Rides a Hero

"Can you stand, honey?" Iris asked.

"I—I think so."

But she couldn't. When she tried to rise, she fell back upon the tree. She was parched; she hadn't had water in hours. The nauseating taste of the drug remained.

Iris lent her an arm.

"Boy, captain, you do have it made. A whore and a wife, leaning on each other. That's mighty cute, Miss McCahy."

"It's Mrs. Slater," Shannon told him.

"Poor little fool. Can't you see what he's doing to you?"

"Iris, tie up his hands," Malachi directed.

Iris nodded, leaving Shannon against the tree. Shannon stood there, chafing her wrists, shivering as darkness fell and the coolness of the night came upon them. She watched as Iris walked toward Justin with firm purpose. Malachi tossed her a skein of rope.

But before Iris could reach him, Justin reached out, and grasped her and pulled her against him. He produced a knife from his calf, and caught it against her throat.

"Malachi, shoot him!" Iris called out.

Malachi didn't dare shoot; Justin would have slit her throat as easily as he breathed.

"Drop it, Slater," Justin advised.

Malachi reached out and dropped the Colt. But as he did so, he lunged.

Justin thrust Iris away from himself just as Malachi stormed against him. Justin had his knife; Malachi was unarmed. They rolled together. Malachi leaped to his feet. Justin swiped at him with the knife, and Malachi leaped again. The knife sliced through the air.

Malachi landed a blow against Justin's chin, but then Justin was swinging with the knife again.

Malachi was good. He was fast on his feet; he could whirl with the wind. But Justin was armed. Unless he was disarmed swiftly.

Shannon could barely move. She shook her head, trying to clear it, needing strength. Iris lay on the ground before her, trying to stagger up.

"Iris!"

The woman turned to look at her.

"The Colt. Give me the Colt."

"You'll hit…Malachi."

Shannon shook her head. She had to clear it. She crawled past the tree before falling to the ground. She couldn't quite reach Malachi's Colt.

Iris reached for it and swept it along the dirt to Shannon. For a brief moment their fingers touched. Shannon bit her lip, then smiled swiftly, encouragingly. Her fingers curled around the butt of the gun.

The men were still locked in deadly combat. Justin was on top of Malachi; Malachi was straining to hold the man's arm far above him, to escape the deadly silver blade of the razor-edged knife. Shannon blinked against the darkness and against her trembling fear and the nauseating aftereffects of the drug.

She aimed carefully, and then she fired.

She was a crack shot, and she proved it that night. She hit Justin right in the hand. His knife went flying as he screamed in pain, his fingers shattered.

Malachi pushed him away and reached for the knife. Stunned, he came up on the balls of his feet and looked at Shannon. He smiled slowly, smoothing back a lock of hair that had fallen over his eyes.

"Thanks…darlin'," he murmured.

He stood, dusting off his pants. Justin Waller was rolling on the ground screaming.

"Bitch! I'll kill you, I swear, I'll kill you—"

"You aren't killing anyone else, Waller," Malachi said softly. "We're taking you back to Haywood, and they'll see that you hang."

"There ain't no wanted posters out on me, Slater."

"They're going to hang you for murder. Reba died this morning," Malachi said.

Justin let out a howl. "Your wife wanted it, Slater. She was smooth as silk to touch. She was better than that blond whore back in town. She screamed and cried and asked me far more and more."

Malachi stood still.

"But then, you can't imagine that whore. She wanted to live so badly. She begged me to stop."

"I'm not going to kill you, Justin," Malachi said. He walked over to where the man lay. "I'm not going to kill you. The war is over. I'm done killing. They'll hang you, and you aren't going to say anything to make me kill you now and cheat the hangman."

"You shoulda seen her scream."

Malachi ignored him. He started walking toward Shannon

"I'm going to kill you, Slater!" Justin raged. He stumbled to his feet and came running toward them. Cupping his bleeding hand beneath his good arm, he stumbled toward them and fell upon his rifle where it lay by the tree. Malachi started to spring for him.

Then a shot rang out. Justin Waller fell down dead.

Malachi and Shannon stared at one another, then turned and looked at Iris. She had a little ivory-handled pistol in her hand. A small waft of powder floated from it.

She looked from the dead man to Malachi. "You couldn't kill him, Malachi. I had to."

Malachi nodded at her. He walked over and retrieved his hat from where it had fallen in the dust, then he came back to Shannon.

"Can you ride with me?" he asked her.

She nodded.

"What about him?" Iris asked, referring to Waller.

"We'll put him on his horse and bring him back to Haywood. They can do what they want with him there. If they happened to know that he was at Centralia, they might butcher him up and feed him to the crows. I don't know. We're done here. We've got to get moving."

Iris nodded. Malachi brushed Shannon's forehead with a kiss, then nodded to Iris. Iris came forward and slipped her arm around Shannon while Malachi picked up the dead man, throwing him over his shoulder.

Shannon looked at Iris sickly. "He—he killed a woman?"

"A friend of mine," Iris said.

"The blond woman?"

Iris nodded. "Come on, honey. Let's get out of these woods. It's been a long day, and it's going to be a longer night."

Arm in arm with Iris, Shannon made her way through the bracken and trees. Malachi walked ahead of them.

They came to where a trail showed in the moonlight. The bay and her black gelding were there. Malachi tossed Justin's body over the bay and looked at the women. "I'm going to give the woods a look for his horse. Will you be all right?"

"Of course, sugar—er, uh, I mean, sure, Malachi," Iris said.

"I'm fine," Shannon added. She wasn't fine at all. She was sick to death and cold and shivering, but Justin was dead, and the danger was over. And Malachi had cared enough about her to come for her.

She had loved Robert Ellsworth. She had loved him very much.

But that didn't stop her from loving Malachi now. No matter what his relationship had been with Iris.

She couldn't even hate Iris anymore.

Malachi walked into the bushes and disappeared. Shannon must have weaved in the night breeze, because Iris quickly made a clucking sound. "Let's sit. It's all right here, I'm sure. We'd hear a rattler if there was one around anywhere."

"Iris," Shannon said softly, sitting down beside the redhead.

"What? I'm sure that there's really nothing to worry about—"

"Iris, I'm really sorry about the whiskey."

Iris inhaled sharply and her eyes fell on Shannon. "It's all right." She grimaced ruefully. "Most ladies do feel that way about whores."

"Oh, Iris, trust me! I didn't act like a lady!" She smiled, and then she laughed, and she realized she was glad because she had wondered if she would ever laugh again. Then she was afraid, because perhaps her laughter sounded hysterical. "Too bad you couldn't have met my pa, Iris. He would have explained in no uncertain terms that a lady wouldn't do things like that." She hesitated, then she smiled. "Pa would have said that you were quite a lady, Iris. Thank you for coming for me. You don't owe me anything. Even if you—even if you do sleep with my husband."

Iris squeezed her hand in return. "I didn't sleep with your husband. Well, not now, anyway. I had a thing on him once, years ago, in Springfield. It was before the war. It was—it doesn't matter what it was. It's over."

"You know that we're not really married," Shannon said softly.

"You are really married now, if I understand things right."

Shannon flushed. "He had to marry me or hang."

Iris shook her head, and her sage green eyes glittered knowingly. "You don't know your man very well, Mrs. Slater. No one ever forced Malachi to do anything that he wasn't willing to do already, deep down inside." She brought her finger to her lips. "Sh! He's coming back. And men are funny. They just hate to have women talk about them."

Shannon smiled. Malachi thrashed his way through the bushes with Justin Waller's buckskin horse.

"Shannon, can you ride with me?"

"Yes."

"Iris? You'll be all right on Shannon's black?"

"Yes, Malachi."

The two of them were meek, Malachi thought. Damned meek, for a pair of hellcats.

He walked over to Shannon and reached down to her, wishing that his hands would quit shaking. It had been the longest day of his life. He'd had to wait and watch and steel himself to be patient lest Waller killed them both. He had barely managed to keep still when Waller had started shooting at the tree and the ground.

He pulled Shannon to her feet. The once beautiful satin nightdress was mud-stained and torn. "We'll get you into a warm bath and dressed as soon as we get to the Haywoods'," he said gruffly.

She smiled tremulously and stumbled against him. Her eyes shone with their own crystal-blue radiance, and he couldn't look away from them. They had never been so softly blue upon him. They carried a look of innocence and knowledge, older than the hills, and they had never carried such tenderness.

He swept her into his arms. Her eyes remained locked with his. Her arms curled trustingly around his neck.

He set her atop his horse and mounted behind her. She leaned against his chest, and they were a silent party as they rode back to Haywood.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Shannon was certain, upon their return to Haywood, that she had never been more cherished in her life.

They had been met on the steps of the inn by Martha and Mr. Haywood and what seemed like half the town. Cheers went up as they rode in. Malachi handed Shannon down to Matey. A woman quickly brought a blanket to wrap her in, and Martha Haywood brought her water, which she gulped down until Malachi warned her that she must go slowly. That was the last she saw of Malachi. The men dragged him off to the saloon.

It was the last she saw of Iris for the moment, too, but she didn't dwell on the thought.

Martha clucked like a mother hen and took her immediately beneath her wing. She fed her roast beef with hot gravy, potatoes and carrots. Hot tea was made with brandy, and the bathtub was filled with steaming water and French bubble powder.

Shannon bathed with a vengeance. She wanted to wash away so much. The dirt, Justin's touch upon her…and the blood that marred not only the night, but so much of the countryside. She scrubbed her flesh and her hair, and she wasn't happy until she had scrubbed both a second time. Martha stayed with her, helping her rinse out her hair. And when Shannon stepped out of the tub at last, Martha was there with a huge fluffy towel to wrap around her. When she was dried, Martha offered her a new nightgown.

It was entirely different from the first. It was soft flannel with little pink flowers and it buttoned all the way to the neck. It was warm and comfortable, and Shannon loved it. Combing out her clean but snarled hair, Shannon thanked

"You've been so very good to us." Martha waved a hand in the air. "We haven't done a thing, dear."

Shannon laughed. "You're harboring a man whose face graces dozens of wanted posters and you've treated me like a daughter."

Martha looked at the bed as she straightened the sheets and plumped the pillows. "I'd like to think that if my girl lived, dear, she would have been a great deal like you." Shannon came over and kissed her cheek. "Thank you. That's so very sweet." Martha blushed. "Crawl in here now. Someone wants to see you."

Her heart fluttering, Shannon crawled into the bed. Malachi was coming. There were things she wanted to say to him.

Things that she needed to say. Martha smiled and left the room, closing the door behind her.

It didn't lock anymore.

Shannon sat back against her pillow, biting her lower lip and smoothing her fingers nervously over the covers. She heard a slight sound as the door opened and she looked up with anticipation.

Iris Andre walked into the room.

Shannon tried not to show her disappointment. She smiled as Iris came to the bed, pulling a chair over from the hearth. "How are you feeling?" Iris asked her. She smiled, and her eyes were bright with concern.

A moment's jealousy rose within Shannon, and she tried to swallow the feeling. Iris had such lovely flame-colored hair and bright green eyes. She had changed into a soft blue cotton dress, high-necked, decorated with rows of soft white lace. She looked beautiful and worldly and sophisticated, and somehow angelic, too. And once, Malachi had had a love affair with her. Iris denied that she had slept with him this time, but he had been with Iris far more than he had been with Shannon.

"I feel fine, Iris, thank you. The nausea has all gone away. Food helped."

"So you're none the worse for wear?"

Shannon ruefully pulled the sleeves back on her gown and showed where her wrists were chafed. She shivered, and her smile faded. "He killed your friend. I am so sorry."

"So am I," Iris said softly. "No one deserved to die that way, not even a…whore."

"Oh, Iris!" Shannon sat up and reached out for the woman's hand.

Iris smiled. "You are very sweet, do you know that?"

Shannon flushed. "There isn't a sweet bone in my body." She hesitated. "Ask Malachi. He'll tell you."

"Malachi!" Iris said, laughing. There was a sparkle about her eyes.

"Why are you laughing?" Shannon demanded.

"I'm enjoying this, I suppose," Iris said, and then she sighed. "He does say that you have a temper. And you are good with a Colt. I'm glad I never tempted you to shoot."

"I was very tempted to shoot when we met," Shannon admitted.

"I'm glad that you didn't," Iris said. She stood up abruptly. "I guess I had better go. Malachi is anxious to see you—"

"Iris?"

"Yes?"

"I don't understand." She had to force herself to look at the other woman. "He didn't come back here last night…" She couldn't help it. She lowered her eyes, and her voice trailed away.

"I wasn't here, honey. I went over to Sparks."

"Oh!" Shannon looked at her again.

"It's a long story. I'm sure that he wants to explain it to you himself. I'll see you tomorrow. Malachi is anxious to get on his way tonight—"

"He's leaving?"

"There I go again. He'll explain—"

"He's leaving me here?"

"No, not exactly. Please, let him explain." Iris didn't give Shannon another chance to question her. She smiled and hurried out of the room. Shannon's mind began to race. Something had happened, something that she didn't know about. They were getting closer and closer to Kristin, and Malachi meant to leave without her.

She started to crawl out of bed. If he was leaving that evening, so was she.

She started at the sound of a tap on the door. Malachi? She glanced at the door, remembering what had happened when she tried to keep him out. And now he was tapping quietly?

He didn't wait for her answer. He stepped into the room. Shannon quickly glanced his way. He had been at the saloon, but he hadn't been drinking, not much, anyway. He still wore his cavalry hat. He was taking chances here, she thought. But then, maybe it didn't matter in Haywood. Maybe the war had really ended here.

She loved him in that hat. She loved the way the brim shadowed his eyes and gave mystery to his face, and she loved the jaunty plume that flew with Rebel fervor.

She loved him…

His shirt was torn at the sleeve and covered with dirt from his fight with Justin Waller on the ground. His shoulder was visible through the tear, bronzed and muscular. There was a masculine appeal to him that made her heart ache to look at him—mussed and torn in her defense, ramrod straight and tall and lean and rugged. She felt that she stared at him for ages, but it could have been no more than seconds. He frowned as he realized that she had been about to crawl out of bed. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm going to get dressed. If we're leaving—"

"I'm leaving."

"But—"

"Shannon, I'm just going ahead of you by a day. I have to go tonight." He smiled, and his lip twisted with a certain amount of amusement rather than anger. He strode across the room to her and caught her by her shoulders, pushing her gently back down on the bed and sitting by her thigh. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words would come to her. She didn't feel like fighting him at that moment She didn't feel like fighting at all.

She reached up and stroked his cheek, feeling the softness of his beard.

He caught her hand and kissed her fingers. "I was so damned scared today," he told her.

She smiled. "So was I."

"Are you really all right?"

She nodded. "You came in time."

He folded her fingers and set them down upon her midriff. He stood and wandered idly over to the window, leaning against the wall and staring out at the street. "Did Iris tell you? She found Cole."

"What?" Shannon shot up with pleasure. "Oh, Malachi, I'm so very glad. Where? Is that what—"

He turned around and walked back to her. She was kneeling at the end of the bed. Her hair was drying in soft, waving tendrils that curled over her shoulders and breasts and streamed down the length of her back. Her eyes were beautiful with enthusiasm. She looked completely recovered from the day, and exquisitely alive and vital.

She loved Cole, she reminded herself. She always had loved Cole. The bright enthusiasm in her eyes was for his brother.

"Cole is in Sparks."

"Oh, no!"

"It's all right. He's safe. Iris has a friend there named Cindy who has a—er—house… on the outskirts of town. Cole is there. He's safe. He's gotten word to Jamie. That's why I have to leave tonight."

Shannon started to crawl out of bed again. "Whoa!" he told her, catching her arm. "You aren't coming. Not tonight."

"But Malachi—"

He caught her chin and lifted it. He met the dazzling sapphire blue of her eyes, and smiled. "I'm not leaving you, Shannon. It's too much trouble to try. But I want you to stay here tonight, please. I want you to get one good night's rest. Iris will bring you in the morning with the buckboard. All right?"

"But Malachi—"

"Shannon, we have to figure out a way to free Kristin. There isn't going to be anything that you can do until we form some kind of a plan. Please, get some rest tonight. For me."

The last words were softly spoken. They were husky, and they seemed to touch her with tenderness.

If he had yelled or ordered her around, she would have fought him. But he wasn't yelling; he wasn't angry. His hand upon her was light, and she longed to grip it and kiss his fingers in return.

"Stay?" he said.

She nodded. He stroked her cheek before turning away from her. He tossed his hat onto the chair.

"Will you take good care of that for me? Bring it tomorrow in the buckboard. Pack it. They probably won't think too much of it in Sparks."

"I'll pack it carefully."

"Thanks."

He started to unbutton his shirt, then realized that it was torn beyond salvation. Grinning at her, he ripped open the buttons. "This one has bit the dust, don't you think?"

She nodded. She didn't care in the least about his shirt. She cared about his shoulders, bronze and hard and glimmering in candlelight. And dried blood showed on a cut on his arm.

Shannon leaped out of the bed. He started to frown at her again.

"Your arm," she told him softly, as she hurried past him to where a clean cloth lay over the rim of the bath. She picked it up and wet it and came back to his side, suddenly hesitant to touch him. She looked up, meeting his eyes, and she flushed.

"It's nothing," he told her. She nodded, then gently started to bathe the wound. It wasn't deep. She wiped away the blood, then she found herself rising on her toes to press her lips against his back, against his shoulder. He twisted around to look at her. She kept her eyes upon his, and kissed his upper arm, then jutted the tip of her tongue to spiral it slowly upward to his shoulder.

He turned and caught her elbow and pulled her against him. Against the flannel of her gown and through his breeches she felt the pulsing hardness of his body. She laid her head against his chest and touched the mat of hair that lay there. She brought her palm against his chest, over the muscle, and found his hard nipple amidst the mat of gold hair. She teased it between her fingers, then tentatively reached forward with her tongue and bathed it with warmth. His groan gave her new courage and a soaring, exciting sense of her own power. She pressed her lips against the furiously beating pulse in his throat, and over the width of him and breadth of him, burrowing low against him to tease the steel hardness of his midriff, and delve her tongue into the fascinating pit of his navel.

He groaned again, dragging her back to her feet, winding his fingers into her hair.

"You've had a rough day," he said jaggedly. "You're supposed to be in bed."

She smiled wickedly. "I'm trying to be in bed."

It was all the invitation that he needed. He smiled in response and swept her up high, depositing her on the bed. He leaned over her, working upon the nightgown's dozen tiny buttons. They gave at her throat, and she arched back as he kissed and stroked the length of the soft column while working away at the next buttons, those that went lower and lower against her breasts.

There would never be another night quite like it for her. Soft moonlight played through the window and a soft cool breeze caressed her flesh. He made her warm despite it.

He made love slowly, with a leisurely abandon. She touched him and he caught her hands. He kissed each finger individually, and he raked his tongue between them, and then suckled them gently into his mouth. He kissed her arms, and her knees. He loved her feet, and cherished her thighs, and he ravaged her intimately with his touch and with his tongue until she cried out, shaking, soaking and glistening with her release. Then he touched her again…

And they sat and stared at one another, their bodies glowing in the soft light. When they reached out again, it was like tentative strangers, allowing slow exploration. She knew she could dare anything, and found the thrill of feminine power. She shivered and died a little bit with the delight of hearing him groan as she possessively stroked his body, and held him with her hands, and with her kiss, and with all the warmth and welcoming heat of her body. Time lost all meaning. His whispers were sweet, and often urgent. Passion was stoked to a never-ending flame, but for that night, tenderness reigned.

Somewhere in it all, she fell against her pillow, and in exhaustion, she slept. She awoke, though, when he moved away from her.

She watched him dress in the moonlight, loving the length of him. His shoulders, broad and gleaming, his legs, long and muscular, his buttocks, tight and hard…

She smiled as her thoughts continued to his most intimate and personal parts, then her smile faded, because he was leaving her, and she was suddenly very afraid.

"Malachi."

Startled, he looked at her. He pulled on his breeches and went over to the bed. "I'm glad you're awake," he said softly. He kissed her lips. "Do you mind coming with Iris?"

She shook her head. "I mind that I'm not coming with you."

"You'll be safer coming with Iris." He rose and donned a clean shirt, buttoning it quickly and tucking the tails into his pants. "Shannon, I'm a wanted man. You're not, and neither is she. Just in case there turns out to be trouble."

"Malachi—"

"Shannon, we'll be staying in a brothel, you know."

"And that's where you're going now?"

He nodded.

She didn't say a word. She watched him finish dressing. He kept his eyes on her, and when he had pulled on his boots, he came over to her with the Colt. "If anyone bothers you on the way, shoot him. Don't hesitate, and don't ask questions, just shoot. You understand?"

She nodded, her lashes hiding her eyes. He caught her hands and pulled her into his arms. He kissed and touched her, as if he memorized her flesh and curves. Then he kissed her again and slowly released her. Shannon picked up her pillow and watched him as he walked to the door.

"Behave," she whispered softly at last.

He turned back, grinning slowly. "Why, ma'am, I'm a married man. I intend to be an angel."

She smiled, wanting to send him on his way without worry. It was difficult to smile. She didn't feel good about his leaving. She didn't know why, but she was scared.

"Be careful," he warned her.

"You be careful yourself."

"I'll be careful," he promised. He hesitated, as if he was going to say more. "I'll be very careful," he said after a moment, and then he turned away.

"Malachi!"

She leaped out of bed and raced to him naked. She didn't want him to go because there were so many things to say. But suddenly, she couldn't say them. She simply threw herself against him and he held her very tightly for a moment.

"I'm afraid," she told him.

"Afraid, vixen?" he whispered. "The hellcat of the west is afraid?" he teased in a husky voice. "Darlin', if you had just been on our side, the South might have won the war."

"Malachi, I am afraid."

"We're going to get Kristin, and then we'll all be safe," he vowed softly. Then he kissed her swiftly on the lips again and was gone.

Shannon closed the door in his wake and slowly, mechanically went to the bed and slipped into the flannel nightgown. She sat on the bed, then stretched out, and she tried to tell herself that she would be with him soon. Her eyes would not close; she could not sleep. She stared at the ceiling, and gnawed upon her lower lip, and worried regretfully about all the things she had not said. She was in love with him. It would have been so easy to whisper the truth. To tell him that she believed in him…

He was on his way to a whorehouse, she reminded herself dryly, and he had spent two nights in a saloon. But Shannon believed Iris, and she believed Malachi, whether it was foolish or not.

That wasn't what mattered, she thought, staring out the window at the moonlit night. What mattered were the things that lay between them. He had been forced to marry her, and his fury had been obvious. She couldn't whisper that she loved him because he didn't love her. She might have forgotten her hatred of the past, but she didn't think that he could forget the years that had gone before. She was his wife, and they had exchanged vows, but that wasn't enough for a lifetime. She couldn't hold him to a marriage.

She didn't mind loving him; she craved to be with him. But she couldn't hold him to the marriage.

She twisted around, determined that she would sleep. She started to shiver. All of a sudden, she was very afraid. She didn't like him out of her sight.

He was safe, she told herself.

But no matter how many times she repeated the words, she could not convince herself, and it was nearly dawn when she slept.

Mrs. Haywood was perplexed to see her go in the morning.

"You don't need to go traipsing off, young lady. Let the men settle things. You should stay right here, in Haywood."

Iris was already in the buckboard and they were packed. Chapperel was tied to the rear of the wagon, and they had a big basket of food and canteens of water and even a jug of wine.

"We're going to be just fine, Mrs. Haywood," Shannon assured her. "Iris and I can both take care of ourselves."

"Hmph!" Martha sniffed, and she wiped away a sudden tear. "You come back when things are all right again, you hear?"

Shannon nodded and gave her a fierce hug. "We'll come back, Martha, I promise." She hurried down the steps then and over to the buckboard. It was going to be a long ride.

She climbed into the buckboard and waved to Mrs. Haywood. Mr. Haywood was with her now, his arm around her. "You send for us if you need us!" Mr. Haywood called.

"Thank you! Thank you both so much!" Shannon turned. She smiled. What more could they possibly do her? No one could help a man condemned as an outlaw with-out so much as a trial.

"Ready?" Iris asked her.

"Ready," Shannon said. Iris lifted the reins. They started off. Shannon waved until they had left the little one-road town behind them, and then she turned and leaned back and felt the noon sun on her face.

She felt Iris watching her and she opened her eyes. "Are you really all right?" Iris asked her.

"I am extremely well, really. I've never felt healthier. Never. Honest."

"It's a long ride, that's all."

"I've already come a very long way," Shannon told her.

They rode in silence for a while. Then Iris asked her about her home, and about the war, and Shannon tried very hard to explain the tangled events that had led her to be living in the South—and being a Union sympathizer.

Iris was silent when she finished. Shannon looked at the other woman curiously. "You knew Malachi before. And if you found Cole, I assume that you knew him before, too."

Iris smiled. "And Jamie. They all used to come into a place where I worked in Springfield. Before the war."

"I see."

Iris looked at her curiously. "No, you probably don't see. You were raised by a good man, and you loved him, I hear it in your voice when you talk about your pa. I was raised by a stepfather who sold me to a gambler on my thirteenth birthday. You can't begin to see."

"I'm sorry, Iris. I didn't mean to presume to judge you." She hesitated. "You speak so beautifully, and when you dress like you so often—"

"I don't look like a whore, is that it?"

Shannon flushed, but she didn't apologize. She looked at Iris and smiled. "I just think that you are too good and too fine a woman to end up…like Reba."

"You're going to try to make me go straight, huh?" Iris asked.

"You could, you know."

"And do what?"

"Open up an inn."

"Miss Andre's Room and Board for Young Ladies?" Iris asked.

"Why not?"

Iris laughed and flicked the reins. "All right. I'll think about it. And what about you?"

"What do you mean?"

"When it is over, what about you?"

"I—er—I'll go home."

"Alone?"

Shannon lowered her face. "You know he didn't mean to marry me," she murmured.

Iris was quiet for a minute. "I know that you're in love with him."

"He doesn't love me."

"How can you be so sure?"

"He—he's never said so. And…Iris, you can't imagine, we were enemies. I mean bitter enemies. Remember, the North and South will still clash for years to come. His favorite name for me is brat. There isn't a chance…"

Iris laughed delightedly. "You listen to me, young woman. If he were mine, if I had this chance, I would hang on for dear life. I would fight like a tiger. If you've any sense, and if you do love him, you'll do the same."

"But, Iris, I can't force him to stay with me!"

"Then sleep with your pride. Lie awake night after night, and remember that you have the cold glory of your pride to lie with you instead of the warmth of the man you love."

Shannon fell silent. They rode awhile longer, then Iris suggested they stop for lunch.

They found a brook, and as they dangled their feet in it, Shannon entertained Ms with stories about growing up with Kristin and Matthew.

"You'd like my brother," she said impulsively.

Iris sniffed. "A Yankee."

"I'm a Yankee, remember? And you're living in Kansas. Yankee territory."

"No. The whole country is Yankee territory now," Iris said. "And I'm a working girl. Confederate currency doesn't put much food on the table these days."

They left soon after.

They didn't pass a single soul on the road. Close to sunset, they came to a rise overlooking a valley. Shannon climbed down from the buckboard to look down at the town of Sparks.

It was obviously thriving. There were rows of new houses, and more rows of businesses. Ranches spread out behind the town, and the fields were green and yellow and rich beneath the sun. In the distance, she could see railroad tracks, and a big station painted red. Iris told her that the town was a major junction for the stagecoaches, too.

She came back to the buckboard and looked at Iris. "It's a big place," she murmured uneasily. "A very big place. And Hayden Fitz owns it all now?"

Iris nodded gravely. "He owns most of the land. And he owns two of the stagecoach lines. And the saloon and the barbershop. And the sheriff and the deputies. Come on. Climb back in." She pointed down the valley to a large house surrounded by a stable and barns. It was a fair distance from the town. "Cindy's place."

"Cindy's place," Shannon echoed. She shrugged, and a smile curved her lips. "Let's go."

In another thirty minutes they reached the house on the plain.

It was a beautiful, elegant place with cupolas and gables, numerous stained-glass windows, and even a swing on the porch. It looked like the home of a prosperous family.

But when Iris reined in, the front door opened and a woman burst out, running down the stairs and dispelling any vision of family life.

She was clad in high heels and stockings and garters and little else but a short pink robe. She had midnight-black hair and a gamine face, and it wasn't until she was almost at the buckboard that Shannon realized that she was not a young girl at all but a woman of nearly fifty. She was beautiful still, and outrageous in her dress, and when she laughed, the sound of her laughter was husky and appealing.

"Iris! You did make it back. And this must be Malachi's blushing little bride."

"I'm not little," Shannon protested, hopping down from the buckboard. She extended a hand to Cindy. She might be slim, but she was taller than Cindy by a good inch or two.

"I stand corrected," the woman said. "Come on down, Iris. Do come in before someone notices that Mrs. Slater here is a newcomer."

"You're right. Let's go in," Iris said.

They hurried up the steps to the house and came into a very elegant foyer. Shannon could hear laughter and the sounds of glasses clinking. Cindy cast her head to the right "That's the gaming room, Mrs. Slater. I don't imagine you'll want to wander in there. And there—" She pointed to the left. "That's the bar. Don't wander in there, either. Not that you're not welcome—the men just might get the wrong idea about you, and I don't want to have to answer to Malachi. Come on, and I'll show you to your room. Then I'll show you the kitchen. You're perfectly safe there. It's Jeremiah's domain, and no male dares tread there."

Cindy started to lead them up a flight of stairs. Shannon caught her arm, stopping her.

"Excuse me, but where is Malachi?"

"He's, er, he's out at the moment," Cindy said. "Come on now, I've got to get you settled—"

Shannon caught her arm again. "I'm sorry, but he's out where? Is Cole here? Has Jamie slipped in yet?"

"Cole is just fine, and Jamie looks as good as gold," Cindy said.

She came to the second-floor landing and hurried down the hall, pushing open a door. "It's one of the nicest rooms in the house. See the little window seat? I think that you'll be very comfortable in here, Mrs. Slater."

Shannon stood in the center of the room. It was a beautiful room with a large bed, a marble mantel, chairs, and the promised window seat. It was missing one thing. Her husband.

"Thank you for the room, and for your help and hospitality, for myself, my husband and my brothers-in-law. And excuse me for being persistent, but where is my husband, please?"

Cindy looked uneasily from Iris to Shannon.

"He's…"

"You might as well answer her," Iris advised. "She won't give up asking you."

"I won't," Shannon said.

"He's holding up a train."

"What?" Shannon gasped in astonishment.

"Wait a minute, I said that badly, didn't I?"

"Is there a good way to announce to his wife that a man is holding up a train?" Iris demanded.

"Well, he isn't really holding it up—"

"What are you saying!" Shannon demanded.

Cindy sighed and walked over to where a pretty little round cherry-wood side table held brandy and snifters. There were only two snifters—the room was planned for a party of two, and no more.

"We'll share," Cindy told Iris, and she drank a glass of brandy before pouring out two more and handing one glass to Shannon and the other to Iris.

"Cindy, explain about Malachi," Shannon insisted.

"All right. All right. Kristin is being held in the Hayden house. They've got bars on the windows, and at least twenty guards in and around the house. There was no way for the three men to break in and carry her away." She hesitated. "The boys just might have some friends around here, but we don't really know that yet. A lot of decent folk aren't pleased

that Hayden Fitz is holding a lady, no matter what legal shenanigans he tries to pull. Anyway, Jamie heard tell that some bushwhackers on the loose were planning to hold up the train south. And there's a Federal judge on that train. They're going to seize the train from the bushwhackers and then try to explain the whole story to the judge."

"Oh, those fools!" Shannon cried. "They're going to get themselves killed."

Iris slipped an arm around her. "Honey, come on! They aren't fools. They know what they're about."

"If the bushwhackers don't shoot them, the judge will!"

"Well," Cindy said dryly, "you can be sure of one thing."

"What's that?"

"If Cole Slater is killed, Hayden Fitz won't need your sister any more. He'll let her go."

"I don't know," Iris murmured miserably, staring at her glass. "Knowing the perversions of Hayden Fitz, I imagine—"

"Iris!" Cindy said.

Iris quickly looked at Shannon and flushed. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry. I really am…"

"It's all right, Iris. You don't need to hide the truth from me," Shannon said. She sank down on the bed. "Oh, God!" she murmured desperately. "He said that we'd be together tonight. He said that we'd be back together."

Iris and Cindy exchanged looks over her head. Shannon leaped up suddenly. "Iris, I can't just sit. here. Let's go into town."

"What?"

"Iris, you can get in to see Kristin, can't you? I would feel so much better if you saw her."

"Shannon, I don't know—"

"Iris, I can't just sit here. What if—" She hesitated, feeling her heart thunder hard against her chest "What if Cole and Malachi don't make it? Iris, we have to discover some other way!"

"Malachi would hang me if—"

"Iris, I'm going with or without you."

Cindy shrugged, lifting her brandy glass. "You both look like respectable young women right now. Can't see how a ride into town could possibly hurt. Besides, if Hayden is around, he probably will let you in to see Kristin, Iris."

"Iris, I'm going with or without you. Iris, please. I'll go mad sitting here wondering about Malachi and Jamie and Cole and that stupid train!"

Iris sighed. "All right," she said at last. "All right. Shannon, I hope to God that this works out! He'll flay me alive if it doesn't."

"We'll be fine," Shannon assured her. "Just fine."

She would have plenty of time later to rue her confident words.

Maybe, if Shannon could have seen Malachi, seated comfortably in the club car of the train along with both his brothers, she might have felt a little better.

The three Slater brothers were seated in velvet-upholstered chairs around a handsome wood table drinking whiskey from crystal glasses at the judge's invitation. Cole was intense, straddled across his chair, leaning on the back, his eyes silver and his features taut as he spoke. Malachi leaned back, listening to his brother, more at ease. Jamie was, for all appearances, completely casual and negligent, accepting his drink with ease. He wore a broad-brimmed Mexican hat, chaps and boots, and looked every bit the rancher. Only the way his eyes narrowed now and then told Malachi that his younger brother was every bit as wary this night as he and Cole.

Two friends of Jamie's from Texas were playing lookout while the brothers spoke with Judge Sherman Woods. Cole, seated to Malachi's left, was earnestly explaining what had happened at the beginning of the war, how his wife had been killed, how the ranch had been burned and how, sick with grief, he had joined up with the bushwhackers for vengeance.

"But I never gunned down a man in cold blood in my life, judge," Cole said simply. "Never. I always fought fair. I wasn't with Quantrill more than a few months, then I went regular cavalry. I was assigned as a scout. I took my orders directly from Lee. I was in Kansas, and I did kill Henry Fitz, but it was fair. Any man who was there could tell you that."

Judge Woods lit up a cigar and sat back. Malachi liked the man. He hadn't panicked when the masked bushwhackers had seized the train, and he had barely blinked when the Slaters had reseized it from the robbers at gunpoint, sending them on their way into the night. He was a tall thin man with a neatly trimmed mustache and iron-gray hair. He wore a stovepipe hat and a brocade vest and a handsome black frock coat and fancy shoes, but he seemed to be listening to Cole. He looked from one brother to the other. "What about you?" he asked Jamie.

Jamie smiled with innocent ease. "Judge, this is the first time I've been in Kansas since 1856. I was damned stunned to hear that I was a wanted man. And amazed that any fool could think that my brother was a murderer.''

The judge arched one brow. He turned to Malachi. "And what about you, captain?''

Malachi shrugged. "I wasn't in Kansas. I spent most of the end of the war in Kentucky, then in Missouri. I would have come to Kansas, though, if I had thought that Cole might need me. Fitz was a murderer. He killed my sister-in-law. He killed lots of other people. And it seems to me, sir, that if we're really going to call a truce to this war, we have to prosecute all the murderers, the Yank murderers, too. Now Hayden Fitz is holding an innocent woman. God alone knows what he could want with her, and so help me, I can't understand what law he is using to get away with this legally."

The judge lifted his hands. "You do realize that what you're doing right now is illegal?"

"Yes, it is," Cole admitted.

"But we did stop those other fellows from robbing you blind," Malachi reminded him.

"Of course. All right, I've listened to your story. And God knows, gentlemen, I, for one, am anxious to see an end to the hostilities! I'm afraid we won't live to see it, but I'm a father of four, and I keep praying that maybe the next gen-eration will see something good come to this land. You had best slip off this train and disappear into the night, the same way that you came. I give you my word of honor that I will look into this situation immediately. If you're patient, I'll see that your wife is freed, Cole Slater. But I suggest that the three of you remain out of sight for the time being. Understood? And, oh—stay away from Fitz. We don't want him finding you."

Malachi looked at Cole, and Cole looked at Jamie. They all shrugged. They were in hiding. Just because they were hiding right beneath Fitz's nose…

They shook hands with the judge. Outside the club car, Jamie waved to his friends, and they jumped from where they were standing on the engine platform and the mail car. The five men hurried quietly for their waiting horses, then galloped away into the darkness of the night.

A half mile from the train, they left Jamie's friends, Cole and Malachi voicing their thanks earnestly. The two men had served with Jamie during the war. "Don't mind helping a Slater," said the older of the two. "Jamie pulled me out of a crater in December of '64. I owe him my life."

"Thanks just the same," Jamie said, tilting his hat. Malachi and Cole echoed the words.

Then the brothers were alone together, riding through the night.

Malachi flashed Jamie a smile. "Well, I admit, it seemed like a reckless plan to begin with, but it went fairly well."

"Nothing really gained," Jamie murmured.

"Nothing lost," Cole said, sighing. Malachi saw his brother's frown in the moonlight. "And we're close enough. If Fitz does threaten Kristin…"

"Then we are close, and we just get a little more reckless," Malachi said. He urged the bay along a little faster.

"Hey!" Jamie called out to him. "What's your hurry now? We're not being pursued."

Malachi reined in. "I…Shannon is supposed to be coming in tonight."

Jamie started to laugh. "That hellcat in a whorehouse? You're right. Let's hurry."

Cole grinned. "It will be good to see her," he said softly. "I've missed Miss McCahy."

Malachi hesitated, then he muttered. "Mrs. Slater."

"What?" Both brothers queried him.

"Mrs. Slater," he repeated. He looked from Jamie to Cole. They stared at him in amazement.

"They were going to hang me," Malachi explained lamely. "I—er, we kind of had to do it."

"She married a Reb?" Jamie demanded.

"She married—you?" Cole said.

"I told you, they were going to hang me if we didn't. Damn it, quit staring at me like that!" He swore. He urged the bay forward. "It's a long, long story and I'm not in the mood for it tonight."

"Cole, come on now, hurry!" Jamie laughed. "I am anxious to hear this! The hellcat married to my brother! Mrs. Sweet-little-hellcat Slater, holed up in a whorehouse! I can't wait."

Malachi ignored his brother and urged his horse faster. He wanted to see Shannon. His heart was pounding; his body was aching. They would have to take some time. She would need to see and hug and hold Cole, and she would laugh and maybe cry and then hug Jamie fiercely, too. But then they would be alone.

And he was realizing more and more that he had come to live for the moments when they could be alone.

She was his wife…

And he was very anxious to lie down beside her that night. He had no idea until they rode into the yard in the darkness of the night that he would be denied that simple pleasure.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Shannon breathed a sigh of relief as they reached town. No one thought to molest two women riding in a buckboard, and when Iris reined in just to the right of Hayden Fitz's massive dwelling, with its barred windows and guards, they were still left entirely alone. The man before the door raised a hand to Iris, and a grin broke out on his features.

"Why, Miss Andre. Nice to see you."

"Herb Tanner," Iris told Shannon with a sniff. She reached in back of her for the basket of food they had packed. "I think that you should sit tight—"

"Who's that you got with you?" the man called out.

"Never mind," Iris said beneath her breath. "You keep quiet. Let me do the talking." Iris looked at her and shook her head mournfully. "A beautiful young blue-eyed blonde. You could be in trouble just by being here. I wish I had a sheet to put over your head. Keep your mouth shut, you hear?"

"I'll be silent as a mouse," Shannon promised.

She crawled out of the buckboard behind Iris and followed the older woman toward the house. Herb Tanner was holding a repeating rifle, but he seemed to consider his guard duty a bit of a joke. He set the gun down to sweep his hat off to Iris.

"Hello, Herb," Iris said sweetly.

"Hello, Iris!" Herb said happily. "The boss man is engaged this evening, if you come to see him." He spoke to Iris, but he looked over her shoulder to Shannon, offering her a broken-toothed and lascivious grin.

"Well, Herb, I really came for curiosity's sake."

Herb's grin widened. "You curious about me, Iris?"

Iris laughed and patted his chest and moved close to him. "Why, Herbie, you could make a woman just as curious as a prowling cat, you know that, boy? But that wasn't what I meant. Not at this particular moment." She moved closer against him. "I want to see the woman that old Fitz has locked up in the house. I have a bet with my friend Sara here that we can get in to see her. They say that she's the wife of that awful outlaw, Cole Slater. What do you think, Herbie? Could we get in? Just to give her some apple pie and chicken from Cindy's house."

"I don't know, Iris," Herbie said.

"Oh, Herbie, come on! Isn't it funny? A couple of girls from Cindy's place bringing vittles to that little bushwhacker's lady? Why, it's just plain ironic, it is. Fitz would laugh himself silly, I'm certain."

"Iris, Fitz is in a meeting with some of his boss people—"

"Herbie, I could promise you a real good time."

Shannon saw that Herb jumped and trembled like a dog with a juicy new bone, just from the sound of Iris's voice. She clamped a hand on Iris's arm. Annoyed, Iris turned to her. Shannon pulled her down the steps.

"Iris! I don't want you promising that man sexual favors to get us into that house!"

"It's probably the only way, Shannon."

"Iris—"

"Shannon, it's what I do for a living!"

"You told me you just might think about changing occupations."

"Honey—"

"Iris, don't make any promises, please."

Iris grinned and shrugged. "All right, honey. You can promise him the sexual favors."

"What!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake. I'll promise him for a later date, and we'll never get to it, all right?"

Shannon exhaled slowly. "All right."

They hurried back to Herb. "Little financial negotiation," Iris said sweetly to him. "Sara doesn't think I should be giving the business away. But if you can get us in to visit that bushwhacker's woman, I'll promise you…I'll promise you the time of your life next Friday night. What do you say, Herbie?"

Herb's Adam's apple bulged and he exhaled in a rash. "Gee, Iris, I didn't think I could ever afford you. Not in a month of Sundays!"

"Well, curiosity, you know…"

Herb's eyes narrowed in calculation. "It's a deal, Iris. But I want you both." He looked over at Shannon like a cat who had swallowed a mouse, a pleased gloat on his face.

"What?" she gasped.

Iris elbowed her in the ribs.

"Sure, Herbie. Let us in, huh?"

"Let me see your basket," Herb said. Iris produced the basket. Herb searched through it. Satisfied, he nodded. He stepped aside, opening the front door.

There was another armed man in the entryway. "Let 'em in, Joshua. They're all right. They're just bringing the prisoner a bite of food."

"All right, Herb."

Joshua nodded to them. Iris dazzled him with a sweet smile, and he pointed them up the steps.

Shannon ran alongside Iris. On the landing was another man sitting in a chair reading the newspaper. Joshua called up to him. "Fulton, it's just a pair of—er, ladies to see the prisoner."

Fulton looked up and spat tobacco into a brass spittoon. "Herb say it was all right?"

"Honey chile, Herbie let us in," Iris told him sweetly.

Fulton stood up and moved close behind her. "Is there anything left that you can promise me?" he asked with a yellow-toothed smile.

"We'll see, darlin'," Iris promised. "Now, if you'd just show us the bushwhacker's wife…"

Fulton shrugged and produced a set of keys. He walked down the hall to a door and twisted a key in the lock. "You're looking good, Iris. So is your friend." He paused, staring at Shannon. "You new in town, girl?"

Shannon nodded.

"Learning the ropes of the business," Iris supplied.

Fulton's eyes swept over Shannon. "Well, I'll be savin' up my dimes, young lady. You can bet on that."

"Fulton, for you, there will be a big discount," Iris promised.

Fulton smiled and pushed open the door. "Company!" he called. Iris hurried into the room. Fulton caught Shannon's arm. "I'll be expecting a big discount, little lady."

Shannon wrenched her arm away, then remembered to smile. "Sure, sweetie," she promised, and batted her lashes his way. Iris grasped her arm and jerked her into the room. "Enough is enough, Shannon!" she hissed. "You want to wind up serving the man right here in the hallway?"

But Shannon wasn't listening. While Iris closed the door, Shannon stared across the room.

Kristin was standing by the foot of the bed, tall, stiff and proud, and every inch the lady. Her facade broke as she saw Shannon. Both women cried out and raced across the room and into one another's arms.

"Shh!" Iris begged them. "They'll hear you!"

Shannon and Kristin went dutifully silent, but continued to grip each other fiercely. Finally Kristin drew away. Shannon surveyed her sister as anxiously as Kristin studied her.

Kristin seemed to be all right. Someone had supplied her with a change of clothing, and she wore a cotton day dress in a soft rich burgundy with a cream lace collar. She was thin and pale, but she was smiling, and there didn't seem to be a mark on her.

Kristin held Shannon's hands as she made her sit down at the foot of the bed. Amazed, she looked from Shannon to Iris. Then she whispered, "What are you doing here? Shannon, I have been ill with worry! I saw the bushwhackers take you away—"

"Malachi rescued me," Shannon said quickly, not wanting to talk about that experience or Justin Waller.

"Oh, Shannon, you see, he has a good heart."

"Yes, Kristin—"

"Shannon, you shouldn't be here," Kristin said anxiously.

"Kristin, if I hadn't followed, Malachi might have slipped you away from the Red Legs. So I have to make up for that Iris and I had to come!"

Kristin looked at Iris again, smiling. She stood up and offered Iris her hand. "How do you do? I'm Kristin Slater," she said softly. "Whoever you are, thank you!"

"Iris Andre," Iris offered.

"How did you get in here?" Kristin asked.

Shannon looked at Iris and Iris looked at Shannon. "We made a few deals," Shannon said ruefully.

"What? Oh," Kristin said. Her eyes, wide and very blue, fell upon Iris.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Slater, but you should know. I'm a whore. And your husband and her husband have been staying out at Cindy's place. It might not be fittin', you two being ladies and all, but we're willing to help, and—"

"Sh!" Kristin cautioned, hurrying to Iris with a crooked smile. "I don't care what you do, Miss Andre. I thank you for caring. Did you say my husband? Cole? Is he there? He can't be!" She whirled around and stared at Shannon. "Nor Malachi. They wouldn't allow Shannon to do such a foolish thing as come here."

A small smile teased Iris's lips. "Mrs. Slater, I'm willing to bet that both Cole and Malachi are aware that there is not much that can stop your sister when her mind is set. But, yes, Mrs. Slater, your husband has been in town. So has Shannon's and so's your brother-in-law Jamie. They went out tonight to try to un-hold-up a train."

"What?"

"Kristin, I had to come. I had to see you. We must come up with a way out of this awful situation!" Shannon said.

Kristin was still staring at Iris, a frown marring her features. "My husband," she murmured. She stared at Shannon. "And her husband…Miss Andre, what husband?"

"Why, Malachi."

"Malachi!"

"Shh!" Shannon jumped to her feet.

Kristin sat at the foot of the bed, staring at Shannon incredulously. "Malachi!" she gasped. "Shannon, that's impossible! The two of you are incapable of sharing a room for ten minutes without all hell breaking loose. You and… Malachi?"

Shannon smiled uneasily. "It—er—it seemed like the thing to do at the time."

"They had threatened to hang him," Iris supplied with a shrug.

"But—" Kristin began.

"I'll tell you all about it at some other time," Shannon promised quickly. "Kristin, are they treating you well?"

"Well enough."

"No one has—"

"No one has physically abused me," Kristin said flatly. "Fitz thinks that if he can't get Cole to come out of hiding by just holding on to me, he'll pass a rumor that he's willing to deal." She hesitated. "So Cole is here. Oh, God, Shannon, don't let him do anything stupid! What is this about a train? Please, talk to him. Make him see that he can't win. Tell him to go home and get the baby and leave the country. Tell him—"

"Kristin! You know that he'll never do that."

"I have the perfect plan," Iris said softly.

Kristin and Shannon spun around to look at her. She smiled. "It will be easy enough to find another night when Fitz is occupied. And if not, I know how to occupy Fitz. Then we come with more of the girls. And we bring a few shawls and the like. And we all leave together. We just walk away, all of us, together. I guarantee you, none of the men will feel like moving."

Kristin stared at her in silence, then burst into laughter. "Oh, Iris, it's wonderful. But I couldn't let you do something like that! Fitz would surely get even with you—"

"With all of us? What could he do?"

"Fitz would find something."

"No. Because he would never be able to prove it. He wouldn't discover you missing until the next morning, and you could all be halfway to Texas by then. He wouldn't know which of us were involved, and it would be hard to hang a whole whorehouse. I think the men of this town would finally rebel."

"Neither Cole, Malachi or Jamie will let you do it, either," Kristin warned.

"They won't know!" Shannon said.

"But—" Kristin began.

"Shh! We'll be back," Shannon told her.

"Be ready," Iris warned Kristin. She grabbed Shannon's arm and pulled her to her feet. "We've got to move now, or they'll suspect us of something tonight, and we don't want that."

"Take care!" Shannon warned her sister, and hugged her fiercely again. "We'll be back."

"Come on!" Iris tugged on her sleeve.

They hurried to the door together. There was no one on the upstairs landing and they hurried down the steps. When they reached the bottom, Fulton was blocking their way. Iris smiled at him. "Thanks, Fulton. We'll be seeing you soon."

"You bet you will, Iris."

"Why, Fulton, what's wrong with you, honey?"

Fulton stepped aside. Shannon gasped, stunned.

Bear stood there. He was the massive jayhawker who had carried Kristin away after the righting between the jayhawkers and the bushwhackers, and it was obvious from the glint in his eyes that he remembered his brief glimpse of Shannon.

"What's going on?" Iris asked uneasily.

Shannon didn't say anything. The big man walked toward her with a wide grin plastered against his beefy features. "It is her," he said flatly. His arms crossed over his chest, he walked around Shannon. "Saw you when I was coming down the street, little miss. I thought I recognized you." He spun in a sudden fury and banged Fulton on the head with his hat. "Couldn't you see how much she looked like that Slater woman? They're as like as two peas from the same pod, you damned fool."

"Don't go beating at me, Bear!" Fulton protested. "Herbie said that the women were all right."

"Well, Herbie's going to have to answer to the boss, and that's that," Bear said. He grinned at Shannon and Iris. "Let's go and see the boss man, little lady."

Bear grasped Shannon by the arm. Iris slunk back against the wall. Shannon bit hard into Bear's fingers. When he screamed, Iris pulled out her small pistol.

"Let her go, Bear," Iris said.

Bear lifted up his hands. Shannon grabbed the Colt she was carrying from her skirt pocket. She drew the gun and held it on Fulton. "We're going to walk away. I'm going to go back up and get my sister out, and we're going to walk away."

"I think not, ma'am," a deep male voice called out.

Shannon spun around and looked up the stairs.

Kristin stood on the top step now, biting into her lip.

Behind her stood a tall, lean man with snow-white hair and cold gray eyes. He wore an elegant brocade vest and a frock coat and he held a small silver pistol to Kristin's skull. "Drop the gun," he told Shannon.

"Don't do it!" Kristin charged her. "Get out, Shannon, just get out—oh!"

The man cracked Kristin hard upon the head and she fell at his feet. He smiled at Shannon and aimed the gun toward her sister's back. "Drop it."

"Do it, Shannon," Iris advised wearily. "That's Fitz. And he will shoot her, without a thought."

"Why, thank you, Iris," Fitz drawled softly, "for that fine commendation. Girl, drop the gun."

Shannon inhaled and exhaled. Fitz cocked the gun. Shannon slowly bent and lay down her Colt.

"That was a very fine idea, young woman." He nodded to Bear. "Bring her to my office."

Bear set his arms upon Shannon. She tried to shake him off. "I can walk on my own!" she spat out.

"Fitz, you can't hold this girl—" Iris began.

"Iris, I am so disappointed in you!" Fitz said, shaking his head with a half smile. "Fulton, escort our friend Iris to my chamber, will you? Iris, I don't know what promises you made to get in here, but we'll just discuss them all. Later. And you will pay up."

Fulton grabbed Iris, sweeping her little pistol from her hands and jerking her around. "Come on, Iris. You heard the boss."

"Fitz, you can't hold her! Fitz, you—"

"I can, and I will, Iris," Fitz said. He stepped over Kristin and started down the stairs. "Get her out of here, Fulton. You'd better start worrying about yourself, Iris. Harboring a known criminal like this one here. Why, we could just shoot you down on the spot, Iris, and no court of law in the country could have a thing to say about it. Fulton, get her out of here!"

"Fitz, you'll pay!" Iris vowed as Fulton wrenched her arm behind her back. Iris cried out in pain. Shannon couldn't bear seeing Iris so hurt on her behalf. She flew at Fitz, her nails gouging his flesh.

"Let her alone, you bastard!" she hissed.

She didn't expect the iron grip of the man. He caught her flailing fists and pressed her against the banister. When she tried to kick him he lashed out, slapping her so hard that she staggered to her knees. He jerked her to her feet and prodded her before him. He threw her through a door in the foyer, and she fell to the ground.

He followed her into the office, stepping over her skirts. He closed the door behind him and walked around his desk to sit, idly watching her for several moments.

Shannon barely dared move. She stared at the man and waited.

"Well, well, well," he murmured at last. "My net is closing fast around all the little fishes."

"I don't know what you mean," Shannon said.

"Don't you?" he said, arching a distinguished white brow. "I think that you do. After all, my dear, you are here now, aren't you?" He smiled. "I hear things, you know. Nothing much happens in these parts that I don't hear about. Captain Malachi Slater was with you in Haywood."

Shannon shrugged. "I'm here on my own."

"Come, come, my dear. Malachi Slater gunned down half my men in the woods along with his bushwhacker friends. Bushwhackers. You never can trust them. I even heard that Malachi Slater gunned down a fellow Reb just the other day."

"He didn't gun down anyone," Shannon said.

"Ah, but he is near!" Hayden Fitz said. He smiled. "And your name is Shannon, and you're a Slater now, too. Is that true?"

Shannon shrugged. "Malachi despises me. If you hear everything, you must know that he and I are enemies. We were on different sides during the war, Mr. Fitz. Perhaps you should know, too, that my brother is a highly respected Union officer. When he gets his hands on you, you'll be really sorry."

Fitz laughed, delighted. "Don't fret, girl. Your brother will be too late to help you. Oh, young lady! I can't tell you just how happy I am to have you. The net does draw tighter and tighter. And I know you are Mrs. Malachi Slater." He stood up, coming around the desk. He looked down at her. "You're even prettier than your sister, and I didn't think that possible. My men would really enjoy you. And they just might, you know. I could enjoy an evening with you myself—" He broke off, shrugging. "But I want the Slaters first. I want every last one of them dead."

"You'll never do it," Shannon said defiantly. "They'll kill you, and you know it. You're so damned afraid of them that you can barely stand it!"

"Those Slaters are cold-blooded murderers!"

"The Slaters! Your brother swept in and murdered innocent women! How dare you talk about cold-blooded murder?"

"Bushwhackers deserved to die."

"There weren't any bushwhackers back when Cole's wife was killed! Just bastards like your brother!"

Fitz clenched his teeth and struck out at her with his booted foot. She screamed with the sudden pain.

The door burst open. Bear and Fulton rushed in.

"Trouble, boss?" Bear asked. Fulton was frowning, staring at Shannon.

"Boss, you know you can't hold another woman here. Someone will protest—"

"Shut up, Fulton."

"But boss, if this gets out, too, now…"

"Mary Surratt was hanged for complicity in the Lincoln assassination," Fitz said quietly, staring at Shannon. "I'm sure that I can pin complicity on these lovely ladies, too."

"But boss, what about Iris?"

"Fulton, are you questioning me?"

"Sir, it's just—"

"Bear, go out, will you? Check the street and see if we've got any other visitors running around tonight."

"Yes, sir."

Bear ran out. Fulton asked, "Mr. Fitz, should I go out with him?"

Shannon should have seen the curious cold light in Fitz's strange gray eyes, but she wasn't prepared for what happened next.

"No, Fulton, you stay here," Fitz said. "I need you." Then he pulled out his little pistol and aimed it at Fulton.

"No!" Fulton gasped, his eyes widening with horror.

Fitz fired. Fulton dropped to the floor.

And Hayden Fitz threw himself on top of Shannon, pretending to struggle with her.

The door burst open. Bear was back.

"She shot him!" Fitz cried. "The little bitch came flying at me and stole my pistol and shot Fulton, shot him down dead, in cold blood."

"Liar!" Shannon raged, trying to free herself. Fitz held her tightly, meeting her eyes with a cold smile.

"Murderess!" He stood and dragged her to her feet. "Damned bushwhacker's murderess!" he swore. He held her very close in a deadly challenge. "You'll hang for this!" he promised, and shoved her toward Bear. "Lock her up. Lock her up with her sister. They can both hang for murder, and for conspiracy to do murder!"

"You can't get away with this!" Shannon cried.

"Watch me, Mrs. Slater. Just watch me. You'll feel the rope around your neck and then you'll know."

She escaped from Bear and flew at Fitz with such a rage that she managed to rake bloody scratches down his cheeks with her nails. He hissed out something, and Bear came up behind her. He struck her hard on the head with the butt of his gun.

Hayden Fitz went hazy before her. Then the world went black.

"Lock them both up," Fitz said. "And make sure poor Fulton is brought over to Darby's funeral parlor. See that he's done up right. Stupid, murdering bitch."

"Yes, sir, yes, sir," Bear said. He scooped Shannon up into his arms and left the office.

Hayden Fitz stepped over Fulton's body. He walked to the stairs and looked up them. He smiled.

Iris had yet to pay for her part in the night's proceedings. She had yet to pay…

But she would pay very dearly.

He set his hand upon the banister and started up the stairs.

"That's—that's all I know," Cindy said unhappily, staring at the three Slater brothers. "A friend of Bear's come in here about midnight, and told everyone what happened. We've got to move the three of you—they'll come here looking for you, and I'm giong to have to pretend to be innocent. I—"

Malachi stood up. "Cindy, you don't have to do anything. I'm going in tonight," he said softly.

"No! Malachi, no, that's just what Fitz wants!" Cindy protested. "If you go raging in—"

"He's got my wife," Malachi thundered.

Cole stood and clapped Malachi on the shoulder. "He's had my wife, Malachi, don't forget that. I admit, bursting in, guns blazing, was my first thought. But Fitz will kill them, Malachi."

Malachi slunk back into his chair. He stared across the room.

"We have to bide our time," Jamie murmured.

"There will be some kind of a trial," Cindy said. She looked unhappily at Malachi. "But Hayden's telling everybody that Shannon McCahy Slater shot one of his men in cold blood. The trial will be rigged. She'll be condemned, and unless he gets his hands on you, he will hang her. He'll hang them both."

Malachi stood again. He strode across the room and came back to stand before Cole.

"A hanging. A big crowd, ropes. Lots of confusion."

Cole smiled slowly. "A few sharpshooters could do a fair amount of damage in a crowd like that."

Malachi grinned his slow, crooked smile. Cole laughed, and as Cindy watched, even Jamie smiled with a leisurely pleasure.

"You've all lost your minds!" she told them.

"No, darlin'," Malachi drawled softly. "I think we've just found our way out of this mess."

"What are you—"

Cindy broke off. Someone was knocking at the door. A voice called, "Cindy! It's Gretchen. I need to see you."

The Slaters quickly stood. Malachi came around behind the bar. Cole and Jamie sank against the pillars. Gretchen pushed open the door. She was followed, by a tall man clad in the dark blue uniform of the Union cavalry man.

"Cindy, this man insists he get to you!" Gretchen said, rubbing her wrist and looking at the stranger in the shadows. "He said that he knows the Slaters are around here somewhere, and he wants Cole to know that the baby is fine." Pretty, sandy-haired, freckle-faced Gretchen looked at the man resentfully. "He said something about a house shouldn't be divided, not a family, and that the Slaters ought to know what he was talking about."

Malachi came around the bar. He looked closely at the aranger. He started to laugh. "Matthew! Matthew McCahy! How are you?"

Matthew stepped forward. "Well, Malachi!" Matthew pumped his hand firmly. "What in God's name is going on? I've been following a trail of the most absurd stories to get here. Red Legs and bushwhackers, corpses all over. I've got friends investigating Fitz, but I don't seem to be able to get to my sisters. What the hell is going on? I hear tell that they arrested Shannon today, too, for murder."

"It's all right," Malachi said. "We've got a plan."

Cole and Jamie stepped out of the shadows. Cindy sighed with relief. "Well, I think that this calls for drinks all around," she murmured.

"Drinks, then we've got to get out of here before we cause Cindy any trouble," Cole said.

He took a seat at the round table. The other men followed him. Matthew McCahy looked hard at Malachi. "All right What's the plan?"

"It's dangerous, Matthew. We might get ourselves shot up."

"They're my sisters," Matthew said. "My flesh and blood. I'll darned well get shot up for them if I feel like it." He narrowed his eyes. "Kristin is Cole's wife. But I've got more of a stake in this thing than either of you have, Malachi and Jamie."

Malachi shook his head. "Shannon is my wife," he said, finding with surprise that breaking this news got easier with practice.

"What?" Matthew said incredulously.

"Malachi married Shannon," Jamie answered, smiling with amusement.

"Yes, I married Shannon!" Malachi said dryly. "Now, if you all don't mind, think we could get on with this?"

"Sure," Matthew said.

Malachi leaned across the table and started talking. Matthew listened gravely. When Malachi was done, he sat back, nodding. "Think we'll have any help on it?" he asked.

"Jamie's got a couple of friends from Texas here," Malachi said.

"And I've met some people in the area," Cole added. "Maybe they won't take a stand against Fitz alone, but if we give them half a chance, they'll help us."

"It doesn't matter what we do or don't have," Malachi said. "As far as I see it, it's our best shot. Are we agreed?"

All around the table, they nodded to him one by one. Jamie lifted his whiskey glass. "What the hell. A man's gotta die sometime," he said cheerfully.

Malachi stood. "Let's get out of here. Cindy, you'll keep us up on everything that happens. Everything."

"Of course, Malachi. You know that."

An hour later, the Slaters and Matthew McCahy had slipped away into the night.

When Fitz's men came to the house, there was no sign that they had ever been near.

The only benefit to being held was that she was with her sister.

For the first day, Shannon nervously paced the room, but she was grateful that they had at least been kept together. She hadn't really meant to say much about her own strained relationship with Malachi, but the hours dragged on and Shannon found herself telling her sister almost everything.

Almost…

She didn't tell her how easily she had fallen into her old enemy's arms, or how she had longed for him to touch her again and again. She didn't tell her that even as they waited now, prisoners in the room, she thought of her husband, longing to be with him, aching to see his slow, lazy grin and the spark it ignited in his eyes. She didn't speak about that longing…

But watching Kristin's smile, she thought that her sister read her mind, and her heart, and that she knew.

"Actually," Kristin said mischievously, "I think you just might be perfect for one another."

Shannon shook her head. "Kristin, I don't know. I should let him out of the marriage. But Iris says that I'm a fool if I don't fight for him."

"I agree with Iris," Kristin said. She took Shannon's hands. "I'll never forget how miserable I was about Cole! I was tied up in knots, hating him, loving him. But it worked out for us, Shannon. I didn't think that he would ever forget his first wife, but he did fall in love with me. Shannon, even when I gave birth to Gabe, I was so afraid that Cole would never, never love me. You have to fight sometimes, for anything in life that is good. Look at the two of us now. Things have worked out—"

She broke off and Shannon bit her lip, watching her sister. Nothing had worked out for any of them. They were in the midst of disaster.

"I'm so scared!" Kristin said softly.

Shannon threw her arms around her. "It's all right. It's going to be all right!"

The two sisters hugged one another, shivering. They didn't know if it would be all right at all.

The next day was the mock trial, which took place in the town courthouse. Hayden Fitz sat on the bench as judge; the jurors were selected from among his men. Shannon was accused of murder. She stood at the witness stand and listened silently to the charge, then turned scornfully upon Fitz.

"I didn't murder anyone. You shot down your friend, Mr. Fitz. You shot him down in cold blood because he was protesting your cruelty to me. You may own this town, Mr. Fitz, but I can't really believe that you own everyone in it. Someone will get to you. The war is over, Hayden Fitz. No one will let you do murder endlessly!"

There was a murmur among the crowd. Fitz stood, pointing his gavel at her. "You murdered Fulton. I saw you with my own eyes. You murdered him to free your outlaw sister. You shot down men in Missouri, too. You're in league with your husband, and the two of you rode around the country in Cole Slater's gang, bushwhacking, murdering innocent Union women and children."

"Never," Shannon said quietly.

Fitz slammed his gavel against his desk. "You may step down, Mrs. Slater."

She didn't step down; she was dragged down. Kristin was brought up. Kristin denied everything, and threw at Fitz his brother's activities as a jayhawker. She described graphically how Cole's first wife had died.

A murmur rose in the courtroom, but Fitz ignored it. Kristin was handcuffed and led back to Shannon. They were both returned to the room with the barred windows at Fitz's home while the carefully selected jury came to their decision.

By night, the verdict was brought back to them. They were both convicted of murder and conspiracy against the Union.

They were to be hanged one week from that night at dawn.

"One week," Kristin told Shannon bitterly. "They want to make sure to give Cole and Malachi and Jamie a chance to show up."

Shannon nodded. One week. She looked at her sister. It had already been three days since she had been captured.

"Kristin?"

"Yes?"

"Where do you suppose they are? I'm scared, too, Kristin. They were in town. And now it's so silent! What if they've already been caught, and been taken…" Her voice trailed away miserably.

"They haven't been taken," Kristin told her dryly. "Fitz would have men walking through the streets with their heads on stakes if he'd caught them."

That was true, Shannon thought.

But as the days passed, they still heard nothing. An ominous silence had settled over the town. A harsh, brooding silence, as if even the air and the earth waited…

And prayed.

Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, the week passed. Finally, the night before the scheduled hanging came. Kristin sat in the room's one chair; Shannon stood by the window.

The scaffold had been built beneath the window, right in the center of the street, because Fitz had wanted them to watch its building. Shannon stared at it with growing horror.

It was a long night.

Morning finally came. "I—I can't believe that they haven't tried to rescue us!" Shannon told Kristin.

Kristin stared at the ceiling. "I was wrong. They must be dead already," she said softly.

Shannon felt as if icy waters settled over her heart and her body. She had endured too much. If Malachi was dead, then so be it. She wanted no more of this earth, of the awful pain and suffering. He had just taught her how to live…

And now, it was over.

When Bear came for them, he tied their hands behind thier backs and led them out. Kristin smiled at her sister as they walked into the pearly gray dawn. It was going to be an absurdly beautiful summer's day. "Pa will be there, I'm certain," she said. "It won't be so hard to die. Mother will be there, too. And Robert Ellsworth. Oh, Shannon! What about Gabe, what will happen to him?"

"Delilah will love him. Matthew will come home, and he will raise him like his own."

"Shannon, I love you."

"Courage!" Shannon whispered. She was going to start to cry. Courage was easy in the midst of safety. But as they walked up the steps of the scaffold and beneath the dangling nooses, it was much harder to find.

Fitz sat in front of the scaffold on his horse. "Have you any last words, ladies?" he asked them.

Shannon looked over the crowd. The people weren't smiling or cheerful; they looked troubled. "Yes!" she called out "We're innocent! Your hatred and your vengeance have made a mockery of justice, Hayden Fitz. And if you do not pay, sir, in this lifetime, I am certain that you will pay in the next, in the bowels of hell forever!"

Fitz's cold eyes narrowed. "Hang them!" he ordered.

The ropes were fitted over their heads and around their necks.

Shannon bit back tears as she felt the rope chafe the tender flesh of her neck. In a second, it would be pulled taut. She would dangle and choke. If God were merciful, her neck would snap. And if he were not merciful, she would die slowly of suffocation. Her tongue would swell and protrude and she would die hideously…

Hayden Fitz lifted his hand. The executioner walked over to the lever that would snap open the trapdoor.

Hayden Fitz read off the charges, and the order that Kristin and Shannon Slater be hanged by the necks until dead.

He lifted his hand…

And let it fall.

The executioner flipped the lever, and the floor gave beneath them.

Suddenly, the street was alive with explosions.

Shannon was falling, but the rope did not tighten around her neck. Someone had cut it. She kept falling, and crashed hard upon the ground. Cindy was there, slitting the rope that bound her wrists. Shannon twisted around in the dust.

"Get up! Get out of here!" Cindy cried.

"Kristin—"

"I'm freeing Kristin. Get up, go! Both of you!"

Kristin did not ask questions. She grabbed Shannon's hand and the two of them crawled out from beneath the scaffold. Shannon peered through the rain of gunfire. The streets had gone mad. People were screaming and running.

And a group of horsemen was bearing down on them.

She raised her hand over her eyes to shade them from the sun.

Malachi rode straight at her on his bay mare, his cavalry sword glinting in the sun, a Rebel cry upon his lips. He wore his plumed hat, and his full gray and gold Confederate cavalry dress.

He was coming for her, fighting his way down the street.

Any man fool enough to block his way was cut down. As he neared her, she saw his teal-blue eyes blazing.

"Shannon! Get ready!" he yelled, striking down the last of Fitz's men to stand between them. He was a golden hero, riding to save her.

The bay was rearing over her. He reached down and swept her up onto the saddle before him, and they thundered down the street together.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The morning had burst into madness as they fled the town. There were explosions of gunfire. Women were screaming; men were shouting. Held tight against Malachi on his bay, Shannon was dimly aware of a number of horses riding beside them. Her hair kept whipping against her face, blinding her, but she managed to see at last. Cole was to her left with Kristin, her brother Matthew was to her right, and numerous men she'd never seen before were riding behind her. Some of them were in tattered remnants of uniforms, both blue and gray. Some were dressed as ranchers.

They all rode grimly, not stopping until they were miles from the town. Then Malachi reined in, shouting over Shannon's head to Cole. "We'll kill the horses if we keep this up. Think we've come far enough?''

Cole shrugged, his arms tight around his wife, and looked back along the trail they had just taken. "Here's Jamie," he said.

Jamie Slater, on a huge dapple gray stallion, raced up be-hind them. He waved his hat in the air, a look of triumph on his face.

"Fitz is dead. And there isn't the first sign of pursuit. I think we can take it easier now."

"Not too easy!" A woman called. Shannon gasped as she saw Iris on a dark roan, riding up behind Jamie. "Fitz may not have been tremendously popular, but someone may seek to avenge him."

"Iris!" Shannon gasped when the redhead looked her way.

She was, as always, impeccably dressed, and her hair was unrumpled. She looked unscathed by her imprisonment, except for the large blue circle beneath her right eye.

"I'm all right, honey," Iris said softly. "Thanks to Jamie. He pulled me away from Fitz."

"Jamie, bless you!" Kristin said.

"Always willing to oblige," Jamie drawled softly.

Shannon leaped down from in front of Malachi and ran over to Jamie, who also hopped down off his horse to meet her. "Hey, brat!" He laughed, sweeping her up in a fast hug. Matthew and Kristin dismounted as well, and they all hugged one another with laughter and relief.

"Shannon, get back over here!" Malachi commanded sharply. She glanced at him and saw that his features had become as threatening as a winter storm. She stiffened. Cole wasn't yelling that way. She stared at Malachi, defiant and hurt at once. Safe in the warmth of his arms, she had felt that the war between them was over. But now it seemed that nothing had changed. Did he still hate her?

"We do have to keep moving," he said.

Kristin turned and hurried back to Cole. He lifted her up before him. Jamie and Matthew mounted up again.

Shannon turned to the strangers who surrounded them. "I don't know who you are, but thank you, all of you. With all my heart, I thank you."

"We all thank you," Kristin echoed.

Malachi looked around at the curious assortment of men with them. "Shannon is right—thank you all." He pointed to the right. "These are Sam Greenhow, Frank Bujold, Len-nie Peterson and Ronnie Cordon—all friends of Jamie's from General Edmund Kirby-Smith's command down in Texas. And those boys there—'' he pointed to the left ''—are from Haywood."

"Howdy," said one of the Confederates to Shannon, and he tipped his hat to Kristin. "I don't mean to be telling you all your business, but you were right, Malachi. You should keep moving. You need to put some mean space between you and Sparks."

Malachi nodded. He and Cole and Matthew thanked the men. Then Malachi called to Shannon again. "Shannon, get over here."

She didn't like his tone, but she could acknowledge he was right. She lifted her head and walked back to Malachi. He reached down for her, encircling her waist with his arm and pulling her up before him. They waved to the men who had risked their lives to right against the corrupt rule in Sparks.

A silence fell as their curious little party started off: Cole and Kristin, Matthew, Jamie, Iris and Malachi and Shannon. Jamie rode in the lead, taking them south.

Shannon waited as the morning wore on, wanting to speak, not knowing what to say. She stared at Malachi's hand where it rested on her knee, and thought of how she had come to love that hand, how the texture of the bronze skin, the tiny tufts of gold hair on his long fingers now meant everything in the world to her.

She thought of the warmth of the man behind her, and she thought of the danger they had faced together time and time again. When she remembered the past she wanted to cry out all her pent-up fears and sorrows, but her recollections also made her think gravely of the future, too. Life was precious. It was dear, and could be so swiftly stolen away.

She and Malachi had life. This morning, they both had life. They had the sun over their heads, and the radiance of the blue sky, and they rode with people near and dear to them. God had been good to them that morning.

But Malachi was still as stiff and cold as steel. Shannon thought that perhaps he had decided that now he had carried out all obligations to her. He was angry, that much she knew. Maybe he was anxious, too, to be free.

But Iris had told her to fight for him. Could she do that?

Shannon moved her fingers gently over his hand. "Thank you," she told him softly.

He grunted in return. She thought that he would say no more, but then he growled in her ear. "I should thrash you within an inch of your life, young woman."

"What?" she demanded, startled.

"You were told to come to Cindy's. But oh, no, that wasn't good enough for you. You had to put yourself and Iris into a damn fool dangerous position—"

"I was foolish! You three were out holding up a train—"

"We went to un-hold-up that train—"

"There is no such thing as un-holding-up a train, Malachi Slater. If you had been killed, Kristin would have been on her own. I would have had to have done something—"

"You did real well," he drawled sarcastically.

Shannon clenched her teeth, trying not to break into ridiculous tears. She stared down at his hand, and noted that he was shaking. With anger, she assumed. "I was doing fine," she stormed. "Ask Iris. Then that horrible Bear recognized me."

"You could have been killed."

"And you could have been killed—un-holding-up a train!"

"I know what I'm doing, and you don't!"

"Lower your voice. Everyone can hear us."

"Can they now?"

"You're humiliating me, Malachi Slater."

"Humiliating you? I wish I had a switch."

"You're the one who should be taken to a woodshed, Captain Slater. Let me down."

"Let you down? You going to walk to Texas?"

"I'll go and ride with my brother."

"You'll ride with your husband, Mrs. Slater," he said, and the words were hard but the husky tension in his voice swept sweetly over her. There was a note of possession in his words that captivated and thrilled her. She didn't mind the demand in it at all.

She looked down at her own hands. They were trembling, too.

Jamie pulled up suddenly in front of them, extending his arm to point. "There's a river up here, and a natural cove. Shall we take a break and ride with the cooler air in the evening?"

"Yes, please!" Kristin answered him. They had ridden so hard at first, and now they had been in the saddle for hours and hours.

"All right with you, Matt? Malachi?" Cole asked.

Malachi nodded. Shannon leaped down quickly. Malachi dismounted behind her.

"Someone get a fire going," Jamie said. "I'll see if I can find something in the woods to cook."

He nodded to them all, pulled his rifle from his saddle and started into the woods.

"I'll join you," Matthew called after him. He looked at Iris, eyeing her from head to toe. "Start the fire."

"I don't know how to start the fire."

"Learn," Matthew said curtly. He started off after Jamie. Iris kicked the dirt.

"Learn!" she muttered. "Damned—Yank!"

Shannon started toward Iris, wanting to assure herself that the woman was all right and to help her build the fire. She didn't get far. Malachi caught her by the arm. She stared at him indignantly.

"We're going for a walk," he told her.

"But I don't want to go for a walk," she began.

She broke off with a startled scream as he swept her up into his arms. "I said that we're going for a walk."

Stunned, Shannon remained silent, staring up into his teal-blue eyes. In the background, Kristin laughed softly. She'd obviously heard the exchange.

Stung by her elder sister's amusement, Shannon started to protest, but Malachi was already carrying her off. With long strides he followed the river's edge, beneath the shade of the huge old oaks. The sun rose high above them, the sky was blue, and the water was tinkling a delightful melody.

Shannon's arms had curled around his neck for self-preservation. She kept staring at him as he moved, unhurriedly but with purpose.

"Malachi…let me down!" she entreated him softly. They were far out of sight of the camp now, around a curve in the river. There might not have been a living soul in miles, and there was no sound except for the melody of the rushing water and songs of the birds and the whisper of the breeze through the leaves of the oaks.

"Malachi, put me down!"

This time he responded, laying her on a grassy spot upon the slope, and immediately throwing himself down next to her. He placed his knee casually over her legs, supported his weight on an elbow, and touched her cheek.

"I should tan your hide," he said softly. His fingers trailed over her flesh. He stroked her face and her throat. He leaned against her and kissed first her forehead, then the tip of her nose. He buried his face against hers, and kissed the lobe of her ear, nibbling the soft flesh, warming it with the heat of his breath.

She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close.

"Malachi…"

"I should…I should really tan your hide."

His face rose above hers. His eyes searched hers, and she smiled slowly, her own eyes wandering over his beloved features, his clipped beard, his mustache, seeing the fullness of his lips, the character in his eyes.

"Malachi…"

She reached up and threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled his head down to hers. She kissed him, then broke away, then teased his mouth with the tip of her tongue, then kissed him passionately once again. His lips parted to hers, and he took control with a tender and savage aggression that swept through her like heat lightning across a summer's sky.

She felt the passion deep within him, simmering, threatening to burst. He leaned over her intimately, his fingers trembling as he worked at the tiny buttons of her bodice.

Shannon caught his hand. Her lashes fell low and sultry over her eyes. "Malachi, you are something, you know. You're always yelling at me."

"I'm not always yelling at you." He shook away her hand. She made no further protest as he peeled back her bodice and kissed her breasts above the froth of her chemise. Shannon stroked his shoulders, inhaling swiftly as shivers of delight cascaded along her spine.

"You are always yelling at me," she corrected. She placed her hands on either side of his face and lifted his eyes to her.

"You are always doing foolish things," he said softly. "And if I yell at you…"

"Yes?"

He smiled slowly. "What do you want? A signed confession?"

Shannon nodded.

"If I yell at you…"

She caught her breath, waiting.

"It's because I love you."

"Oh, Malachi!" She threw her arms around him and they rolled in the grass, laughing. "Malachi, say it again!"

He caught her beneath him and laid his hand upon her breast over the thin material of the chemise. He stroked the nipple with his thumb until it hardened to a coral peak, and she moaned softly. "Malachi…"

"You were willing to let me hang rather than marry me!" he told her reproachfully.

"I didn't want you to be forced to marry me!"

"You didn't want to marry me."

"But I did. I really did."

"You were in love with a ghost. Are you still?"

She shook her head, biting into her lower lip as she met his eyes. His hands were still roaming sensually across her body. "I did love him. But…even on the awful day that we were married…I did want to marry you."

"Did you?"

He laid his head against her breast and used his tongue to stroke her through the soft fabric. Shannon forgot the question. Malachi did not.

"Did you?" he repeated.

"What?"

"Love me. You haven't said it, you know."

She smiled, trembling beneath him. "I love you, Captain Slater. I think I loved you all along."

"From that very first time you tried to shoot me?" he teased.

"Maybe. Malachi…"

"What?"

"Love me."

"It's been forever," he said huskily, lacing his fingers with hers, stretching out over her.

"It's been a week."

"A long week," he corrected her. And when he took her lips with his own, she saw he spoke the truth.

"Love me," she whispered to him once again.

So he did. The sound of the river came as the sweetest melody, and the grass beneath offered up the softest bedding. He laid his coat upon the ground and stripped her of her clothing piece by piece. She barely dared to move while he touched her, feeling as if time had come to a standstill between them, and that she might shatter some fantastic spell if she were to breathe. She waited. She waited for him to finish with her, and then to doff his own clothing, and to lie down beside her.

She wondered if anything would ever again be as beautiful as that day at that moment. The sun was warm upon her and the air was cool, and his body was a fervent flame of fire within and around her. He touched her with tenderness, and with searing passion. He led her to the brink of ecstasy, and back down, merely to stroke the flames one more time.

Then there was nothing while she soared. Climax burst upon her, and she felt the sweet rush of his release.

Once again, the earth existed. The sky, the river, the ground beneath them.

Shannon looked to her side and saw that his hat lay upon the ground, his fine, plumed Confederate cavalry captain's hat. She smiled, wondering how she had ever allowed the war to stand between them. She realized then that she loved him for everything that he was. A man, a Rebel, a knight in shining armor.

A hero.

No matter how many times she had needed him, he had come for her. He had never let her down.

She touched his cheek. "I do love you. I love you, Malachi Slater."

"Captain Slater."

She smiled.

"I can't change my part in the war, Shannon. Nor do I want to. I fought for what I believed."

"I know."

He hesitated, pulling her close beneath his chin. "The fighting isn't over, Shannon. Fitz is dead, but they'll still come for us." He paused again. "Matthew is going to ride for home tomorrow, Shannon. I'm going to send you with him."

"No!" she protested, sitting up.

He smiled and lazily ran a finger over her bare breast. "Shannon, Cole and Jamie and I have to leave the country. I don't know where we're going. I don't—"

"Kristin will go with Cole."

He shook his head gravely. "Kristin is going home to the baby, Shannon."

"Malachi—"

"No!" he said firmly. Standing up, he started to dress, tossing her her stockings. "Shannon, I have to know that you're safe. Do you understand? Get dressed. We should get back to the others."

"And what are we supposed to do?" Shannon demanded bitterly. "Just go home and wait for the years to go by?"

"We'll find a way to return."

"When?" Shannon demanded, wrenching her dress over her head. "Malachi, I don't mind—"

He caught her against him and kissed her. He broke away from her, smiling ruefully. "That is the only way to shut you up, you know."

"Malachi—"

"No." He kissed her again, then caught her hand, pulling her along.

"Wait!" Shannon cried. She pulled back, flushing as she did up the numerous little buttons on her gown.

He paused, looking around. Shannon was about to argue again when he suddenly went very tense and brought his fingers to his lip. He drew his gun, and pulling her behind him, crept along the trees.

A few minutes later, Shannon began to hear the sounds as well. There were men and horses deeper in the woods. She crept along beside Malachi until they neared a small encampment.

There were about fifteen of them, all dressed in clean blue uniforms. They were a cavalry unit, and a young group at that. Two of the men were cleaning their carbines; one leaned against a tree reading, and the others were finishing a meal, laughing and talking idly.

"Damn!" Malachi muttered. "We've got to slip back and get the others to move."

Shannon nodded. She turned around to hurry with him, then hesitated and looked back, anxious to see if they had been spotted. They had not. The men didn't even look up. She turned again to follow Malachi, well ahead of her now and running in a half crouch through the bracken. Suddenly, she screamed, crashing straight into a blue-clad soldier who appeared from behind a tree.

He gasped, as startled as she, and she realized that he had been taking care of personal business in the bushes.

"Excuse me!" Shannon muttered.

"Excuse me, ma'am," the man apologized. Then his eyes narrowed. "Hey, wait a minute," he began, his hand falling upon her shoulder.

"Let her go!" Malachi called out. He stood ahead of them, leveling his gun calmly at the man.

But by then all the young cavalry boys were up and stumbling around looking for their weapons, and the most prepared were already through the trees.

"Let her go!" Malachi insisted.

"Slater!" Someone called suddenly. Shannon saw that it was the officer in charge. And he must have known Malachi, because he raised his hands, displaying that he carried no weapon, and he walked forward.

"Captain Slater," the officer called, "I know you—"

"I don't know you."

"I know your brother Cole. I'm Major Kurt Taylor. We were together in the West before the war broke out." He hesitated. "I saw him in Kansas. Before he went up against Henry Fitz."

"Ain't that nice," Malachi drawled softly. "I don't want to hurt anybody, major. Tell him to let my wife go."

"Captain Slater, I know that you could shoot down half my boys in a matter of seconds."

"That's right. So let her go."

"Captain, we were sent to find you."

"What?" Malachi asked warily.

"Judge Sherman Woods sent us out. I can't make promises—"

"I wouldn't trust a promise from a Yank anyway," Malachi interrupted.

"You've got a beautiful wife, captain. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life running? Or do you want to take a minute and listen to me?"

"Start talking."

"I can't leave, captain. So to get away from me, you're going to have to kill these men. If you come in with me, I'll promise you and your brothers a fair trial."

"What's to make me think the Union will keep this promise?"

"You'll have to trust Judge Woods, Captain Slater. You went to him for help, and he wants to help. But you have to give him the chance to do so."

"I'm sorry—" Malachi began.

"Malachi!" Shannon cried in anguish. "Please! For God's sake, please! Give us this chance."

He was very still for a long time. Tall, proud, his Confederate greatcoat over his shoulders, his plumed hat waving in the breeze. His jaw was hard, his eyes cold, his chin rigid and high.

Then he exhaled and tossed his gun down.

"I couldn't shoot those boys anyway," he said quietly. "I just couldn't kill any more damned children. They say that the war is over. Major, we'll have to see if it is."

Major Taylor nodded. "Captain, will you do something for me?"

"What's that?"

"Go talk to your brothers. If I can, I'd like to avoid being a target for a Slater."

Malachi nodded. He reached out a hand to Shannon, and she ran to his side. Together, they walked through the woods with Major Taylor behind them.

When they reached the others, Jamie instantly drew his gun. Cole and Matthew followed suit.

"Kurt!" Cole said, slowly lowering his Colt. "What's going on?'' he asked Malachi.

"You do know this fellow?" Malachi asked Cole.

Cole nodded. "What—"

"Judge Woods sent me out to find you. We'll give you a fair trial in Missouri. It will be fair, I swear it on my honor."

Cole looked at Malachi, a question in his eyes.

"I'm tired of running," Malachi said. "And honor is honor. Blue or gray. I believe this man has some. I've already surrendered to him."

"Well," said Cole, "it's what we wanted when we talked to Judge Woods. Jamie?"

Jamie shrugged his shoulders. "I don't trust Yankee honor much, but I'll go with you and Malachi, Cole."

The two men dropped their guns on the ground.

"I just hope I don't end up hanging," Jamie muttered.

"You won't hang!" Shannon cried. She clung to Mala-chi's hand. She wouldn't let him hang. She couldn't.

Malachi turned to her. He swept off his hat and took her into his arms and kissed her long and deep for everyone to see. Then he broke away from her, replacing his hat on his head. He strode over to the bay and mounted. "Whenever you're ready, major. Your prisoner, sir." He saluted sharply.

Major Taylor saluted in return.

Cole kissed Kristin, and he and Jamie followed Malachi's lead, mounting their horses.

Then they rode away, without looking back.

Kristin started to sob. Matthew came up to her and put his arm around her, and then he gathered Shannon to him, too. "It's going to be all right. I swear to you, it will be all right."

"It will be!" Shannon agreed fiercely. "It has to be."

Iris cleared her throat. "I managed to make the fire, and Jamie managed to shoot the rabbits. Let's sit down and eat. And then we can head back and plan some strategy."

"She learns really fast," Matthew said with a grin. "Let's eat."

She tried to smile. She could not. But she slipped her arm around Kristin's waist and led her to the fire.

They did eat. When they were done, Kristin mounted with Matthew and Shannon sat behind Iris, and they started their cold, lonely trek back home to Missouri.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The trial took place in Springfield. The courthouse was crowded with spectators, and with artists from Harpers and from every other leading paper and magazine.

Shannon had visited Malachi in jail, and she hated the experience. He was distant from her there. She knew that he loved her, and that he was in jail for her sake. But not even for her would he deny any of his brothers, and he explained to her that the brothers had determined to stand together. They would not opt for separate legal representation, nor would Jamie and Malachi seek lesser charges.

Malachi smiled ruefully to Shannon through the heavy iron bars of the jail. "We are all innocent."

"Cole wouldn't want you to hang because he rode with Quantrill."

"Tell me, Shannon, could you bear it if Cole were to hang because he sought to avenge the death of a beautiful and innocent bride? His wife, a woman carrying his child? She was my sister-in-law. I would have joined Cole at any time; I was already in the Confederate cavalry."

"Malachi—"

"If you love me, Shannon, you must love me for the man that I am. My brothers and I stand together."

She turned away, tears in her eyes. Cole already would have tried to convince Malachi and Jamie to save themselves. The Slaters were a stubborn lot.

And no…she could not bear it if Cole were to hang! They had all paid enough; the war was over. She could not accept any further horror—they had to win.

The first day of the trial was wretched, although their lawyer, Mr. Abernathy, was a skilled defender, with a sure belief in the Slater brothers' innocence. Shannon was pleased with him, even if he didn't pressure the men to stand alone. But Taylor Green, the prosecuting attorney, scared her. He seemed to personally want the Slater brothers to hang, all three.

When the trial started, Green immediately struck upon Cole Slater's association with William Quantrill. There were dozens of witnesses to testify to that association. But they weren't necessary, for at the end Cole quietly admitted to it. In a low, controlled voice he described the scene at his own ranch, years before, at the very outbreak of the war, when the jayhawkers had come to kill his wife. Shannon listened to him, and ached for him. He did not break or falter, but she saw it all through his eyes. She saw his young wife, she heard the woman screaming, and running, running, trying to reach her husband. He made them feel what it was like, to catch her as she fell, to feel her blood upon his hands…

The court was still when he finished. Not even Mr. Taylor Green managed to speak for several seconds.

And then there was a recess for the day.

Kristin came to the witness stand the next day and described in graphic detail how Zeke Moreau had murdered their father, and how Cole Slater had ridden to their rescue.

"Against the bushwhackers?" the prosecuting attorney asked her scathingly. "You want us to believe, Mrs. Slater, that your husband rode against his old comrades at arms? Maybe they just made a deal there instead, isn't that possible?"

"No, sir, it isn't possible at all," Kristin said. "He came and saved our lives. And he returned with Malachi and Jamie Slater to save the lives of half a Union company when Zeke Moreau came back again."

Kristin was fierce and beautiful and unfaltering. Taylor Green did not care to have her on the stand long.

Malachi was called.

He walked to the witness stand in full dress uniform, and Shannon's heart felt as if it had been torn. He was tall and straight, distinguished and ruggedly indomitable, and he was the handsome cavalier who had captured her heart.

"Captain Slater—well, of course, you are a civilian now, aren't you, sir?"

"The war is over," Malachi said flatly.

"But you choose to wear that uniform."

"We fought with honor."

"You still deny the Union?"

"The war is over," Malachi repeated.

"You would like it to continue? You still think that the South can rise again and whip the North, eh, captain?''

"No, sir. I think that the war is over, and I damned well would like it to end for good!"

A loud murmur rose in the courtroom. Shannon smiled. It seemed the first ray of hope. The people were with her husband.

"Did you ride with Quantrill?"

"No."

"Never?"

"No, never. But I would have ridden with my brother. If you'd seen his wife, lying in a pool of innocent blood, you'd have ridden, too."

"Captain, you seem to be an ornery sort."

"I'm telling you the truth, and that is all. This is a court of law, and we are sworn to the truth, right?"

"You're bold with your brand of truth."

"I have to be. And I have to believe that there is still justice in this land. If justice has not been lost, then my brother Cole is innocent, and so are James and I."

"You were regular army."

"Southern cavalry. Under John Hunt Morgan."

"Sounds like you avoided the border war, captain. So tell me, why don't you come clean, and give us the truth about Cole Slater."

"The truth is, Mr. Green," Malachi said, his eyes narrowed sharply, "that my brother is one of the finest men I've ever met in my life. In the North or the South. And if Cole is guilty for wanting to hunt down the man who murdered his wife, then I'm guilty, too. I would have been with him if I could have been."

"An admission, gentlemen of the jury, there you have it! You may step down, Captain Slater!"

"Admission!" Shannon didn't know that she was the one who had shouted until everyone turned to look her way. "Admission! Why, you Yankee bastard!"

There was an instant uproar. Some people were laughing, and some, the northern sympathizers, were offended. The judge slammed down his gavel. "Young woman, one more such outburst and I shall hold you in contempt! Are we understood?"

She sank into her chair. Only then did she realize that Malachi was watching her, too, and that a smile curled his lip. She lowered her eyes, then met his once again, and the smile warmed her and gave her courage.

Malachi walked down from the stand, and Jamie was called up for questioning. He was barely civil, but Taylor Green didn't manage to get a single rise out of him. Jamie could be as stubborn and proud a Slater as either of his brothers.

Shannon sat in the court with Kristin and Matthew and Iris, listening to it all. When the session broke, she was allowed to see Malachi for a few minutes.

"Yankee bastard?" Malachi teased her, his eyes dancing. "Did I hear you say that? You, Shannon McCahy Slater, called that man a Yankee bastard?"

"Malachi!"

"I could die happy, hearing those words upon your lips!"

"Don't you dare talk of dying!"

"I'm sorry."

"Damn your pride!" she told him savagely, tears glisten-ing in her eyes. "You are innocent, and it's as if you're trying to make yourself sound guilty!"

He smiled, tilted her chin and kissed her. "I can only tell the truth, Shannon."

She wanted to say more. She wanted to argue and hit him and make him see reason, but an officer of the court came and took him away, and she wasn't able to say anything more.

The days went on, and the situation began to appear bleaker and bleaker.

It wasn't that it didn't seem to be a fair trial. It was just that Taylor Green seemed to know how to make a simple statement of fact sound like a full confession. And the fact remained that Cole had ridden with Quantrill. No matter how briefly he had done so, it was enough to condemn him in many hearts. Still, she knew that his first speech had also touched the hearts of many. The brutal slaying of a young woman was a heinous act to any ordinary man, be he a Yankee or a Rebel.

On the fourth night of the trial Shannon went to see Mr. Abernathy. He was at dinner, and his housekeeper nearly stopped her from reaching him, but she pushed by. He was just about to start eating his dinner—a lamb chop, peas and a roasted potato.

"What are you doing?" Shannon demanded. She was so distraught that she picked up his plate and tossed it into the corner of the room.

He arched his snowy brows, and cleaned his fingers on the napkin that was tied about his throat and covered his chest He smiled slowly at her and glanced remorsefully toward his lamb. "Mrs. Slater, I could call this assault! At the very least, it's a case of assault against a very fine lamb chop!"

"I'm sorry," Shannon murmured swiftly. She was sorry. She drew up a chair at the table. "I'm just so worried—"

Mr. Abernathy smiled again and took her hand, patting it "Trust me, Mrs. Slater. Trust me."

"They could hang, sir!"

"I'm not going to let them hang. Now you'll see, you'll see."

"When?"

"Why, tomorrow, I do believe. The prosecution seems to have finished. I'll start with my case tomorrow. And I'll wager you two lamb chops that I'll need but a day!"

Shannon couldn't believe that he could possibly undo all the harm that Mr. Green had done. But he gave her a glass of sherry, and shooed her out the door.

Shannon went back to the hotel, where she found Kristin red-eyed and puffy-faced from crying. Shannon hugged her sister and lied through her teeth. "It's going to be all right. Mr. Abernathy has it all well in hand. Why, he says he can have them freed by tomorrow!"

"He can?" Kristin wanted so badly to believe.

In the morning, Mr. Abernathy stood before the court and addressed the judge. "My defense is simple. I will prove that we've no case against any of these men, no foundation for a charge of murder. And, your Honor, I will request that the case be dismissed!"

The judge invited Mr. Abernathy to proceed. Mr. Taylor looked up in protest, and Mr. Abernathy bowed very politely to him. He looked around, opening his arms to the court.

Then Shannon realized that the courtroom was curiously filled with men, officers in blue and gray.

One by one they stood and addressed the judge.

"Sir, I'm Corporal Rad Higgins, U.S. cavalry. I came here to say that I rode with Malachi Slater back in April, against a horde of bushwhackers. I rode with Jamie and Cole Slater, too. I'd like to testify, sir, that I ain't ever rode with better men."

"Sir, I'm Samuel Smith. First Sergeant, Darton's brigade,

Union army. I'd been left for dead when these fellows came riding in. The fought and beat Quantrill's offshoots, and they offered me the finest medical care. Their doc even saved my arm, and it had been shot up mighty bad."

From a man with the stripes of an artillery sergeant on his arms: "I knew Cole Slater in Kansas before the war. I never met a finer officer."

One by one, the men stood. Soldiers in blue, soldiers in gray.

Then a woman stood up, plump, dignified, gray-haired.

"I'm Martha Haywood, and this is my husband, and I come to say that I ain't ever met finer people than Captain Malachi Slater and his bride, and that's a fact. And my husband will testify to that fact, too." Mr. Haywood stood alongside her.

Shannon looked around, incredulous. They were all there. Jamie's Confederate friends from Texas, the people from Haywood, even the professional gamblers from the saloon. And one by one they testified with moving stories to the honesty and honor of the Slater brothers.

When it was over, the judge stood. He slammed his gavel against his desk.

"I dismiss these cases," he told the prosecution. "Lack of evidence," he said flatly.

And he walked away.

Silence reigned for a moment. Then there was a Rebel war whoop as hats were thrown high into the air. The crowd rushed forward to congratulate the Slaters.

Shannon pushed her way through until she reached Malachi. He drew her into his arms, and he kissed her warmly.

"It's over," he said softly. "The war is really over."

"All of our wars are over," she promised him. She slipped her hand into his hands, then turned around, searching for Mr. Abernathy. She hurried over to him and gave him a tremendous kiss on the jowl. "Bless you! And I promise you a dozen lamb chops every year, as long as I live!"

"That would be right nice, Mrs. Slater, mighty nice."

"What's this?" Malachi demanded, shaking hands with his attorney.

"That's a mighty fine little woman you have there, captain." Mr. Abernathy said. "Some temper, though, huh?"

"It's a ghastly temper," Malachi agreed.

"Malachi!" she protested.

"I love it, though," he told Mr. Abernathy. "I wouldn't have her any other way. She's full of fire and sparks."

"Malachi—"

"In fact, I'm going to take her right home and see if we can't get a few sparks a-flying." His eyes fell on her. "Seems like a long, long time since I've been away."

"Scat!" Mr. Abernathy told them.

They still had to fight through the crowd. Malachi had to kiss Kristin, and Shannon had to kiss and hug Jamie and Cole, and the brothers embraced, and then Malachi and his brothers thanked each and every man and woman who had come to their defense. Shannon hugged Martha Haywood fiercely, and Martha told her with shimmering eyes that she should go. "And be happy, love! Be happy."

They came out into the sunshine at last.

Then Malachi kissed her. Slowly, surely, completely. He broke away. "Come on. We can go home. We can really go home."

"And start sparks flying?" she teased him.

"No," he whispered.

"No?"

His eyes danced, as blue and clear as the sky above them. "Sparks are already flying."

She smiled slowly, meeting his eyes, curling her fingers within his while he sun beat down upon them, warm and vibrant.

"Yes, let's go home!" she agreed in a fervent whisper.

Because they could. They could really go home.

Life and love were theirs, and they were only just begin-

The war was more than over. Peace had truly begun.

EPILOGUE

June 18th, 1866 Haywood, Kansas

Martha Haywood had just locked up the house for the night. There were no guests at the hotel, so she thought she might as well lock up early. She wished that someone would come through. It was summer, and it was beautiful, and it would be nice to be busy and have company.

She felt a surge of nostalgia for the previous year. She smiled, remembering all the hustle and bustle when Captain Slater had come with his Miss McCahy. Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe she and Papa shouldn't have forced the two to enter into marriage.

People had a right to make up their own minds.

She hoped things had worked out. Captain Slater and Miss McCahy had been the perfect couple. A handsome, dashing hero and a damsel in distress. But she hadn't heard from the two of them in a while, not since the letter at Christmas…

Martha started, hearing a fierce pounding at the door. She hurried over as fast as she could, muttering to herself. "People should have more courtesy. Why, I have half a mind not to open the door. Stopping this late along the way…"

But she threw open the door anyway.

For a moment, she just stared, stunned.

"Martha, may we come in?" Shannon Slater asked her. She looked like an angel on the porch, in her light blue trav-eling dress with a white lace collar. She held a big, blanketed bundle in her arms, and she stood next to her husband. He was as dashing as ever. His Confederate gray was gone, and he wore a well-tailored dark frock coat and a stovepipe hat. He was carrying a valise and held a squirming bundle as well.

Shannon didn't wait for an answer. Smiling, she stepped into the house, pressing her bundle into Martha's arms. "We are awfully late, aren't we? I'm so sorry. It's much harder traveling with the children."

"Children?" Martha sputtered at last.

"This one is Beau. And this—" she smiled, pulling back the blanket on Malachi's bundle "—is Nadine."

"Oh!" Martha said at last. "Oh, twins!"

"Twins," Malachi agreed, and he pressed his bundle, too, into Martha's arms.

"Twins!" Martha repeated, as if she could think of nothing else to say.

Malachi winked at Shannon, enjoying the woman's flustered pleasure. "This is our wedding anniversary, you know, Martha."

"Yes," Shannon said, stripping away her gloves. "So we've come back, eager for our honeymoon suite."

"Your honeymoon suite—of course!"

Beau gurgled. Martha laughed with delight. "Oh, he is precious!"

"Well, you see, Shannon's brother Matthew and Iris were married last week—"

"No!" Martha gasped.

"Oh, yes. We were all just wonderfully pleased. But they're setting up housekeeping now."

"And we've done what we can to pull the McCahy ranch together," Malachi said.

"So," Shannon continued, "Cole has gone to Texas with Kristin and Gabe and Jamie and Samson and Delilah."

"We're going to join them down that way, too," Malachi said.

"Malachi has been offered a job as sheriff in a little town west of Houston," Shannon said.

"Cole is ranching, and Jamie is—believe it or not—scouting for the cavalry."

"Oh, how wonderful!" Martha said. She looked from one of the squirming babies to the other. "Oh! They're just both so beautiful."

Malachi pinched Martha's cheek. "We're so glad that you like them, Martha."

"Like them? Why, captain, I love them!"

Shannon smiled sweetly and kissed Martha's cheek. "Good." She laughed mischieviously. "Because we're going to sneak up to our honeymoon retreat."

"Oh, of course!" Martha giggled. "You two go right ahead."

Malachi swept Shannon off her feet, striding to the stairs. "Oh, we'd like to baptize them tomorrow, if we could. If you and Mr. Haywood wouldn't mind. And we want you and Mr. Haywood to be the godparents."

"Oh!" Martha would have clapped like a child except that her arms were full of squirming babies. She looked at them more closely. They both had soft ringlets of gold and immense blue eyes. Nadine was going to be a beauty like her mother, and Beau would be as handsome as his sire. "My godchildren!" Martha cried. She turned around quickly. "We won't mind. We won't mind at all."

She wasn't sure that Malachi and Shannon heard her. Their eyes were locked with one another's as he carried her up the stairs. She was glorious, with her hair streaming over his arms, and he was wonderful in his dark coat, tall and striking. It was so romantic, the way he held her.

"Of course, of course!" Martha repeated.

Shannon had heard her. She looked over her husband's shoulder and winked. Martha waved. A second later the door—now repaired—closed at the top of the stairs.

"Oh, my!" Martha said. "Papa! Papa, wake up, Mr. Hay-wood. We've responsibilities tonight!"

She sat down with her two little bundles.

And she smiled. She had been right—she had been ever so right. They were the perfect couple, and it was just like a fairy tale…

Ending happily ever after!