out to move, he moved.

They pushed hard throughout the morning, either Jamie or Jon riding

ahead to scout out the road, the other riding with Dolly and Tess. Jamie

was true to his word--some- where around midmorning he called a halt,

and Jon came up to take over the reins of the wagon. Dolly and Jon were

comfortable together, old friends who knew one another well and

respected what they knew. And both of them seemed genuinely fond of

Tess, which was nice.

Dolly was full of stories. She didn't chatter, but she kept Tess amused

with tales of Texas in times before Tess had been born.

"Why, Will and I came out here long before Texas was a state. Before

there was a Republic of Texas!

And long, long before the Alamo. Why, I remember some of those boys, and

it was a privilege to know them.

Mountain men, they were good men. They were the stuff that Texans were

made of. Will missed being at the Alamo by just a hairbreadth. He'd been

sent out to deal with Cheyenne. By the time he came back, the boys were

dead.

They say that Davey Crockett was killed there, but that ain't true.

The Mexicans took him prisoner, and they tortured him to death, that was

what the boys said. He was a fiery old cuss.

They never broke him. You can't break a mountain man. You can kill him,

but you can't break him. Kind of like a Blackfoot, eh?"

"A Blackfoot--or an Englishwoman, eh, Dolly?" Jon agreed, grinning.

Dolly chuckled gleefully and agreed.

Tess found herself studying Jon's handsome features. There was no

denying that the man had Indian blood, proud blood. His cheekbones were

wide and broad, his flesh was dark bronze.

And his hair, too, was Indian, black as ink and straight as an arrow.

But his eyes were a deep, startling green.

He caught her studying him, and she blushed.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude."

"It's all right. You're welcome to wonder about me. I'll tell you,

because I like you. My father was a Blackfoot chief.

My mother was the daughter of an English baronet."

" A baronet?"

"Urn. Sir Roger Bennington. Actually, he's a very decent old fellow."

He smiled.

"What does that make you?"

Jori laughed softly.

"A half-breed Blackfoot. Sir Roger did not marry his daughter to an

Indian.

She was kidnapped, but she discovered that she was in love with my

father.

She stayed with the Blackfoot until my father was killed. Then she went

back to England. She died there."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. They were both happy while they lived." Tess hesitated.

"Did you go to England with her? Is that where you acquired your

accent?"

"My accent?" he repeated.

"Well, you don't sound like a Texan or an Indian."

"I'm not a Texan, ~xeept by choice for the moment. I was born in the

Black Hills. And my father was still alive when I went to England. My

mother convinced him that a half breed needed every advantage. My mother

knew that the Indian's day was dying. That the buffalo were being 93

slaughtered.

That the white men were going to push west, and push us west, until we

were pushed fight into the sea or given deser/land as our reservations.

Our prisons."

He spoke hard words, but he spoke them softly.

"You don't seem very bitter," Tess commented.

"Bitter? I'm not. Bitterness is a wasted emotion. I ride with Jamie now

because I choose to be with him. Some time this year, I'll go back to my

father's people. And if the whim takes me, I'll go visit my grandfather

in London. I enjoy the theater and opera there, and Grandfather is a

hardy old cuss. I think he's actually damned pleased when people stare

at his Indian grandson. Actually, I wear formal clothing rather well."

He grinned ruefully, but then his grin faded as he studied her.

"I love the west, too. I love horses, and the feel of a good one racing

beneath me. I love my tribe, and I love this harsh, dry land. And I've

stayed with Jamie because he knows people. He's spent most of his life

fighting, but he still knows people. He goes to war with men, but he

never attacks children."

He gazed at her curiously, looking her up and' down, studying her.

"Jamie believes you. He's come into Indian villages and seen what

certain white men are capable of leaving behind. There are many men in

the cavalry who think that an infant Indian is still an Indian, and that

it will grow to put an arrow in someone's back. There was a lieutenant

who liked to order his soldiers to shoot the women, then bash the

infants' heads together to save bullets."

"God, how awful."

"Jamie knows about things like that. God knows, he saw enough of it

during the war."

"There was nothing like that during the war" -- "Jamie came from the

Kansas and Missouri border.

There was all kinds of stuff like that."

"Yes, but the war's over now," Dolly interrupted mat- ter-of-factly.

"We need to put it behind us. Bless us and save us! It's been five

years!

And Mr. Grant is president now" -- "Mr. Grant could use some help out

here in the west," Jon said dryly.

He smiled again at Tess.

"Ever been to London?"

She shook her head.

"I've n~ver be~n out of Texas."

"Now that is a great loss. A girl like you ought to s~ the world." Jamie

was heading toward them.

"Miss. Stuart, you ar~ welcome to travel with me at any time, in fact,

I'd consider it quite an honor."

Jamie was scowling. Tess lowered her lashes, knowing that Jon had said

the words strictly for Jamie's benefit.

Jamie's great roan stallion was prancing around.

"We seem to be clear for quite a while ahead. Jon, want to ride again?

I'll take over the reins for a while."

"Sure thing." Jon pulled in on the reins. He started to hop down while

Jamie dismounted from his horse. Tess looked at Jamie.

"I do appreciate your concern, but I've scarcely taken the reins myself"

-- "Miss. Stuart, I'll drive the wagon for a while now. After all, we

wouldn't want to ruin the hands of a newspaper woman."

Dolly slapped her on the knee.

"You let him drivel" she said, then she yawned.

"I think I'll ride in back for a while."

She smiled at Tess like a self-satisfied cat and crawled into the back

of the wagon. Tess watched her stretch out on Uncle Joe's bunk. Jamie

climbed up beside her and took the reins. Jon had untied his pinto from

the back of the wagon.

"I'll ride on ahead," he said.

Jamie nodded. Tess was left alone beside Jamie, very aware of the heat

of his thigh despite the heat of the day.

They rode in silence, and the silence se~med to stretch on and on.

Finally Jamie drawled out, "You made it on time this morning. Did you

manage to have a good night's sleep?"

"Yes, I did," she lied pleasantly. She turned to him with her eyes

innocently wide.

"What about you, Lieutenant?

Did you manage to have any sleep at all?" He studied her eyes, then

smiled slowly.

"Yes, I slept."

He didn't elaborate and Tess was infuriated. She wanted some kind of an

answer on this subject, and he was determined not to give her one.

"You seem to have been having a darned nice morning," he commented.

"Have I?"

"I've known Jon Red Feather a long time now. I've never known him to

talk so much."

"He's charming."

Jamie grunted. He flashed her a quick gaze and gave his attention to the

road once again.

"And I'm not?"

"No. You're impudent, insolent and a royal pain, Lieutenant Slater."

"Oh, is that so? Then why were you so anxious for my company?"

She inhaled sharply, staring at him.

"Because you can shoot," she said flatly.

"Why, thank you, Miss. Stuart! Thank you kindly. And you threw yourself

right into my arms the other morning, half naked and all, just because I

shoot."

"Right. Wrong! I was not half naked" -- "You felt as if you were."

"Lieutenant, you are a scurvy, low-down, no-good rodent-"

"But a no-good rodent who can shoot, right?"

"Precisely, Lieutenant," she said with a touch of silk. He nodded,

looking ahead.

"You are awfully determined to stay in Wiltshire, Miss. Stuart.

Couldn't you run a newspaper somewhere else?"

"I could. But I wouldn't own the good cattle land that Joe" -- She

paused.

"Well, it's all mine now."

"Is your life worth the land?"

"You don't understand. It's not just the land. Somebody needs to stand

against this man."

"You do want it desperately."

He was watching her curiously, the hint of a curve to his lips. She

frowned, wondering what he was up to.

"Yes. I do want it desperately. He killed Joe. He might not have ridden

with the men, but he killed Joe. And I'm going to bring him down."

"With the help of a scurvy rodent who can shoot."

"With whatever help I can get. And you do believe me about the attack, I

know you do."

He shrugged.

"Maybe. I've still got my reservations, but I do intend to go into

Wiltshire with you."

"And that's all?" she asked, horrified.

He smiled.

"Just what, Miss. Stuart, do you want out of me? Spell it out. We might

need to come to a few terms here."

"But, but" -- she sputtered.

"But you said you'd find out the truth!

You told Clara"--" I told Clara I'd find out the truth. I didn't tell

her that I'd go to war on your behalf."

"Bastard!" Tess spat out the epithet.

"Calm down, Miss. Stuart! Such language from a very proper and genteel

young Southern woman! I told you, say what you want, and we'll take it

from there."

"What I want? Well, I ... I want you to stay! Then when he sends his

guns, I'll have my guns!"

"Jon Red Feather and I against a horde of hired gunmen. Mm. I should

stand tall and let this man pump me full of bullets for the benefit of

having you call me a scurvy rodent?"

Tess caught her breath and tried to control her temper. She lowered her

lashes and counted to ten, then kept going to twenty, then started all

over again because he was laughing at her.

She moved suddenly, and he must have thought that she meant to strike

him because he cast an imprisoning 97 arm around her. She stiffened in

his hold.

"Lieutenant, this is completely unnecessary."

"Is it? I can't help but feel cautious around you, Miss. Stuart."

She swore softly.

He laughed.

"Go ahead! Laugh!" she said angrily.

"And just run like a cur with its tail between its legs-when we get to

Wiltshire."

"A cur? I thought I was a rodent."

"I can't find words for what you are, Lieutenant."

"Pity," he drawled. His eyes were on her, smoke and fire.

His arm was warm and strong around her. The heat of the sun bore down on

them, and she felt as if it touched her and brought a liquid rush

throughout her. She could not draw her eyes from his, nor could she

dispel the sudden, brilliant memory of his lips upon hers.

"We could bargain, Miss. Stuart."

"Bargain?"

"Yes. If I'm going to die, I'd like it to be for a little more than a

smile."

She stared at him. She felt a heat like that of the sun suffuse

throughout her body, bringing a rampant beat to her heart, a flood of

burning red to her cheeks and a tremor deep inside her. He could only

mean one thing, she was certain. If he was going to stay, he wanted her.

She should have been outraged. She should have been able to say that he

could be damned, that her honor was worth far more than her life.

Except that. There was something that washed over the outrage 'like the

deep, rich waves of the ocean. It was the same thing that caused the

pulse to beat ever more fervently in the column of her throat, the thing

that held her speechless. He watched her, that wry smile twisted so

tauntingly into his features. He was horrid. He was awful.