Texas Blonde

Chapter Three

Crullers, Josh thought sourly as he strolled aimlessly around the ranch yard. Of all the crazy things. She'd made a bushel basket full of them, and before dawn, too. He'd never seen the men so excited about anything as they had been that morning at breakfast when Cookie had displayed the delicately twisted and fried strips of dough that melted in a man's mouth.

Josh took one last drag on his cigarette before throwing it down and grinding it out with the heel of his boot. He had hoped that his customary evening walk would clear away the disturbing images of his men gazing raptly at the lovely Miss Felicity, both at breakfast this morning and again at supper, when she had treated them to a batch of Spotted Pup. The dish of rice and raisins sweetened with brown sugar had turned the already-smitten ranch hands into sniveling idiots. Josh was beginning to think he was the only sane man left on the place. Even Grady had gone all goggle-eyed.

Not that Josh could blame them, of course. The girl seemed to get prettier every time he saw her. Her eyes no longer held that startled, wary look that made him think she was ready to bolt at the slightest provocation, either. In fact, she appeared to be almost at ease eating with the men now, as if she somehow belonged there at the ranch. Josh had to admit he was rapidly getting used to seeing her golden loveliness every time he glanced down the long table.

For one crazy moment he pictured a row of towheaded children seated along that table. He smiled wistfully.

"Evening, Mr. Josh," Candace called, coming across the ranch yard to where he had paused near the barn.

Josh quickly wiped the smile from his face and watched her progress through narrowed eyes. She looked as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. Josh knew that look. She was coming to plant a few ideas in his head, and Josh was willing to bet that those ideas concerned a certain Miss Felicity Storm. He waited patiently for the inevitable.

Candace slowed her pace a little, sensing his wariness. Her Joshua was not a stupid man. He already knew what she was up to. It was a little game they played. She would let him know, very subtly, what she wanted him to do, and then she would feign total ignorance when he questioned her about it. Of course, she would then feel obligated as his mammy to give him her considered opinion in the matter and trust that his natural good judgment would lead him to make the proper decision.

They had played this game for years. Had she been his real mother, she could have given him advice outright. Had she been merely his servant, she would not have dared to advise him. Since her true status lay somewhere in between these two clearly defined areas, she had devised this method of guiding him. She had never tried to guide him on such an important matter, however, and Candace knew a slight quiver of apprehension as she approached him.

"I was just wondering if there was anything special you'd like to wear for tomorrow so I can make sure it's ironed proper," she said with just the right degree of subservience. Josh would have liked to irritate her by pretending he'd forgotten the photography session scheduled for tomorrow, but since the other men had talked of little else all day- except maybe crullers-he could not. "Whatever's already clean will be fine," he said, knowing his lack of enthusiasm for the girl's project would satisfactorily annoy Candace.

If Candace was annoyed, she did not let it show. Instead, she sighed dramatically, "It's just a shame that a man like you doesn't have his own woman to do things for him," she remarked.

Josh fought the grin he felt tugging at his lips. Candace was never very subtle. "I've got you," he pointed out, willing to play his role to the hilt.

Candace sighed again, and Josh was hard-pressed once again not to smile at her melodramatics. "Yes, but I'm not getting any younger. Why, sometimes I'm so crippled up by the rheumatism that I can't hardly haul myself out of bed in the morning. I'm not getting any younger, and someday-"

"Candace," Josh interrupted, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, "there's nothing I need done for me that you can't do perfectly well."

Candace's dark eyes glittered wickedly and her wide mouth split into a triumphant smile. She sidled up closer to him, until she looked him directly in the eye, and said, "Oh, I think there's one or two things that a sweet young wife could do for you that your poor old mammy would never even dream of."

Before Josh could even register the shock of her words, she was gone in a swish of calico. He stared after her as his startled brain formed some very interesting images concerning the begetting of that row of towheaded youngsters. Only when the pretty blond woman in his fantasy announced that she didn't want any more children did Josh emerge from his fog. Shaking his head to dispel that ugly vision, he frowned as old memories came back to haunt him. No, he was being foolish to consider marriage. Women brought only trouble. He knew that too well. Turning on his heel, he continued on his tour of the ranch yard.

Ordinarily, Josh used this peaceful time after the evening meal to inspect the ranch buildings and make a mental note of anything that needed to be done the next day. Although he had never admitted it, even to himself, he also used this time to renew his bond with his land, to silently enjoy the buildings that were the physical proof of his union with this place.

But Candace had destroyed any possibility of contentment this evening. Restless, Josh stalked unseeing past the barn and the corrals, not allowing himself to think about what Candace had said. Instead he tried to think about Ortega, the Mexican bandit who came north each spring to rustle cattle from the Texas ranchers and drive them back across the border for sale in Cuba. Every year Josh chased him, and every year the sneaky snake managed to slither back to safety across the border with some of Josh's cattle. This year would be different, however, Josh vowed as he successfully distracted himself from thoughts of the girl. This year he would get Ortega once and for all.

But as Josh rounded the corner of the barn, he stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the gaily painted wagon that the men had parked there. Her wagon. He found even the sight of it disturbing, and all thoughts of Ortega vanished from his mind. He was about to turn his back on it when he heard a thumping sound. Someone was inside.

Felicity took one last look around the place that had been her home for half her life. Everything was in readiness for tomorrow, and she had gathered all her belongings into a bundle to carry back to the house. She could leave now, but she paused one last moment, savoring the familiar sights and scents.

The interior of the wagon smelled strongly of the chemicals she and her father used for making photographs, the odor of which had long since permeated the wood of the wagon body. The wagon itself had served as an army ambulance during the war. Her father, who had worked as one of Matthew Brady's photographers to memorialize that war, had "requisitioned" it afterward, and put it to good use. Not only had it carried their equipment, but it provided a traveling darkroom for developing their pictures, as well as a place for them to sleep when the weather was bad.

This wagon had been home to her and her father, and bittersweet memories of those past. times washed over her. Shared laughter, and quiet times, and jostling each other in the dark as they prepared the photographic, plates. Long evenings beside a campfire, and an endless stream of strange towns and stranger people. Tears stung her eyes.

"What are you…" Josh began, and then the shadowy figure turned and he recognized her. "Oh, it's you," he said, nonplussed by the surge of pleasure the sight of her brought. The rays from the setting sun caught the gold in her hair. "Is anything wrong?" he asked gruffly.

"No," Felicity said, lifting a hand to her chest to cover the clamoring of her heart. He did look rather forbidding silhouetted in the open doorway like that with the sun making a red-gold nimbus around him. She forced a smile to her Ups. "I was just making sure everything was ready for tomorrow. And I gathered up the rest of my things to take back to the house," she added, picking up the bundle she had made.

Josh watched her move toward him, involuntarily noticing the slender curves of her body beneath the blue gingham dress and the way her eyes glittered like diamonds and the way the sunlight glowed in her hair. As if she also reflected the heat from the sun, Josh felt himself grow warmer as she approached the doorway, where he stood.

"Excuse me," she said softly. He stepped back out of her way, reaching up instinctively to help her down the step to the ground.

Felicity's heart seemed determined to beat its way out of her chest. She kept telling herself that she need not fear Mr. Logan, but the closer she got to him, the more strongly her body reacted to him, as if it were preparing her to run to safety. No wonder she almost gasped when his strong fingers gripped her elbow.

"Thank you," she murmured, stepping away from him. "I'd better get back to the house now."

"I'll walk with you," Josh offered, quite against his conscious will. He knew perfectly well that he should stay as far away from this girl as possible. Still, what could it hurt to spend a few extra minutes with her?

Having rationalized his conduct, he reached out and took the bundle from her. "I'll carry that for you," he said.

"You… you have a very nice ranch here, Mr. Logan," she said in a frantic attempt to fill the silence that vibrated between them. She still did not look up at him, although she was painfully aware of his every movement as they walked toward the house.

Josh glanced down at her suspiciously, but what he saw confirmed his earlier belief in her ignorance of Candace's plan. Candace could not have coached her very well if she was trying to get on his good side with flattery. Of course, if she started going on about what a big, strong, handsome man he was and how she'd like nothing better than to take care of him for the rest of her life, he'd know he was wrong. He waited, reserving judgment.

Felicity was too nervous to notice that he had not responded to her statement. "I've seen a lot of ranches, traveling around like we did. Yours is one of the finest anywhere. You must love it very much." What an odd thing to say, she thought, uncertain where such an idea had come from but too flustered to figure it out.

Josh looked at her sharply. How had she figured that out? "Do you need anything special for tomorrow?" he asked to change the subject.

"No, I have everything I need. I hope everyone will enjoy the photographs. The posing and the waiting can be a little boring."

"I doubt that anyone will mind the waiting," he said noncommittally.

Another awkward silence fell while Felicity cast about for something else to say, sensing that the silence held unseen dangers. "I don't think I ever thanked you for… for all you've done for me," she said at last. "You've been so nice, and I appreciate it very much. The room is lovely and the clothes are the prettiest I've ever owned and everyone has been so kind…"

She knew she was babbling but could not seem to help herself. They had started up the porch steps, and he stayed with her right across the porch and through the door and into the parlor, as if mesmerized by the sound of her voice.

"… and I sometimes wish I could stay here forever," she said, instantly shocked by her own boldness. What a thing to say!

"You can't stay here," Josh said, instantly defensive. He tossed her bundle onto the settee and turned on her somewhat belligerently.

"I know I can't," Felicity hastily assured him, appalled by the tears that seemed only too ready to blur her vision lately. Blinking furiously, she did not see his expression soften. Nor did she see him reach for her.

She looked so vulnerable, and he only meant to comfort her, but he had forgotten how wonderful she felt in his arms. He pulled her closer, reaching up to stroke the golden softness of her hair.

Felicity stiffened instinctively as his arms closed around her, but her natural reserve melted in the warmth of his embrace, the same embrace that had comforted her during the storm. This was what she had been longing for ever since her father's death, someone to hold her and tell her everything would be fine. She surrendered to his strength.

Sensing her surrender, Josh almost groaned aloud. Her body burned against his like a living flame, scorching wherever it touched. Yet he pulled her closer still, eager for his own destruction. His hands moved over her back, tracing her slenderness, memorizing the feel of her through the thin material of her dress. She was so small, yet so vibrant. Life seemed to radiate from her, and Josh had the vague impression that he could absorb that life into himself, that he could warm his soul on the heat of her vitality, if he could only hold her tightly enough.

Felicity looked up into his face. His eyes were the color of storm clouds, but she knew he was not angry. She liked those eyes, liked the way the lashes framed them, dark at the base and fading to pure white at the tips, where the sun had bleached them. He smelled of horses and leather and sunshine and Josh Logan. Felicity savored his scent as his hands compelled her closer.

Her eyes were so blue, but now he noticed that there were tiny golden flecks in them, too, as if the hand that had created her had added them to match the gold in her hair. Dark brown lashes curled up gracefully, and Josh remembered how they had looked brushing her cheeks when she had slept peacefully in his arms. He could see where her dimple would be if it were showing. But it wasn't showing. Her lips weren't smiling. Instead they were parted slightly to allow her sweet breath to sigh out. Her mouth was pink and soft, and he knew just how she would taste, like honey, thick and luscious, dripping from the comb.

His lips touched hers, closing out light and sound and everything else except the delicious sensation of mouth against mouth. Quite of their own accord, her arms came up, encircling his waist, and she felt as much as heard the moan that started deep in his chest.

Josh crushed her to him in the futile pursuit for unity, ignoring the warning his subconscious mind was sending him that so delicate a creature might not bear rough handling.

Felicity felt the change in him, the shift from exploration to desperation. Frightened by forces she did not understand, she tried to break away.

Startled, Josh released her, and she broke free of his embrace, stumbling backward a few steps before lifting her eyes to him again. They stared at each other in mute horror.

Felicity lifted the back of her hand to her throbbing mouth. She felt as if she had run a mile, and she noticed that his breath was coming in ragged gasps, too. Mr. Logan had kissed her. The thought was so astounding that it could barely get a foothold in her seething brain. Why would he do such a thing? And why had she allowed it? But how could she have prevented it? And what would happen now?

Josh could not believe what he had done. The girl was under his protection, and he had grabbed her and kissed her as if she were some two-bit whore. He must be out of his mind. "That didn't happen," he said hoarsely.

Felicity was only too happy to promote such a delusion. "No, it didn't," she whispered, unable to make her voice work normally.

He drew a ragged breath and hurried from the house, slamming the door behind him. Out on the porch he tried to roll himself a smoke but found that his hands were shaking too badly. With a curse he flung the mangled mess away and stormed down the steps and across the ranch yard.

Felicity stared at the door through which he had gone for several minutes, hardly daring to move.

"Did he kiss you?" Candace inquired casually from the other side of the room.

"No! Of course not!" Felicity lied, whirling to face the black woman.

"Oh," Candace replied calmly, noting what a poor liar the girl was. "I wonder whatever made me think a thing like that. Did you fetch your things from the wagon?" she asked, gesturing to the bundle sitting on the settee.

"Yes." Felicity snatched up the bundle. "Mr. Logan helped me carry my things over to the house. That's all. I… I think I'll go to my room now. I'm a little tired, and tomorrow will be a busy day."

"Good night then," Candace said, but the girl was already closing the door behind her. Candace smiled smugly. Things were going perfectly.

Much later Josh entered the bunkhouse, where most of the rest of the men had already turned in for the night. A lamp was burning at the far end of the room, where Josh's bunk was located. He crept silently toward it past the rows of sleeping men. Cody was lying on the bunk next to his, flipping through an issue of The Police Gazette. Looking at the pictures of scantily clad ladies, no doubt, Josh thought. Josh guessed he wasn't the only one around here obsessed with women lately. The boy looked up, smiling a greeting as Josh began to prepare for bed.

After a minute Cody closed the magazine and stuffed it back under his mattress. He stretched out on his back, propping his hands behind his head. "She sure is a nice girl, isn't she?" Cody asked, apropos of nothing.

Josh didn't have to ask to whom he was referring, of course. Since he did not trust himself to reply, he did not.

But Cody needed no encouragement. "Wouldn't it be great if she could stay here? Forever, I mean?"

Josh felt his nerves stretch taut. Was that all anyone around her could think about? "She can't stay here, Cody," Josh said. "It wouldn't be proper."

"Oh, I know that," the boy agreed readily enough. "But she could if she was married. You know, if she married… one of us."

Josh was just about to inform him that such a thing would never happen when he noticed the hopeful gleam in the boy's brown eyes. Cody wanted to marry her himself! Josh could only stare for a long moment. "Turn out the light," he finally managed to say before slipping into his own bunk.

He lay there for a long time in the darkness, wondering if the bitter taste in his mouth could possibly be jealousy. But how could he be jealous when he had no feelings for the girl himself? After a while, he reluctantly admitted that he did have some feelings for the girl, but certainly not honorable ones. Not the kind that led to marriage.

Josh couldn't imagine ever having those kinds of feelings for a woman, not after what his mother had done. The thought of his mother-and of her betrayal-sliced into him with an almost physical pain. She had been gone nearly twenty years, but he could still see her lovely face just as plain as day. He remembered times when she had come into his room at night and kissed him, remembered the softness of her lips, the scent of her perfume. But mostly he remembered the things he wasn't supposed to have seen-his father reaching out to touch her and her lily-white hands pushing him away.

"Don't, Gideon," she had said.

"But it's been so long." His father's voice, pleading as Josh had never heard it.

"I told you, I won't have any more babies. I almost died the last time. You know that." Her voice, shrill and angry.

Now he was angry, too. "But you're my wife. I have rights."

And then Josh had run away from the angry voices. He hadn't understood then what they had been arguing about, but he did now. Knowing helped him to understand why she had left finally, but understanding had never helped him to forgive. He also remembered another conversation he was not supposed to have heard.

"I'll only stay a few months. My mother's sick. She needs me, Gideon," she had said,

"Don't lie, Amelia. We both know that if you leave here, you'll never come back," his father had replied.

"I will! I promise!" she had lied again. "I just need some time away. I'm dying here, Gideon, stuck on this ranch alone all the time with no friends and no parties and no fun."

"You'd leave your son?" he had asked, sending fear coursing through Josh's small body.

"Of course not; I'll take Joshua with me. It would be a good experience for him to see another kind of life." Josh recognized her tone. It was the one she used to wheedle things out of his father, half-coaxing, half-seductive.

But his father would not be moved. "You can leave here if you want to, Amelia. I won't stop you, but you aren't taking Josh. He's my son, too, and this is his home, his heritage. He stays."

Paralyzed with fear, the boy Josh had listened as the mother he adored and the father he worshiped had argued on about his fate. Even now he could not bring himself to recall the rest of the argument, the harsh and ugly words that had decided he would lose his mother forever.

The day she left, they took her to the train. She was pretending that she was only going back East on a visit. Although Josh's father had ridden the entire way in grim silence, Josh had not said a thing to indicate that he knew the truth. She wept bitterly when she kissed Josh goodby, and she made him promise to write to her. She hugged him tightly, so tightly that for a moment little Josh had thought she would not be able to leave him after all.

She had, though. She had left and never come back. At first her letters arrived once a week, and at first Josh replied with childish pleas that she return home. Then her letters came less often, sometimes as far apart as six months, until at last they stopped altogether. Josh had never known whether she had simply stopped writing or whether she had died. By that time, he had convinced himself that he did not care.

And by that time, he had his hands full with the ranch. After his mother's departure, his father gradually withdrew into himself. At first the change was barely perceptible, but after a few years, even young Josh began to notice how little interest his father took in running the ranch. By the time he was sixteen, Josh had virtually taken over, and the other men turned to him for leadership.

It was no wonder, he often thought, that his hair had started turning white when he'd been only eighteen, since by that time he had already been bearing the full responsibilities of a grown man for several years. His father had merely sat back and watched, a glass of whiskey in his hand, until his death three years ago.

In all the years since, Josh had been too busy to think about getting married. Or at least that was what he told himself. The truth was, he simply hadn't wanted to.

Not that he hadn't wanted the comfort a wife could give, of course. And the children; he wanted children. He did want someone to whom he could leave his land, someone who would love it the way he did, to whom it would mean something. But he was not ready to accept the comfort of a bed partner and the promise of children in exchange for the misery he knew a wife could also bring. He'd seen that misery firsthand. No woman was ever going to have the chance to tie Josh Logan up in knots the way his mother had done to his father.

He'd managed to resist plenty of temptations, too. Every marriageable girl within a hundred miles had been paraded before him at one time or another, at parties and dances and church sociables. And everyone knew that Blanche Delano had been dragging her rope for him for years, ever since old Sam Delano had passed on. Josh knew better than to let himself get caught, though. He wasn't about to let some woman get ahold of his heart and then rip it to shreds. He'd lost his mother, the one woman he had loved. No one should have to go through that pain more than once in a lifetime. Josh had no intention of even taking a chance that he might have to.

Felicity was quite a temptation, though. If she stayed here much longer, there was no telling what would happen. He might kiss her again, and the next time he might not be able to stop. There was only one solution. He would get rid of her. He would send her away as soon as possible. Day after tomorrow, in fact, when she'd finished with all her picture' taking. With that decided, Josh put all thoughts of Felicity Storm from his mind and fell asleep.

Near dawn Felicity woke for the last time. She had slept fitfully, tormented by dreams of Mr. Logan and the awful thing that they had done, the thing he had told her did not happen but which she could not forget. As she washed and dressed for the coming day, Felicity tried once more to make some sense out of Mr. Logan's kissing her. She failed.

No wonder her father had warned her so often about men. How easily a girl could get trapped into a situation like that. And how innocently! Felicity had only been seeking comfort, and look what she had gotten. Well, if Mr. Logan wanted to pretend that he had not kissed her, then Felicity would be more than happy to go along with him, especially since she really had no choice, at least for the moment. As long as she was stuck here on this ranch, she would simply continue to treat him exactly as she had before. Except more cautiously, she decided, putting the finishing touches on her hair.

Cookie was preparing breakfast when she slipped into the kitchen a few minutes later, but Felicity found that she was much too excited about the coming day to swallow more than a biscuit and a cup of coffee. The men were not even up when she went to her wagon to begin mixing her chemicals.

Josh was the first man to leave the bunkhouse that morning. Disgusted with the way the others were primping and preening in preparation for having their portraits made, he went on up to the house. There he found Candace waiting for him with his best suit sponged and pressed, and a clean white shirt and collar all laid out. Scorning the finery, he went on into the dining room, determined to see the girl face-to-face. He wanted to get their first confrontation out of the way. The meeting was bound to be awkward, but once it was over with, she would know he was unaffected by her charm and unchanged in his manner toward her. Then life could get back to normal.

But by the time he got to the kitchen, Felicity was long gone. Josh figured she was probably avoiding him. Unless, of course, the kiss had not bothered her. Perhaps she had forgotten all about it. For some reason this possibility was extremely annoying.

Felicity watched the men pouring out of the house after breakfast and hurrying over to where her wagon was parked. Anticipation sparked along her nerve endings. This was the first time she would be making photographs without her father beside her, but as much as she missed him, she also knew a surge of excitement at her newfound independence. If her stomach also quivered when she thought about facing Mr. Logan again, she did not allow herself to admit it. She forced herself not to watch the front door to know the exact moment when he joined them.

"Would some of you men pull my wagon over closer to the pump?" she asked Cody and several others who were the first to arrive.

The men eagerly fell to the task. Felicity had to smile at their amazed reactions when they discovered the weight of the wagon. Apparently they had no idea how much equipment the production of one simple photograph required.

When the wagon was at last in place, Felicity glanced around one last time. Mr. Logan had not yet come out of the house. Did he not want to have his picture made? Or was he simply avoiding her? Uncertain which idea she found more disturbing, Felicity pushed all thoughts of him aside and returned to the task at hand.

She entered the wagon through the rear door, and once again memories of her previous life assailed her-the hours she had spent working frantically in the dark preparing plates for her father, the equal number of hours she had spent developing those plates and then making prints from them. Because of the physical strength required to haul around the huge cameras, few women became photographers unless they had the luxury of a fixed studio from which to operate. Of the few women who did know anything about the "black art," as photography had been nicknamed, most of them had been relegated to the developing room with its monotonous tasks of rinsing and washing and coating and watching.

Felicity had been lucky, though. In addition to teaching her the mechanics of making the pictures, her father had taught her the art, too. Indeed, he had been more than encouraged in this direction by the fact that she had a natural "eye" for a shot, and a way of dealing with people that calmed the most restive adult and stilled the most rambunctious child.

Today she would finally put all her father's teachings to use without his guiding hand. Pausing over the task of unpacking the glass plates from the barrel in which they had been so carefully placed, Felicity sniffed back a threatening tear. It wouldn't do to cry over him. Her father wouldn't have liked it. Any time he had spoken to her about the mother she had lost, he would quote the verse, "Weep ye not for the dead, neither bemoan him."

Felicity knew that her father didn't approve of crying over those who had gone on to their heavenly reward. She should be happy for her father because now, after so many years, he was with the wife whom he had loved and missed so very much. Felicity was being selfish to wish him back. Still, she sent a small, sad smile heavenward and said, "I sure would like to have his help with the camera right now, though."

Just then Cody Wells stuck his head through the open door of the wagon. "Need any help?" he asked.

Jumping a little, Felicity remembered to send up a "thank you" before taking Cody up on his offer.

The camera with its tripod was as tall as Felicity and weighed almost as much, but Cody, accustomed to wrestling several hundred pounds of angry steer, had no trouble at all setting it up exactly where Felicity indicated. Then, with the help of the other men, they hung one of Felicity's backdrops on the barn wall. It was the one that pictured wide-open spaces and cacti in the far distance. While the men marveled at how realistic it looked, Felicity glanced anxiously around again. Still no sign of Mr. Logan. She put a hand over the flutter in her stomach and told herself, not to think about him. Quickly, before she succumbed to the temptation to look for him again, she ducked back into the wagon and closed the door securely to prepare her first plate in the resulting darkness.

After donning the heavy, black India rubber gloves that would protect her hands and putting on a huge rubber apron to cover her new dress, she thoroughly cleaned and polished the first glass plate. Then she poured the prepared mixture of collodion onto the upper left-hand corner of the glass. Balancing the plate carefully on the thumb and forefinger of her left hand with practiced ease, she slowly worked the thick fluid all over the plate until it reached the near right-hand corner.

When the collodion had set long enough to become tacky, she immersed the plate in a bath of silver nitrate to sensitize it. It was the silver nitrate with its capacity for turning a person's skin black that had given photography the nickname the black art, so Felicity was always careful to wear the rubber gloves, just as her father had taught her.

After about five minutes, she slipped the still-wet plate into the plate holder, where it would be protected from light until exposed inside the camera. She pulled off the rubber gloves. Then, juggling the bulky holder, she opened the wagon door and stepped out.

"Who's going to be first?" she asked brightly, slipping easily into the role of managing photographer, the role her father had always played before.

Suddenly all her eager helpers froze into silence and stared stupidly back at her. Felicity bit down hard on her lip to keep from laughing at them. It was always the same. None of them could wait, but none of them wanted to be first, either.

Felicity's ingrained modesty made her hesitate to order the men around, but common sense prevailed. If she didn't tell them what to do, who would? "Cody, step right up and let's show them how it's done," she commanded, sliding the plate holder into the camera. She didn't have time for coaxing. The plate had to be exposed while it was still wet, so she only had at most ten minutes in which to make the picture. "Is that your saddle?" she asked when he made no move to follow her instructions.

"Yeah, but-" he hedged, but Gus interrupted him.

"It sure is. He spent half the night polishing it up, too!" Gus hooted, drawing raucous laughter from the rest of the men.

"Well, put it over here," Felicity ordered, pointing to a spot in front of her backdrop. "Have you got a lariat handy? Here, this one'll do," she decided, snatching one from a nearby cowboy. "Come over here, Cody." Brooking no further argument, she took Cody by the arm and directed him to the proper spot. "Hold the rope like this," she said, placing it into his hands. "Where's that saddle?" While one of the cowboys rushed to move the saddle to the appropriate position, Felicity reached up and adjusted Cody's hat to a rakish angle. Then she showed him how to prop his foot on the saddle and how to hold his hands, before racing back to duck under the black cape to focus the camera on her subject.

Cody was in heaven. Miss Felicity had touched him. More than once, too. To a boy who rarely even had a chance to talk to a girl like Felicity, such contact was intoxicating. He didn't think he'd ever forget the way her little hands felt when they had brushed against his. Just thinking about it made him feel all weak inside.

"Look here at the camera, Cody," Felicity called.

Cody didn't have any problem doing that because that's where she was, too.

"Look tough, Cody," one of the men advised.

"He couldn't look tough if you put a piece of shoe leather over his face," another scoffed.

Cody knew he couldn't look tough as long as he was looking at Miss Felicity anyway, so he didn't try. He looked serious instead.

"That's perfect," Felicity decreed, ducking out from under the black cape again. "Hold perfectly still until I put the lens cap back on. Now ready." She reached up to remove the cap and recited the little verse her father had always used to time exposures because it was exactly ten seconds long. As soon as she had finished, she carefully replaced the lens cap and rushed to pull the plate holder out and return it to the darkness of the wagon.

Once inside, she removed the plate from the holder and applied the developing solution the same way she had applied the collodion. Then she rinsed the plate in clean water-water that would have to be changed frequently during the day, which was why she had asked the men to move her wagon over near the pump. After immersing the plate in a solvent of silver iodide to fix the image, she rinsed it again.

At last she could light a lamp, and she did so, holding the plate over the flame to dry it thoroughly. While the plate was still warm, she coated it with varnish to protect the emulsion until she would have time to make a print from it.

Like all good field photographers, Felicity had developed a sixth sense about being able to judge how good a negative was simply by looking at it. People usually didn't mind having their picture remade on the spot if the first one didn't come out, but if they came back the next day for a print and then discovered they had to have it done over, they got a little testy. Felicity judged that Cody would be more than pleased with his portrait.

As swiftly as possible, she prepared another plate, and when it was safely locked into the holder, she left the wagon again. This time, Cody was waiting right there to carry the heavy wooden contraption for her.

"Where's Cody's picture?" someone demanded.

Felicity always hated to disillusion people. She really should have explained it all to them before she started. "It takes another whole day to make the prints, so I'll only be able to shoot the pictures today. I won't have time to actually develop them."

The groans of disappointment died away when Felicity assured them that Cody had taken an absolutely famous picture and wondered aloud who was going to be next. This time she had no difficulty securing a volunteer. She purposely did not look around. Whether Mr. Logan had come or not, she did not want to know.

Josh had watched everything thus far from the front porch of the ranch house. From a distance, the scene was almost comical, that little slip of a girl ordering around men twice her size and being obeyed with fierce devotion. Josh hadn't found all that much humor in it, though, especially when he saw the way she fussed over posing Cody. And the way Cody was following her around like a lovesick puppy dog.

"Ain't you gonna change your clothes?" Candace inquired from behind him.

Making a sudden decision, Josh turned to her. "I don't need to change my clothes to go to town."

"Town? What are you going to town for?" Candace demanded, outraged that he would even consider such a thing on an important day like this.

"It's Saturday, isn't it? I always go to town on Saturday," he explained reasonably. Besides, he did not intend to sit around the ranch all day watching the spectacle in the yard.

"You were just there day before yesterday," Candace pointed out.

"Yes, but I didn't get any supplies," he said, uneasily aware that his own impulsive trip to town to purchase clothes for the girl was probably the reason Candace had gotten the idea for pairing the two of them up in the first place.

"We don't need any supplies now," Candace said, but Josh was already on his way down the porch steps.

"Hey, Mr. Logan," someone called out. "You gonna be next?"

Felicity's breath caught at the sound of his name, and she turned slowly to face him.

"We're glad you decided to join us," she said, fixing her gaze on the third button of his shirt. She did not trust herself to look into those penetrating gray eyes.

"I'm not joining you. I'm on my way to get the wagon. Cookie, is there anything you need from town?" he said with creditable nonchalance.

Felicity stared at him in dismay. He was leaving! He wasn't even going to have his picture made! All her plans for repaying his kindness were shattered, but worse than that, all her hopes for showing him that his kiss had not affected their relationship were shattered, too. Not only was he avoiding her, he would not even look at her. Fortunately, her pride would not allow her to reveal how much he had hurt her.

Then Felicity recalled that her time was precious. She would not waste a minute of it worrying about Mr. Logan. Resolutely, she returned to the job of posing the cowboy named Gus. But suddenly she was all thumbs. When she adjusted the man's hat, it slid down over his eyes instead. When she propped his shiny Winchester beside his leg, it looked more like a crutch than a deadly firearm. Hastily rearranging the sitting, she forced herself to forget that Mr. Logan was nearby so that she would not completely ruin the shot. While she was mooning over Mr. Logan, her plate was rapidly drying, and she had best remember that.

At long last, the exposure was complete, and Cody helped her remove the plate holder and carried it back to the wagon for her. "Can I help you inside, too?" Cody asked with almost pathetic eagerness.

"There probably isn't room for two inside that wagon."

Josh pointed out sharply. Although he had finished his conversation with Cookie, he had lingered involuntarily to watch Felicity work, and a good thing, too. He didn't like the idea of Cody and Felicity being all alone inside that tiny space, in the dark, not when Cody kept looking at her like she was first prize at the county fair.

Felicity had intended to turn down Cody's offer, but Mr. Logan's obvious disapproval made her reconsider. Last night he had kissed her and then ordered her to forget it had ever happened. Now he was insulting her by leaving the ranch instead of letting her make his picture. To top things off, he wanted to impose his will on her behavior. Just who did he think he was to make her decisions for her? She briefly considered asking him but decided that this was too public a situation for any sort of confrontation. Instead she smiled sweetly at Cody. "It will be a little crowded, but my father and I used to work together all the time. If you'd like to learn how to develop the plates, you could do that while I prepare the next one, and we'd be able to do them a lot faster."

"That'd be great!" Cody exclaimed, and followed her inside.

Josh scowled as the door closed behind them. What was wrong with her anyway? Didn't she have a lick of sense? Didn't that father of hers teach her anything about men? Cody might look young and harmless, but there was nothing harmless about a male on the prowl, and Cody Wells was definitely on the prowl. If anything, what had happened to her last night should have convinced her to be careful, Josh thought acidly.

Aside from a few envious comments, the other men seemed to notice nothing peculiar in the new arrangement, and that irritated Josh even more. Of course, he was the one responsible for her safety, so he was the one who should be most concerned, he rationalized. And he was concerned. He realized now that he never should have let her stay at the ranch this long. The men were bound to start mooning over her, and that would cause no end of trouble. He'd been stupid to think he had to wait for Blanche to get home. He could take her into town. Mrs. Hankins, the storekeeper's wife, or any of the other women in town would take her in. He could make the arrangements today. Yes, that was the solution. He would take her into town first thing in the morning. Then life would get back to normal.

Without waiting for Felicity and Cody to finish their task, Josh left, going into the barn to hitch up the spring wagon. Just as he slapped the team into motion, he caught a glimpse of the girl coming out of the wagon, Cody at her heels. He forced himself to keep going.

Felicity heard the wagon rumble by, but she refused to look up to see if he was watching her. She had more important things to do than to worry about Mr. Joshua Logan.

"Where's Cookie?" Felicity demanded in her no-nonsense-tolerated voice. "He's the one I'm going to do next!"

That, of course, caused quite a reaction, both among the men, who were delighted, and with Cookie, who wasn't really all that sure he wanted to get his picture made at all. Everyone seemed to forget that Mr. Logan had left. Everyone except Felicity.

Josh managed to find a place on the busy street in front of the mercantile in which to squeeze his wagon. The town was bustling with activity from all the ranchers who had made the weekly trek in for supplies and socializing. Taking the steps up to the wooden sidewalk in one bound, Josh strolled into the store.

"Well, hello again, Mr. Logan," Mrs. Hankins called to him as he walked in the door. The storekeeper's wife waved him over to where she stood behind the counter waiting on a customer. When she finished, she turned to Josh. "How did your little houseguest like the clothes?" she inquired cheerfully.

"She liked them fine," Josh said tersely. Mrs. Hankins still believed, as Josh had led her to, that Felicity was a young girl. Somehow if he wanted her to take Felicity in, he would have to disabuse Mrs. Hankins of that notion.

"Did they fit her all right? I was so worried they'd be too big, but they were the smallest things we had ready-made…" Mrs. Hankins rattled on, to Josh's annoyance.

Fortunately, Mr. Hankins came in at that moment and rescued him.

"Yes, what are you going to do with the girl, Josh?" he asked.

Here it was, the perfect opportunity to make his request, but the words refused to come. "I'll take her over to Blanche Delano's in a day or two, when she's up and around," Josh said, wondering even as he spoke why it seemed important to give the impression that Felicity was still an invalid.

"Oh, that's a good idea," Mrs. Hankins confirmed. "Of course, you know Mrs. Delano is still in Dallas, but we expect her back early next week. I reckon by then the poor little thing will be able to travel. What did you say her name was?"

Josh was spared from answering when another customer came in and distracted Mrs. Hankins. He turned to Mr. Hankins. "Here's a few things I need," he said, handing the storekeeper a list. "I'll be back in a few minutes. My wagon is out front." With that, Josh turned and left before Mrs. Hankins could make any further inquiries about his "little houseguest."

When Josh came back about fifteen minutes later, having made a quick tour of the main street of town, he met Mr. Hankins, who was carrying out the last of his supplies. "Thanks," Josh said. "Put it on my account."

"Josh, wait a minute. There's something I need to tell you," Hankins said, stopping Josh just as he was about to mount the wagon seat.

The urgent tone of the man's voice raised the hairs on Josh's neck. Turning warily, Josh braced himself for the first ugly gossip about him and Felicity.

"There was a man in the store yesterday asking about you," Hankins said, pulling a bandana out of his back pocket to wipe his forehead. "A colored man. He wanted to know where your ranch was and how to get out there."

Josh saw nothing ominous in such an event. "Was he looking for a job?" Josh asked.

Hankins's expression remained grim. "I don't think so. Remember I said he was a colored man? He was tall, real tall, even taller than you, and he… he asked about Candace."

"Candace?" Josh echoed, completely puzzled.

"Yes, he wanted to know if Candace still worked for you. He described her and everything. That's what made it stick in my mind, the way he described her as being so tall. It made me look at him close and, by God, if he didn't look like her, too."

Josh considered this. "How old a man was he?"

"I couldn't rightly say. With some folks, it's hard to tell. He had old eyes, if you know what I mean, and silver-gray hair, but he didn't seem all that old."

"He might be some kin to her," Josh said. Back in Virginia, Candace had been owned by the Logan family, who had presented her as a gift to Josh's mother when she married his father. Candace would have had lots of kinfolk back on the old Logan plantation. Since the war had destroyed the plantation, they were now all scattered. One of them must have found his way to Texas. "I reckon he'll show up out at our place soon," Josh said with a smile.

"No, you don't understand, Josh," Hankins said, gripping Josh's arm anxiously. "He wasn't asking nice. He was mean, clear to the bone. It was almost like…" He trailed off uncertainly.

"Like what?"

"Like he wanted to do Candace some harm." The storekeeper shrugged apologetically, realizing his statement was somewhat melodramatic but unwilling to amend it.

"Who would want to hurt Candace?" Josh asked, incredulous.

"I think this fellow might."

Josh could only stare at him. Josh had known Hankins for a long time and he was not easily spooked. "Have you seen this fellow around town today?"

Hankins shook his head. "I think he slept at the livery last night. Maybe you can pick up his trail there."

"Thanks," Josh said, turning toward the livery stable.

"Good luck," Hankins called after him.

Josh spent another hour in town, questioning first the livery stable attendant and then most of the other merchants, but the man had disappeared. Not even the bartender had seen him that day. Defeated, Josh returned to his wagon, having decided he should return to the ranch as soon as possible to tell Candace about the mysterious stranger. Perhaps she would know who he was.

Asa Gordon read over the note he had just written. He did not like the message it contained, but he would have to send it anyway. The news that Felicity Storm had disappeared- yet again-would please no one, least of all his client. Unfortunately, part of his job was filing reports, even when they were unsatifactory.

He folded this report carefully and stuffed it into an envelope.

"Alexander!" he called. A moment later a harried-looking young man came into Asa's office. "Would you see that this is delivered immediately?" he asked, scrawling a name and address on the envelope and then handing it to his secretary.

"Yes, sir," Alexander muttered, carrying the message out of the room.

When the door had closed behind the boy, Asa allowed himself a weary sigh. Papers. Messages. Reports. Meetings. Was that all he had left to look forward to? The thought depressed him.

He glanced out the window at the busy street below, but his mind was far away, in Texas with the elusive Miss Felicity Storm. For a few minutes he envied operative Smythe his opportunity to explore the wilds of Texas on this difficult quest.

Smythe was one of his best men. If Smythe couldn't find her, she simply wasn't there. Asa knew this. Still, he could not ignore his own pride, which reminded him he had once been one of the "best men," too. If he should go to Texas, if he should look for Storm and the girl…

Was there any reason why he shouldn't?