I look a sight, don't I? Most likely my eye will turn black and blue, too." With anyone else she would have been embarrassed to be seen like that, but not with Henry.

"You don't know how much I hate" he began, but she put her fingers to his lips to stop his words.

"Don't say it." Then she smiled at him. "Do you know that your eyes tell me what you're thinking?"

He shook his head, looking sad.

"And right now they're telling me how much you care."

He kissed her fingers. "I do care."

"I know."

"I care so much it hurts." He placed her hand over his heart. "Right here."

"I don't want it to hurt," she said. ''There's only one way to stop it."

"And that is?" She watched his eyes, and had her answer before he spoke.

"Marry me, Abigail," he said softly. "I wish we were standing, this moment, beneath a starlit sky or on a sand-covered beach or even in a meadow filled with flowers, but I can't wait long enough for any of those things to be possible. So I'm asking now. Abigail, will you marry me?"

Tears filled her eyes. He was the dearest man she'd ever known, so sweet, so thoughtful, so caring. The idea of becoming his wife was more than she'd ever thought possible, even though it was exactly what she'd hoped for, dreamed of, and even planned. So much had happened to her in the last few days, but nothing had changed her mind about Henry.

"Yes," she said. "I would love to be your wife."

He pulled her gently to him, mindful of her bruises and scrapes, and kissed her with such tenderness that she thought she would melt right where she stood. A lifetime with Henry was something she could hardly grasp, but a lifetime without him was something she couldn't contemplate for a minute.

"I want you with me all the time so I can watch over you and take care of you," he said.

She rested her head in the crook of his neck. "And I thought you wanted to get me into your bed."

"Well," he said, smiling down at her, "the thought did cross my mind."

"Mine, too," she admitted.

They stood for a while enjoying the moment and looking forward to sharing life together. Neither of them wanted to remember the strife that surrounded them, or the problems that plagued them, but they had no choice in the matter. Still, a wedding in the midst of the chaos was unthinkable. Without asking, both of them knew they would rather wait until it all settled down so they could savor that day the way it was meant to be savored.

"How's your brother?" he asked, moving reluctantly away from her.

"The same. I shouldn't be worried, but I am. Would you take another look at him for me?"

"Of course. But I doubt if I can tell you any more than Heloise has told you."

With hands clasped, they walked to the bedroom and Henry followed her inside to stand beside the bed. She studied Zack's face, so pale and unmovingnot even a muscle twitch, she thought.

"I'm afraid there's nothing I can add to Heloise's diagnosis. You want the truth."

She nodded.

"Only time can tell us anything. We just have to wait."

"It's so hard to see him like this." She gripped Henry's hand, glad for the strength and comfort of his presence. She'd be so happy now that she had him at her side if only Zack would get better. Even the problems created by the feuding seemed small when compared to this worry, and that included anything Rafe might do.

Hallie hadn't been able to concentrate on anything. She'd had to ask Mrs. Johnson three times what her problem was before she'd actually heard the response. Then later she'd found herself throwing away a perfectly good bottle of carbolic solution, and had to retrieve it from the bucket. Finally, when she was alone, she gave in to the need to sit and mull over the things that were bothering her, namely the Ranger badges and why Brodie had them.

She couldn't believe he'd killed someone, not once but twice, and kept the badges as souvenirs. That was too ludicrous. She knew him too well for that, didn't she? After all, he'd been so tender and compassionate that night in the barn, and later when they'd sat in her kitchen. He'd touched her and made her feel like a woman. They'd laughed together, and been silent together. Certainly, a man capable of such deep feelings couldn't be capable of cold-blooded murder. But what if the murders weren't cold-blooded? That was ridiculous, she argued with herself. A killing was a killing, and she abhorred killing. It was in direct opposition to her vocation, not to mention her beliefs. And that was what caused her to have so many misgivings, about herself as well as about Brodie. She could not love a man who killed for a living, but she did love him. She knew it even if she hadn't told him. So where did this leave her? Right back where she started, confused.

She stared morosely at the opposite wall.

Of course, he might be a Texas Ranger, she told herself. With two badges? That thought was just as unlikely as the first, especially when she considered how she'd come to meet him in the first place, as a hired gunman. If he was a Ranger he'd wear the badge, not hide it.

Suddenly, she realized there was only one thing she could do. She had to ask him, and she had to be willing to accept the answer whatever it was. After that, she had to follow her conscience, not her heart.

She'd been avoiding him since he'd left her house the night before when they'd arrived back to find Abby safe with Henry. And today she hadn't once looked out the window toward the chair in front of the store, but that was mostly because she knew he wouldn't be there. Too many things had happened for him to continue on the way he'd been doing, and she had suspected for some time that he'd come to Lampasas for other purposes, which undoubtedly included Rafe. It seemed as though everything included Rafe Woods.

Her mind followed a pattern of different thoughts and that pattern was a circle, which got her absolutely nowhere. How would she ever sort out everything if she couldn't concentrate on the one thing that bothered her the most? So she fixed her thoughts on Brodie again, putting aside her worries about Abby, Zack, and the town. She would see Brodie at her first opportunity and ask the fatal question.

A quick knock on her door brought her back to the business of doctoring, and she called, "Come in."

A tall thin man stepped inside, removed his hat, and said, "Ma'am. My name's Parker and I work for Old Ben's outfit. I'm looking for a young feller by the name of Zack. He left the ranch last night and nobody's seen him since. I asked around town, but nobody seems to know where he might be. I thought if he'd come to any harm, you might be the one to ask."

Hallie studied the man while he talked, and judged him to be sincere in his concern for Zack. But if the word got back to Old Ben that one of his men had been shot again, there was little doubt as to what would follow.

"I sorta took to lookin' after him," Parker went on. "He's just a kid who's more 'n a little wet behind the ears. I'm surprised he even shaves." He smiled at her. "So I been real worried somethin' bad happened to him."

He looked so genuinely distressed that Hallie couldn't keep the information from him. "Yes. I've seen him and he's recuperating under my care."

"That means he's been shot up pretty bad, don't it?"

"Yes."

"Could I see him? I'd just like to let him know that I been a-thinkin' about him and wish him to get well real quick."

Hallie hesitated, then nodded. The clock on the wall said it wasn't noon yet, but she might just as well take time now to go check on things at home. When she led the way, Parker's manners prevailed and he walked with her, keeping a respectable distance and bringing his horse along with him. After he tied the horse to a post, he followed her inside, where they were greeted by Abby in the kitchen. Sometime during the morning Abby had gone home, and now wore one of her dresses. Other than the bruises on her face, she looked like her old self.

"Abby, this is Parker, a friend of Zack's."

"Hello."

Parker frowned as he stared at Abby's face, but he didn't mention the bruises. "Howdy, ma'am. I don't suppose you remember me, but I'm one of the fellas that took you to the bunkhouse last night. How's your brother doin'?"

"Come and see." Abby led the way, and Hallie followed with Parker right behind. Then they all stood around the bed, staring, waiting for Zack to show some sign of life.

"Is he gonna make it?" Parker said quietly, a pained expression on his face.

Hallie wanted to say yes, but she couldn't. Abby spoke for her when she said, "If we have anything to say about it, he most certainly is going to make it."

But Parker looked doubtful. "When he wakes up, you be sure and tell him I was here."

When they were all back in the kitchen again, he turned to Abby. "I don't mean to be unkind or anything, but those bruises, ma'am, did McCullough's men give 'em to you?"

She nodded, but wouldn't say more, so Hallie stepped in with some concerns of her own. "Parker, you know what will happen if this gets back to Old Ben. We can't have any more shooting, and we don't want anyone killed. You have to keep this to yourself." "Doctor, ma'am," he began, shaking his head in a sorrowful way, "I don't think I can do that. Men who do things like this to women, well, they hadn't ought to be allowed to walk through town. They need to be stopped."

He was right, but the man who did it was dead. Abby secretly clutched Hallie's hand, squeezing it so she wouldn't tell what had happened.

"I need to be going now," he said, placing his hat on his head. "Be sure you tell Zack what I said." Then he left them.

Abby immediately went to the stove to get the coffeepot, then poured two cups with shaking hands. After she set the coffeepot safely back on the stove, she turned to Hallie.

"It's going to start soon, isn't it?" Abby said.

"I'm afraid so." Hallie held the cup, but she didn't drink. Once again her thoughts turned to Brodie, and she wondered what part he played in all of this.

Brodie stood at the counter waiting for Henry to return from the back room where he kept the ammunition. When he came back with Brodie's order, he set it all down in front of him, including a two-foot piece of small rope.

"Looks like you'll be prepared for most anything," Henry said. "I guess that isn't a bad idea."

Brodie nodded and filled his guns.

"I saw Parker this morning," Henry went on. "You know, he's the one who works for Old Ben. He made a trip out to see Zack and made a point of letting me, and probably a few others, know that Old Ben won't stand for much more of this. I have to say, for once, I agree with him."

Brodie stared at Henry, but his hands worked methodically on getting the bullets into the gun. "You say that was this morning?"

"Yes, but I don't know exactly what time because I got here a little late. I had to see Abby first." He shook his head. "It breaks my heart to see her look like that, and to think what she must have gone through, too. If I get my chance, I'll do what I can to set things right around here."

"More than likely you'll get that chance, if Parker takes his information back to Old Ben. You'd probably better have a rifle handy. I see trouble coming unless I can stop it first." Brodie holstered his guns, then paid for the bullets he'd taken.

"What can you do by yourself? I mean, the mayor's already sent for the Rangers. Of course, Lord knows when they'll get here and if it will be in time." Henry brought out a rifle from under the counter and started laying the bullets he would need into a box. "I'm not much of a marksman, but I can make some noise."

"I'm going to see McCullough."

Henry stopped what he was doing. "You're going to what?"

"McCullough and Rafe Woods are the ones behind this, and they're the ones who can stop it."

"That's suicide, plain and simple." Henry put down the box. "You can't be serious. What good will it do to get yourself killed?"

"I don't intend to get killed." And he wouldn't, not if he could get Rafe first. His hope had been to catch him doing what he did best, and with enough witnesses to be able to turn him over to the law, but now there wasn't any law so that wasn't likely to happen. And he couldn't wait for the Rangers. It would be easier to do this alone. Now that it had turned out this way, he realized it had to be just him and Rafe. The score he had to settle didn't include anyone else.

Chapter Twenty-One

Without saying a word to Hallie, Brodie headed out of town toward the McCullough ranch. He had to keep his thoughts under control and not let them wander off toward the other problem he had, which was basically what he was going to do about his feelings for Hallie. One thing at a time, he told himself.

He kept to the land that belonged to Old Ben, knowing it was more than likely he'd be allowed to pass without being shot. Hallie's reputation and the fact that he'd protected her had saved him where Old Ben was concerned. In the beginning he hadn't planned on that advantage, but was using it now anyway. When he'd ridden as far as possible, he crossed over the arbitrary property line and moved cautiously toward the ranch in the distance. The likelihood of reaching the front porch uninterrupted was slim, but he intended to get as far as he could. Surprisingly, there didn't seem to be much activity, and that made the hair on his neck prickle. When he rode past the first corral, his finger itched as it lay alongside his holster, and he wondered what was going on. He had expected to be escorted at gunpoint, and had a speech prepared that would insure him of seeing McCullough face-to-face. Even an exchange of bullets was something he'd been ready for, but not the quiet that greeted him.

With the prickle intensifying along his neck, he left his horse at the front porch, reins hanging loose. While his eyes studied the area, he removed from his saddlebag the rope he'd been working on that morning. Only a few men could be seen back beyond the buildings, too far away to be of any danger to him, and most likely they wouldn't be able to tell who he was at that distance. He stepped up onto the porch and listened at the open doorway that led down a hall. There were no voices to let him know that the house was occupied, so with his gun drawn he walked carefully inside, looking in each room as he went. At last he came to the room he'd been hoping for, and stepped inside, keeping his back to the wall.

"McCullough," he said.

Surprised, the heavy man looked up and saw the gun pointed at him. "Who the hell are you?"

"Name's Brodie."

Both men took the other's measure, but only the one with the gun smiled. "Where is everyone?" Brodie asked.

McCullough leaned back in his chair as if he were engaging in a leisurely talk with a friend. "Business matters," he said with a beefy shrug.

"Seems sort of foolish to leave yourself unprotected, doesn't it?"

"I'm not worried." And he didn't appear to be even lightly concerned. "If you shoot me your neck won't be worth the rope it takes to hang it."

"Is that you're specialty? Or Rafe's?"

"Does it matter?"

It mattered, and he intended to take it up with Rafe after he finished with McCullough.

"Nice house you got here," Brodie said, giving the room a quick glance.

"I like it." McCullough frowned slightly.

"Good strong construction." He looked overhead at the open beams.

McCullough looked up, too.

Brodie grabbed a chair and shoved it across the room, making it crash against the front of the desk. "Stand up," he said, signaling with his gun. McCullough hesitated for only a moment, then heaved his bulky frame out of his seat.

"Set it up," Brodie commanded, and McCullough righted the chair.

"Here," he said, slinging the rope to McCullough. "You know what to do with it."

With eyes wide with understanding, he gazed disbelieving at the noose on the end of the rope.

"Go ahead. Toss it up around that nice strong beam and be sure to leave plenty of it hanging down. Not too much, of course."

"Like hell!" McCullough roared.

"You prefer to be shot?" Brodie leveled his gun at the man's head, taking his time with his aim.

McCullough paled.

"Toss it, I said." Brodie kept his aim right in the middle of McCullough's forehead until he tossed it. On the first try he missed.

"Again," Brodie said as he watched the beads of sweat pop out on McCullough's face, the way he knew it must have on the face of the one person who should not have died five years ago.

Finally, the rope swung down, both the noose and the end that needed to be secured.

''Now, this presents a problem," Brodie said. "I had planned on taking you to a tree along the creek. Then I could have tied the rope to the trunk while you sat on your horse." Brodie looked around the room. "Well, I guess I'll just have to tie it to the same beam," he said. "But first, stand on that chair and be careful. It doesn't look like it can take much weight."

McCullough swore as he climbed onto the chair, his face flushed red with anger.

"Now, put the noose around your neck and slip it until it's snug. That's right. Maybe just a little tighter." Then Brodie took the loose end of the rope and pulled it taut, making McCullough's eyes bug out. Quickly, he jumped to the desk top behind McCullough's back and holstered his gun, then tossed the rope around the beam again and with a long stretch reached up to tie it off. Back on the floor once more, he took a short length of rope from his pocket and tied McCullough's hands behind him.

"You're gonna pay for this, Brodie!" he said, choking out the words.

"I'd save my breath if I were you. I think you're going to need it." Then he pulled his gun out and aimed it at the rungs on the chair.

"Don't! In the name of God, don't!"

Brodie hesitated as if considering showing some mercy, then let the hammer rest easy. "Well, your luck hasn't completely run out. See, if I shoot the rungs out of that chair, someone might come and rescue you. But if I don't . . . You might just hang yourself."

McCullough teetered precariously, his back stiff and straight.

"Well, I've got someone else to see, so I'll be going. And if I were you, I wouldn't yell too loud. The vibration might make that little chair tilt." Brodie gave him a salute and holstered his gun. "If you see Rafe before I do, tell him I'm looking for him, will you? But if something should happen and your chair moves, don't worry, he'll get the message anyway." Then he strode down the hall to the front door.

Outside, he watched the area as he mounted up and rode away at an easy gait. The whole thing had been too damn simple, and that worried him a lot. As he left the ranch behind and headed for Old Ben's property, he wondered where the hitch lay in all of this. Once again the hairs along his neck prickled. Something was wrong.

Rafe stationed a small group of men just outside the town to warm him if trouble in the form of Old Ben happened to be heading his way. Then he took the others with him in a formidable-sized posse. When they rode into town, they headed straight for the sheriff's office, drawing a crowd of onlookers as they passed the stores on the square. Everything was going just he'd planned, and he couldn't help smiling about it. He and Shorty dismounted while the others waited, ready to draw their guns if necessary, but so far nobody had challenged them. Rafe expected some sort of argument when he kicked in the door, but none was forthcoming, and he grinned with pleasure at how well it was all going. As he rummaged through the desk that was soon to be his, he found both badges and gave one to Shorty, then pinned the other one on himself. He gave it a quick polish with his sleeve and an appreciative glance as he stepped outside into the sunlight. His men parted to make a way for him among their horses, and he walked to the edge of the square, where he raised his gun and fired once, then again.

"Everybody! Listen up!" He studied the crowds standing on the boardwalks at a safe distance, and felt their fear, relishing it. "You have a new sheriff!" he shouted, making sure the sun reflected off the badge he wore. "And this here is my deputy. We're the law from now on, and anybody who has a reason to dispute that can take it up with us."

The men on horses all drew their guns in support of Rafe's words, and again, nobody challenged them. A low murmur gradually erupted, but Rafe took that as a natural reaction to fear and let it pass. After all, that was what he wanted, to see fear on their faces and to hear it in their voices. "Looks like we're all going to get along fine!"

Then he turned to his men. "It's going to take some time and a lot of watching before we can be sure they won't try something, so I want all of you to keep your guns ready and stay around the square. If just one person does anything suspicious, haul him in here, man or woman, and I'll deal with it. They'll soon learn who's the law in Lampasas."

They all agreed, and looking like a force to be reckoned with, they rode around the square once in a group, then dismounted wherever they pleased. Rafe watched as the citizens moved out of their way, trying to avoid contact with them and scurrying home or to their place of business.

But even though everything was going along perfectly, just as he'd planned, there was one hitch in all of it. Brodie. He hadn't seen hide nor hair of him, and that made Rafe nervous. If he were watching, where would he be? Rafe glanced at the hotel, searching the windows for a telltale sign of the man he most wanted to show fear. Nothing. Then he remembered that he'd been a bodyguard to the doctor, and swung his gaze in the direction of her office, but there was no indication that Brodie was there either. Maybe the saloon, he decided, and headed over to the Lady's Garter for a look around and a drink.

When he walked in, all he got were stares. He pushed his way to the bar, and keeping his back away from the front doors, he demanded a beer. When one didn't appear, he reached across and grabbed the barkeep.

"I asked for a beer. Are you hard of hearing or something?"

"'Course not," replied the man, who didn't express as much fear as Rafe would have liked. Then he filled a glass and set it down in front of Rafe.

"That's better." He turned around and studied the crowd over the top of his glass. Some of them he knew, most of them he didn't, and none of them seemed to want to drink with him. "Drink up, everyone! First one's on me."

A few made their way to the bar to get their free drink, while some took the opportunity to avoid trouble by leaving, out either the front door or the back.

But he still didn't see Brodie.

Then a commotion outside drew his attention as well as everyone's in the saloon, so he went to see what was happening, hoping he would get his first chance to act as sheriff. Across the square he saw Shorty arguing with the mayor, and it didn't look like the deputy was getting much respect. Rafe elbowed his way through the crowds that had formed close by, until he stood before the mayor.

"See here," said the mayor. "I've just been informed that you have usurped the office of sheriff without benefit of an election. I must inform you that you cannot do this."

Rafe grinned as he pulled out his gun. "We had our election already. Sorry you weren't there." He waved his gun toward the jail. "Lock him up, Shorty. I say he gets thirty days."

"Thirty days it is, Sheriff." He poked his gun at the mayor. "Get movin'."

"This is ridiculous! You will regret this, Woods! Mark my words."

"Thirty days," Rafe repeated slowly. "Watch it or I'll make it sixty."

The mayor looked at both men and their guns, then decided to go peaceably, but the townspeople weren't quite as ready to give up.

"You can't do that to the mayor!" shouted someone within the cover of the crowd.

"Turn him loose!" shouted another.

Rafe shot into the air, and silence fell.

"Everybody scatter! Before I change the direction of this gun!" Then he leveled it toward them. Within minutes the boardwalks emptied. He heard the laughter of his men from their various positions around the square, and he laughed with them. This was going to be better than he expected. He'd jailed his first man, who just happened to be the mayor. Next, the whole town would be bowing and scraping when he walked by. Yessir, he just about had it all wrapped up.

Except for Brodie.

Hallie stood at the open window, looking down on the trouble that had shown up in the person of Rafe Woods. Horrified, she heard his words and shivered. How could this be happening? When he glanced her way, she quickly stepped aside, flattening her back against the wall. She had barely arrived at her office when Rafe and his men rode in and all the ruckus began. If it was at all possible, she would hurry home, where Abby was undoubtedly in a frenzy. But she had no way of leaving without being seen, and she wouldn't risk that, not after what Abby had been through. Her only chance of safety was to lock and bar the door, so she closed it, turned the key, and set a chair in front of it. Yet that wasn't the total answer. She couldn't stay locked in forever. Eventually, she would have to show herself, and being unarmed, she would be at their mercy.

Where was Brodie? After all the times he was supposed to be guarding her, when she needed him most, he was gone! But where?

She chanced a look out the window again, and was relieved to find Rafe was nowhere to be seen. Yet several of his men occupied positions around the square as though they owned the town, and one of them stood in front of Henry's store. Her heart skipped several beats when she glimpsed Henry in the window, holding a gun. She prayed that the man out front wouldn't turn and see him.

Henry, don't be foolish, she called silently to him. Then, as if he had heard her, he moved away from the window out of sight, and she slumped against the wall with relief.

They were under siege. There was no other word for it, except maybe trapped. And who would know? Who would help? Certainly not the Rangers, since it would take much longer for word to get to them, and longer still before they could reach Lampasas. Even if Brodie were to show up, he was only one man, and in spite of her logical misgivings about him, her heart wouldn't listen. If he should unknowingly ride into Rafe's trap, he would be in a worse position than anybody in town. Whatever it was between the two men, it was plain to see that Rafe was desperate to gain the advantage, and he'd managed to do it.

She scanned the activity on the street, keeping herself out of sight, and came at last to the tall figure of the mayor. As he confronted the man Rafe called his deputy, a crowd gathered, and soon Rafe was in the midst. When he shouted and turned his gun on them, she gasped in fear for the lives of her friends and neighbors. A movement at Henry's front window once more made her turn her attention away from the scene being played out to the one about to begin. Henry stood in the doorway, a rifle in his hands. The way he held it let her know he meant to use it if Rafe fired one shot into that crowd.

Hallie wanted to scream at the madness going on below her. Everything had gotten out of control, but it hadn't happened all at once, and she had to admit it. They had allowed the feuding, the shootings, and the killings to go on far too long, and now they were paying the price for their apathy.

Brodie had been right, she suddenly realized. They were headed for an all-out war, and that war had just been brought to town. Even the Texas Rangers couldn't stop it. Nobody could, unless they stopped Rafe and McCullough.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Brodie rode at a hurried pace, keeping a cautious eye on the surrounding area. He wouldn't rest easy until he knew exactly where Rafe was holed up, and undoubtedly he'd taken a bunch of the men with him. Whatever they were up to, he didn't like it.

As he rode along and the town came into view, a group of riders from the east came at him, hell-bent for leather. He reined his horse around and pulled his gun, ready to take aim. Then he recognized the man in front, Parker, and riding with him was Old Ben. He slipped his gun back into his holster and waited. When they all came to a stop, surrounding him, he saw other familiar faces and acknowledged their quick greeting with a nod.

"Guess you haven't heard," said Ben. "Rafe Woods has declared himself sheriff." Brodie's back stiffened. He'd sensed that something was going on, but this wasn't what he'd expected.

"Parker saw it with his own eyes and managed to hightail it out of town," Ben went on. "I've had enough of McCullough and Rafe, and I aim to put a stop to both of them!"

Parker nodded in agreement. "He's actin' like the rooster in charge of the henhouse."

"We're wasting time talking about it," Ben said, as his horse danced sideways beneath the energy of its rider. "Are you in?"

"I'm in," Brodie said, and fell in line.

He felt his blood pump, and realized he hadn't felt like this in a long time, probably five years. Around him, the thunder of hooves was deafening. The dust choked him and the wind whipped at his hat. As the town loomed closer, he let out a whoop along with the others, and rode hard toward the small group of men stationed as an obvious guard to alert those who had taken over Lampasas. An exchange of gunfire sent Rafe's men scurrying ahead, but Brodie and the others were relentless as they bore down on them. They raced into town chasing the enemy down Second Street, barely making the turn that took them to the square. In a blur of movement, he saw an assortment of people on the boardwalks run for cover, and even the men they chased deserted their horses, heading for the nearest buildings and alleys.

A round of shots suddenly exploded in their midst as Rafe's men hunkered into position, forcing Brodie and Old Ben's men to scatter, taking cover where they could find it. Dashing out of the way on horseback, Parker and Brodie headed for the alley behind Sinclair's, where both men dismounted.

Brodie signaled with his gun for Parker to go into the hotel and get on the roof. After he nodded that he understood, Brodie headed in the other direction. He could have gone into Sinclair's, but Henry was undoubtedly capable of handling everything from that vantage point. It was more important to spread out and cover the town so that none of them became stranded without hope of rescue. And besides, Brodie had one goal and one man to pursue, and he was going to find him if he had to search each and every building to do it. He started the process of elimination.

Looking down the long space where two buildings butted nearly against each other and finding it empty of any shootists, he hurried toward the end for a view of the square. Opposite was the saloon and Hallie's office. He studied the windows, noticing they were open, and knew that she had to be in there. He watched and waited for a gunman to appear, keeping himself as well hidden as he could. When nothing moved, he decided she must be alone, and he hoped to God she'd locked the door and found a place to hide. What he didn't need was for her to try to perform some act of bravery. At this point he figured it was safe to assume that Rafe wasn't with her.

Next, he turned so that he could see the sheriff's office. Broken windows and guns aiming into the melee were strong indications that Rafe just might be holed up inside, the perfect place for an imposter sheriff.

A bullet glanced off the building near his head, and he realized he'd been spotted. Ducking down for added cover, he located the gunman, took aim, and fired. Without waiting to see if he'd hit his mark, he headed back toward the alley and made his way cautiously in the direction of the jail. There were so many men and so much confusion that it would be easy to mistake who the enemy was, unless they shot at him first, or if he was close enough to see their faces. But he wasn't wasting his ammunition on unknown men when there was only one he needed. He crossed an alley, keeping low and moving quick, and came up behind a building that gave him a back view of the jail. Overhead, the sun glinted off metal, catching his eye, and he looked up in time to see a man drawing a bead on him. He heard the shot, then felt the searing heat of pain in his left shoulder. Dropping against the building, he fired, hitting the man.

Brodie ignored his wound after stuffing his bandana inside his shirt to ease the flow of blood. Briefly, he thought about the inevitable carbolic Hallie would use on him, then pushed it from his mind so he could concentrate on the immediate worry. He still didn't know if Rafe was inside or not.

Carefully, he studied the roofs of the adjacent buildings and the alley in front of him. He couldn't afford any more mistakes. Once he determined that he was in the clear, he ran for the back door of the jail, which was wide open. He stopped beside it and listened. When he was pretty sure it was safe he held out his hat, and when it wasn't fired on, he knew the activity was in the front of the building. He stepped inside. Sitting on a cot behind the bars was the mayor. He glanced up to see Brodie, but there was no fear on his face.

''Rafe?" Brodie whispered, nodding toward the office section of the jail.

The mayor shook his head. "Saloon."

Brodie checked the alley and hurried outside, then crept along close to the buildings. The shooting on the square hadn't slowed down. If anything it had grown fiercer, which meant most of the attention was directed there. Even so, Brodie would have a hard time crossing the side street without being seen and then coming up behind the saloon, but there was no other choice.

When he reached the conjunction of the alley and the street, he waited, watching windows and rooftops. Where the alley continued on the other side, the coast seemed clear, but getting over there was the problem. As the noise of a sudden barrage of bullets filled the air around the square, he made a run for it. Unbelievably, he didn't attract any attention, and quickly made his way to another alley that came up behind the saloon. He knew instinctively he'd have to watch his back without taking his eyes off where he was going. So he flattened himself as best he could against the building and pushed his way along the alley, looking both forward and behind, now limited to the use of only one gun hand.

At the door, he hesitated, knowing Rafe was in there. The time had come. They would be face-to-face for the first time in five years, and that made his trigger finger itch. He'd waited so long for this moment, and he didn't want to risk losing his chance to finally even the score.

Carefully, he touched the door with his gun, giving it a little shove to make it swing open far enough to see inside. Lined up across the front were Rafe and his men, their guns blazing out of the broken front windows, with their backs all turned toward him. He almost grinned. This was going to be so damn easy.

Hallie crouched behind her desk, stifling the urge to scream every time a bullet ricocheted through the window and imbedded itself in the wall. The glass doors on her medicine and instrument cabinet had broken within the first ten minutes of gunfire, spraying glass all around her, some even landing in her hair.

She had given up her post at the window immediately after the horsemen had raced into town, but not before she'd spotted Brodie among them. With a mixture of fear and relief, she'd taken cover behind the only solid piece of furniture in the room. Now, she waited, hoping it would be over soon, and hoping the right side would win.

Another bullet strayed through her window and pinged off one of her metal basins hanging on the wall behind her. The noise was so deafening that she almost missed the sound of footsteps on the stairway leading to her office. She strained to hear, but couldn't be sure if she'd imagined it. Then she heard it again and this time there was no doubt. If it was Brodie she would want to let him in, or perhaps Henry might be hurt, or what if Abby, God forbid, had tried to get to her? Poised for flight, she hesitated another moment in case someone should call her name. Then she could be certain if it was friend or foe. But nobody called.

Hallie scrambled across the glass-strewn floor, keeping low and nicking her finger in the process, until she reached the sickroom door. Quickly, she pushed it open and tumbled inside, closing it behind her. No sooner had she shut it than she heard the outer door kicked to splinters, and her heart escalated with panic. She pulled the door toward her just a crack and chanced a peek, praying she wouldn't be seen, but she had to know for certain that it wasn't Brodie. It wasn't.

Standing in her office, brandishing a gun, was one of McCullough's men. He fired out the window, then leaned back against the wall out of the line of fire. Afraid she'd been seen, she moved back, but restrained herself from closing the door. When she heard him fire again, she eased the door shut with her hand on the knob.

She couldn't stay where she was because eventually he would find her. It was as simple as opening the door and there she'd be. Even the cot wasn't big enough to hide under, and there were no closets. Then her gaze fastened on the large storage cabinet, which hid the door going into the bedrooms over the saloon. If she could manage to move it without giving herself away, she could escape. She had only been on the other side of that wall a few times, but she remembered quite well that the stairs led to the main part of the saloon and there was a door in the rear. It was her only chance.

Trying to keep from making any noise, she crept across the floor until she sat beside the cupboard, her back to the wall. At first she pushed and then she tugged, but it was so heavy it didn't budge more than a fraction of an inch. If she emptied the cupboard, she might have better luck, but time was not on her side and it would definitely take too long. So she pushed and tugged until inch by inch she was able to wedge her body behind it and turn the doorknob. Thankfully, the door swung the other direction, and she all but fell into the room.

"Doc Hallie!" cried Carrie as she hunched on the floor beside her bed.

"Are you all right, Carrie?" she asked softly as she closed the door behind her.

"Yes. I think. I didn't know you were over there."

"We have to get out of here," Hallie said.

"But how? And where would we go?"

"To my house. Come on."

Both women crawled across the floor to the door that led into a hallway. Once they were safely beyond the bedroom wall they got to their feet.

"There's no way out," Carrie said. "Downstairs is just more men and they're all shooting out into the square."

Hallie didn't know if she suddenly felt better just being in the company of another woman or if the blood pounding through her head was affecting her thinking, but she felt certain they had a chance of getting out the back door.

"If they're busy shooting, they shouldn't notice us as long as we're quiet," Hallie said. "Are you ready?" "I guess I am if you are."

They each took a deep breath, then Hallie led the way to the top of the stairs. She motioned to Carrie to stay behind her, and took a tentative step down, then another and another, until the men were at last in their vision. Both women froze. Hallie recognized Rafe, and a trickle of fear penetrated her bravado. She remembered quite well what she'd been through with these men when they'd shot her, and she'd seen the results of what had happened to Abby. Pushing aside her fear, she crept further down the stairs with Carrie still close behind. Neither of them took their eyes off the men until they reached the bottom step and were ready to turn and run out the back door. And that was when she saw Brodie, standing at the back of the saloon, his eyes wide with shock at the sight of her.

His left arm hung unnaturally at his side, while the right one kept his gun trained on the backs of the men near the windows. He'd been shot. Her first instinct was to go to him and tend his wound, while her second was to hug him, but a commotion among the men drew her attention, and the next thing she knew Rafe had her in a fierce grip.

"It's been a long time," Rafe said to Brodie, his voice close to her ear. "I wouldn't make any hasty moves. Either of you." He brought his gun up to her temple and pressed the barrel against her bare skin.

Hallie closed her eyes momentarily in order to tamp down the fear and keep Brodie from seeing it. With Rafe's arm tight around her neck, she could barely swallow the bile that rose in her throat. When she opened her eyes again, Brodie wasn't looking at her, but at Rafe.

"Let her go."

"Put down the gun and I'll let her go."

But Hallie didn't believe him, and she was sure Brodie didn't either. Rafe wasn't a man who kept his word, and everyone knew it.

Rafe shrugged lightly, choking her a little more with his movements. "It's up to you."

Brodie stared silently at him, his gun still raised. She blinked to keep back the tears of fear and frustration, and she saw his eyes flicker. He wanted to give her a message but she didn't understand! What did he want? Hallie's mind became frantic, searching for possibilities, wondering what to do, but was there anything she could do?

"You've got one chance," Brodie said.

"I've got one chance?" Rafe laughed, but it sounded more like a bark of derision.

"You shoot her and you're dead. That gives you no chance. Or you let her go and make a try for me. One chance."

She felt Rafe shift his weight as though he were nervous. Then he pulled back the hammer, and the click was as thunderous as a cannon in her ear. Then, just as slowly, he uncocked the gun and chuckled. "Don't be too damn sure of yourself," he said. "You never can tell what might happen."

In spite of herself, she clenched her eyes shut and trembled while her hands came up to clutch at his arm. She nearly lost her balance as she sought better footing around his boot, and Rafe flexed his arm in order to keep his balance as well.

That was it! Her eyes flew open and she blinked. Brodie saw her! She blinked again. He understood! She looked down toward her feet and blinked again. Ever so slightly she saw his eyes flicker, and she knew he would be ready. It was up to her. She wet her lips out of nervousness, then shifted her weight to the other foot, levering her body slowly toward the side of Rafe's. The risk was great, but her options were limited. It wasn't only her life on the line, but Brodie's as well. She had one chance only, and one vulnerable spot that she had to hit dead center. If she was successful, Rafe would instantly lose the breath in his lungs. If she wasn't. . . .

Praying for perfect coordination, she clamped her teeth solidly into his arm and at the same time jabbed her elbow backward into his sternum with every bit of panic-driven strength she possessed. After that, every move seemed to be so slow that she felt as though she were moving through a thick fog. Hallie felt her body fall away from his, saw the floor rise up to meet her, heard someone scream. And yet, it was over in the flash of a gunshot.

She lay unmoving on the floor, a dead weight across her body. Before she could push at it, Brodie was standing over her, his gun pointed toward the men who had watched the entire episode. Carrie knelt beside her, looking frightened.

"It's over. He's dead," Brodie told the men. "You two." He singled out two of them. "Pick him up and carry him out. The rest of you follow and keep your hands raised. Tell your friends to give it up.''

"What about McCullough? He ain't gonna like it."

"Last time I saw Chase McCullough he had a noose around his neck. I doubt if any of this matters much to him right now."

Stunned, they did as he said, and Hallie scrambled to her feet, letting Carrie steady her on shaky legs. Brodie followed them outside, keeping to the inside of the wall out of the line of fire.

"Tell them," he ordered.

"Stop! Hold your fire!" the men shouted, walking cautiously off the boardwalk and into the street. They carried Rafe's body slumped between them, then dropped him in the dust. "Hold your fire!" The shooting ceased. "McCullough's dead, too!" Brodie heard one man say, but he didn't correct him.

"Throw down your guns!" Brodie called out into the square. "There's no use fighting anymore!" But he knew that most of them would take their guns and their horses and head for somewhere else where there were others like McCullough who would hire them for the same reasons.

Gradually, men like Parker brought in a few unwilling men and took them to the jail, but most of those who had the chance didn't wait around, but did just as Brodie suspected. The sound of horses' hooves could be heard occasionally for a while as they exited Lampasas.

Hallie walked over to Brodie and tried to inspect his shoulder. "Better let me take a look at that," she said.

But he pulled away from her and said, "Later." Then he wrapped his good arm around her neck, bringing her close. "You scared the hell out of me."

"I thought"

"I know. And you're right." Without asking and without preliminaries, he kissed her, long and hard, wishing it could take the weakness out of his knees, and wishing suddenly they were back in that barn. When he finally ended it, he felt better, but he knew he didn't ever want to go through anything like that again.

"I guess maybe your arm isn't too bad after all," she said, tilting her head sideways.

"I like it when you do that." He stared into her deep brown eyes, thinking he could probably drown in them and not care.

"Do what?" she asked, doing it again.

"Never mind. It's probably better if you don't know." He kissed her quickly, then turned her loose. "I'd better check to see what the damages are. I'll find you later."

As he walked around the square, he discovered that less than half-a-dozen men had been killed and probably that many were wounded. Henry seemed to be in charge of rounding up those who needed medical attention and getting them to Hallie's office, so Brodie left that part of it to the experts who knew more about it than he did. He headed toward the jail and met the mayor on his way out.

"You might want to send someone out to McCullough's ranch," he told the mayor. "I heard he'd been strung up, but I don't think he's dead. Unless he got careless."

"Really?" he asked, frowning. "Well, I'll take care of it." Then Brodie left him standing there looking puzzled.

As he walked along the street, a new sense of well-being came over him and he had to smile, not at the chaos that had taken place but because he was ready to let the past rest in peace. And he was ready to look to the future.

Hallie put Carrie in charge of cleaning up the glass in her office while she and Henry worked on tending bullet wounds.

"Where do you keep your needles and sutures, Heloise?" he asked, searching through the cabinet drawer.

"You're in the right place," she replied with only a quick glance toward him. "Use the carbolic over here. I've got it."

Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed his movements as he threaded the needle expertly, then dipped it in the basin of carbolic solution before using it on the man sitting in the chair. Suddenly, he had her full attention.

"Henry?"

"Yes?" he said, not looking up but continuing on with his work.

"Do you know what you're doing?"

"Most certainly. You don't think I'd subject this poor man to the ministrations of a novice or worse, do you?" He straightened, then turned to give her a smile before returning to stitching the wound.

"Well . . . I don't know. . . ." She watched as he knotted off the suture, finishing it up nicely. "Henry?"

"We'll never get finished if you keep talking to me, Heloise. And I'm sure these men would like to be on their way. We'll have our discussion later, if you like."

"All right," she replied, trying to take in the implications of what she was seeing.

When the last man had been probed and stitched, as well as thoroughly cleansed, Hallie turned to Henry and said, "Talk. And I want to hear all of it."

He took her by the hands and led her to a chair. "Sit here," he said as he sat on the edge of her desk still holding her hands. "You're right. It's time for some confessions." He sighed, but looked happy. "Years ago I, too, followed in the footsteps of my father, who was a doctor in Philadelphia. But unlike you, I had no trouble entering the best medical schools, simply because I'm a man. When it came time to open my own practice, I was petrified. My father couldn't understand, so he did the only thing he knew how to do, and that was to cajole and finally to force me into practice with him. I had none of your independence, dear Heloise, nor your confidence." He smiled at her and patted her hand, then went on.

"I decided after only a year that I would never make a decent doctor, certainly not like my father was, and so I moved to Chicago and took up pharmaceuticals. It seemed so much easier to administer remedies suggested by doctors, real doctors. And that's when I met you."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"My pride, perhaps. It was difficult enough to disappoint my father. I couldn't bear not to measure up in your eyes as well." "I would have understood."

"Would you?" He looked into her eyes, searching for the answer. "I don't know if you would have. You're so full of all the things that my father wanted to see in me, and I guess by being with you, loving you, I was able to share some of those attributes even though vicariously."

"You're making me feel terrible," she said, looking at their hands clasped together and knowing that she'd hurt him not once, but twice, in ways she hadn't even realized.

"No, don't feel like that. You've done me a great favor. You've helped me to find myself. And in the process, I've fallen in love with the most wonderful girl."

"I think," said Brodie, standing in the doorway, "that it's about time I got here."

Chapter Twenty-Three

Surprised, Henry and Hallie looked up without dropping hands. Then Henry lifted one of hers to kiss as he stood before her. Brodie had nothing against him, but the fact that Henry had once hoped to marry Hallie, along with the pose they presented, had sort of set him off. But he knew it was all innocent enough since he'd heard most of their conversation.

"I'll be on my way," Henry said. "I'm going to stop by and see Abby and let her know what's been going on in town. I'm sure she must be worried. And I'll check on Zack while I'm there, so don't hurry back. Take your time here. Good afternoon to both of you."

After he'd gone, Hallie rose slowly from her chair, walked over to Brodie, studied his face carefully, then pulled the bloody bandana from his inside his shirt.

"Ow!" he said, grimacing. "That's what you get for not knocking. And for waiting so long to have this tended."

"Come here," he said in a voice that was husky enough to create gooseflesh along her arms. And she didn't miss the unusual glint in his eye either.

"No," she replied, moving out of his reach. "Sit here while I take care of that. I have a feeling it's going to take quite a lot of carbolic to get it clean. Take off your shirt so we can get started."

"Carbolic. My favorite."

She peeked inside his shirt at the wound. "And sutures. Now, take off your shirt."

"I think I need some help."

"Well, you do look pretty helpless," she replied, unbuttoning it for him.

His arm came around her, pinning her to him. "Not that helpless," he said, grinning.

She managed to free herself and finish the job of getting the bloody garment off him. "Would you rather lie down or sit where you are?"

"Are you making me an offer, Doctor?" He raised one eyebrow expectantly.

"I meant, lie down on the table," she replied, pointing at the hard surface where she worked on her patients.

He shrugged his good shoulder, and kept grinning at her. "I guess it's okay with me if it's okay with you."

When he stood up, she helped him remove his guns and gunbelt, then laid them across her desk. "Do you think you can stand to be separated from them that long?" she asked.

He stretched out on the table, watching her, and frowned. "Have I done something to upset you that I'm not aware of?"

"I doubt it." She brought the basin, instruments, cloths, and a bottle of carbolic, uncorking it with a flourish. "Relax," she said, pushing his head back until it rested on the table.

"Easy for you to say," he mumbled, wrinkling his nose at the smell.

She laid a towel beneath his shoulder, then doused the wound, and he hollered again.

"Isn't this where it all started?" he asked, looking up at her, but she kept her eyes focused on her task. "I mean, when I first met you."

"At least this time you have your pants on," she replied.

He grinned. "Not for long."

She probed the tender flesh, locating the bullet.

"Ow! I think you are upset with me." He studied her quietly while she worked. "Would you care to enlighten me, Doctor?"

"Maybe later. I'm busy."

"Busy, hell. I might not live through the surgery!"

She ignored him.

"Where are your spectacles?" he asked.

"Afraid I can't see what I'm doing?"

"No. I think you look kind of cute in them." Finally, he was rewarded with a direct look, albeit an annoyed one. "Honest," he said.

"You wouldn't know honest if it walked up and smacked you in the face." She returned to her work.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He started to raise up, but she pushed him back.

"Lie still. Unless you'd like me to dig deeper?" She tilted her head sideways at him.

"No," he replied, and couldn't help smiling at her. "I'll wait until you're finished. Whatever it is can't be all that bad."

After that he hardly noticed the pokes and pricks or even the carbolic, which she practically bathed him in, because now he had a chance to be close to her, to see the little frown lines that puckered around her eyes and mouth while she concentrated. There were small bits of glass still clinging to her hair where she'd been too close to a flying bullet, and the thought of it put a twist in his gut. He wanted to reach up and remove the pins that held it, letting it fall free to cascade over his bare chest, but he'd wait, just as he'd said he would.

"There," she said at last. "Now, I'll put some bandages on it."

She reached for the bandages at the head of the table, and he took advantage of the opportunity in spite of his promise. With his good arm he pulled her down to him, kissing her as thoroughly as their positions would allow. What should have left her weak-kneed only seemed to refuel her irritation with him, and she pulled away.

"I'm not finished yet," she said.

"Neither am I." He managed to undo a few of the pins and release one section of her hair before she captured his hand and put it back alongside him.

"When I'm done, we're going to talk," she said. Taking a roll of bandages, she made a few wraps around his shoulder, then under his arm, and occasionally her breast brushed against him as she moved.

"We'll talk now," he said, grabbing her wrist gently but firmly. "You're making me crazy with wanting you, and you don't seem to care. So tell me what I've done and I'll do my damnedest to set things right between us."

With fire in her eyes, and maybe a little hurt lurking around the edges, she said, "You lied to me."

He blinked. "I did? When?"

"Well, it wasn't what you said so much as what you let me believe right from the start." She pulled loose from his grasp and stepped back. "You came in here carrying enough ammunition to secure a fort, and you appeared to be as mean and tough as any gunfighter. And you had a bullet in your backside."

"And you're saying I'm not like that now but you wish I was?" He stared at her in total confusion.

"No, I don't. But I believed it then." Exasperated, she covered her face with one hand. "Let me start over." She took a deep breath, then looked him straight in the eye. "Do you have a Texas Ranger badge in your saddlebag or not?"

He thought he was beginning to understand, and relaxed back on the table. "Yes."

"As a matter of fact you have two of them. Is one of them yours?"

"Yes."

"See?" She lifted her hands in a frustrated appeal, then stared at the ceiling momentarily before looking at him again. "You lied," she said softly. "All this time you let me believe that you were the worst sort of gunfighter and you're really a Texas Ranger."

He smiled at her. "You sound disappointed."

"I am. I mean, of course I don't want you to be a gunfighter. But I am disappointed that at some point you didn't tell me the truth. You had the opportunity. Why didn't you just say, 'I'm a Ranger. It's what I do for a living.' Then we would at least have had some honesty between us."

"But I'm not a Ranger."

That brought her up short. "What?"

"I'll be happy to explain, but I don't like you to be so far away from me." He held out his hand, beckoning her closer.

A little dazed by his words, Hallie accepted his hand as she moved closer. She wanted more than anything to understand and for things to be right between them. Being angry with him and distrusting him turned her inside out. She needed his gentle touches and caresses, even his teasing, but she couldn't be with him the way she'd already been if he wasn't honest with her. And after that moment in the saloon, when he'd held her so tight and kissed her, then walked out into the sunshine to take charge of the aftermath, she knew it then. He wasn't a gunman, and she should have been completely and totally glad. And she would have been, if he hadn't let her believe a lie. What was the purpose of pretending to be worse than he was, when in reality he was on the side of the law? Except, he'd just told her that he wasn't.

He held her hand, studying and tracing each of her fingers and then her palm with one of his calloused ones.

''You're a very special person, Doctor Hallie Summers." He looked up into her eyes. "And I apologize for not explaining everything sooner. I suppose it's because I never expected to fall in love with you."

Her heart did a complete flop in her chest, or so it felt. She had hoped to hear those words from him, but wasn't sure she ever would. Now that he'd said them, she had to concentrate on what else he had to say since her mind wanted to hear the sound of them over and over.

He struggled to sit up and she helped him. Then he slid down off the edge of the table until he stood in front of her. "There's something wrong about confessing while laying flat on your back," he said, grinning at her.

He picked a piece of glass from her hair and tossed it in the basin with the bullet she'd taken out of him. Then he looped a length of hair behind her ear, touching her skin, tracing the line of her jaw. "I never meant to hurt you, or to lie to you."

Hallie believed him.

"The other badge," he said, then paused. "It belonged to my brother. We were Rangers together, fought side by side. The day he died I took his badge and carried it with me sort of like a promise."

She sensed there was more. "How did he die?"

"He was hung."

Hallie caught her breath. "Hung?"

He nodded, and she knew the pain he'd felt still hadn't gone away.

"We were chasing some rustlers south of here. They almost made it to the border when they suddenly doubled back, and we weren't expecting it. We'd pretty much given up hope of catching them and decided to camp for the night. We figured there wasn't much use in going into Mexican country and getting ourselves shot at from all directions, so like fools we underestimated them. During the night, I fell asleep when I should've been watching and the next thing we know, we're waking up to rifles pointed in our faces." He stopped talking and just held her hand.

"I've never told this to another living soul," he said quietly.

"I'm glad you're telling me," she replied. "It helps me to understand. What happened next?"

"Well, for some reason I was never able to figure out, they grabbed Jeff."

"Your brother?"

He nodded. "The leader of the group said they wanted to show what they thought of a bunch of. . . . well, Rangers. They carried a rope with them, they said, for just such an occasion."

"Oh, no," she said softly, closing her eyes and trying to block out the picture.

"I tried to stop them and got a cracked skull for it. When I came to around dawn, I saw him. They'd hung him in a tree along the creek not ten yards from the campsite. I swore I'd find the man who did it. Until then I wasn't fit to be a Ranger."

Hallie understood everything now. "Rafe," she said.

"Yes. I've carried those badges in my saddlebag for five years. Five long years." He touched her cheek, then slid his hand around to the back of her neck, pulling her close so that his face touched hers. "And I nearly lost you, too."

"But you didn't, and he's gone." She wrapped her arms around his waist, mindful of jarring his arm. "I'm sorry I was so mean to you."

He kissed her forehead. "I guess I deserved it."

"No. I was just feeling left out."

"Until now, it hasn't been easy for me to say how I feel. It hasn't been easy to have feelings."

"But that's all changed?"

"Yes," he said, nuzzling her ear. "I've never known anyone like you. I think you must work a little magic." He kissed a spot beneath her ear, sending a chill down her back.

"You're pretty good at working a little magic yourself," she replied, feeling warm and loose-jointed. "Do you think it's getting a little warm in here?"

"The windows are open. Should I open the door, too?" he asked. Then he worked at the top button on her shirt as his mouth covered hers.

She wanted to reply, but forgot what the question was, so she gave it up. A cool breeze brushed her bare skin, which was now exposed, and she leaned against him, wanting to get as close as possible and not caring about the heat. Using only one arm around her shoulders, he managed to keep her on her feet, and she appreciated the support. In fact, she needed it. "You still want to use the table here?" he asked, nibbling a line to her breast.

She knew what he meant. "It's too small, I think," she replied a little breathlessly.

"Hmm."

Her skin felt cooler where his tongue touched her.

"Floor's too hard," he said, making his way toward her mouth again.

Right then the floor would have been all right with her and she would have told him so, if she could have talked.

He raised his head. "The bed."

"What bed?" she replied, still under the effects of his caresses.

"The one I slept in. Back there." He hadn't stopped the kisses, and she could barely remember she even had a sickroom.

"Okay," she agreed, and felt herself being maneuvered the few feet to the room where the bed was. "Wait. It's full of glass."

He looked over her shoulder. "Looks fine to me."

She turned around and sure enough, the glass was gone and a fresh sheet stretched tightly across the mattress. Then he clumsily struggled with the rest of her buttons, bringing her attention back to the reason they'd needed the bed.

"I guess Carrie must have taken care of it," she said, watching his hands.

He pushed her shirt down her arms, and she let it fall on the floor. Then he did the same with her camisole. He touched her lightly, and her body responded. As the early evening shadows fell around them, creating hills and valleys on his chest, she smoothed her hand across them, and he pulled her close. Kissing her once more, he tempted and tasted, and she teased and tormented, until neither of them were able to stand it. He shucked out of his britches and she did the same. Then carefully they lay down on the narrow bed.

"Is the door closed?" she asked, momentarily conscious of their privacy.

He kicked it closed with one foot. "It is now."

"Not that one," she said. "The one that goes into Carrie's room."

He raised his head in surprise, staring around the small room. "What door?"

"Behind the cupboard. She must have closed it if you don't see it. Bless that girl." And she put her arms around his neck, bringing his lips to hers.

But before she could return his kisses, he said, "You never told me there was a door to those rooms."

"And it's probably a good thing I didn't."

"You had nothing to worry about. I was never interested in anybody next door."

"So you say."

"I would never lie to you."

She smiled. "All right, I believe you."

"Good. I don't want that to ever change."

He shifted his weight, but groaned. Turning to give his arm more space, she said, "Is that better?"

"Almost. What I need is the pins out of your hair and you up here." She obliged, and he moved his hips against hers. "That's better. Much better."

Then she kissed his cheek and felt him smile, kissed his closed eyes, which she loved, and finally his mouth, and was swept away. This time she experienced a new joy because she knew he loved her; this time she was carried to new heights where deeper feelings filled her because she knew he loved her; and this time neither of them held back, but gave all they had to each other. When at last she lay spent and perspiring across him, she said, "I don't think I've told you that I love you."

He brushed the damp hair back from her face. "I already know it, but it's nice to hear. Maybe you could say it once a day for the rest of our lives."

"You're sure you wouldn't get tired of it?"

"Not a chance."

"But maybe I won't see you everyday for the rest of my life."

"I hope you will. Actually, I hope you'll marry me. It would be a lot more convenient that way."

Hallie raised up and stared through the deep shadows at his face. "Marry you?"

"Well, your reputation and all. . . . I thought maybe . . ."

"Of course I'll marry you!" She grabbed his face between her hands and planted a kiss on his lips.

"I'm glad you like the idea."

Then she remembered the badge and the pledge he'd made to himself. "But what about the Rangers?"

"Well, I sort of thought Lampasas was looking for a sheriff. Aren't they?"

She snuggled down beside him on the opposite side of his injured shoulder, and was thoughtful before answering. "Yes, but I don't know how I feel about you being in such a dangerous line of work. I'd like to have a very long marriage and children who will grow up having a father."

Now, it was his turn to be thoughtful, and she knew without a doubt that the word "children" had made him think.

"I want a long marriage and kids too. But I don't think being sheriff should cause us a problem, as long as the town is run properly."

"You mean the feud."

"That and other minor situations that always crop up." "But what about McCullough? And Old Ben for that matter."

"Well, I would suppose McCullough is sitting in jail right now. That is, if he was able to stand squarely on the chair"

"What?"

"I'll explain another time. Right now I'd just like to hold you."

They lay quietly together enjoying the absence of gunshots as night fell across the town. In the saloon downstairs they could hear the sound of piano music, sadly out of tune, and laughter spilling out onto the square and in through their broken window.

Hallie suddenly wondered what her new name would be.

"Brodie?"

"Hm?" he replied sounding sleepy.

"What will my name be after we're married. Doctor Hallie . . . what?"

"Brodie."

"You mean that's your last name?"

"Yes."

"What's your given name?"

He hesitated, then said, "Elliot."

She smiled. "That's a nice name."

"Don't ever tell anybody. I mean it," he said sternly.

"Why not? I think we should name our first son after his father and I want everyone to know."

"We can name him what you like, but nobody has to know why."

"Not even little Elliot?" she asked grinning.

"Maybe when he's older and my reputation doesn't matter."

"Heloise and Elliot," she said, testing the names together. "Hmm. Maybe you're right. We'll stick with Hallie and Brodie."

"Hallie and Brodie forever," he said. "And ever."

She smiled and almost said amen.

Epilogue

Hallie and Brodie stood outside the church ready to throw rice at the new bride and groom, but they hadn't appeared in the doorway yet. Nearly the whole town had turned out to wish them well. Hallie thought Abby was beautiful in her white dress, and Henry couldn't have looked more handsome.

A month had passed since the day of the shooting in the square, and Lampasas was back to being the town she remembered. She looked up at Brodie standing beside her, strong and tall, wearing the badge of sheriff, and she was filled with pride. He caught her staring at him and reached for her hand, making her smile. Then he leaned down and whispered in her ear. A row of gooseflesh immediately cropped up and a delicious shiver rode down her back.

"You look like a bride yourself today," he whispered.

But she wasn't a bride, she was his wife. They hadn't waited long enough for all the debris to be cleaned up before they were knocking on the preacher's door and Hallie was visiting Hannah's dress shop.

She smoothed the skirts of her mustard-colored dress, enjoying the feel of the material, not to mention the new sense of femininity it gave her. No longer did she wear her father's made-over clothing, which she had packed away in a trunk in the far reaches of her attic. Instead, she wore simple day dresses of bright colors when she went to the office or, the newest fashion, riding skirts with shorter hemlines.

A burst of excited laughter drew their attention to the couple standing in the doorway. Holding hands, they contemplated the mad dash they were about to make through a hail of rice that everyone was poised to throw. Abby's bruises had disappeared from her face, except for a small amount of yellow tinge that was hardly perceptible to anyone but Hallie with her experienced eye. And the happiness that she'd seen in Abby over the last month as she prepared for the wedding was proof there were no lasting scars on the inside from the ordeal she'd been through with Jake.

Now, Henry tugged her hand, but Abby shook her head, laughing and making the curls around her face bounce. Then he tugged again and she ran with him, sheltering her face by turning it toward him and letting him lead the way. Immediately, Hallie along with the rest of the crowd tossed their handfuls of rice, pelting the couple until every last bit of it was lying on the path behind them.

The crowd surged forward as Henry helped Abby into the buggy and she adjusted her skirts safely around her. When Hallie stepped close enough, Abby leaned down and gave her a hug. Then Hallie turned to Henry.

"Have a safe trip," she said. She was going to miss him, and Abby, too.

"We will, I'm sure." Brodie shook his hand as any friend would, and said, ''You'll come back and visit soon we hope."

Henry nodded. "But it's going to be a while. As soon as we're settled in, we'll write."

"Chicago is a long way from here," Hallie said.

"I know." But he looked excited to be going.

"Good luck, again, with your new practice." Hallie knew he would be successful.

"Thanks. But you know it isn't mine. I'm just starting out under Dr. Abrams."

She nodded. He'd explained it all to her in great detail when the letter came two weeks ago, inviting him to join the older doctor.

"Well, I guess we'd better go." He leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Thanks, Heloise. For everything."

Then Abby called out to Zack, who stood on the steps of the church, and he sauntered toward the buggy. He looked fit and healthy, and sported a new attitude toward life that said he was ready for all it had to offer.

"While you and Parker are up there in Montana, you make certain you stay bundled up during those long cold winters," Abby said, adjusting his tie. "You hear me?"

Zack grinned at her. "Sure, Abby." Then he hugged her. "I'm going to miss you."

"Well, I should hope so," she replied, brushing a tear away. "But Chicago isn't as far as all that. And those cattle you'll be minding can do without you for a little bit once in a while. Can't they?"

"If they can't, they can tell it to Parker," he said, still smiling.

After all the good-byes were said, and the hugs and kisses had been shared, the buggy pulled away. Henry's and Abby's belongings had already been shipped, and both houses sold, as well as the store, which had been bought by Mr. and Mrs. Hartley. Everyone knew that Gladys and Mona would be the ones running it.

"I'm so happy for Henry, and Abby, too," Hallie said, as they walked along the street that took them to her house, which was now their house.

"I can't imagine living in a place like Chicago," he said.

"Well, the winters can be pretty fierce, but I don't think Abby knows that yet."

"I'd think that would be the best part about it. Then we could stay inside all day"

"Wrapped up in a blanket together in front of a fire," she finished for him.

"I think you're reading my mind."

"Again," she replied, smiling up at him.

"One of these days I'm going to surprise you."

She tilted her head sideways, trying to avoid the sun in her eyes, and said, "Oh, really?"

"I love it when you do that," he said.

"Do what?"

But instead of answering her, he stopped and pulled her into his arms, then kissed her as though not a soul was watching. When he finally let her go and she could catch her breath, he said, "Surprised?"

"Well," she replied. "So much for my reputation, Sheriff Brodie." Then she linked her arm through his, walking toward home, and she could hardly wait to tell him the surprise she'd been saving for him. It was still a little early, but not so early that she couldn't be sure. Perhaps there would be another Elliot Brodie before too many months passed.

Tilting her head sideways, she couldn't help grinning at him.