Promising Hearts

PROMISING HEARTS

by

RADCLYfFE

2006

What Reviewers Say About Radclyffe'S Books

"...well-plotted...lovely romance...I couldn't turn the pages fast enough!"--Ann Bannon, author of The Beebo Brinker Chronicles

"The author's brisk mix of political intrigue, fast-paced action, and frequent interludes of lesbian sex and love...in Honor Reclaimed...sure does make for great escapist reading."--Richard Labonte, Q Syndicate

"If you're looking for a well-written police procedural make sure you get a copy of Shield of Justice. Most assuredly worth it."--Lynne Jamneck, author of Down the Rabbit Hole and reviewer for The L Life.

"Radclyffe has once again pulled together all the ingredients of a genuine page-turner, this time adding some new spices into the mix. Whatever one's personal take on the subject matter, shadowland is sure to please--in part because Radclyffe never loses sight of the fact that she is telling a love story, and a compelling one at that."--Cameron Abbott, author of To The Edge and An Inexpressible State of Grace.

"Stolen Moments...edited by Radclyffe & Stacia Seaman...is a collection of steamy stories about women who just couldn't wait. It's sex when desire overrides reason, and it's incredibly hot!"--Suzanne Corson, On Our Backs.

"With ample angst, realistic and exciting medical emergencies, winsome secondary characters, and a sprinkling of humor, Fated Love turns out to be a terrific romance. It's one of the best I have read in the last three years. Run--do not walk--right out and get this one. You'll be hooked by yet another of Radclyffe's wonderful stories. Highly recommended."--Author Lori L. Lake, Midwest Book Review.

"Radclyffe, through her moving text...in Innocent Hearts...illustrates that our struggles for acceptance of women loving women is as old as time - only the setting changes. The romance is sweet, sensual, and touching."--Kathi Isserman, reviewer for Just About Write.

Visit us at www.boldstrokesbooks.com

PROMISING HEARTS by RADCLYfFE 2006

PROMISING HEARTS

Š 2006 BY RADCLYFFE. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

ISBN 1-933110-44-9

THIS TRADE PAPERBACK ORIGINAL IS PUBLISHED BY

BOLD STROKES BOOKS, INC.,

NEW YORK, USA

FIRST PRINTING MAY 2006

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NAMES, CHARACTERS, PLACES, AND INCIDENTS ARE THE PRODUCT OF THE AUTHOR'S IMAGINATION OR ARE USED FICTITIOUSLY. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, BUSINESS ESTABLISHMENTS, EVENTS, OR LOCALES IS ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL.

THIS BOOK, OR PARTS THEREOF, MAY NOT BE REPRODUCED IN ANY FORM WITHOUT PERMISSION.

CREDITS

EDITORS: RUTH STERNGLANTZ AND STACIA SEAMAN

PRODUCTION DESIGN: STACIA SEAMAN

COVER DESIGN BY SHERI (GRAPHICARTIST2020@HOTMAIL.COM)

By the Author

Romances

Safe Harbor

Passion's Bright Fury

Beyond the Breakwater

Love's Masquerade

Innocent Hearts

Shadowland

Love's Melody Lost

Fated Love

Love's Tender Warriors

Distant Shores, Silent Thunder

Tomorrow's Promise

Turn Back Time

Honor Series

Above All, Honor

Honor Bound

Love & Honor

Honor Guards

Honor Reclaimed

Justice Series

A Matter of Trust (prequel)

Shield of Justice

In Pursuit of Justice

Justice in the Shadows

Justice Served

Change Of Pace:Erotic Interludes

(A Short Story Collection)

Stolen Moments:Erotic Interludes 2

Stacia Seaman and Radclyffe, eds.

Lessons in Love:Erotic Interludes 3

Stacia Seaman and Radclyffe, eds.

Acknowledgments

Innocent Hearts was among the very first "full-length" works I wrote, and I had no aspirations to publish my stories at the time. The characters and I were all "innocent"--I because I had no real concept of what it really took to write a book, and the characters because they lived in a time when there were no words for who they were and how they loved.

Over the years I have come to understand that the story is the heart of any work, but the craft that brings that story to true life is plain old hard work. It can be exhilarating and frustrating from one second to the next. It is always rewarding. I was fortunate to be able to publish a second edition of Innocent Hearts (2005) in preparation for the continuation of the story of these brave, passionate women of New Hope. It was a real pleasure to revisit that work and add the subtle nuances I had missed the first time around.

While Promising Hearts happens to be set in a particular time in American history, romance and love are universal and eternal. It was a joy for me to write this book, and I believe the love and passion between these women will transcend place and time. I admit, however, to being a lifelong fan of the "Western," so this one was doubly fun to do.

Thanks to my tireless beta readers--Connie, Diane, Eva, Jane, Paula, RB, and Tomboy, my editors Ruth and Stacia, and Sheri, artist extraordinaire. And to Lee, for all the promises of the heart. Amo te.

Radclyffe 2006

Dedication

For Lee

From the Heart

PROMISING HEARTS

CHAPTER ONE

Appomattox Court House, Virginia

April 9, 1865

The morning of the battle dawned gray and cold. Dr. Vance Phelps surveyed the low rise extending southwest from Appomattox Court House where Lt. General Ulysses S. Grant had deployed the Army of the Potomac after forcing General Robert E.

Lee and the Army of Northern Virginia to abandon Richmond. Only a few hundred yards away, 30,000 rebel troops, all that remained of Lee's war-weary forces, prepared to mount their assault. Nearby, the assistant surgeons milled in a restless knot, awaiting orders as to where to establish the regimental field hospital. Vance was the senior surgeon by virtue of having served for nearly three years in the Pennsylvania 155th Volunteers--longer than any of the other medical personnel--and by being the only formally trained surgeon in the division. Many of the others had a few weeks of apprenticeship or no medical training at all.

They'd learned the rudiments of their trade under fire.

"There." Vance pointed to a dense copse of trees on a knoll directly behind the close rows of muzzle-loading howitzers manned by Ord's 24th Corps. From long experience in skirmishes and battles too numerous to count, Vance knew that before long the air would roil with the clouds of lung-singeing black smoke spewed out from artillery and small arms fire. The walking wounded and stretcher bearers would have a hard time finding the aid station unless it was close to the battle line and clearly visible. "Set up the tents in front of that hedgerow."

"Gonna make a mighty fine target up there, Doc," noted Milton Cox, the sergeant who served as her chief hospital steward. In his mismatched uniform of regulation Union blue trousers and a frayed, faded yellow shirt of homespun cotton that he'd most likely stolen off the clothesline of some unsuspecting Southern housewife, he looked more like a vagabond than a seasoned veteran.

"Might be," Vance agreed, her black eyes holding just a glint of humor, "if Lee's men are so unmannerly as to fire upon the hospital.

But I figure we'll have the strongest section of the Union line in front of us, and just maybe the ambulance corps will be able to find us once the shooting starts."

The sergeant grinned, showing an uneven row of tobacco-stained teeth. "Well, you've been right more times than not."

Just lucky, Vance thought, swiping the sleeve of her loose blue officer's coat across the icy sweat on her forehead. Sometime during the night, when she'd lain awake on a thin blanket in the back of one of the medical supply wagons contemplating the upcoming battle, the congestion in her chest had relented enough for her to breathe without the stabbing pain that had been present for the last week. The cough and chills persisted, a remnant of the pneumonia she had been fighting since February. Now, her once long and slender form verged on gaunt, though her skin was tanned and roughened by sun and wind, her muscles sinewy from constant labor. As Grant's forces had cut deep into the South, the warm April days and the humid air of Virginia had helped ease the constriction in her lungs. She counted herself lucky not to have succumbed to consumption or dysentery or some of the other diseases that had taken so many on both sides of the war.

Not for the first time, she was bone-grateful for the good health and regular food she'd enjoyed before disguising her sex and enlisting in the newly formed U.S. Army Medical Corps in 1862. After so many losses at the Battle of Bull Run, when thousands died from lack of access to medical treatment and the general dearth of physicians among the regiments, recruiters accepted anyone with the vaguest sort of medical training. No one looked carefully at the credentials, or the gender, of the inductees.

"We're low on chloroform," Milton said.

Vance nodded, considering herself fortunate that they had any of the fairly new substance at all. Rumor had it that the Southern surgeons had been making do with ether for months, a far less reliable anesthetic. "We've plenty of morphine and laudanum if we run out of the anesthesia."

"Well, if I need any cuttin' done, I want you to be the one doin' it."

Milton turned his head and spat a stream of dark brown tobacco juice.

"Ain't none of the others as quick and clean as you."

"Thank you, Milton," Vance said, having long since lost count of the hundreds of limbs she had removed. "Make sure you keep the basin of carbolic full and close by today."

"Yep. Don't suppose we'll be runnin' out of that real soon, seein' how you're the only one usin' it."

Vance knew that Milton, along with her fellow surgeons, thought the practice of dipping her hands into the caustic liquid between surgeries was not only time consuming, but foolish superstition. Nevertheless, Dr. Lister's theories about sanitation made sense to her. She thought of how many soldiers she had lost, not to injury, but to gangrene. Far more than she had saved. Her face, thinned down to bone from subsisting on little more than hardtack and salt-pork for months, grew grimmer still. "There's little enough we can do for them. I don't see that it will hurt."

"Right enough." As if recognizing Vance's dark mood, Milton said quietly, "This war can't last much longer. Not with Lee's forces split and us between 'em."

"I hope you're right. There's been far too much death." With a sigh, Vance straightened her shoulders and turned to check the progress of the soldiers assigned to the ambulance corps who were erecting the hospital tent and bringing up the supply wagons. Her operating table consisted of a wooden door removed from a grand plantation house balanced across two empty ammunition barrels. Her instruments were her own, brought from Philadelphia when she'd left her post at the hospital to take her skills where they were most needed. Those she cleaned and cared for herself, carrying them in an engraved wooden case that had been presented to her by her father the day she graduated from the Women's Medical College of Pennsylvania. That day in 1861, she'd imagined a life very different than this. But since then, everything had changed.

The sound of small arms fire drew her from a past that had seemed so certain into the present, to a life that might now be measured only in fleeting moments. An eerie sound drifted on the pristine whiffs of white smoke that rose into the air beyond the Union lines like so many puffs of breath. A keening, undulating cry of defiance and, oddly, joy.

The Rebel Yell.

"Here they come," Milton whispered with near reverence.

"Yes," Vance said, striding quickly toward the hospital staging area. She removed her coat and rolled back the cuffs of her white cotton shirt as she walked. Once there, she retrieved her surgical kit from the wagon and spread her instruments out on a rough pine bench next to the makeshift operating table. She doubted she would need more than the probes, the amputation knife, and the saw for the first round.

Minnie balls and cannon canisters left her little choice but to amputate.

She dipped her hands into the carbolic acid and shook off the excess, scanning the nearby rise for the first sign of wounded.

v "Look smart, men," General Philip Sheridan exhorted as he galloped up and down the forward line of the first of his three cavalry divisions, saber rattling against his thigh in its gold-braided scabbard.

"Lee's infantry will be upon us before the sun burns the dew from the grass."

Sheridan's line of mounted cavalry, poised for the signal to strike, shifted in the sunlight like a huge black snake, the horse soldiers and animals alike agitated by the sound of weapon fire and men screaming.

The light artillery, mounted on wooden platforms, bucked and belched fire as they disgorged their deadly hail of grapeshot. The ground trembled with the force of thousands of feet pounding the hard-packed red earth, and the air shimmered with the ominous thunder of war.

Vance heard the bugler signal the charge, and Sheridan's cavalry stormed toward the advancing rebel lines. Then from out of the smoke and shifting shadows she saw the first stretcher bearers emerge, running as fast as they could with their burdens of damaged humanity in tow.

When the first man was laid upon her table, the battle receded from her consciousness. There were only the wounded now.

"Change the saw blade," Vance said as she turned from the table and immersed her hands in the blood-tinged antiseptic in the basin balanced on a tree stump by her right side.

"Ain't got but two left," Milton said as he sluiced the blood and gore off the wooden tabletop with a bucket of water.

Vance looked at the line of waiting wounded. Those who could walk were sitting under the shelter of the trees, bandaging themselves or their friends. She might get to some of them before the day was over, but those who weren't seriously injured would wander back to their regiments before she ever had a chance to tend them. They knew as well as she that there was little she could do beyond what they had already done for themselves. Those who needed her services were the soldiers with major injuries to body or limb, and these waited on the bare ground in a dense semicircle that stretched as far she could see.

"We'll make do with the one we're using for now," she said. It had taken her a little over fifteen minutes to amputate the last leg because the saw blade was so dull she'd had to wrench it through the bone by sheer force for the last half inch. She'd always been active, eschewing the carriage to walk whenever she could and working in the gardens that surrounded her family home in the spare moments between her studies. She was strong enough in body to do what needed to be done, but her heart suffered. "Next."

The boy looked no older than fourteen and might not have been, because as the war had dragged on, anyone who could carry a rifle and declared they were sixteen was welcome in the ranks. The cannonball had struck him just below the knee, destroying most of his lower leg bone and leaving only a mangled mass of muscle connected to his foot.

She looked into the boy's eyes.

"I'm going to remove your leg, son, and you're going to live."

Vance nodded to Milton, who stood to her left with a cloth and a can of chloroform in his hand, and as he pressed the anesthetic to the boy's face, she tightened the leather strap around his lower thigh with one firm yank. Once again, she picked up the amputation knife bare- handed and swiftly cut down to bone, four inches below his knee. With a circular rotation of her wrist, she completed the incision around the stump and dropped the knife on the table in exchange for the saw. It should have taken her less than two minutes to transect the bone, but it required twice that long to worry the blunt teeth through the young healthy leg. When the destroyed portion fell onto the door that served as her table with a thump, Milton picked it up and tossed it onto a nearby pile of amputated limbs.

"Damn flies," Vance muttered, waving at the ever-present insects that buzzed around her head and the boy's motionless body, obscuring her vision. Milton passed her a straight needle threaded with black silk, and she rapidly located and sewed closed the major vessels in the stump. Then she covered the end of the exposed bone with a flap of skin and muscle and swiftly sutured it in place to complete the amputation.

Somewhere behind her she could hear men shouting, even above the cannon barrage and general cacophony of battle.

"Move him to the evacuation wagon. Next."

When another body did not immediately appear before her, she looked up questioningly. Sweat and blood spatter ran into her eyes and she blinked, then automatically wiped her face on her sleeve. Seeing Milton gesticulating wildly as a lieutenant on horseback leaned down and shouted something at him, Vance called out, "What is it?"

"Lee has broken Sheridan's line," Milton called on the run. "We're to fall back."

Vance looked at the wounded covering nearly every inch of ground around her and shook her head. "We can't move all these soldiers."

"Then we'll leave them for Lee's surgeons," Milton said, hurriedly gathering drugs and instruments.

"No. Lee's surgeons will take care of their own first, and these men need attention now. You go. I'll stay."

Milton stopped what he was doing and stared at Vance. "If you stay, they'll make you a prisoner."

"That may be. But I'm a surgeon and I'll be valuable to them. Go on, Sergeant. Leave me enough medicine for these men and go."

"I don't think I can do that, Doc." Milton moved up beside her.

"We fought together side by side these three years. Wouldn't be right.

Besides, my mama didn't raise me to leave a woman to stand alone when times got hard."

Vance stared into his placid brown eyes. "You know?" He nodded.

"Does everyone?"

"Can't say. You wouldn't be the first, and most choose not to remark on it, even if they know." He shrugged. "Seen some pretty damn good fighters, myself. And never a better surgeon than you."

"Thank you, Milton. Let's get the next one up here on the table."

Vance worked on, the sounds of battle growing closer. As the war closed in around them, the air grew thick with smoke and misery. The pain in Vance's chest returned, skewering her with each breath. She coughed and shook her head, flinging sweat from her thick dark hair in an arc around her. Incongruously, the sun broke through for an instant, and crystal droplets danced on the sunbeams before falling into the blood that pooled around her scuffed black boots.

"That's the last one, Doc," Milton said. "Now we gotta skedaddle."

"I believe you're right, Sergeant," Vance said, tossing the saw into her kit and rinsing her hands one more time. Reaching for her coat, she glimpsed the look of horror on Milton's face at the same time as she felt the earth shake. Then the world revolved crazily, and the next moment, she was lying on her back staring at the sky. A few small patches of brilliant blue still peeked through the dense battle fog. She couldn't hear through the ringing in her ears. She turned her head. Milton lay ten feet away, his neck bent at an unnatural angle, his eyes blank.

The pain came next, unspeakable waves of agony. Reaching out blindly, Vance felt the iron rim of the barrel that supported the operating table and, gripping the top, pulled herself to her feet. The left side of her body was soaked in blood. Her left arm hung uselessly by her side. Dizzy, she sagged against the table and hoped it wouldn't topple, struggling to sort out her injury. Bright red blood spurted into the air from somewhere near her elbow, the pulsations keeping time with her heartbeat. Of one thing she was certain--she'd bleed to death in another few minutes. Biting down against the pain and the screams that threatened, she found the leather strap she used as a tourniquet and cinched it down around her upper arm. The bleeding slowed.

A minnie ball struck the table and kicked splinters into the air. Not much time. She slid down to the ground, her back against the barrel, her damaged arm cradled in her lap. Then she closed her eyes to wait.

CHAPTER TWO

Montana Territory

May 1866

The pain jerked Vance from her restless sleep, the shadowy images of danger and misery lingering on the edges of her consciousness even as she opened her eyes and blinked in the half- light of the stagecoach's interior. She met the curious stare of a young brunette seated across from her in the coach and fervently hoped she hadn't been talking in her sleep or, worse, moaning. She shifted on the hard wooden seat and realized that her legs spanned the short space between them and brushed against the young woman's traveling dress.

Hastily, she sat upright and pulled back her booted feet.

"Sorry, miss," Vance murmured quietly, aware that the young woman's traveling companion, probably her mother, was eyeing her with scornful reproach. She imagined she looked unsavory, in the clothes she been traveling in for weeks. The dark gray woolen trousers, matching coat, and double-breasted shirt she had taken from her brother's trunk had been new, or nearly so, at the start of her journey.

Her favorite ankle-high black boots no longer held a shine, but the fine workmanship was obvious. Still, even were she a man, her appearance would draw attention. Being female and so unconventionally presented always evoked scandalized expressions, even this far from Eastern society where it was slightly more common to see women out on the range or even in town dressed in masculine attire. She knew, however, that it was more than just her manner of dress that drew stares.

"Are you quite all right?" the young woman asked, knowing no polite way to express her concern that the mysterious woman's face was dead white and the dark eyes beneath a darker slash of brows appeared fevered. She'd taken her fellow traveler for a man at first glance, when she'd climbed into the coach just before their departure from Denver.

But her face, though slightly square-jawed and perhaps too strong to be considered ladylike, had a refinement in the arched cheekbones and a fullness about the mouth that was most decidedly female.

"Yes, thank you." Vance was surprised that the young lady, perhaps eighteen years old, would go so far as to speak to her, a stranger and someone of whom her mother clearly disapproved. The brunette's silk dress, bonnet, and parasol were new and fashionably styled, and spoke of wealth and privilege. Such young high-society women, Vance well knew, were often exceedingly haughty and rarely ventured into circles considered beneath them. Nevertheless, the eyes that studied Vance were direct, part concerned and part inquisitive. "Pardon me for disturbing you."

"You didn't disturb me," the young woman said, extending a gloved hand. "I'm Rose Mason. And this is my mother, Mrs. Charles Mason."

Vance took Rose's fingers gently in hers and bowed her head politely. "Ladies. I'm Vance Phelps."

"Are you a...gambler?" Rose asked with barely suppressed excitement. She had heard of such women, but never thought to meet one.

"Rose," her mother said sharply, "your questions are unseemly and your manners even more so." She turned her steely gaze to Vance.

"Please forgive my daughter's impertinence."

"Not at all," Vance replied smoothly, understanding Rose's confusion. Some more adventurous women did make their living by frequenting the gambling halls, often donning dapper male garb to enhance their reputations and garner invitations to the high-stakes games. "I'm afraid I have never been good enough at cards to make it a profession." She hesitated, then added, "I'm a physician."

"Oh, my," Rose breathed. "How exciting." Her gaze dropped briefly from Vance's face, skimming down her body and then returning.

Once more, to her frustration, she could find no way within the bounds of propriety to ask what she truly wanted to know. "I imagine that's very...demanding work."

"Sometimes." Weary and hard pressed to keep up polite appearances or conversation, Vance wished she could surreptitiously slide the flask from the inside pocket of her traveling coat. The warmth of the whiskey, no matter how fleeting, would be welcome. Instead, she slipped the watch from her pocket and checked the time. "We should be arriving soon."

"New Hope must seem like a very dull place to visit after the excitement of the city," Rose went on, ignoring the sharp tsk of disapproval from her mother. Her visit to Denver as a birthday gift from her parents had shown her a whole new world that she had never realized existed, one far more thrilling than the plain frontier society in which she had been raised. She was determined not to sit quietly by ever again while life happened all around her. And here was just such an opportunity, for surely this woman had seen much of the world.

Rose had never seen a woman dressed this way before or traveling alone. Nor had she ever seen anyone, man or woman, who looked so haunted. "Do you have family there?"

"No." Vance's tone was sharper than she intended, and when she saw Rose's dark eyes widen in surprise, she smiled to soften the edge of her reply. "No, not family. I'm going there to work."

"With Dr. Melbourne?" Rose couldn't disguise her pleasure.

Now, she would have even more of an occasion to associate with this intriguing newcomer and learn more of what went on in the world beyond the boundaries of her tedious existence.

"Yes." Vance didn't care to elaborate. In fact, the coach brought a sense of relief. It seemed that she had lost the skill for courteous social interaction during the last few years. All she wanted was to be alone. Wondering why she had even made this journey when what awaited her held no appeal, she forced herself to say, "I'll be assisting Dr. Melbourne."

"Really? Oh. Well." Rose smiled brightly. "I shall surely avail myself of your services, then."

Vance smiled thinly. "I certainly hope you won't need them, Miss Mason."

**********

Jessie Forbes tossed a feed sack onto the pile in the back of her wagon just as the stagecoach clattered to a stop across the street in front of the hotel. She waved to the bearded, dusty man at the reins.

"Afternoon, Ezra."

"Howdy, Jessie," the driver called back as he jumped down and secured the team. While the hotel proprietor hurried outside to welcome the new arrivals, Ezra clambered back up to the top of the coach and began handing down luggage to a third man. Jessie paid little attention to the familiar scene, noting absently that the Masons had returned as Charles Mason, the president of New Hope's only bank, pulled his buggy behind her wagon. "Jessie," he said as he hurried by on his way to greet his wife and daughter.

"Charles," Jessie acknowledged, watching him idly as he crossed the street. Her gaze sharpened as another passenger climbed awkwardly down from the coach. Without considering her reasons or her possible reception, Jessie followed in the banker's wake toward the stranger for whom she felt a swift and uncanny sense of recognition. Up close, she understood why. The newcomer was the first woman Jessie had ever seen dressed in men's clothes in public, other than herself. Women out on the range might wear pants when it suited the work or the weather, but never in town. Jessie did because it was all she had ever worn, and it was what she was comfortable in. She had grown up in New Hope. The townspeople knew her and thought nothing of it when she rode astride looking exactly like one of her trail hands in typical cowboy garb-- denim pants, cotton shirt, leather vest, boots, and western hat. Nor did anyone think it unusual that she wore a Colt .45 holstered against her thigh and carried a rifle on her saddle. She'd never given much thought to her difference until she realized she wasn't alone. She stopped in front of the dark-haired woman who was almost exactly her height, if a good deal thinner, and held out her hand. "I'm Jessie Forbes."

Vance took in the rangy blond, noting the tan on her face and neck that extended into the opening of her collarless cotton shirt, the wide black leather belt, the holster slung low on her lean hips, the scuffed boots. One quick survey told her this was a woman who worked on the land, but it was the intelligence in her blue eyes and the flicker of curiosity that held Vance's attention. There was something else in her gaze as well, a look of understanding that was wholly without pity. It was that more than anything else that had her extending her own hand in return. "Vance Phelps."

"Staying at the hotel?" Jessie asked.

"Might be," Vance replied. "But I've got to see about a job first.

Maybe you can tell me where I'd find Dr. Melbourne's office?"

Jessie half turned and pointed down the main street. The street itself was a double wagon-width wide, with permanent ruts carved into it from the passage of countless wheels and horses' hooves. The buildings were two-story wood structures with the exception of the bank, which was of a more recent vintage than most of the others and built of brick. Wide board sidewalks bridged the space between doorways and the street and allowed the ladies to keep their shoes and dresses dry when out walking or socializing during inclement weather.

"About three doors down on this side of the street."

"Appreciate it."

"You're a doctor?"

"Yes."

"Well, welcome to New Hope." Jessie eyed the heavy valise that Ezra dropped onto the ground next to Vance, then regarded the neatly pinned up, and empty, left sleeve. "I'm going that way, if you've got more luggage."

"Just the one." Vance hefted it in her right hand, keeping her expression carefully neutral as the muscles in her left side burned.

Ten cramped hours in the coach had tightened the scar tissue over her ribs. Jessie Forbes was a bit taller than she was and probably five years younger. Fit and strong and clear-eyed. Everything Vance no longer was. Oddly, she didn't resent the careful offer of assistance. On a day when she wasn't so weary, in so much pain, and wishing for nothing more but drink and a bed, she might have wondered why she wasn't bothered. As it was, she just nodded and turned in the direction Jessie had indicated. "Thanks again."

"Don't mention it."

Jessie went back to loading supplies, then checked her watch. She had almost an hour before she was due to collect Kate at the Beecher home. Just enough time for a little socializing of her own.

The saloon was nearly empty at five in the afternoon. Four men played cards at a back table, a bottle of whiskey in the center. A few cowboys stood drinking at the bar that ran along one side of the long, narrow room. An upright piano was pushed against the opposite wall, but the piano player was nowhere in sight. A staircase at the rear led up to a narrow balcony and a hallway beyond. The girls who populated the rooms down that hall wouldn't make an appearance until after ten that evening, when the cowboys and townsmen would be in the mood for company. One woman stood at the far end of the bar talking quietly to the bartender, and when she saw Jessie, she smiled and waved. Jessie tipped her hat and went to join her. "Hello, Mae."

"Why, hello, Montana," Mae said, using the nickname she had coined when Jessie, just eighteen, had first started coming into the saloon with her ranch hands after taking over the running of the Rising Star Ranch when her father died.

"How are you?" Jessie regarded with real pleasure the elegantly made-up blond in her signature off-the-shoulder emerald green dress, cut so low in the front as to flout propriety. Still, she carefully kept her gaze above the level of that creamy expanse of skin, looking into Mae's deep green eyes instead.

"The week after roundup?" Mae laughed sharply. "About ready to shoot half the men in this town. I can't wait till they spend their last dollar and ride on out of here for another year."

Jessie hid her grin and said seriously, "I surely hope it's none of my boys giving you any trouble."

Mae gave her an arch look, one carefully plucked brow rising.

"And I suppose you think because they take orders from you out there on that ranch that they're different than ordinary men? When they've been out on the range for a few months with nothing but their own ornery selves for company, there's only two things they're looking for when they got money in their pocket. Liquor and women."

"If any one of them causes you or your girls any trou--"

"No," Mae said, resting her soft hand on Jessie's forearm. "The Rising Star boys are usually the best in the bunch. Still, I've had my hands full all this week keeping peace down here and making sure that my girls aren't in the middle when some of these hotheads start in on whose ranch raises the finest horses, who can shoot the farthest, who's the best card player..." She shook her head. "You name it, men will argue over it."

"I can't see as there's much to argue about," Jessie said. "Everyone knows the Rising Star has the best horses and the best hands."

Mae threw back her head, her shoulder-length gold ringlets, worn fashionably free that evening, dancing over milky shoulders. "I forget sometimes you're not all that much different than those men of yours."

Her expression grew tender as she took in the handsome rancher's sky blue eyes, her sun-kissed hair caught carelessly at the back of her neck with a leather tie, her worn and trail-stained clothes. Everything about her was so much more appealing than any of the cowboys who frequented the bar or her bed. Her smoky voice grew deeper. "Just different in all the ways that count."

"Mae." Jessie laughed. "I'm about as ordinary as they come."

Mae forced lightness into her voice, reminding herself that things were different for Jessie now, and anything she might have once dreamed about her would never come to pass. Leaning close, she whispered conspiratorially, "I'd bet that's not what your young Miss Kate Beecher would say."

Blushing, Jessie hooked her thumbs in her front pockets and glanced around, grateful that no one was in earshot. "Uh...well, I--"

"Oh, Montana," Mae said, taking pity on her. "You are a wonder.

Where is she? With her folks?"

Jessie nodded. "I had to come into town for supplies, and Kate stopped by for a visit with her mother."

"But not you?"

"I think it's going to be a spell before the Beechers are real comfortable with me."

"Or with Kate living with you."

"Yes."

"Well, never you mind. They'll come around," Mae said kindly, though she doubted that Martha Beecher would ever accept what Kate and Jessie shared--what Kate refused to give up or deny. As much as she'd once mistrusted Kate's motives, Mae had to give her credit for standing up for what she wanted, and for standing by Jessie. "How is Kate after her first week out on the ranch?"

"She's fine," Jessie said with relief. "She still gets a little tired if she overdoes it, which she usually does, but she's nearly back to her old self."

"I think we were lucky that the grippe didn't take more," Mae said angrily. "Seems like life out here is hard enough with the weather, and the outlaws, and the troubles between the army and Indians. We don't need to be dying in droves from the grippe and cholera, too."

Mae's tone was bitter, and Jessie wondered who she had lost in her life. As long as they had been friends, there was far more she didn't know about Mae than what little she did.

"Hate to go through anything like that again," Jessie agreed.

"Looks like the doc is going to have some help, though."

"What do you mean?"

"A new doctor came in on the stage today. At least, I guess she's going to be working with the doc. She was headed in that direction."

"She?" Mae's eyes brightened with curiosity. "I never heard of a woman being a doctor."

"I saw something about it in the newspaper not that long ago.

There are schools back East especially for women to be doctors."

"You don't say. And now we've got us one." Mae tapped an impatient finger on Jessie's arm. "Well. What's she like?"

"I don't know. I only talked to her for a minute." Jessie recalled her encounter with Vance Phelps. She'd seen that look of quiet desperation in men's eyes before and felt a pang of sympathy. "I have a feeling you'll be meeting her soon, though."

"Me? Why?"

"Isn't this where everyone comes for comfort of one kind or another?"

"Why, Montana," Mae whispered. "How'd you ever get to be so smart."

Jessie smiled wistfully. "It doesn't come from being smart, Mae.

It comes from being lonely."

"But you're not anymore, are you?"

"No. I'm not." Jessie leaned forward and kissed Mae's cheek. "It's about time I go collect Kate."

"You tell her I said hello," Mae called as she watched Jessie walk away, her heart aching. She wanted to be happy that Jessie had found someone to love, but remained inestimably sad that she hadn't been the one to claim Jessie's heart.

CHAPTER THREE

Vance knocked on the plain wooden door marked by a small sign that said Doctor's Office in unadorned hand printing.

When no one answered, she peered through the rectangular pane of glass adjacent to the door and, in the murky interior light, could make out a desk, several chairs, and a bookcase. An unlit oil lamp stood on top of the bookcase. After she knocked again to no response, she tried the door handle and, as she expected, it opened. She entered, put her valise down just inside the door, and took a seat in the straight-backed wooden chair opposite the desk. She felt no particular sense of urgency since there was nowhere else she needed to be. She'd long since learned how to let time slip away, so that the passage of it was no longer a painful burden. Closing her eyes, her mind carefully blank, she settled in to wait.

v "Really, Kate," Martha Beecher said with an aggrieved expression.

"Just because Jessie refuses to dress appropriately is no excuse for you to disregard your upbringing."

Kate Beecher took a deep breath, having known that she would invite such a conversation when she'd come to visit her mother wearing only her plain cotton walking dress, without her crinoline underneath. The wide-hooped understructure made her dresses far too cumbersome to move about easily on the ranch or to sit comfortably in the buckboard. She'd never understood why women had considered such an imposition to activity fashionable to begin with, and intended never to wear one again. Nevertheless, she was resolved to keep her temper in check when her mother criticized Jessie. She and her parents, especially her mother, were still on tenuous terms when it came to her new living arrangements and, more critically, her personal relationship with Jessie. "Jessie could hardly be expected to do the work she does dressed any differently, and," she said with a small pleased smile, "she looks wonderful just as she is."

"I'm well aware of Jessie's...differences," Martha said primly, "but I see no reason that you should suddenly forget yourself and the things you've been taught."

Laughing, Kate regarded her mother fondly. She knew how great the sacrifice had been for her mother to leave Boston society and to travel into a wild and unknown land for the sake of her husband's dreams. And for Kate's dreams, too. "Believe me, I haven't forgotten any of the important things that you've taught me."

"Sometimes I wonder."

"Oh! That will be Jessie!" Kate set her teacup aside and rose swiftly at the jangle of spurs on the wide wooden porch. Although it was only May and snow still covered the Rockies well down into the foothills, the afternoon was warm, and they'd left the front door ajar to take advantage of the breeze as they'd visited.

"Why don't you tell her she needn't wait," Martha said stiffly.

"Then you could stay for supper and your father will take you...home...

in the morning."

"Oh, no," Kate said on her way into the foyer. "I don't want to be away overnight." She opened the door wide and leaned up to give Jessie a quick kiss on the mouth. "Hello, sweetheart. Come inside. We were just finishing our tea."

"Hello, Kate." Jessie's heart swelled the way it always did when she first saw Kate after they'd been apart. Kate was every bit as breathtaking, with her lustrous wavy black hair and midnight eyes, as she had been the first morning Jessie had seen her. And even though every morning for the last week she'd awakened with Kate beside her in the four-poster bed that had been her parents', marveling at the wonder of their bodies curled together, she knew she'd never get used to having Kate in her life. It felt like a dream, and she imagined that it always would. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she said, "I've missed you."

"And I you," Kate murmured, resting her palm on Jessie's chest just above her heart.

Jessie drew her fingers over Kate's cheek, relieved to see the healthy flush of color where the angry hue of fever had been all too recently. Then she looked beyond Kate into the sitting room and caught a glimpse of the tea things set out on the buffet. A silver serving tray, plates with small sandwiches, and impossibly delicate, hand-painted china cups. The kinds of things that Kate's mother had been used to in Boston and no doubt missed out here on the frontier. To Jessie, they represented something uncomfortably foreign, and she would prefer roping a dozen wild mustangs at once to balancing one of those cups on her knee. "I don't want to interrupt. I'll just wait out here on the porch.

It's a nice enough day and I'd enjoy--"

"You will do nothing of the sort," Kate chided, linking her arm through Jessie's and pulling her inside. "You'll have some tea and sandwiches."

"Good day, Mrs. Beecher." Jessie swiftly removed her hat as she followed Kate to the sofa. She'd been in the parlor many times in the last five months while Kate had recovered from the influenza that had nearly cost her life. She'd never been entirely comfortable, especially since Martha Beecher had seen to it that they were never alone. She'd treated Jessie as the suitor she'd been, although an unwelcome one, with distant politeness and thinly veiled censure. It had been the happiest day of Jessie's life when Kate had left the Beecher home to move in with her as her lover and partner at the Rising Star Ranch. If she had her way, she'd never set foot in the Beecher home again, but she had promised Kate's father that she would not come between them, and she kept her word. Plus, Kate loved her parents and Kate's happiness was all that mattered to Jessie. If Kate wanted her there, she'd suffer the discomfort of Martha Beecher's displeasure.

"Jessie," Martha Beecher said with infinite civility. "I trust you're well?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And things at the ranch?"

Jessie's face lit up. "The Rising Star did very well at the auction recently, and I've acquired some excellent breeding stock." She stopped at the faint flicker of distaste that crossed Kate's mother's face, belatedly realizing that ladies of class were not interested in the actual workings of a horse ranch. "Everything's going along well. Appreciate you asking."

Kate's eyes sparkled with excitement as she rested her hand on Jessie's knee. Touching Jessie was so automatic she never considered not doing so. "Jessie has some wonderful plans for supplying horses not just to the stagecoach lines, but to cattlemen all over the territory who need horses to drive their herds east--"

"Really, Kate," Martha interrupted. "I should think such things would be of no interest to a young lady."

"Oh, no--that's one of the wonderful things about living out here.

Life is constantly changing. The West is growing, and we're right here to see it." She looked at Jessie--her love--with tender pride. "Jessie knows the land and the people. And what we need."

Blushing, but warmed by Kate's gaze, Jessie resisted the urge to take her lover's hand. She'd never been ashamed of what they shared, but she saw no need to force Kate's mother to witness what she so obviously wanted to pretend was not between them. Jessie still couldn't understand why anyone would resent something so beautiful and so precious as the love they shared, but she appreciated Kate's parents' concern for her welfare and her future. She intended to show them that they had nothing to worry about. She would take care of Kate as well as any man.

"If you still want to stop in at the store, Kate," Jessie said gently, "we should go so as not to be driving home too late. It still gets cold after sundown, and I don't want you getting chilled."

"We've blankets in the wagon, and I'm not going to be damaged by a little brisk air," Kate said.

"Jessie's right," Martha said in a rare moment of agreement. "You mustn't risk getting sick again." She'd not told Kate, but Jessie knew that the doctor had said Kate's recent brush with death had left her vulnerable. She'd recovered, almost miraculously, but she might not fare as well from another illness falling close upon the first.

Kate glanced from her mother to Jessie with affectionate irritation.

"I'm quite all right and quite capable of making my own decisions about when I come and go." Nevertheless, she squeezed Jessie's hand and rose to kiss her mother's cheek. "But I do want to do some shopping before we start back."

Jessie followed Kate and Martha to the door, not really listening as they made plans for some ladies' gathering or another. She was wondering how long she could put off riding out to check the line with her foreman Jed. There were scattered pockets of horses all through the foothills of her property, and she needed to check on the yearlings and foals. Plus, she wanted to cull the herds of the strongest brood mares to put under the new stallion she'd acquired. The only reason she hadn't set out immediately after the auction was that she didn't want to leave Kate alone at the ranch just yet. She snapped back to the moment as Martha Beecher spoke her name.

"Jessie," Martha said, "you will look after our Kate now, won't you?"

Despite Kate's exasperated sound of protest, Jessie nodded seriously. "You can be sure of it."

"You worry too much," Kate said as she walked to the buckboard with her hand in Jessie's. She lifted her arms to Jessie shoulders and allowed Jessie to lift her up to the seat. She could have climbed aboard herself, even in her dress, but she loved the feel of Jessie's arms around her and the effortless way she swung her up. She wished never to miss an opportunity for Jessie to touch her.

"I worry enough," Jessie said as she settled next to Kate and tucked the woolen blanket around her waist and legs, letting it drape onto the footboard.

Kate waved to her mother, who stood in the doorway, then slipped her hand onto Jessie's thigh as they pulled away from the front of the house. "Haven't I shown you these last few nights that I'm quite well again?"

Jessie drew a sharp breath as Kate's fingers danced over the inside of her leg. "Can't say as I'd mind you showing me again."

Laughing, Kate leaned her cheek against Jessie's shoulder. "Then take me home, sweetheart. We'll shop another day."

v The sound of slow, heavy footsteps brought Vance awake in the nearly black room.

"Dr. Melbourne," she said immediately as the door behind her opened, lest she startle whoever was entering and find herself taken for an intruder. She had no desire to be shot ever again. "I'm Vance Phelps."

Caleb Melbourne crossed the room to the oil lamp, lit it with a stick match from his vest pocket, and adjusted the wick until the room was softly illuminated, leaving only the corners in shadow. He turned, a large man with a face furrowed and scarred by weather and life's cruelties.

His full head of unruly dark hair and a thick mustache that draped the corners of his mouth would have lent him a rough, handsome look had he not appeared so careworn. His trousers and jacket were rumpled, and at first glance he gave the appearance of a man whose burdens had gained the upper hand. His dark eyes, however, were sharp and inquisitive, despite the puffed and weary lids. "Jonathan's daughter."

"Yes, sir."

Caleb nodded, pulled out the chair behind the rough wooden desk, and sagged into the chair with a sigh. "The last time I saw your father, you and your brother were barely toddlers." He looked past Vance out the filmy glass and into the darkened street beyond. Shapeless forms clattered by and the shouts of men coming and going filtered through the rough boarded walls. "That was in Philadelphia just after we graduated."

The past was not something Vance cared to revisit. Plus she was embarrassed, knowing that her father had asked a favor that could hardly be refused. "I know it's been a very long time, and I appreciate your kindness--"

"His letter said that you wanted to work."

Did she? She couldn't remember anymore what it was she wanted, if she wanted anything at all. She had come because to stay would have meant facing her father's grief and worry day after day and having no way to assuage it. He had already suffered so much, she couldn't bring herself to add to it. And there were far too many reminders of what they had all lost even for her to block out. She thought of the vast unsettled countryside she had crossed in the last weeks, the crude frontier towns so different from the paved and gaslit streets of Philadelphia, and the glimpse of New Hope she had had on her short walk down the hard- packed, rutted street. There was nothing here to remind her of her old life, her old self, and what might have been. That disconnection from all she'd known, all she'd been, that at least was something she did want.

With a start, she realized that Dr. Melbourne still waited, watching her with intent regard.

"Yes," Vance said, holding his gaze and giving him the answer he required. "I want to work."

"We're the only doctors," he grimaced, "the only real doctors, in two hundred miles in every direction. There's plenty passing through selling miracle cures who don't know as much about medicine as the average housewife. There's some out there, untrained though they may be, who do know enough to be of use in the places where there's no one else. For them, I'm thankful."

"I've seen some gifted healers with never a day of formal training."

Caleb looked at her empty coat sleeve and then back to her face.

"I imagine you have. It was a brave thing you did."

"Or foolish." Vance thought of Milton and missed him with the same sharp bright pain of those first moments knowing he was gone. "I don't know how to judge it anymore."

"You were in till the end?"

She nodded. "The last official battle, at any rate."

As if sensing her reluctance, and appreciating a person's right to keep their feelings private, Caleb asked no more, although there were worlds left unsaid in her tormented eyes. "A lot of the people we see to are out on the range. Can you ride?"

"Yes. And drive a buggy. And shoot."

"Good, you'll need to do all three. For the first couple of weeks I'll take you around with me until you get acquainted with the land and the folks."

"You haven't asked me about my skills."

"Didn't figure I had to. If you were Grant's regimental surgeon, I guess you know what you're about." He rubbed both hands over his face, then stood. "There is one task I'm going to give you straight off.

That's looking after the girls down at the saloon."

"Prostitutes?"

He nodded. "They're a good bunch for the most part, and in better shape than most, too--physically and in every other way. There's a spitfire of a woman there who looks after them."

"Is she the madam?"

"Nothing quite that fancy out here, but she does what she can to see that the girls aren't mistreated. When you get settled, drop around there and ask for Mae."

"Does this Mae have a last name?"

Caleb looked surprised. "Now that you mention it, not that I ever heard."

Vance said nothing, thinking that there was probably more than one person in New Hope with secrets they didn't care to share. Perhaps this was the right place for her after all.

"You won't have any trouble finding her," Caleb said with a small smile. "She's the finest-looking thing west of the Mississippi."

"I'm sure I'll have no difficulty," Vance replied, although she suspected that his assessment was colored by the fact that there were very few women on the frontier compared to the number of men. "I'll take a room at the hotel if you should need me before morning."

"Get some rest. I expect you'll need it."

Vance stood and extended her hand across the desk. "Thank you."

"You might want to hold off on the thanks until you've had a chance to see what you've gotten into."

Whatever it was, Vance thought as she hefted her valise once more and walked out into the night, it would never be as bad as what she'd left behind.

CHAPTER FOUR

"A doctor? Imagine that." The rotund bespectacled man behind the counter perused Vance with open curiosity. "I can't say as I've ever seen a woman doctor before." When Vance said nothing, he cleared his throat and went on hurriedly, "Need a room, you say."

"Yes."

"We've got weekly rates, but if you think you'll be here longer, you might try the boarding house on the far end of town."

"Thank you," Vance said wearily, finding any day beyond the next more than she cared to contemplate. It had become far easier not to consider the future. "A room here will be fine for now."

"The name's Silas, in case you'll be needing anything."

Vance started toward the stairs. "No, there's nothing I need."

"G'night, then," he called after her, craning his neck to follow her as she slowly made her way up the wide wooden staircase. "Imagine that."

The room Vance let herself into on the second floor was a clean but unadorned space with a small hooked rug next to a single bed. The thin, cotton-stuffed mattress was covered by a thinner plain blue woolen blanket of the kind she had slept under in the army. She remembered that she'd always been cold and had often wondered if she would ever be warm again. A single chest of drawers stood against the wall with a round mirror nailed above it. A washbasin, lamp, and pitcher were the only items on its scarred surface. She did not light the lamp.

She set her valise at the foot of the bed, hung her coat on the back of the single chair that stood against the opposite wall, and wandered to the single casement window. The saloon, unmarked by any sign, was visible on the opposite side of the street. If she angled her head, she could see Caleb's office. Moving back to the bed, she sat to kick off her boots and then stretched out on top of the covers. Splinters of moonlight shafted across the ceiling, making random patterns that she watched take shape and dissolve and reshape while she waited for sleep.

It was an exercise that she had discovered would bring some temporary respite from her memories, if not slumber.

Sleep stole unsuspectingly through her consciousness, and she found herself once again at Appomattox Court House, sweating in the cold morning mist of fear and smoke. The rough wooden table was awash with blood. No matter how fast she worked, every time she looked up there were more wounded. Her arms were crimson to the elbows, and still they came, the ruined and the broken, crying her name.

Milton stood beside her, repeating over and over, no more time, no more time, no more time. She ignored the panic in his voice, the terror in his eyes, and just kept cutting. Her chest ached. Her lungs burned.

She reached for the amputation knife. Just one more. Just one more.

Just one more. The ground heaved, fire erupted at her feet, and red-hot pain seared her flesh. She looked down and saw herself writhing on the table, a faceless man poised above her with a saw in his hand.

Vance jolted upright, screaming. Quickly, she wrapped her arm around her bent knees and pressed her face against the rough wool of her trousers. She stifled her sobs as she fought for breath, her shirt soaked with the sweat of night terrors. When the clutch of the nightmare began to recede, she turned her face to the window and rested her cheek against the top of her knee. It hadn't been this bad in a long time. For a second, as her own harsh breath filled the room to overflowing, she thought she heard the sound of the fife and drum. As her heart stopped thundering in her ears, she realized it was a piano.

She stood, her legs still a little shaky, and walked to the window.

Across the street, the saloon and some of the rooms on the upper floors were ablaze. Every few seconds a figure would go in or out through the swinging doors. In a lighted second-floor window she saw a man and a woman locked in an embrace, her dress lifted up to her hips as his hands roamed beneath it. Vance didn't immediately look away, taken with the urgent sense of life that surrounded the couple, thinking of what Caleb had said about the girls who lived there. She wondered if the woman who bent beneath the weight of the cowboy's passion welcomed his touch or was merely an indifferent player in an oft-repeated drama.

She tried to imagine desire and couldn't. Her pocket watch read a few minutes past one. Turning away, she walked to the dresser and found, to her surprise, that the pitcher was full. She poured a few inches of tepid water into the tin basin and splashed her face before stripping off the sour shirt. Then she soaked the tail of her shirt and rubbed it over her chest and shoulders before tossing it aside and pulling another from her valise. She also retrieved her holster and Colt .45, the same weapon she had worn throughout the war, and strapped it on.

Silas looked up at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. "Couldn't sleep?"

Vance regarded him impassively. "No. I could."

She walked out, unaware that he stared after her with a mixture of curiosity and unease.

The saloon was still half full, mostly with men drinking at the bar or tables, a few apparently asleep with their heads on their folded arms, and the remainder playing cards. In the far corner a scantily clad woman sat in a man's lap with her head on his shoulder while he fondled her breasts. Vance walked to the bar.

"Help you?" asked a middle-aged man with full sideburns, a barrel chest, and dark eyes that had seen all there was to see.

"Whiskey."

The bartender poured a shot and then set the bottle down next to Vance's right hand. "I'm Frank."

She pushed several coins toward his side of the bar. "Thanks."

"If you want everybody in town to know who you are, you can tell me now and be done with it." Frank shrugged. "If you don't, it might take a little longer, but sooner or later the same thing will happen."

"If I stay here more than a week, word will get around anyhow."

Vance tossed back the shot and poured another one. "And if I don't, it won't matter." She held out her hand. "Vance Phelps. One-time surgeon and, now, Dr. Melbourne's new assistant."

"From back East." He said it as if it were a statement, not a question.

"More or less." Vance sensed someone move up beside her and glanced sideways. A woman with deep green eyes, golden hair, and the purest skin she'd ever seen stood beside her in a deep indigo dress with a low-cut, tight bodice that cradled her breasts like a lover's hands.

Sparkling blue stones set in gold swung lightly from her earlobes, brushing her neck with a mesmerizing caress. Despite the whiskey she'd just drunk, Vance's throat was dry and her mind blank of everything except the tantalizing scent of perfume and the pale perfection of the woman's face. Frank, the other men in the saloon, even the remnants of her dream, vanished.

"Frank talked your ear off yet?" Mae asked, her voice low and sultry.

"Not yet," Vance managed. She downed her whiskey, her nerves jangling. "You must be Mae."

"Now why would you say that?" Mae nodded when Frank held up a bottle of brandy questioningly. She took the glass from him, but did not drink as she studied Vance. There were deep shadows under her eyes, and deeper ones within. She'd seen her come in, a stranger in a well-cut suit who seemed not to care that a woman, even one whose dress and carriage indicated she gave no credence to the opinions of others, might draw unwanted attention in a place like this. Attention that Mae was not certain that a woman with one arm could turn aside.

"Caleb Melbourne said you were the finest-looking thing west of the Mississippi." Vance spoke quietly with neither sarcasm nor insinuation. "He was right."

Mae threw back her head and laughed. "It would appear that both the town's doctors are sweet-talkers, then."

Vance frantically searched for something to say just to hear this woman's full, vibrant voice a little longer. After the cold, dark embrace of her dreams, she found herself inexplicably craving the vitality and warmth that surrounded Mae. "Since I'm speechless, I beg to differ."

"Well," Mae said, sipping her brandy. "Why don't you start with your name."

"Something tells me you might already know that and more."

Mae smiled. "Smart, too. But I imagine a woman wanting to be a doctor would have to be."

"Or stubborn."

"Both, I'll wager." Mae watched Vance pour another shot, saw her hand tremble. "I can't say that I'm not curious. Since I know you're no fool, you have to know folks will want to know your story."

Vance tilted her chin toward the room and the men--drifters, gamblers, trail hands, and businessmen. All had one thing in common.

They were all here in the middle of the night staving off loneliness or simply trying to fill the hours until the habit of their day began again.

One thing was certain, they all had stories. "I'd have thought you'd have heard enough of those by now."

"I expect yours is different."

"Why?" Vance finished her whiskey, contemplated the bottle, and pushed her glass aside. While the temptation to slide inside the bottle was strong, Mae's presence was stronger.

"You're not a man." Mae watched a bitter smile flicker across Vance's face. Even in men's clothing, in a place no decent woman would be seen, drinking whiskey in the middle of a lonely night, no one would ever take her for a man. Her face was strong, with a tightness along her jaw that suggested she wouldn't yield easily to trouble when it came her way. But there was a fineness to her skin, as if it were silk, and a delicate beauty in the elegant curve of her brow and the length of her dark lashes. It was easy to see the woman in her, which made the thinly veiled anger and pain that rode just beneath the surface all the more compelling.

"Maybe not, but my story might be the same."

"Oh," Mae said, sipping her brandy and resting her fingers on the top of Vance's hand where it lay on the bartop. "Are you going to tell me someone stole your stake and cashed in on your claim while you were on your way into town to file the deed?"

The corner of Vance's mouth twitched. "Never got the gold fever."

"Some no-account cheated at cards and won your horse, your saddle, and your last dollar?"

Vance shook her head. "I know when I'm beat, and I know when to fold them."

"I wonder," Mae mused, idly tracing the length of Vance's fingers, one after the other, with a ruby red fingernail. "I'd be willing to bet you don't give up easily."

"Like I said," Vance said roughly. "Stubborn doesn't always mean smart."

"Or," Mae went on, knowing that whatever caused the anguish in Vance's voice was something Vance wasn't going to talk about now.

Maybe never. "You're going to tell me a woman broke your heart and ran off with the lying, yellow-bellied preacher."

"Couldn't be that," Vance replied seriously, aware that Mae was watching her intently. "I make it a point to stay away from church."

Mae smiled. "If you're not worried about the preacher, you might want to attend the services come Sunday. The townsfolk are likely to take to you more if you do."

Vance sighed. "Some things never change no matter how far away you go."

"You been traveling a long time?" Mae asked gently.

"A little more than a year," Vance answered, surprising herself at the admission. "Well, not the whole time. Part of it I spent in a hospital in Richmond."

"How long?"

"Seven months." Vance reached into her watch pocket, tipped out her pocket watch and looked at the time. "The night's pretty well along and I've taken up enough of yours."

"You're not keeping me from anything I'd rather be doing."

"Dr. Melbourne asked me to see to the young ladies here."

"The young ladies." Mae laughed quietly. She heard no hint of censure in Vance's deep, rough-edged voice. Whatever anger lived inside her, it was for herself and not others. "The young ladies and I rarely rise before midafternoon."

"I was counting you among their number," Vance said with a trace of gallantry long unpracticed. "Surely you're no older than your charges."

"It seems you know quite a bit about me, as well, Dr. Phelps."

Vance inclined her head and smiled fleetingly. "No more than what you want anyone to know, I'm sure."

"Come by around six tomorrow and have supper with me. I'll tell you about the girls then."

Vance hesitated. She wasn't in the habit of socializing, even casually. She had nothing to say that others could hear or that she would want to recount. It was enough for her to live with her past without inflicting it upon others.

"You'll not be required to tell me your secrets."

"And what if I should want to?" Vance held her breath, wondering just what she hoped to hear. Despite the circumstances or appearances, Mae was clever and far from the kind of beaten-down, destitute woman who ordinarily turned to prostitution as the last form of survival. Vance had been in enough large cities and desolate frontier towns to know what became of women who had no men to provide for them, no family to support them, and no skills to make their own way. Perhaps it was precisely because Mae defied expectations that she was drawn to her.

Mae closed her fingers around Vance's wrist and leaned close enough that had Vance looked down, she would have been able to see the blush of rouge highlighting the deeper rose of her nipples. "I would be very pleased to listen."

"Then I shall be pleased to attend you tomorrow evening." Vance gently disengaged her wrist from Mae's warm grasp and stepped away.

"Good night, Mae."

"Good night, Vance."

Frank leaned on the bar as Mae watched Vance leave. "I can't say as I've ever seen quite the likes of her before," he said, not unkindly.

"No," Mae said quietly, "neither have I."

CHAPTER FIVE

Kate stretched and smiled contentedly beneath the cotton quilt, enjoying the feeling of awakening in her new home. Her home. Her home with Jessie. Although the bed beside her was empty, the warmth that lingered told her that Jessie had just gotten up. The sun was not yet high enough to brighten the room, and she sensed that it was just before dawn. She'd learned in just the few days she'd been there that Jessie always rose before the sun, as did the men in the bunkhouse that stood not far from the main house. The horses and other stock needed tending, and after a quick meal and coffee, the men often had to ride miles before they would reach whatever part of the ranch they would be working on that day. The hours of daylight were precious, and Jessie and her men worked from first light until last.

Although Jessie had insisted the first morning that Kate needed her rest and should not get up with her, Kate decided it was time for her to establish her presence in the daily life of the ranch. It was her life now, too. She rose and quickly dressed in the chill room, adding one of Jessie's shirts over her dress for extra warmth. She liked the feel of the soft cotton because it reminded her of resting her cheek against Jessie's shoulder when they embraced. Immediately, her body quickened to the memory of Jessie's warm, supple form against hers.

"Oh, Jessie," Kate murmured with a soft laugh. "I never could have imagined you."

She hurried downstairs and into the kitchen. The lamp glowed on the counter, and when she checked the coals in the cast-iron stove, she saw that Jessie had laid on wood. The bucket sitting next to the dry sink was filled with fresh water, too, but the coffeepot was still cold.

Humming quietly, Kate set about making coffee and gathering the ingredients to cook breakfast. She was just pulling biscuits from the oven when the kitchen door opened and a brisk breeze preceded her lover.

"Good morning." Kate set the baking tray on a cooling stone, dusted her hands on her apron, and met Jessie just inside the door.

Jessie wore her work clothes--denim pants, cotton shirt, leather vest, and a sheepskin coat. Her blue eyes were bright, her face flushed from the chill and wind, and she looked gorgeous. Kate wrapped her arms around Jessie's shoulders and kissed her. "Coffee's on and the bacon's almost done."

Jessie held her tightly and rubbed her face against Kate's hair. She was so wonderfully warm, so beautiful. "I still can't believe you're here."

Kate stroked Jessie's neck and ran her fingers through her hair.

"Where else would I be? I'm home."

"I love you."

"Mmm, I love you." Kate leaned back in Jessie's arms and regarded her playfully. "You took advantage of me last evening."

Feigning innocence, Jessie gave Kate one more squeeze, then let her go. She hung her Stetson on a peg inside the door, removed her coat, and draped it over the back of the wooden chair. Without looking directly at Kate, she said, "Can't think what you mean."

"Well," Kate said as she poured coffee into the large tin cups they used for everyday, "after we had a fine dinner, you laid on a fire in the bedroom and turned the lamp down so we could snuggle under the covers. Watch the fire a bit, you said."

Jessie laid out strips of bacon on two plates, added a biscuit to each, and carried them to the table. She sat down and gestured to the chair beside her. "This looks wonderful."

Kate sat and tapped her finger on the top of Jessie's hand. "Don't think I'm going to forget what I was saying."

"I can't think of any place I'd rather be than lying in our bed with you in my arms watching the flames dance in the fireplace," Jessie said quietly.

"You made it so I was so comfortable I'd fall asleep," Kate said, stroking Jessie's arm as she sipped her coffee.

"Now you're giving me credit for predicting the future," Jessie said with a laugh. She bit into the biscuit and made a small groan of approval. "They never taste like this when Sam makes them."

"Well, if I can't bake better than your trail cook, Hannah Schroeder will have my hide. She spent all of last summer teaching me how."

Jessie grinned. "Lucky for me."

"You let me sleep when you knew I wanted to do something altogether different last evening," Kate said accusingly, although she smiled tenderly.

"You needed to sleep, love," Jessie said quietly. If she had her way, Kate would not be up now cooking breakfast for her when it wasn't necessary. She was used to eating with the men at the bunkhouse or doing for herself. She didn't expect Kate to do it.

Kate narrowed her eyes. "You did plan it."

"Not planned, exactly. I just wanted you to be warm and comfortable in case you were tired." Jessie toyed with Kate's fingers.

"Besides, in another month we'll not need the fire at night, and I didn't want to miss an opportunity to lie close with you underneath the covers."

"We don't need an excuse to lie together, cold or warm, day or night." Kate stood and walked round behind Jessie's chair. She draped her arms around her neck and leaned down, her mouth close to Jessie's ear. "I bet the bed is still warm from last night. The sun isn't that high yet."

Jessie leaned back, pillowing her head between Kate's breasts, and closed her eyes. She shivered as Kate's hands brushed down her chest and inside her vest. "There might be something sinful about laying abed when it's time to be working."

"As hard as you work, I'm sure an hour would be forgiven."

Kate opened the top button on Jessie's shirt and stroked her chest. The skin there was warm, silky soft, and in her mind's eye she saw the tanned triangle between Jessie's breasts. She had always loved how unconcerned Jessie was about the things that her mother had taught Kate were of great importance, and yet had seemed to matter so little.

Jessie didn't hide her skin from the sun, and in the summer, she tanned a beautiful gold. Kate loved to follow that sun-kissed path down Jessie's throat until it blended with the smooth cream of her breasts. She traced her fingers along that route now, dipping beneath Jessie's undershirt to cup a small, firm breast.

"Lord, Kate," Jessie whispered, arching beneath her touch. "I can't think when you do that."

"How long do we have before Jed starts to worry and comes looking for you?"

"He won't, not for a good while." Jessie struggled for breath.

"Especially with him knowing that you're new to the ranch."

"Then come upstairs and give me my hour."

Jessie pushed up on rubbery legs, her coffee forgotten, and turned to take Kate in her arms. She kissed her forehead, her eyes, her mouth.

Kate had twisted her hair into a loose coil at the back of her neck and tethered it there with a ribbon. Jessie loosed the tie and released the black gossamer to shower around Kate's shoulders. "The way I'm feeling right this minute, I don't think I'll last anywhere near an hour."

"We'll see about that," Kate said, opening the next button on Jessie's shirt. She kissed the valley between her breasts, then higher into the hollow at the base of her throat, then the underside of her jaw.

When she reached her mouth, she brushed her lips lightly back and forth until Jessie opened for her. With short, quick, teasing strokes, she danced her tongue over the moist, warm inner recesses until Jessie's hands fisted in her hair and pulled her head away.

"Kate," Jessie grated. "You can't know what you're doing to me."

"I know," Kate panted. "I know and I love it."

"All these months I waited, missing you so much. Wanting you so much." Trembling, her eyes hot, Jessie tugged at the laces on Kate's bodice. "Every time I went to your house, I was afraid they'd turn me away."

"No." Kate framed Jessie's face, her own steady, tender gaze soothing the apprehension in Jessie's eyes. "Nothing will ever keep me from you again. I promise."

But Jessie knew that something could. She'd almost lost her.

She'd knelt by her bedside as Kate had slipped away. The agonizing desolation of that moment was burned into her consciousness deeper than any brand, the memory a living nightmare that haunted her day and night. She pulled open Kate's dress and filled her hands with her, lifting her breasts free and lowering her mouth to taste the life that coursed through her. "Oh, Kate, Kate. I need you so."

Kate cradled Jessie's head to her breast and caressed her cheek.

When she felt tears, her own heart nearly broke. She had no words to ease her lover's fears, no reassurances where none could truly be given. Her pledge could only be to live, day by day, loving her. "Jessie, darling. Take me upstairs so we can touch everywhere. I want you everywhere."

Jessie, taller and stronger, was lost in the grip of remembered loss and desperate desire. The weight of her passion as she drew a nipple into her mouth forced Kate back against the wall. Groaning, Jessie wanted, craved, more. She grasped the bottom of Kate's dress and pulled it up, wanting flesh against her flesh.

"Jessie," Kate murmured tenderly, catching Jessie's hand where it roamed restlessly over her thigh. "Jed. Jed might come."

The sound of Kate's voice, the touch of her hand, splintered the pain like glass on stone. Joy rode through her, and the relentless, choking dread eased. Jessie drew a long, sweet breath, then raised her head and gently gathered the front of Kate's dress together, covering her breasts. She kissed her softly on the mouth. "Forgive me."

"Oh, my darling. There's nothing to forgive." Kate laughed shakily. "I can only hope you always want me this way."

"More." Jessie grasped her hand and pulled her into the hall and toward the stairs. "More every day."

Hastily, they shed clothing and hurried back into bed, finding it still warm beneath the quilt as Kate had predicted. Kate opened her arms and pulled Jessie on top of her, wrapping her legs around Jessie's lean hips.

"Now," Kate urged, "now touch me."

Jessie laughed, the memory of those long winter months of uncertainty dissolving like snow in the sunshine. Kate was here, alive and loving her. This time when she sought the beat of Kate's heart with her mouth pressed to her breast, it was with elation, not pain. Nothing ever made her feel as whole as these moments alone with Kate when there was nothing between them but the love they felt for one another.

When she smoothed her hand down Kate's body and found her wet and waiting for her, she wanted to weep for the beauty of it. She held Kate's passion in her palm, lost in Kate's murmurs of pleasure and soft pleas for more.

"Don't make me wait." Kate clutched Jessie's shoulders as her body shivered with need. "Take me as many times as you want, but don't make me wait. Please, Jessie. Please."

Jessie pushed up on one arm to watch Kate's face as she filled her. Kate's eyes were hazy black pools reflecting the twisting urgency in Jessie's belly. She shifted to press her center against Kate's thigh, clenching against her in time to the slow, deep thrusts of her hand.

"More," Kate gasped. With one hand she touched Jessie's face, brushing trembling fingers over her mouth. She forced her other hand, palm up, between Jessie's legs and laughed unsteadily when Jessie jerked and cried out in surprise. "I missed you, too. All these months."

Now they were joined--by their flesh, by their passion, by their promise. They held one another's eyes as they pushed deeper, body and soul, rising together and finally, releasing together.

"Kate, Kate," Jessie groaned, trying to move her weight from atop Kate's body and failing. "How can you make me feel so strong and me not able to move a muscle?"

"You'd better catch your breath," Kate warned, sliding her hands up and down Jessie's back. "I don't think my hour is up yet."

"Can't." Jessie groaned. "I have to ride this morning."

Kate laughed. "Then you'll be thinking of me."

Jessie raised her head. "I'm always thinking of you." She kissed her swiftly, then rolled over onto her back. "I can see now why the boys get a little loco when they've been out on the line for a few weeks." She turned her head and grinned at Kate. "I think I'd get a little loco after a couple days without you."

"You'll have to leave me sometimes, won't you?" Kate asked quietly, turning on her side and curving an arm around Jessie's middle.

"Now and again." Jessie had been trying to work out how she was going to do that, and she mused aloud, "When I do, you can stay with your parents."

Kate grew very still. "I can?"

"Yes. That way, I figure you'll be safe and comfortable."

"You do?"

"Uh-huh."

"While you're out on the range--where there's outlaws and wild animals and every other kind of danger, I can stay with my parents in town." Kate sat up, her eyes blazing. "Like some pampered city girl.

Someone you keep here to warm your bed and then send packing while you go off to do the real work."

Jessie gaped. "I didn't say that."

Kate threw back the covers and jumped from the bed, reaching for her chemise. She pulled it angrily over her head and glared at her confused lover. "You didn't have to. It's obvious you have it all figured out."

"Not all of it," Jessie muttered, climbing from the bed in search of her pants. She couldn't defend herself without her pants on. "I just thought it would be best--"

"You thought. You thought." Kate watched Jessie pull on her pants and remembered the first time she'd seen her undressed, in the hotel room in New Hope the first afternoon they'd gone walking together.

She'd never seen such a beautiful woman before, so confident and strong. She had fallen in love with her in that moment. Because she was confident and strong and Jessie. "Jessie Forbes."

Something about the way Kate said her name made Jessie stop with one arm thrust into her shirt. The tender look on Kate's face made the tension in her belly drain away. Softly, she said, "What?"

"Do you love me?"

"Lord, yes." Jessie shrugged into her shirt and started toward Kate, but stopped when Kate held up her hand. Heart thundering, Jessie said urgently, "Kate, how could you ask me that?"

"Then what am I to you?"

"What...I..." Jessie pressed her hand to her heart. "You're my life."

"And you are mine." Shaking her head, Kate put her arms around her. "This is my home. I'll not leave it for any reason."

Jessie held her tightly. "Then I guess we're going to need some more shooting lessons if you're going to stay here while I'm away."

"Now that's a much better idea." Kate rested her cheek against Jessie's shoulder. "And I need to learn to ride astride."

"I can see you've got some ideas of your own you didn't mention."

Kate laughed, thinking they'd survived their first fight and were no worse for it. "Maybe just a few."

CHAPTER SIX

Talk to you, Jess?" Jed Harper asked as Jessie was about to bring one of the horses she intended to saddle-break out of the corral.

"Sure." Jessie leaned an arm over the top rail of the gate and regarded her foreman. He was a good head shorter than her, tanned and tough like good leather. She could guess his age, but not from looking at him. He had the ageless, weather-beaten face of a man who'd spent his life outdoors doing hard work. She'd known him as far back as she could remember. He'd been one of her father's closest friends, and after Tom Forbes's death, he'd been Jessie's strongest ally. She was pretty certain that a lot of the men had stayed on with her as boss, even though she was a woman and only eighteen, because Jed had talked them into it. His faith in her had helped her get through a time in her life when she'd lost everything that mattered except her land. "Something wrong?"

"Could be."

Jessie made sure that all the hands at the Rising Star knew that she was the boss, but she also let Jed handle the day-to-day affairs with the twenty or so men who worked for her. Some were long-timers and lived permanently in the bunkhouse when they weren't out in the line shacks or riding herd on the stock. Almost as many were chuck- riders, men who showed up in the winter when work out on the range was scarce, looking for a warm place to roost until the weather turned friendly again. Some stayed on, but most moved on. Men who had no permanent home and no desire for one. Regardless, she could count on Jed to get an honest day's work out of them, and she paid them what they were worth, which made her as popular as a boss could be. When Jed brought a problem to her, she knew to listen. "Trouble with the men?"

He shook his head. "No more than usual. Charlie Baker came down from the north quarter late last night. He's been up there looking for stragglers and taking count of the mares and foals for the last couple weeks."

"I know. Isn't Johnny Earley up there with him?" Throughout the year, the horses free-roamed, searching out the best shelter and richest grazing land. The size of the scattered portions of the herd could range from a few dozen to over a hundred animals. The herd covered a territory that took men weeks to ride, so shacks were built at various intervals along the borders of the ranch and in the high country where a couple of the men would stay for weeks at a time keeping track of the horses.

"Yeah. He stayed behind while Charlie come down to say we're missing some stock."

Jessie's mouth tightened into a grim line. There were any number of reasons horses went missing. Sometimes they died in falls, were killed by wild animals, were stolen for food by Indians who had been displaced from their hunting grounds, or were rustled by men who drove them south to sell to the army or ranches along the way. "Charlie say how?"

"Thought at first it might be bear," Jed replied. "There's been signs of some around, but he hasn't seen any. Hasn't seen any carcasses either."

"Could be they're dragging them off to a cave somewhere."

Jed nodded. "Pretty unusual not to see any bits left behind, though."

"How many?"

"Charlie's not sure. At first he said he thought it was just one or two straying off, maybe joining another herd. But then he started keeping count every day. Says it's one or two every couple of days."

"That's a lot of horses." Jessie knew there was only one thing to do. "I guess we're going to have to go take a look. Get word to the rest of the men out on the line."

"That'll take a good few days. Maybe longer." Jed glanced up at the house. "No need for you to come."

"If it wasn't Charlie," Jessie said, "or if it wasn't more than a horse or two, I wouldn't. But Charlie's a good man. If he says there's a problem, then there is." Jessie flicked off her hat and slapped it rhythmically against her thigh. "If there's trouble on my land, then I have to see to it."

"Kate's not been here more than a week. I don't imagine she's settled yet." Jed looked uncomfortable. "She probably shouldn't be here on her own just yet."

Jessie smiled. "You might not want to say that around her."

"Wouldn't consider it." The angle of Jed's mouth danced upward for a second. "I've seen her when she's mad, that time in town when you took that bullet in the shoulder. If she could've got her hands on them that done it, she would've made short work of them."

"I'll talk to her. She doesn't know how lonely it can get way out here, and driving back and forth into town alone isn't such a good idea either." Jessie huffed out a breath. "Not until she can shoot a little bit better than she can right now."

"There's a couple of the boys I would trust to keep an eye on things here, if she stays."

"That's good." Jessie settled her hat low on her brow. "But not just yet."

Jed stared past Jessie to the foothills that rose into the mountains on the far-distant border of the Rising Star. The mountains, timeless and indestructible, provided a kind of comfort as they loomed above them, an anchor in the wide, wild country around them. He'd ridden the line for weeks at a time out there, never seeing another soul. He'd never been lonely. He'd forgotten that for all Jessie was capable of doing as good as any man, she wasn't one. "You never said."

"Never said what?" Jessie asked quizzically.

"That you were lonely."

Jessie heard the bit of hurt in his voice and smiled. "It's one of those things you don't know you are until you aren't anymore." She glanced up toward the house and saw Kate come out the kitchen door.

"And now I'm not."

v Kate carried the washbasin to the side of the porch and poured the rinse water over the rail onto the wildflowers that were just beginning to break through the hard-packed crust. May mornings in Montana were cold, and she hadn't intended more than a very brief trip outside.

Then she saw Jessie across the yard with her back to one of the corral gates talking to Jed. There was something in the way Jessie stood that caught Kate's attention. The first time she'd seen Jessie, Jessie had been walking down the street in town, and Kate had taken her for one of the cowboys who seemed to be everywhere. It had only taken her a moment of watching to realize that Jessie was not a man, and from that instant on, she'd loved to look at her. She liked nothing better than to view Jessie through the lens of her camera, capturing her unique combination of beauty and strength forever. She could tell Jessie's moods by the way she walked, by the way she tilted her hat, by the way she hooked her thumbs over the wide belt of her holster. Jessie was the only person she knew whose body and spirit were so intimately one.

Kate flushed hot, thinking about lying with Jessie, knowing that when Jessie touched her, it was from the heart.

"Kate?" Jessie stood at the bottom of the steps looking up, wondering at the faraway expression in her lover's eyes. "You'll freeze out here."

Kate smiled secretly. "Not when I have my thoughts to keep me warm."

Jessie took the stairs in two long strides and slid her arm around Kate's waist. "You can do your thinking just as well inside." She drew Kate along with her and into the kitchen and then checked to see that the stove had enough wood.

"Is there some trouble?" Kate asked.

Jessie carefully replaced the lid on the top of the cast-iron stove and turned. Kate stood by the counter, drying dishes and watching her expectantly. "What makes you think so?"

"I saw you with Jed. You had that look you get when there's something serious going on."

"No trouble," Jessie said, at least none that she was certain of. "One of the men was worried that the herd was scattering in the high country."

That part was true enough. She didn't see the point in discussing what might be the cause. Not when it would be sure to worry Kate.

Kate put down the dish towel. "And?"

"I need to see about it."

"When do you need to go?"

"If Jed and I get started today, we'll be there by first light tomorrow."

"You'll ride all night?" Kate asked as nonchalantly as she could.

"We'll overnight somewhere on the way. Rest the horses. Besides, a night ride's too hard on them if you don't have to do it."

As capable as Kate knew her lover to be, she hated to think about her sleeping on the cold ground in wild country that Kate had never seen. She had to remind herself that Jessie had been doing this since she was a young girl. And she wouldn't be alone. Jed would be with her.

"I'll help you get ready. Tell me what you'll need."

"Kate," Jessie said, clasping both her hands. "I didn't plan to be away so soon after you came."

"You couldn't have predicted this." Kate kissed Jessie softly. "I'll make up some food."

"I would consider it a great favor to me if you would stay in town until I come back."

"Jessie," Kate said, her eyes flashing dangerously. "Didn't we talk about this just this morning?"

"I know," Jessie said, releasing Kate's hands and sliding her arms around her. "And you said that we should talk about things, so that's what I'm doing. It's too soon, Kate. You're not used to being here yet."

"I know how to cook, so I won't starve. I know where the well is and how to drop a bucket into it. I know where the chickens roost, how to feed them, and how to collect the eggs." Kate sighed. "I don't know about milking the cows, though."

"It's easy. I'll teach you." Jessie grinned and rubbed her cheek against Kate's hair. "That was on my list of things to do this morning, but somehow, I got waylaid."

"I'm not complaining about that," Kate murmured, kissing Jessie's throat. "I'm sure one of the men will milk the cows for me."

"It will only be for a few days." Jessie tightened her hold. "I don't want to ride out of here worrying."

"Oh, how unfair for you to say that." Kate smoothed her hand back and forth over Jessie's chest. Jessie would never realize how she felt each time Jessie rode out somewhere, even when there was no danger. She would never forget that Jessie had been brought back one morning shot and close to death. It was a horror Kate never wanted to relive. Nor, she thought with a sigh, would she wish that kind of worry upon her lover. "My mother has been wanting me to have dinner there and spend the night. The day after tomorrow is her sewing circle, and I'd enjoy seeing some of my friends." She freed herself from Jessie's arms and stepped back, keeping hold of one of her hands. "I'll stay here tonight and go into town before dark tomorrow. Then I'll stay the next day for the sewing circle and that night, too. I'll be home the same day you will."

Jessie knew from the tone of Kate's voice that no amount of arguing would change her mind. And, when she considered it, it seemed fair. It wasn't entirely what she wanted, which was to have Kate always protected, if not by her, by her parents. But she'd always known that Kate was her own woman. She loved her for her fire and her fierce independence. She wouldn't want her to be any different now. "I want one of the men to drive in with you."

Kate wanted to resist. Eventually she would need to be able to come and go on her own. She did not want to be a prisoner at the ranch, and even more importantly, she wanted to be a real partner to Jessie.

But there would be time for that, and she could not add to the worry that clouded Jessie's eyes. She caressed Jessie's cheek and nodded. "Until I've proven to you just what a good shot I'll be. Now let me help you get ready to go."

"Thank you," Jessie whispered.

Kate smiled. "You never have to thank me for loving you."

v "You can put that on the dresser over there, Billy," Mae said to the wide-eyed boy who carried a cloth-covered tray of food. He colored hotly and tried desperately not to look around her bedroom, which was visible just beyond her sitting area. Mae smothered a smile and wondered how long it would be until he was sneaking in the back door at night to visit one of her girls down the hall. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it, ma'am," he said as he stared at the floor and backed toward the door. The sound of feminine laughter coming toward him down the hall made him break into a sweat. He sidled past the two young women who were on their way into the room. They were dressed in things that he'd certainly never seen his sisters or any other young ladies in town wearing. He wasn't even sure they were dresses.

Mae chuckled at the sound of his footsteps clattering hurriedly away. "It's hard to believe there's a man alive as innocent as that one."

"Won't last much longer," Sissy said bitterly. She'd been around long enough to know what young boys turned into. At twenty she was one of the veterans among the girls. She eyed the bottle of good whiskey next to the food. "Looks like you're doing some fancy entertaining."

Annie, a plump redhead, eyed Mae eagerly. She was fifteen and still young enough to believe that she would save her money, move away, and make a new start. "Oh, that smells so good. Who's coming?"

She lowered her voice, although there was no one who could have heard. "Is it Mr. Mason from the bank?"

"Lord, I wouldn't put on a spread for him," Mae said, feigning horror. "I'm just having a little get-to-know-you dinner with the new doctor in town."

"Is he handsome?" Annie enthused.

Sissy snorted. "Like that matters once the lights are out. What matters is how much he's got in his wallet."

"Now don't you two start in," Mae scolded good-naturedly. "And the doctor is a she." Mae tilted her head as if considering. "And quite handsome."

"Oh, that sounds so exciting," Annie said. "A woman. I never heard of such a thing."

"And handsome, you say?" Sissy looked intrigued. "Don't be keeping her all to yourself then. Let us have a look."

"Since she's going to be taking over for Doc Melbourne, you'll get your chance to meet her," Mae said sharply, noting the predatory gleam in Sissy's eye. She wasn't at all certain that she wanted Vance at the mercy of some of her charges. She knew that the other side of loneliness was need, and Vance Phelps looked to have a lot of both.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Mae answered the knock on her door to find Vance standing in the hall, a battered leather satchel in her hand and an equally weathered wide-brimmed black hat under her arm. Mae recognized the hat as the kind worn by army men, and the dark blue trousers looked like army, too. Her shirt was gray flannel and her coat a darker gray.

Her black boots showed no trace of dirt on the well-shined leather.

Although not dressed in finery, she had taken more care preparing for her visit than most well-to-do gentlemen bothered with. They often arrived in a state of dishabille or near inebriation, two conditions in which they would never admit to visiting a lady. But then again, Mae and the others were not ladies.

"Hello, Vance," Mae said with pleasure as she swung open the door.

"Frank told me to come on up when I inquired as to your whereabouts," Vance said, resisting the urge to stare before deciding that Mae probably intended her appearance to be noticed. Otherwise, why wear something that flattered the figure so thoroughly while leaving only the most tantalizing of secrets to be discovered? Her deep burgundy dress, almost as fancy as a ball gown with its elaborate black stitching along the scooped neck and hem, was cinched at her narrow waist to accentuate her voluptuous curves. Black silk laces on the bodice seemed barely capable of containing her full breasts. Her shoes were the color of blood and matched the silk that brushed against her ankles. When Vance completed her appreciative survey she raised her eyes to find Mae regarding her with the faintest of satisfied smiles. "I hope you don't mind me arriving unannounced."

"No, I don't mind." Mae let the door close behind them and held out her hand. "May I take your coat?"

Vance hesitated, then shrugged her right arm out of her sleeve and slid the coat off her left shoulder with a practiced motion, catching it in her hand before it could fall. She held it out. "Thank you."

Vance's left sleeve was empty from the region of the elbow down.

Mae watched as Vance deftly rolled the cuff up several times. Then Mae draped the coat over the back of a brocade chair, walked to the sideboard, and poured two neat shots of whiskey. She turned and held one out. "Drink?"

"Please." Vance welcomed the familiar burn as she took stock of her surroundings. The sitting room was well appointed, with a thick rug, several cushioned chairs and a matching settee, tea tables, and a fireplace. An archway led into the adjoining bedroom, and she could just make out a deep blue coverlet on the corner of a poster bed. "If all the rooms are like this, perhaps I should be staying here rather than the hotel."

Mae laughed. "You'd be likely to find yourself with an unwanted visitor in the middle of the night, and the townsfolk would no doubt take up a petition if they heard that the new doctor was sharing rooms with the girls at the saloon." She indicated the settee. "Sit down. I'll get us our food in a minute."

"I have a feeling," Vance said as she settled into the plush seat, stretched out her legs, and crossed her ankles, "that the townspeople don't need too much of an excuse to take up a petition."

"Met some of them already, have you?" Mae topped off their whiskey and sat next to Vance.

"Mmm-hmm. I paid some visits with Caleb today on his rounds. I can't tell you how many people were scandalized."

"I imagine you're used to that. Couldn't have been that much different where you came from."

"Philadelphia," Vance said, answering the unasked question. "And no, it wasn't, although the outrage tends to be more subtly expressed in that social setting."

"There's nothing quite like polite indignation, is there," Mae said with a trace of bitterness.

Vance set down her glass. "You sound like you've experienced it firsthand."

"My mother was a lady's maid in Baltimore. I was raised around the privileged." She waved her hand as if swatting away a troublesome insect. "I could play with their children, even take lessons with them, until we were of a certain age." Her smile was brittle. "When the young men--the sons of the wealthy--began to find me of interest, I was suddenly no longer welcome in the same circles."

"I'm sorry."

"No need to be. Let me get you some dinner." Mae rose abruptly and moved to the sideboard, where she uncovered the platter of cold chicken, bread, and cheese. She lifted the tray. "You must be hungry if you spent the day with..." To her surprise, she felt Vance at her side.

"What is it?"

"Let me take that for you."

Struck by the intensity in Vance's gaze, Mae extended the tray.

"Why, thank you."

Vance gripped the tray on one side and steadied the opposite edge against her chest and her left upper arm. As she carried it back to the sitting area and carefully set it on the low table between the chairs, she said, "I can load and fire a rifle as quickly as I could with two arms. I can also saddle my own horse and do most other things."

"You think I was serving you because you've got one arm?"

Mae gave her a look between exasperation and affection. "I'm used to serving men, who rarely lift a fing--"

"Although I can pass for a man, and have, I'll not have a woman do for me."

"Habit is all I meant," Mae said gently. Seated once more, she rested her chin in the palm of her hand. "I don't imagine you allow anyone to do for you." Her gaze fell on Vance's empty sleeve. "How did it happen?"

"No one ever asks," Vance said curiously, almost to herself, wondering how they had so quickly moved to such sensitive topics. It seemed that when she was with Mae, she revealed far more than she intended. With a conscious attempt to redirect the conversation, she said lightly, "I doubt you'd find the details of any interest and--"

"You should let me judge that." Mae leaned forward and prepared two plates, then handed one to Vance. "I know you were in the army.

Did anyone know you were a woman?"

"How did you know that?"

"Your trousers. They're army issue. I've seen enough army men to know." She nibbled at a bit of cheese. "And you do not look like the kind of woman who buys secondhand clothes. Or steals them."

Vance laughed. "There was a time or two, especially when the campaigns were long and far from home, when I was tempted to...

expropriate a new pair. But you're right, these are mine, and yes, I served in the Union Army for three years."

"All that time, and no one knew."

"Some did. I wasn't the only woman. I know of at least one officer whose wife joined at the same time he did and served in his outfit."

Although she wasn't hungry, Vance ate a little. "The services of every able-bodied person were needed, especially doctors. No one cared what was under my clothes." She smiled grimly. "Or what wasn't."

"What about your family? Surely, they were opposed."

"My father was against it."

Vance's face closed on some hard memory, and Mae knew instinctively she'd gone as far as she could that night to assuage her not-inconsiderable curiosity about the mysterious doctor. "The war didn't touch us that much--not like it did you back East. We knew about it and the soldiers have been straggling through town more and more since it's been over. So many of them--like they have no purpose anymore."

"I imagine you've been fighting your own wars out here."

Thinking of the arduous trek by foot and wagon when food and shelter were always scarce, the deaths from accidents and disease along the way, and the harsh and unforgiving land at the end of the journey, Mae nodded. "True enough. It does feel that way at times."

"How many girls work here?"

"Around about a dozen or so at any time. Some get lucky, find a man who doesn't care what they've been, and they move on. Some hope they still have a home somewhere back East to go to and they leave."

Mae shrugged. "Most stay because they've nowhere else to go."

"And you...look out for them."

"You could say that. I do what I can to see that they don't get hurt." She sighed and gave Vance a weary smile. "We live outside the law, what little of it there is here. No one will take our side against a man, no matter what the offense."

"But you protect them somehow."

With a delicate, well-manicured hand, Mae drew up the hem of her skirt to just above her shapely knee, revealing a small revolver secured with a thin strap above the top of her stocking. "I know how to use this, and I have."

A grin spread across Vance's face. "Fear is a powerful weapon."

"That it is." Mae rose, poured brandy, and returned. She handed one glass to Vance. "What was it like doctoring today?"

Vance considered her strange travels with Caleb to several outlying ranches as well as to the homes of some townspeople. "Funny, the people on the ranches seemed far less disturbed by me. Of course, most of the people we visited in town were ladies." Vance flicked her empty sleeve. "Not only is this shocking, but the rest of me is apparently just as bad."

Mae snorted derisively. "You could be wearing the finest Paris fashions, but as long as you're doing the work of a man, you're going to cause talk. Are you good at it?"

"I don't know," Vance said quietly. "I was. Once." She met Mae's eyes and saw acceptance, before she had even confessed. "I haven't been able to do much of anything since I was shot."

"That's when you lost your arm."

"Yes." Vance cleared her throat, which had gone tight. "My skills are...perhaps somewhat lacking now."

"Your skills," Mae rejoined, both amused and adamant, "have got to be far better than most anyone else's in the territory. Doc Melbourne is about the only real doctor out here." She leaned forward, displaying an alluring amount of cleavage, and tapped a delicate finger on Vance's thigh. "So don't let anyone in town or otherwise make you feel like you shouldn't be doing what you know how to do."

Vance registered the subtle sway of Mae's breasts but it was the hand on her leg that shocked her, the touch so foreign she barely recognized it. The only people in memory who had touched her had been those changing her bandages. They had come once a day, bringing unspeakable pain through no fault of their own. She saw the endless rows of beds, standing open like graves, heard the plaintive cries of the dying, felt the pathos seep into her bones. She shivered and a trickle of cold sweat ran down her neck.

Mae moved closer still, dabbed the sweat from Vance's throat with a white lace handkerchief she withdrew from her bodice, and murmured, "You're not there now, wherever it is."

"It's inside me," Vance gasped, not even meaning to speak.

"Well then, we'll just have to see about getting it out." She sat back and spoke in a normal tone, knowing that the only way to chase away the terror was to get on with the living. "One of my girls is pregnant."

Vance blinked and narrowed her eyes. The room came into sharp focus. She knew that Mae had witnessed her lapse, but it didn't embarrass or humiliate her the way it usually did. Mae regarded her with no hint of pity or morbid interest. She drew a breath and felt the nightmare release her. "Pregnant?" At Mae's nod, she went on, "How old is the girl?"

"Fourteen or so. She doesn't rightly know. Her parents died from typhoid while traveling overland and the wagon master brought her this far and left her on her own." Mae shook her head. "I suppose he should be given credit for that. She would have brought a fair price in one of the mining camps."

"Christ." Vance stood and paced, stopping before crossing the invisible border into Mae's boudoir. "How far along?"

"I'm guessing seven months. She's only been here five. Someone got at her before she arrived." Mae stiffened, her smooth delicate features hardening. "There's others here as young as her, younger. But when I saw she was in that way, I kept the men away from her."

"How does she support herself?"

"I see that she's fed and has a room."

"You could wear yourself out trying to save them all, I imagine,"

Vance said softly from across the room.

"I imagine you would know," Mae murmured, her gaze traveling gently over Vance's pale face.

v "How anyone ever took her for a man, I'll never know," Annie said a touch breathlessly. "She has the most beautiful eyes, so kind."

"Put her in a uniform with a couple of layers of long johns underneath," Sissy said, "smudge a little dirt on her face to cover up that lily-white skin, and who's to say she wasn't what she claimed."

Mae listened to the idle chatter with half a mind. She stood huddled with a few others against the railing on the second floor, looking down through a cloud of cigar smoke into the saloon hall below. It was packed with men whose voices converged to create a blanket of sound that nearly drowned out all other conversation.

"People see what they expect to see," Mae murmured.

"She's a darn sight easier to look at than Doc Melbourne," Sissy acknowledged grudgingly. "I'd rather have her poking at me than him."

"Doc Melbourne's always been a gentleman," Annie replied primly.

"That's because you've got a soft spot for him," Sissy griped.

"So what if I do? I saw you giving Vance a smile or two."

Mae bristled inwardly at the gossip that ordinarily she wouldn't pay any mind to. Hearing the other women discuss Vance so casually made her irrationally annoyed, even though she understood their interest. Vance was not just a newcomer, which always garnered curiosity for a few days, she was a woman doing something these young girls had never even imagined possible. On top of that, she was intriguing--in her independence and her differentness. Of course they were going to talk about her. Even flirt with her a little bit. Seduction was their primary means of survival, and it came as naturally to them as it did to Mae. Vance, however, had seemed to be immune to even the most flagrant flirtations. Still, the way Sissy had flaunted her youthful attributes had rankled.

At Vance's request, Mae had accompanied her while she made her initial examinations of all the girls, questioning them gently about past pregnancies or female troubles they might have had, asking if they knew how to take care of themselves and prevent disease and impregnation.

Vance had been thorough and gentle and kind. She had neither judged nor attempted to change what they were. She had merely given them her attention and her caring. It was a wonder they all didn't fall in love with her, whether they were of a mind to lie with a woman or not.

"And so what if I did give her a little look." Sissy's voice interrupted Mae's musings. "You think men are the only ones who enjoy our company? You could do worse than having the town doctor take a shine to you. It might keep the cowboys off you for a while."

Startled, Annie looked at Mae. "You mean sometimes women might come to a place like this?"

"It's not unheard of," Mae snapped, giving Sissy a withering glance. "But just because a woman wears pants doesn't mean she likes to sleep with her own kind. Don't go jumping to conclusions."

"I'm not about to jump on anything," Sissy said with a toss of her head and a satisfied smile. "But I won't be jumping out of the way either if she should take an urge to climb aboard."

"I wouldn't be counting on that," Mae said. Vance had given no indication she was interested in lying with anyone, man or woman, but Mae had a feeling that might be because that part of her was buried under the pain and misery she'd suffered. Looking at the hungry gleam in Sissy's eye and the enchanted one in Annie's, she had no doubt there would be willing partners if it was women she wanted for comfort. She didn't want to think about to whom Vance would turn when her feelings came back to life.

"There's work to be done if we want to earn our keep," Mae said.

"Let's get to it."

v Vance stood in a pack of men at the far end of the bar, nursing a whiskey that she didn't really want. It was the only company she was used to, however, and after leaving Mae, she hadn't wanted to go back to her room at the hotel. The little bit of her past she'd shared with Mae during dinner had opened a tiny chink in the wall that she had built to keep the pain at bay, but oddly, it wasn't pain that had surfaced through the hole in her defenses. It was longing. A restless sense of yearning for something she couldn't name. Whatever it was, it pulled at her belly, dragged at her heart, and she hadn't wanted to lie alone in the dark with it.

She sipped at her whiskey and saw Mae come down the stairs with some of the girls. Although Mae was only half a dozen years older than the oldest among them, she looked like a woman in full bloom and not a girl. Vance watched Mae move through the crowd, bestowing a touch or a smile on some lucky man or other. Watching her produced an odd combination of pleasure and pain, neither of which Vance could explain. She turned her back to the room and drained her whiskey, then signaled for another.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Mae dabbed scent behind each ear and restoppered the small, pale green glass bottle. Just as she set it down on her dressing table, a knock sounded at the door. At four in the afternoon it was likely to be one of the girls. Frank knew better than to let anyone else upstairs before dark. There were a few wealthy gentlemen who had private arrangements for her time, and she no longer needed to bed a saddle tramp to secure her next meal. She was not expecting one of her special customers; they would be far too cautious to venture to her room during daylight, no matter how dire their circumstances. Still clad in only a camisole beneath her dressing gown--a blue and red China silk robe that had been a present from one of her admirers who had traveled to San Francisco--she opened her door expecting to find Annie or one of the other younger girls. They often came by before the night's activities to share gossip they'd overheard in the saloon or complain about one of the other girls. Or to share their fantasies about a future they were unlikely to realize. She didn't disabuse them of that notion, because they had little enough in life without stripping them of hope.

"Kate!" Mae took Kate by the arm and pulled her inside. "You're the last person I expected." She glanced up and down the hall, saw no one else, and firmly closed the door. "Where's Jess?"

"She's out on the range with Jed for a few days. I'm visiting my parents."

"Lord. Are you never going to learn you can't be seen here?"

Kate laughed, loosening her cloak and removing it as she deposited a basket on a nearby table. "Are you never going to learn that I intend to visit my friends regardless of where they may live?" She turned, meaning to give Mae a welcoming hug, then stopped when she saw that Mae was not dressed. "Oh, I'm sorry. You weren't expecting visitors and here I am barging in."

"Don't be silly. You'd be about the only visitor I don't mind having this time of day." Mae gave Kate a quick squeeze, drawing back with her hands on Kate's forearms when she felt her stiffen. She cocked her head and studied the faint blush on Kate's cheeks. "Something wrong?"

"Oh no, of course not," Kate said too quickly. Mae was barely dressed, and what little she did wear did nothing to hide her shapely figure.

"Why, Kate Beecher." Mae laughed, reading the discomfort in Kate's expression. "Don't tell me that a woman like me could stir you up when you've got the likes of Jessie Forbes in your bed at night."

"Certainly not," Kate said primly. "I consider myself as married as any woman with a husband."

"Oh, and I suppose you think that means they never appreciate a man other than the one they're tied to?" Mae poured tea from the late supper tray that Billy had just brought her from the hotel.

Kate took the offered cup and settled into one corner of the settee.

"I don't know how they feel. No one but Jessie has ever made me...all churned up inside."

"But you notice women differently now, don't you?" Mae slipped behind a dressing screen angled in the corner of her bedroom and exchanged her robe for a dress. When she sat next to Kate, her own teacup in hand, she said, "Because of what being with Jessie has brought to life in you."

"I do, sometimes. Appreciate them." Kate regarded Mae seriously.

"Is that...natural, do you think?"

"Oh, honey, you're asking the wrong person." Mae rose and exchanged her tea for brandy. She looked to Kate. "Are you of a mind for a small drink?"

"No, I shouldn't." Kate smiled in fond exasperation at the thought of her mother's reaction. "My mother is coping as best she can with me leaving home and being with Jessie, but if I arrive smelling of spirits, I'm afraid it will be her undoing."

Chuckling, Mae sat down again. "Natural, you asked. Lord, when you've seen the things I've seen, you learn pretty quickly that people are a complicated bunch. I know for a fact there are men and women who prefer their own kind, in and out of bed." She sipped her brandy and eyed Kate. "You know that's my way, but I can sit here and think you've got eyes prettier than a starry night and not get stirred up."

"And I think you're...beautiful," Kate confessed, "but I don't feel--" She blushed again. "I don't believe anyone could make me feel the way Jessie does."

"Mmm. Why thank you, for the beautiful part. And lucky for Jess to have a woman who sees only her." She patted Kate's knee. "And lucky you for having her, because I know for a fact it's the same with her."

Kate glowed with pleasure, feeling only a little strange talking to Mae about Jessie, when she knew that Mae had wanted Jessie. But she didn't know anyone else like herself in whom to confide. Now that she and Jessie were together, she felt different inside. It was more than just loving Jessie and wanting to express that love with her body. She knew it wasn't an accident that she had fallen in love with Jessie. She had fallen in love with a woman because somehow, that was meant to be.

That was why she'd never cared for the suitors who had pursued her in Boston or for Ken Turner here in New Hope, either--a perfectly nice man for whom she had no feelings whatsoever. "I just know that I'm not the same as my friends, even though they don't seem to think I'm all that different."

Mae sipped her brandy thoughtfully. "Do any of them ask you about being with Jess?"

"You mean...about lying with her?" Kate laughed. "Goodness, no.

Even when they're talking about relations with men, it's all whispers and secrets."

"Well, most folks just look the other way rather than see things they don't understand or that upset them." She shrugged. "It's not always a bad thing, I suppose."

"Why do you think we like one person and not another...that way?"

"I don't know how that comes about," Mae said with some consideration. "I always have admired the women like Jess."

"Like Jessie?" Kate considered her lover and found it impossible to define all that she was. She was beautiful and strong and tender and stubborn and oh so wonderfully loving. Surely there was not another woman in the world like her.

"The strong-minded, stubborn type who like doing what most folks call men's work because it comes natural to them. And," she said with a saucy grin, "I do like a woman in pants."

"Well, there's not much of a chance for you to see that." Kate smiled. "But I love the way she looks in pants, too, and I can't imagine her in anything else."

"Can't imagine you'd get her into anything else."

"Besides, wearing them makes perfect sense. Trying to do anything out on the ranch in a skirt is just impossible." Kate finished her tea and took one of the crackers from a saucer next to the pot. "I'm going to do something about my clothes so I can ride easier and get around without tripping myself."

"A lot of women on the ranches wear split skirts. Or pants. Nobody thinks much of it." Mae poked Kate's shoulder playfully. "But if you start wearing them around town, there'll be talk."

"Oh, I wasn't planning on that. I can just imagine how quickly my mother would hear about it."

"Faster than lightning." Because she was enjoying the rare moment of female confidence in which she felt no need to hide anything, Mae added, "The new doctor in town dresses a lot like Jess. She's pretty much the opposite in every other way, though. Like night and day."

"She? I knew a woman in Boston who was studying to be a doctor--a student in one of my father's classes. No one believed she would really do it." Kate sat forward eagerly. "You've met her? This doctor?"

Mae nodded.

"What's she like?"

"Hard to say," Mae said quietly, thinking of the ghosts and secrets that shimmered in Vance's dark eyes. "She doesn't say much about herself." She stood abruptly, unable to contain the urge she had to ease Vance's pain, and began to pace. "She's good with the girls. She doctored them last night."

Kate watched Mae, never recalling seeing her so agitated. Mae was always so cool, always standing back and laughing just a little bit at others' foolishness, and her own. Now her voice trembled and her expression was distant, as if she were somewhere else. Carefully, Kate asked, "And she's like Jessie? Like us?"

Mae halted abruptly and regarded Kate intently. "Like us? Liking women, you mean?"

Kate nodded.

"She hasn't given any sign of it, but then again, most don't." Mae sat down with a sigh. "Even out here where some women go our own way and make our own lives, it doesn't pay to remind folks of it." She squeezed Kate's knee when she saw her look of concern. "But don't you worry. Everyone loves Jessie. She's been part of this town almost as long as the town has been here. The way I hear, her father built that ranch when New Hope wasn't much more than a few mining tents beside a dusty road."

"But now I'm with her," Kate said quietly. "I won't have anyone hurt her because of me."

"No one's going to hurt either one of you," Mae said vehemently.

"First of all, Jess wouldn't allow it. Secondly, neither would we."

Kate touched Mae's hand. "You're absolutely right." She gave Mae a sly smile. "So finish telling me about the new doctor. What does she look like?"

"Mmm, like I said, a little like Jess. Tall, like she is, with the same kind of strong face and rangy build. But she's dark, where Jess's light, and she's been...hurt." Mae closed her eyes against a sudden surge of pain that settled around her heart. "She lost her arm in the war back East. She joined up to doctor the wounded and was shot right near the end."

"Oh, my. How brave. How...wonderful of her."

"Crazy of her, you mean," Mae said bitterly. "Going off to fight in some war that even the damn foolish men should've had more sense than to get into."

"You don't mean that," Kate said gently. "You're just upset because she was hurt."

"I can see it, in her eyes. What it did to her." Mae's eyes swam with tears. "It broke something in her, and she's bleeding still."

"Maybe she just needs more time to heal."

"You can't heal a wound when the bullet's still in there." Mae rubbed her fingertips over her closed lids. "I don't even know her. Can't think why it upsets me so much."

"She means something to you, I can tell."

"No. Not that way." Mae shook her head impatiently. "Sometimes I just get tired of the misery."

"Well, maybe she'll find something in New Hope to help her heal."

Kate smiled inwardly. Or someone. "Maybe so."

"I brought you something." Kate rose to fetch her basket and then sat down again. She searched inside and then handed a slim volume to Mae. "Here."

Mae held the book gently, tenderly rubbing her hand over the surface. "A Tale of Two Cities by Mr. Charles Dickens." She looked at Kate with shining eyes. "Oh, this is fine, Kate. But you shouldn't be lending your books."

"Jessie brought me some books when I was sick. She bought them on one of her trips into Miles City for supplies. I already had this copy and she gave me another, so this is yours to keep." Kate ducked her head. "I know Jessie lends you books, because I saw a thank-you note from you in one of them."

"Kate, now that you and Jessie are together--"

"You and Jessie are friends, and I know she cares for you." Kate held Mae's gaze steadily. "And I know you care for her."

"You know a lot for someone who a year ago had never been kissed," Mae said with a soft laugh.

"I've made up for that."

"You know Jess would be mortified if she knew we were talking about these things, don't you?"

"And that's why she's not here." Kate looked at the timepiece pinned to her dress. "I must go before it gets much darker. I hope you like the book."

Mae held it to her breast. "I love it. Thank you."

Kate stood and gathered her things. At the door, she gave Mae a long hug. "I want to meet this doctor of yours sometime. Maybe you can bring her by the ranch."

"It's not like that, Kate. Besides, I don't think the town's doctor is going to want to be seen out riding with me."

"It seems to me that a woman brave enough to fight for what she believes in wouldn't put much stock in the opinions of foolish people."

"You think highly of people, Kate. You're young still."

"What's her name?" Kate asked, ignoring Mae's dark mood.

"Vance. Vance Phelps."

"I like the way that sounds. Good night, Mae."

"Good night." Mae carefully closed the door. Vance Phelps. She liked the way it sounded, too.

v "Well," Clarissa Mason said as she lifted a biscuit from the tray Martha Beecher extended. "Rose and I came in on the stage late last week with the town's new doctor."

Kate looked up from her sewing, alert to the censure in Clarissa's voice.

"Really?" Martha said, trying to hide her eager curiosity.

"Oh yes," Rose interjected before her mother could continue.

"She's quite intriguing. She wa--"

"Hardly intriguing," Clarissa said sharply. "Impertinent and inappropriate would be more the word for it. Dressed like a man, for heaven's sakes. And who's to say she's even a doctor."

"Dr. Melbourne apparently believes her to be," Kate said reasonably, although her temper put an edge to her tone that had her mother giving her a frown.

"Well whatever she is, she would do well to behave like a proper lady." Clarissa cast a scathing glance Kate's way. "Some excuses can be made for our own, I suppose. But not for outsiders."

Kate rose and set her sewing aside. "Excuse me. Would anyone else like more tea?"

A few of the women in the sewing circle murmured, but most stared from Clarissa to Kate with rapt attention. Kate hurried from the room before she said something she knew she would eventually regret.

Creating a scene in her mother's parlor would do no one any good.

"You shouldn't pay any attention to that old biddy," Millie, the town marshal's new wife and one of Kate's closest friends, whispered.

Kate turned from the icebox with a pitcher of tea in her hand and fury in her eyes. "How dare she attack Jessie in front of me? If it weren't for my mother, I'd--I'd..." She slammed the tea down on the kitchen table. "That's just the problem. I know there's nothing I could say that would make any difference to her. And strangling her is probably out of the question."

Millie smiled and put her arm around Kate's shoulders. "The way to get back at her is to show her that her opinion doesn't matter. And to anyone with half a brain, it doesn't."

"I don't understand why my mother even cares what people like that think."

"It's hard to be alone, especially out here."

"She's not alone. She has my father and she has me."

"Yes, and now you've got Jessie and your father...well, he's a wonderful man." Millie smiled. "But he is a man. Being as you don't have one, you probably don't realize how little they understand us."

Kate laughed. "You're right."

"Does Jessie understand you?" Millie asked shyly. "Seeing's how her and you are together and all."

"Yes, I think so. At least as well as I understand her." Kate took down two glasses and poured tea. Millie was the only one of her friends--aside from Mae--who ever acknowledged what Jessie was to her. She gave her an affectionate glance and set down the pitcher.

"Which means not always. But when she doesn't, she tries."

"Can't ask for much more."

"No. I wouldn't ask for anything more."

"I've seen the new doctor. Have you?"

Kate shook her head. "No, not yet. I understand she's...solitary."

"I've heard she frequents the saloon at night."

"Really? I dearly wish I could. The conversation would certainly be more to my liking."

"Well, I think she looks very mysterious, and I can't wait to actually meet her."

"Yes, I'm looking forward to that, too." Kate considered that she hadn't spent any time with her father at the newspaper office of late, and today seemed like the perfect opportunity.

CHAPTER NINE

"I can set the type while you block out the advertisements," Kate said to her father as she joined him at the print table in the rear of the single room that served as the office and production area for the New Hope Chronicle.

"You'll get ink on your hands and it's the devil to get out," Martin Beecher said mildly. "And your mother will likely take me to task for it."

Kate smiled and gently shouldered her father aside. Ever since she'd been a little girl she'd accompanied him when he went to work, although in those days it had been to the college where he'd taught.

Since coming to New Hope, and especially now that she no longer lived at home, she didn't have nearly as much opportunity, and she missed their quiet camaraderie. "Anything I can't get out, I'll take care to hide. Let me see the copy."

More because he enjoyed her company than because he needed the help, Martin conceded and handed her the list of transactions he'd received that afternoon from the land claims office.

"Goodness, this is quite a list," Kate remarked.

"More and more homesteaders are arriving every day. Before long, Montana will be well settled and ready for statehood."

"The town certainly seems to be growing." As she spoke, Kate swiftly and efficiently set the type, letter by letter, into the preset frame.

"Jessie said there were dozens of wagon trains moving West through Fort Laramie when last she was there."

"We're going to need some kind of law out on the range soon,"

Martin commented absently as he adjusted the layout of the notices and ads. "The town marshals can't be expected to chase across the entire territory after outlaws and cattle rustlers, and the army's got more than enough to do protecting the railroads and wagon trains from marauders."

"Cattle rustlers." Kate said the words slowly, realizing with an uneasy jitter in her stomach that she had no idea just how big the Rising Star was. Between the long winter and the months spent recovering from her sickness, she'd never been able to make the journey to see it that Jessie had promised long ago. But she knew from listening to Jessie speak of her land that it spread over many days' worth of travel.

And that a great deal of it was remote mountain terrain. "I wouldn't imagine that's a very big problem around here, is it? I mean, perhaps a cow or two now and then for food or a horse to--"

"Oh no," Martin said. "According to all the reports that we've been getting from across the territories, gangs of rustlers are stealing hundreds of head of livestock."

"But surely not out here, so far from the rail centers."

"Apparently they're driving them hundreds of miles to markets in Colorado. Even as far south as Texas." Martin slid the finished plate into the hand press. "I'm surprised you haven't heard about it before this. What with the Rising Star being one of the biggest outfits in this part of the territory."

Kate had a feeling that she knew why she hadn't heard of this trouble before, and hoped she was wrong. Tomorrow Jessie would be back. Tomorrow she would have her answer. Stacking the single sheets as they slid from the press, she said, "I'll help you take the early editions around."

"I'll only be taking them a few places, my dear. You'll be more comfortable waiting here."

"I'll be bored is what I'll be. Give me the ones for the Golden Nugget. It's just down the street."

"Oh no," Martin said with a laugh. "If your mother ever heard--"

"I'll take them in the back. No one will see me, and even if they do, there isn't a soul who would know Mother to tell her."

"Kate, really. I know that you have an acquaintance--"

"I've a friend there, and this won't be my first visit. I'll be quite all right." Kate kissed her father's cheek. "I know you like to talk to Silas at the hotel in the evenings. You can come for me when you're done."

"If you promise to take care, I'll walk you there and be back shortly."

"I won't go anywhere I'm not safe."

v "Evenin', Doc," Frank said and poured a shot of whiskey without being asked. He slid it across the counter to Vance. "Late day or early night?"

"Just got back into town. Been riding all day." Vance smiled wryly.

It hadn't taken more than a few weeks for the town's bartender to learn her schedule. She should probably take that as a sign that the whiskey was still winning. Nevertheless, she tossed back the drink and poured another from the bottle Frank had put down nearby. "Things are a lot farther apart out here than I'm used to."

Frank laughed. "I imagine so, if you're used to city living."

"Not for some time, but even farm country in the East is more populated. It took me most of the day to check on the three families Caleb wanted me to see."

"You making those calls by yourself?" Frank asked cautiously.

Vance stiffened. "That's right."

"Ever shot anyone with that sidearm you're carrying?" Frank leaned across the bar and kept his voice low.

"Would you ask me that if I were a man?"

Frank appeared unperturbed. "Might. If I thought you were a tenderfoot fixing to get himself killed."

"I'm not either one of those things," Vance replied evenly. "And I'm a dead shot."

"That's good to know." Frank swiped at a spill on the bar with the cloth he kept tucked into his belt. "I'm kind of getting used to your conversation."

Vance had to smile because they rarely exchanged more than a few words throughout an entire evening. His concern surprised her, not that she hadn't expected men to doubt her ability to protect herself. But Frank hadn't automatically assumed she was incapable. He hadn't made assumptions, any more than Milton had. Her sergeant had accepted her, first at face value because she was the regimental surgeon, and after a time because no one could do the job better. They hadn't talked much either, reading one another almost effortlessly, whether playing cards or caring for the wounded in the midst of Armageddon. For nearly three years they'd been as close as lovers, sharing danger and hardship and triumph. On that last day, she hadn't listened to his cautions, hadn't been able to hear anything except the thunder of death all around her. And he had paid for her mistake. Not her. He had remained out of loyalty and duty and friendship, and she had failed him. She gripped the edge of the bar, swaying as the room receded and the stench of battle filled her consciousness.

"Why don't you buy a lady a drink, Doc," Mae said as she smoothly caught up the whiskey bottle in one hand and threaded her opposite arm through Vance's. She nodded to Frank, who stared at Vance's ashen face with alarm. "Bring some glasses, Frank."

"Right away," he said hurriedly.

"I'm okay," Vance whispered hoarsely.

"Don't doubt it. Now me, I could use a few minutes off my feet with a good drink and better company." With practiced moves, Mae guided them through the crowd to a table tucked underneath the second- floor balcony. The illumination from rows of oil lamps set into sconces along the walls barely penetrated the space. "Looks like I got both."

Frank set glasses in the center of the table and melted away into the shadows.

"I wouldn't be too sure about the company," Vance said as she sank heavily onto the wooden chair. When Mae poured whiskey into a glass and handed it to her, she shook her head. "No, thanks. I need to clear my head, not muddle it up anymore."

"You looked like something hit you hard back there," Mae said gently. She'd come downstairs earlier than usual, unaccountably restless.

She told herself she was only going to look over the crowd and make sure there were no troublemakers in the bunch. But the instant she'd reached the landing, she'd gazed toward the far end of the room where Vance usually spent an hour or two in the evening, quietly drinking alone. She'd seen her at once and, even at a distance, she'd known something was wrong. Something even the whiskey couldn't cure.

Vance's face was a study in torment. Every thought had fled except for one. She would not stand by and watch Vance suffer alone.

"I'm sorry," Vance said.

"For what?"

Vance was glad for the dark so that Mae wouldn't see her humiliation. Or her shame. "I regret that I caused you any concern."

Mae laughed. "I don't believe worrying over someone ever caused a body any harm." She leaned close and put her hand on Vance's arm.

"Have you had any dinner?"

"I...not as of yet." Vance refused to add to her embarrassment by admitting that she'd forgotten to eat. In fact, other than coffee and a biscuit at breakfast, she'd had nothing all day. She could smell Mae's perfume, the same scent that had clung to her coat after her visit to Mae's rooms. When she'd dressed the next morning and caught the hint of her in the air, she'd been shaken by a ripple of longing so intense it had left her weak. She'd deliberately put the moment from her mind, but now, with Mae so near and the warmth of her touch searing her to the bone, she couldn't resist. "Please allow me to buy you dinner."

For an instant, Mae was stunned to silence. Surely one of them misunderstood. "Well, that's very kind of you. If I'd known, I would have made arrangements for us to dine in my rooms. Perhaps another night."

"The hotel is just across the street."

"Vance," Mae said gently. "I can't eat there with you."

Vance's voice hardened. "And why would that be?"

"There are certain things that are...understood. In many other places, women like me would be living in shacks on the outskirts of town with nothing but tin and paper over our heads." Mae swept a hand toward the balcony above them. "Here we've got clean rooms, decent food, and doctoring when we need it. As long as we don't ask for too much, that is."

"I see." Vance wanted to protest, but she knew Mae spoke the truth. Prostitution was a part of life from the capital city to the smallest mining encampment. Most of the time, it was a dreary and dangerous life. She'd seen women worn out by it before they were twenty-five.

She'd also seen parlor houses in St. Louis and Denver that were as fine as any hotel. The women who ran them and lived in them dressed in finery and often were among the wealthiest women in the community, earning far more for their labors than common workmen. But those success stories were not the norm. Out here on the frontier, the sporting women were fortunate if they did not fall prey to disease or mistreatment. "I want you to know that whatever the rules--or the consequences--they make no matter to me. I would be honored by your company."

Mae looked away, undone by the sincerity in Vance's voice and her own deep longing for the impossible. Impossible for so many reasons. She met Vance's eyes, because to do less would be to discount the gift she had been offered. The price that Vance was willing to pay for her beliefs was starkly evident in the empty sleeve and the ghosts of guilt and self-recrimination that haunted her eyes. Mae thought she had never known a braver soul. "It is you who honor me. Under other circumstances, there's nothing I would like more than to dine with you."

"I would not do anything to endanger you or any of the girls."

"It was kind of you to offer. And to understand." Mae forced a lightness into her voice that she did not feel. "You should go on over and have that dinner while you're still thinking about it."

"No." Vance caught Mae's hand as she started to withdraw. "Not just yet. I'd rather sit here with you. How much time do we have?"

"It will be a little while before the girls come down. The men need to know that I'm here, that I'm watching. That I know who the girls are going off with."

"And what about you? Will you be...going off with someone?"

Mae studied Vance's face in the dim light. Her dark eyes glinted, sharp as a knife's edge. Mae dared not ask the question she so desperately wanted answered. What does it make me in your eyes? She shook her head. "From time to time. Not tonight, I don't expect."

"Then I'd be pleased with your company."

"Will you tell me something?"

"If I can," Vance said immediately.

"What happened tonight?" Mae asked, her penetrating gaze just as unrelenting.

"Why does it matter?"

Mae couldn't think of any answer except the truth. "Because whatever is tearing you up hurts me every time I see it."

"I have...spells."

"Is it a sickness?"

Vance laughed hollowly. "Of a sort. Something happens to me and I end up thinking about the war. That last morning. I can..." She shivered. "It's like I'm there."

"You mean, more than just remembering? Feeling it?"

"Yes. Yes, that's exactly it. It's not a memory. I feel it. I hear it. I see it. All of it." She closed her eyes. "God. So real."

"Does it happen a lot?" As Vance spoke, Mae watched the pain etch itself into the lines of her face, saw her body shudder as if from invisible blows. She wanted to put herself between Vance and whatever was hurting her, but she knew it was too far inside her for anyone to touch. There would be no relief, no end to the agony, until Vance alone unearthed the source.

"Not as much as it used to." Vance reached for the whiskey bottle, pleased to see that her hand was steady. She poured them each a drink.

"I don't remember very much about the first few months. My arm was infected, and I was delirious most of the time. I'd had pneumonia and that flared up. I couldn't talk, couldn't identify myself." She emptied the shot in a single gulp and closed her fingers hard around the glass. "I spent quite a long time in a hospital in Richmond before anyone figured out who I was."

"That you were a doctor?"

Vance nodded. "That and that my father was one of Lincoln's appointees to the Medical Bureau that organized medical care in the Union Army."

"So he's a doctor, too."

"Yes." Vance sighed. "Eventually I was sent home, back to Philadelphia to be cared for. Once my arm healed and it seemed that I was getting well, the episodes began."

"And there's no medicine? No treatment?"

"Laudanum effectively stops it," Vance said bitterly. "That's a bit like trading one devil for another. I finally refused it, against my father's wishes."

"I've seen what that can do," Mae said softly. "It's a way to escape, sure enough. But it's a little bit like dying, too, isn't it?"

Completely without thinking, Vance lifted Mae's hand and rested her cheek against Mae's palm. "How is it you understand so much?"

Mae brushed her fingers through Vance's hair. "I want to understand you."

"Why?"

They were dangerously close to crossing a line that Mae could barely see any longer, but she knew it was there. She knew who she was, what she was. And she sensed, no, she knew, that Vance was vulnerable.

For all her strength, for all her brave certainty, she was wounded, and Mae would not risk having her hurt more. She eased away, smiling.

"There's three people in town it's good to know--the banker, the marshal, and the doctor. You're the best looking of the lot."

Vance laughed. "Then I count myself fortunate."

"I suppose you know it might help if you ate right and tried to sleep regular," Mae said carefully. "With the spells."

"You're quite correct. I have never been an easy patient."

Mae laughed. "Somehow, I find that easy to believe."

"Will you dine with me tomorrow?"

"A friendship with me will be frowned upon by every important person in this town, and most that aren't."

Vance made an impatient gesture. When she spoke, it was with the unconscious force she had used to command men. "Will you dine with me tomorrow? Here or at the hotel or any place of your choosing."

The only other woman who had ever looked at her and seen more than a whore in a fancy dress had been Jessie. But even Jessie had never looked at her with the kind of fire that burned in Vance Phelps's eyes.

"Yes. Yes, I will."

CHAPTER TEN

"I shall return in thirty minutes." Martin looked dubious as Kate took a stack of the freshly printed broadsheets from his arms and started toward the side door of the Golden Nugget. The jaunty sound of the piano was muted, but still audible--an uncomfortable reminder of the raucous activities within.

"I'll go directly upstairs, so you needn't worry," Kate replied, as if reading her father's mind. "One of my friends will bring the papers down and leave them at the bar. I'll just have a visit, and I'll watch at the window for you to return. I'll be fine."

"I'm not entirely certain--"

"When Jessie was here, recovering from her wounds, I came every day and almost every evening. It was perfectly safe."

"Those were extraordinary circumstances. You were helping to nurse her." Martin smiled fondly. "And I knew I would not be able to keep you away."

"No, you couldn't, and I'll always appreciate you understanding that." Kate remembered the terrible few days after Jessie had been shot. Even now, the thought that she might have lost her caused her stomach to clench painfully. She hated being separated from her, even for a few days, and every time Jessie left with Jed or one of the other men on these increasingly frequent trips up into the mountains, she worried. She pushed away the uneasiness that came from not knowing just where Jessie was or what she was doing. It was something she supposed she would have to get used to, now that they lived together. It had been easier, in some ways, when she lived in town and Jessie was at the ranch. Then, what Jessie did every day was less real to her, and the dangers far more abstract. Now, she was learning just how difficult life could be in the untamed land where she'd chosen to make her home. "I have friends here. You needn't worry."

"I expect I shall always worry, as is a father's duty." He touched her shoulder affectionately. "But I have always known you to be sensible, so I will yield to your judgment." He turned as if to leave, and then looked back. "Are you still happy with your decision to...go with Jessie?"

Remembering that she was speaking to her father, Kate chose her words carefully. The love he would surely understand. The passion, the sense of completeness--those were things too private to share. "I love her, and she loves me. I have the life I want." She couldn't hide her joy.

"I'm so happy that you and Mother have allowed it. Thank you."

Martin snorted softly, thinking of Kate's threat to run away with Jessie if anyone tried to keep them apart. He had no doubt she'd meant it. "You left us no choice, but I'll admit that I can see she suits you." He shook his head. "I never thought that I would see the things I've seen out here--men killing other men for a pocketful of gold dust, women doing for themselves and surviving, nature claiming lives like some merciless servant of an avenging God. Happiness can be a rare thing. If she gives you that, and you her, it's a gift."

"She does." Kate kissed his cheek. "Now, off with you or we'll be so late that Mother will surely want to know where we were."

With that threat hanging in the air, Martin waited until Kate entered the building, then hurried away.

v Kate climbed the back stairs to the hallway on the second floor and went directly to Mae's rooms. She knew Mae's habits from the weeks she'd spent in these very same rooms helping to care for Jessie, so she was surprised when no one answered her knock. Still, she knew where Mae would be and set off to find her.

She nodded a greeting to several of the young women who had rooms along the corridor and fell in behind them as they started down the stairs to the saloon. Rapidly, she scanned the already crowded room. By the time she reached the first floor and had not found Mae, she decided to leave the newspapers with Frank and return the way she had come. She had almost reached the end of the bar at the back of the room, where far fewer men were congregated, when she was stopped by a hand on her arm.

"Might I be of service, madam?" a man inquired. His black hair was slicked back with pomade and his thick mustache extravagantly curled. He sported a dark suit with a black satin cravat, a brown velvet waistcoat, and an appraising glint in his eye.

"Thank you, but no," Kate said politely, allowing more than a hint of Boston to show through in her speech. "I'm just going to give these to Mr. Williams and I'll be leaving."

"Allow me to accompany you, then," he said, smoothly tucking her hand into the bend of his arm. "Phineas Drake." He bowed slightly.

"At your service."

Kate inclined her head. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr. Drake. I appreciate your offer of assistance, but I can assure you it's not necessary."

When she attempted to extract her hand, he clasped her fingers and drew her even more tightly to his side. Although there was nothing truly unseemly about his actions, she was uncomfortable with the press of his body against hers. Even when she had kept reluctant company with Ken Turner, he had rarely done more than lift her hand to his lips.

She was unused to anyone other than Jessie so close to her. Rather than allow him to see her discomfort, she decided the best course was to complete her mission as quickly as possible. "Let me put these on the bar, and then I shall be done."

"Perhaps then you would do me the honor of sitting with me for a while. You are by far the finest company I could hope for."

Kate managed to deposit the newspapers, slip her hand from his grip, and move away. She faced him, her expression cold. "I'm sorry. I really must be going."

Something in his face hardened and he took a quick step toward her.

"Why, Kate," Mae said with a small laugh, twining her arm around Kate's waist. "I'm so sorry I'm late." She batted her lashes at Phineas.

"Don't tell me your card game is over so soon? You're not losing, I hope?"

Through narrowed eyes he observed them both, then gave a conciliatory smile. "No, not at all. I was merely stretching my legs when it was my good fortune to come upon this beauty." He lifted Kate's hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles, his eyes fixed on her breasts. "Perhaps, Mae my sweet, you will support my humble plea that this dear lady grace me with her company for a few moments."

"And let those cards get cold?" Subtly, Mae drew Kate away.

"You'll have plenty of time for company when you've relieved some of those eager gentleman of the coins weighing down their pockets."

In a voice too low for Drake to hear, Mae said, "Just keep walking and pretend you're telling me the most amusing story."

Kate put on a bright smile as she hurried off with Mae, feeling the gambler's eyes burning on her skin. "I'm so sorry. I hope I haven't created trouble for you."

"Nothing of the sort," Mae said grimly, although her smile did not falter. "I enjoyed getting in the way of his plans." She pulled Kate under the stairs. "What in heaven's name are you doing here?"

"I just came--"

A deep voice said quietly, "I would be pleased to disabuse that gentleman of any ideas he might have regarding you, should you ladies require it."

Kate turned from Mae and looked into the deepest, darkest eyes she'd ever seen. For one brief instant she saw sympathy, gentle empathy, and more than a little temper. She smiled, recognizing a bit of Jessie in the handsome stranger. It was that more than the discreetly pinned-up coat sleeve that told her this was the woman Mae had told of. Like Jessie, she wore her unconventional attire with natural ease, as if anything else would be foreign to her.

"We ladies," Mae said archly, although her tone was playful, "are quite capable of handling a snake on two legs if we have to."

"He seems to have quite an interest in you." From her place in the shadows, Vance had observed the man watching Mae and Kate with sharp attention as they'd hurriedly left him. His expression had been both avaricious and angry, and she knew a dangerous man when she saw one. "I'd take some care around him."

Mae ran her fingers up and down the lapel of Vance's coat. "I will." She left her hand linger on Vance's chest for an instant as she indicated Kate. "This is my friend Kate Beecher. Kate, this is our new doctor. Vance Phelps."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Beecher," Vance said, tipping her head slightly.

"Oh, and I you. I'm sorry if I caused any concern." She looked at Mae. "Really, I just wanted to say hello. Jessie's away again and I was helping my father. I thought I'd drop off the newspapers and then find you upstairs."

"I came down early tonight." Mae sighed in exasperation. "I can see that we're going to have to do something about you if you keep insisting on visiting."

Kate smiled. "Well, since you're one of my closest friends, I'd say that was very likely."

"And since you don't seem inclined to stay above stairs, we'll just have to be sure you're not bothered." Mae frowned. "Do your parents know you're here?"

"Actually, my father does. He's going to come for me in another few minutes."

"Well, you're not staying down here until then. I'll take you upstairs, and you can wait there."

"That's not necessary," Kate said. "If I'd known you were already busy, I wouldn't have bothered you."

"Hush, Kate. Don't be silly. I just want you away from here before one of these other gentlemen decides he wants your company and isn't as easily dissuaded as our friend Mr. Drake."

"I'll be happy to show Miss Beecher home," Vance said. She smiled at Kate. "Or to accompany you anywhere you'd like to go."

"Oh, no," Kate said quickly, casting Mae a sidelong glance. "I didn't mean to interrupt your visit."

"That's quite all right. I was about to leave." Vance turned to Mae.

"Until tomorrow evening?"

"Come around five."

"Will you be all right? With this Drake fellow here tonight?"

Mae laughed harshly. "I'll be fine. He's a coward who uses his fists on women who won't fight back. I will."

Vance leaned close. "Use your gun if it comes to that."

"If I shot every man who tried to get over on me or one of my girls, the streets would be thick with bodies." Nevertheless, Mae was touched by Vance's concern and equally worried that Vance still might take it upon herself to warn Drake off. The gambler was not a man to be crossed, especially when his pride was at stake. She had no doubt that Vance could use the revolver holstered to her thigh, but she did not want to see her in danger. Certainly not by way of protecting her. If Vance went after every man who might be a threat to her, she'd have no time left for anything else. And Mae did not want to cast Vance in the role of protector. She'd made her choices, and she would take whatever consequences came of them. She could see the worry in Vance's eyes, although her expression was calm. More than calm. Mae imagined that Vance had looked like this before a battle. Unafraid, resolute, perhaps even willing to die. That single thought frightened her more than any possible risk to herself. "Promise me you won't try teaching him a lesson."

"If I did, you can be sure he would not come back around you."

"No." Mae shook her head vigorously and spoke the one truth she knew Vance would accept, even if she did not care for her own safety.

"It can't be that way. Because if the men start thinking we'll fight them on what they want and what they think is theirs by rights, none of us will be safe then."

Vance looked away, her jaw set. After a moment, she nodded sharply. "I understand."

Kate watched the exchange, and although she could not hear the words that passed between them, she could feel the waves of anger emanate from the doctor. Likewise, she could see the barely contained fear in Mae's face. That was one thing she had never seen before.

Although she knew that Mae's life was hard, dangerous, perhaps unspeakably so, it was not something that Mae let others see. The fact that she did not, could not, hide it now made Kate afraid for the first time.

"Please don't let my foolish--"

"Oh honey," Mae said with a tight smile, "you didn't do anything.

The fact that a woman walks into a room shouldn't give every man within sniffing distance the idea that she was put there for his pleasure.

Not even here."

"What's right isn't always what matters," Kate said quietly.

"It should be," Vance said, her voice low. She took Mae's hand.

"If you're sure you'll be all right, I'll walk with Miss Beecher to her destination."

For a fleeting second, Mae pressed her palm to Vance's cheek.

"Go. And don't forget your dinner."

"Oh," Kate said quickly. "I'd be happy to fix something for you at home. My parents' home, that is."

"I wouldn't think to inconvenience you, but--"

"Please, it's the least I can do." Kate laughed. "Although, I must warn you, my mother is very keen to meet you. Undoubtedly, she will wear you out with questions."

Vance considered refusing, because the last thing she wanted was a social encounter where she would have to be polite and conversant.

She'd been using work as an excuse to decline the frequent invitations to tea or supper from patients and new acquaintances ever since her arrival in town. However, this offer was so genuine and Mae's look of relief so apparent that she couldn't refuse. "That would be very kind of you. Thank you."

"Good," Mae said briskly. "Now, the two of you get out of here."

She smiled at Vance. "You be careful, now."

Vance held Mae's gaze. "And you."

v When Kate found Martin deep in conversation at the hotel with Silas, she informed him that Dr. Phelps would escort her home. "There's no need for you to hurry your visit."

Martin looked from one to the other in surprised confusion but saw no reason to object. "Of course, my dear. You may tell your mother I'll be along shortly." He nodded to Vance. "Nice to see you, Doctor.

Perhaps we can talk sometime about the challenges you face out here.

It would make for an interesting article in our paper."

Vance smiled noncommittally. "I'm sure it would."

As they began their walk through town, the only lights that flickered were in windows lit by candles and oil lamps. Kate said, "We're originally from Boston. We've been here just over a year. It's very different, isn't it?"

"Yes," Vance said, her mind still on the encounter in the saloon.

"It's a strange place where men feel the bounds of propriety no longer apply and women have both great independence and none at all."

"Mae is an amazing woman," Kate said. "She's one of the strongest, most capable people I've ever met."

"She is." Vance rubbed her hand over her face. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to impose my ill mood upon you."

Kate laughed shortly. "You've hardly done that. It makes me so angry that anyone would think less of her for any reason."

Vance gave her a curious look.

"Oh, I know what she does to earn her way. Should I be shocked? That a woman would use one of the few tools at her disposal to survive on her own?" She shook her head angrily. "I think it's incredibly brave."

"You are not a typical young woman from Boston, Miss Beecher,"

Vance said.

"No, Dr. Phelps. It appears that I'm not." Kate slowed as they approached the walk to her parents' home. "If I had never come to this place, I might still be closed-minded and unforgiving of things I did not understand."

"Somehow, I doubt that. It takes more than a change of environment to alter who we are and what we believe."

"You're right," Kate said thoughtfully. "It's more than just my coming here. It's that I came here and found myself." She smiled at Vance. "And I found the only thing that matters to me."

"Indeed. And what might that be?"

"Love, Dr. Phelps. I found my love." Kate slid her arm through Vance's. "Please. Come inside and meet my mother."

"It would be my pleasure."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"Mother, this is Dr. Vance Phelps."

Looking at the women seated in the parlor, their expressions at once wary and curious, Vance sighed inwardly. She knew these women--she'd grown up with them, or women so like them that the differences made no difference. When Kate led her into the parlor and she came upon Kate's mother and her guests, Vance was reminded of the many afternoons of her youth spent in a similar fashion, conversing about matters of no importance and gossiping discreetly about people who were no doubt doing the same about them. Mercifully, she had always had the excuse of her studies to justify taking her leave after a polite interval, and if that failed, Victor could be counted on to fabricate ingenious distractions to effect her escape. Thinking about Victor brought the anticipated surge of pain, so familiar she didn't even bother to try to suppress it. For months there had been nothing but pain, to the point where pain was more natural than anything else she felt.

Now, it was merely the backdrop against which the events of her day unfolded.

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Beecher," Vance said. She turned to the other two women and smiled graciously, as if she were once more in the great room of the brownstone mansion in the heart of Philadelphia where she'd been born and raised. "And Mrs. Mason and Rose. How very nice to see you again."

"Yes, how nice," Clarissa Mason said coolly.

"Oh, do sit and have some tea," Rose gushed, sliding closer to her mother on the sofa to make room.

Vance remained standing, waiting for the lady of the house to make known her desires.

Watching the exchange, Martha Beecher was at a loss as to how to react. There was absolutely no doubt that the woman before her was bred to high society. It was evident in every line of her face and every cultured inflection of her speech. Despite the outlandish--even shocking--attire, she stood as if she were at the head of a reception line at a formal affair, greeting the elite of society with just the slightest hint of amused superiority. Oh, Clarissa Mason had clearly underestimated her, but then, how could Clarissa be expected to recognize someone of the doctor's station? Clarissa might be a banker's wife, but a banker's wife in New Hope, Montana, was a far cry from the upper class of Eastern society. Clarissa had undoubtedly looked at the newcomer's admittedly outrageous appearance and no further. Martha stood to greet her guest.

"Please, do sit down, Dr. Phelps. I'm so happy to have this opportunity to meet you at last," Martha said with just a hint of polite reserve. "I so hope you bring news of the East, as we very seldom have the opportunity to hear of events out here before they are no longer of consequence."

Declining the offer of a seat, Vance feared that she would disappoint Kate's mother on more than one level. Any news that she might relay of politics and the social upheaval that followed the end of the war would undoubtedly dissatisfy, and she knew nothing of the latest fashions and styles. "I've been traveling for quite some time, and I'm afraid I have no recent news about any matters of importance."

"And," Kate interrupted laughingly, slipping her hand into the crook of Vance's elbow once more, "I have invited Dr. Phelps home for a late meal. I'm going to take her into the kitchen and fix her a plate.

She's been working all day."

"Indeed," Clarissa Mason said archly. "You're..." She hesitated as if searching for a polite term. "You're actually tending to patients, then, not just assisting Dr. Melbourne."

"I'm doing both," Vance said quietly, her tone subtly cooler.

"Some procedures, particularly surgeries, are easier to perform with competent assistance." She smiled thinly. "But I am used to treating substantial injuries independently. The war taught me that."

"Oh," Clarissa gasped, as if finding the subject repellent.

Rose, however, sat forward, her face alight with excitement. "Oh, do tell us what that was like!"

"Surely not, Rose," Clarissa chided. "Such things are not fit conversation for a young lady."

"Is it true, that no one knew you weren't a man?" Rose persisted.

"I really couldn't say," Vance said. She was tired from riding all day and her shoulder ached. She was agitated and worried about Mae, and the fragile veneer of sociability she'd been able to assume cracked and slipped away. "I'm a physician, and I was there to treat the wounded. When the ground is littered with the dead and the dying as far as the eye can see, social conventions fall quickly aside."

"Oh, how terribly awful," Rose cried, looking even more intrigued.

Vance glanced toward the door. "Forgive me. It's been a very long day and you must excuse me."

"Come," Kate said, drawing Vance toward the hallway and the kitchen beyond. "Let me fix you that meal, and then you can head home and get some rest."

Rose jumped to her feet. "Let me help."

Before either of their mothers could object, Kate and Rose spirited Vance away.

"It's really not necessary for you to fuss," Vance said as Kate took the remainder of dinner from the icebox and placed the tray in the center of the table.

"Oh," Rose said, preempting Kate's reply as she pulled a chair close to where Vance sat at the table, "it's hardly a bother when here you are doing such important and so very difficult work."

Vance caught the amused look on Kate's face and managed not to laugh. "Well, I do appreciate it. I very seldom have home-cooked food.

Miss Beecher, can I help you?"

"Nothing to do," Kate said as she placed the bread and cold meats in front of Vance. "And please, call me Kate." Then, shyly, she asked, "What was it like, going to medical school?"

"It's Vance, then." Vance struggled to bring into focus an experience that felt to her now as if it had occurred in a different lifetime. To a different person altogether. She answered from a place of sad remembering. "I attended Women's Medical College, which was an amazing thing in itself. An entire medical school established and devoted to training women." With an absent smile, she shook her head. "Originally, I wanted to attend the school that my father had, that my..." She took a breath. "Well, at any rate, I ended up being very happy where I trained. It was exciting, demanding work."

"Oh, I can just imagine how wonderful it must've been to be able to study like that," Kate said, her face flushed with enthusiasm.

Rose shuddered. "Well, I can't imagine it. Working around the sick and the dying all the time." She glanced quickly at Vance and amended, "But I think it's highly admirable, of course. Highly."

"Yes," Vance said solemnly, wishing that she could remove her coat. The kitchen was overly warm. However, she had no desire to invoke more rabid curiosity from the eager young Miss Mason.

"I know you're tired," Kate said gently. "But someday, when you have a moment to spare, I'd love for you to tell me what your courses were like."

"It's a promise." Vance pushed the barely eaten food away. She had little appetite for dinner and far less for company. The bounds of normal conversation took her far too close to the borders of memories best left unvisited. There were places she simply did not want to go again. "This was very kind of you. Thank you." She stood. "Now, I must say good night. Please give my regards to the other ladies."

"I shall." Kate held open the back door. "Be careful."

Vance regarded her quizzically, then smiled faintly, wondering if Kate too was still thinking of the onerous Phineas Drake. "Thank you.

Good night."

"Good night," Kate said softly, closing the door behind Vance as she stepped out into the night.

"Oh," Rose said after Vance was gone. "Isn't she the most fascinating and exciting individual!"

"Yes, she's very strong and brave," Kate agreed, but for far different reasons, she suspected, than Rose, who seemed desperate only for a glimpse of anything outside the everyday routine of New Hope.

It wasn't what Vance had achieved that drew Kate to her. It was the terrible sorrow that clung to her like a heavy cloak. Kate understood now why Mae had spoken of wounds unhealed.

Vance walked back to the hotel through the dark streets, relieved to have left the gathering that had seemed foreign to her. She hadn't realized how poorly she had fit that social niche until she had left it, first peripherally, when she began her studies, and finally, completely, when she'd left for the war. She'd never felt completely comfortable with the conventions and restrictions that her sex and social status had dictated for her as a child and young woman. While her mother had been alive, she had done all the usual things that a well-bred young lady should do, including attending the required social events with young men of her class. Then, her happiest times had been the summers spent at her family's country estate. Her mother had paid far less attention to her comings and goings then, and she could ride, hunt, and secretly gamble with her brother and his friends without incurring her mother's censure.

The young men had welcomed her as one of them, because they had all grown up together. By the time she was a teenager, she knew she wanted to be a doctor. Had her mother not died when she was fifteen, she might have had more of a battle convincing her father of her desires, but with no one to strenuously object, she had had her way. However, it wasn't until she had dressed in Victor's clothes and accompanied him to the recruiting station that she'd truly realized what freedom felt like. She'd never felt as comfortable or more like herself in her life.

Vance slowed at the mouth of the alley beside the Golden Nugget, having returned without realizing it. Briefly, she considered going back inside for one last drink and one final glance at Mae. However, at this time of night, Mae would certainly be working, and Vance wasn't certain that was something she wanted to witness. She was staring at the side door, contemplating the long evening ahead, when it opened and a woman stepped out. Her heart gave a lurch as she imagined that Mae had somehow conjured her thoughts and had slipped out to meet her.

She took one step forward, then stopped, realizing her error. Pleasure was rapidly eclipsed by disappointment, a cycle that left an ache not totally unwelcome. It had been a long time since the anticipation of anything had pleased her. As she was about to turn and continue on her way to the hotel, a voice called out to her from the shadows.

"Dr. Phelps, wait, please."

Once more, Vance halted. This time she recognized the young blond woman, a younger but somehow more hardened version of Mae, and strode down the narrow passageway to meet her. "Sissy, isn't it?"

"Yes," Sissy said. Although she wore a shawl over her shoulders, she made no effort to pull it closed over the extremely low-cut bodice of her dress. Rather, she straightened her shoulders, which lifted her breasts even closer to the top of the confining fabric. "Must be fate.

Mae sent me to fetch you."

Vance's chest tightened, and this time the pain was very real. She forced a breath and ground out the words that threatened to choke her.

"Is she hurt?"

Sissy frowned. "Mae? No. It's about Lettie."

Lettie. Not Mae. Mae is all right. Vance struggled to make the connection, carefully averting her eyes from the display of flesh that was obvious, even by moonlight. "Lettie. I'm afraid I don't...wait." Her voice took on an edge. "Isn't she the young lady who is pregnant?"

"Well," Sissy snorted, "I won't vouch for the lady part, but she is pregnant sure enough."

"What's the problem?" Vance asked, already hurrying down the passageway toward the door.

"She's bleeding some and Mae said to see if you could come."

"Of course. Take me to her."

v The room was far smaller and plainer than Mae's, although clean and well furnished with a bed, dresser, chair, and even a small bookcase tucked into one corner. Lettie, dark-haired, pale, and clearly frightened, lay beneath a thin patchwork quilt. Vance removed her coat and folded it over the back of a nearby chair. Her cuff, which she never buttoned, she pushed upward by sliding her arm across her chest as she approached the bed.

"Hello, Lettie, do you remember me?"

The young girl nodded. "You were here before with Mae. You're the doctor."

"That's right. Are you having any pain?"

Lettie shook her head.

"How about earlier? Did anything unusual happen?"

Again, a head shake.

"All right then, what about the bleeding? When did you notice that?"

Lettie cast an uncertain glance in Sissy's direction.

"Go ahead, girl, tell her," Sissy said with a touch of impatience.

"Round about three days," Lettie said quietly.

Vance looked at Sissy. "Would you please pour a basin of water for me." Then she smiled encouragingly at Lettie. "All right, then, I'm going to take a look at you and then we'll talk. Okay?"

"Yes," Lettie whispered.

Vance went to the sideboard and used a cake of soap and the water Sissy had poured to wash her hand. She was aware of Sissy watching her curiously, and when she reached for the towel and dried her hand with the towel pressed to her chest, she met Sissy's eyes. "You must tell them not to wait when there's a problem. I will always come. There is nothing for them to be afraid of."

Wordlessly, Sissy took the towel and finished drying Vance's hand.

When Vance tried to pull away, she shook her head. "I can do it faster."

As she carefully patted each finger, she said, "Girls who are sick, who can't work, are used to being put out on the street."

"Surely not here. Surely, Mae would not..."

"Mae can't be everywhere, all the time," Sissy said, regarding Vance with blazing eyes. "And even if she was, she don't own the roof over our heads."

"Who does?"

Sissy shrugged. "Don't know. Don't make any difference to me."

"Nevertheless," Vance said firmly, "if they're sick, I need to know.

Tell them they'll get back to work faster if they let me see to them."

"You're not going to tell us to change our evil ways?" Sissy asked sarcastically.

"That's not for me to say. My job is to treat the sick."

"Ain't that what we are?"

"No," Vance said gently. "Now let me see to Lettie."

Vance was in the midst of palpating Lettie's distended abdomen when she felt a subtle shift in the air in the room, as in the sky before an electrical storm. Then she caught a whiff of wildflowers on hot summer afternoons, and she smiled. Without looking up, she said, "Good evening, Mae."

"Looks like we're keeping you busy," Mae said, coming up behind Vance and brushing her shoulder in greeting. "Sorry to trouble you."

"No trouble," Vance murmured, sliding her palm over the outline of the uterus, pressing gently to discern the position of the developing head. Then she sat back and carefully pulled up the covers and gave Lettie's hand a reassuring pat. "I'm going to speak with Mae for a few minutes. Everything seems to be fine, but you're going to need to stay in bed for several more days until I examine you again."

"Oh, but--"

Vance shook her head. "No buts. It's important." She stood and followed Mae outside into the corridor. It was less than two hours since she'd last seen her, but she was aware of having missed her.

"Thank you for coming," Mae said.

"There's no need to thank me." Vance resisted the urge to capture a golden ringlet that had escaped from the mass of curls and now dangled enticingly onto Mae's breast. It fluttered with each breath, a taunting invitation as it danced over ivory skin.

Mae followed the direction of Vance's gaze, wondering how much of what she saw in Vance's eyes Vance was actually aware of.

Despite the pleasant flutter in the stomach the thought gave her, it was something best pursued another day. There were more important things to attend to now.

"What's wrong with her?"

"Possibly nothing. She has had some bleeding, which is not completely unheard of at this stage in the pregnancy." Vance watched a well-dressed man in a business suit accompany the redheaded Annie down the hall and disappear into a room. "But it could be the first sign of something serious. She needs to be at complete bed rest for at least the next several days."

"I'll see to that." Mae traced a line with her nails up and down Vance's forearm, which was bare below her pushed-up cuff. She smiled to herself when she saw Vance visibly shudder. "Maybe you can look in on her tomorrow before dinner."

"I'll do that," Vance said hoarsely, stunned by the twist of excitement that slivered through her.

"Good," Mae said, smiling sweetly. "Now you go on home." She touched Vance's cheek fleetingly. "And you have sweet dreams."

Vance leaned against the wall watching Mae as she glided away, wondering if any pleasure would ever have the power to replace her nightmares.

CHAPTER TWELVE

"Are you feeling ill?" Martha Beecher asked, studying Kate with concern as they cleared dishes from the table. "You ate very little for breakfast, and now nothing for lunch."

"No, I feel wonderful," Kate replied with forced brightness. "I'm quite recovered by now."

"Of course you are," Martha said, although she wouldn't believe the truth of that until many more weeks had passed. "But that doesn't mean you don't need to take care of yourself. It's important that you eat and get plenty of rest--"

"I know." Kate poured water into the dish basin. "Really, you needn't worry."

"You forget I'm your mother." Martha crossed her arms, frowning.

"I can tell when you're not yourself."

"I never forget that." Kate sighed and set the dishrag aside. "I had hoped that Jessie would be here by now. She said she'd come into town as soon as she brought the horses down from the high country."

Martha's expression darkened subtly. "Your father and I are always happy to have you here, so staying another night--"

"That's not the point. Jessie always keeps her promises to me,"

Kate said, her eyes flashing. "She said she would be here today. The only reason she wouldn't be is if something happened."

"I'm sure you're worrying for nothing," Martha said dismissively.

"She's been off on these...roundups...frequently lately."

"I don't think you understand what life is really like beyond the borders of this little town." Kate's unease made her forget her usual patience, and her mother's offhand rejection of her anxiety over Jessie-- and more, her persistent criticism of their life together--angered her.

"She could be hur--"

"I know some of the things that could happen out there," Martha snapped. "I traveled for weeks across this hellacious countryside in that ungodly wagon the same as you and your father, only I didn't find it to be the great adventure of my life." She glanced around the kitchen, grand by New Hope's standards but humble compared to what she had been used to. "I'm trying hard to make this place my home, only to find my daughter has deserted me for a life that..."

"For a life that makes me happy," Kate said gently. She went to her mother and took her hand, giving it a small shake. "And I haven't deserted you. I'm right here. I want you to come to the ranch and see for yourself what my home is like. It's beautiful."

Martha sighed and nodded. "All right. I will."

"And I want you to be happy for me."

"It's hard, Kate, being happy about something I cannot understand."

Martha regarded Kate with tender confusion. "All my life, I have tried to be what was expected of me. Woman, wife, mother. I don't understand choosing a way of life that will only bring hardship."

Kate smiled. "Every life is hard, whether we choose our path or not. But in choosing a life with Jessie, I also know I'll have what matters most. Love."

Martha raised her hands, signaling defeat. "I love your father, but I would have married him even had I not."

"And I would not have married without love," Kate said gently.

"And it never would have happened with Ken Turner or any other man."

She laughed. "Father's dream brought me here, and my own brought me Jessie. I feel like the luckiest woman in the world."

"You're my daughter. You must forgive me for wanting acceptability and security for you."

"Acceptability will come." Kate shrugged. "And if it doesn't, what does it really matter when I go to sleep at night knowing that I have everything I could want?"

Martha shook her head. "Is that really how you feel?"

"Yes."

"The world seems to be changing very quickly." Martha sat heavily at the table. "Women do things out here I would never have imagined.

"Why, look at the new doctor. She seems not to care what anyone thinks of her, dressing in men's clothes and wearing her hair far shorter than is suitable, too."

Kate couldn't help but smile as she sat beside her mother. "I don't think Vance worries overly about the length of her hair. She's doing important work."

"Yes, and look what it cost her. Her arm," Martha said, aghast.

"That's horrible, I agree." Kate shuddered. "I really can't imagine being that brave."

"Bravery should be left to the men."

"Why? Why can't women fight for what we believe in? Why should we be any less noble in our convictions than the men?"

"Wherever do you get such ideas?" Martha sounded exasperated as well as reluctantly impressed.

Kate laughed. "From my parents, of course." She leaned forward and kissed her mother's cheek. "Both of them."

Pleased, but trying not to show it, Martha said sternly, "I can assure you, I had no part in any of these outlandish ideas of yours."

"You taught me what it was to be loved, and how to recognize it."

Thinking of Jessie, Kate struggled to keep her worry at bay. It was late afternoon, and with each passing minute, her concern grew. Hoping to occupy her mind, she said, "I'm going to walk into town and visit Father. If Jessie should arrive before I return, will you send her down for me?"

Martha nodded. "And when your Jessie arrives, regardless of the time, I expect you both to stay for dinner."

Touched, Kate said, "Thank you. I'll be home soon."

"Be careful."

Kate recalled the previous evening and her brief encounter with Phineas Drake. Although she hadn't actually been frightened, she wasn't foolish enough to think that there was no danger to a woman alone. "You needn't worry. I plan to be."

v Kate set her teacup aside and swiveled on the settee to face Mae.

Since she had found her father busy completing an editorial on the controversy surrounding the use of "barbed wire" on the open range, it had seemed a perfect opportunity to visit. "I want to be able to protect myself from the likes of Phineas Drake when I'm going about town unescorted."

"I'd say that's very smart." At 4 p.m., Mae was not yet dressed for the evening in her silk finery, but wore a smart, simple dark blue linen dress and matching shoes. The neckline, although scooped, was modest compared to her working attire. She sipped her tea, her expression contemplative. "You know, some would see a woman walking about alone as an invitation for trouble."

"I know that, but I can hardly let such ridiculous notions make me a prisoner. Jessie is often out on the range all day, and unless I want to remain at home alone, I'll have to be free to move about independently."

"Have you talked to Jessie about this?" Mae asked, one eyebrow quirked in anticipation of Kate's response. She smiled faintly when she was not disappointed.

Kate sat up straighter, a frown forming between her brilliant dark eyes. "I certainly hope you're not going to start sounding like my mother."

"Heavens, save me from that!"

"I'm not in the habit of asking Jessie's permission to come and go, nor would she--"

"Lord, I know that by now." Laughing, Mae set her tea aside. "But I expect she'll have something to say about you gallivanting around the countryside on your own." Her expression grew serious. "And truth be told, Kate, it is dangerous. Not just out on the range, but here in town, too."

"I know that, and I don't intend to do anything foolish. But if Vance and Jessie can--"

"Things are different for them--"

"Why?" Agitated, Kate paced to the window that overlooked the street, watching the people, mostly men, come and go. She spun back.

"Because they wear pants and carry guns?"

"Well, yes. Mostly."

"Well, as much as I like the way they both look in them, I'm not planning on wearing pants just so I won't be bothered when I walk down the street." She grinned. "The gun, however, is another matter."

"Well, I won't say I've never seen a woman in a dress carrying a sidearm," Mae said, walking to her bureau. She opened the top drawer and withdrew a pearl-handled Derringer, the twin to the one she carried.

She held it out to Kate. "But this is much less likely to draw attention, and that's what you want."

Kate took it and examined it enthusiastically. It felt wonderful in her hand, smooth and substantial. It made her feel stronger, and even more importantly, it made her feel free. "Will you show me how to use it? I've only ever shot the Winchester."

"Come here," Mae said, returning to the settee. "First, let me show you how to load it."

Kate was an apt student and within a few moments had grasped the mechanics of how to load and fire the weapon. "Oh, I want to go outside right now and find something to shoot at."

"Well, we could most likely go downstairs to the saloon and find you a target or two."

Kate's reply was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Hold on, let me see who wants something now," Mae said, rising with a sigh. Her expression of annoyance changed to one of pleasure when she opened the door and saw Vance. "Hello. You're early." She indicated her dress. "And I'm unprepared."

"You look lovely, as always," Vance said. She looked past Mae and smiled at Kate. "Good afternoon."

Hastily, Kate began gathering her things. "I should be leaving."

"No, I'm interrupting," Vance said, taking a step back. "I merely stopped to say that I was going to look in on Lettie."

"We've been keeping her in bed, just like you said," Mae informed her.

"Good. Well, I'll just see to her, then."

"Do you need any help?" Mae asked quietly.

"I can manage, thank you," Vance replied gently. "But Lettie might like it if you were there."

"Of course. I'll be right--"

Annie came out of a room across the hall and hurried to Mae's door. "Mae, Sophie says her best black shoes are missing, and I think someone's been going through our things."

"All right," Mae said, "I'll be there in a few minutes."

Kate touched Mae's shoulder. "I can go with Vance, Mae, if you want to see what that's all about."

"I'd better, before they start accusing one another of stealing each other's things. Probably some visitor decided to make a present of those shoes to his wife and stuffed them in his saddle bag."

Mae disappeared into Sophie's room as Vance and Kate went down the hall.

"I've been meaning to ask Caleb who the midwife is in town,"

Vance said. "Would you happen to know?"

Kate frowned. "As far as I know, there isn't one."

"Really?" Vance stopped outside Lettie's door. "With a population this size, I would imagine there are quite a few births. That must mean a great number of women are delivering without any trained assistants, since I'm sure Caleb can't see to all of them."

"I never thought of that," Kate murmured. "Back in Boston, such things really weren't discussed very much. They just seemed to...

happen."

Vance laughed softly. "Yes, conception and the practical aspects of delivery do tend to remain a mystery in polite society. But I can assure you, very few women would attempt delivery without a midwife present."

"What is it, exactly, that the midwife does?"

Leaning a shoulder against the wall, Vance said, "Well, in the early stages, the midwife monitors the progression of the pregnancy, checking on the general health of the mother and things of that nature.

Closer to delivery, she performs the routine examinations to judge the position of the child and determines whether everything is on schedule.

Then of course, during the delivery, she aids the mother up to and through the time of birth."

"It sounds very important."

"Oh, it is. Most physicians never arrive for the delivery until almost the last minute. The midwives perform an invaluable service."

Vance straightened. "Let's go see Lettie."

Once in the room, Kate watched closely as Vance questioned the young girl as to her health and carefully examined her abdomen.