in the water.

He looked up as if he felt her watching him.

"It's almost dark, Miss. Stuart, if you don't mind."

"If I don't mind! You--you sat there through my bath, Lieutenant!"

she sputtered.

"Lucky I did," he replied pleasantly.

She was alive. Maybe she was lucky. But that wasn't the point, and he

knew it.

He shrugged, rising, casting off his shirt.

"It really doesn't matter that much to me, Miss. Stuart. You're welcome

to stay. Maybe you'll even want to join me ... ?" She swung around,

furious.

He was ready to strip down with her standing right there. He'd sat and

stared at her while she had been completely naked, assuming she was

alone.

She'd given him a whole damned show in the water! Swearing softly, she

plodded away, anxious to quit the brook. She hurried to her wagon and

sat on the bunk, hugging her arms to her chest.

Damn him. Just remembering his eyes upon her made her breasts swell

again and her nipples harden to taut peaks.

When she closed her eyes it didn't help. She remembered the way that his

shirt had hung open over his chest, and the sandy dark hair that grew in

rich profusion there, the ripple of tight muscle on his abdomen, the

swell of it at his breast and shoulders.

"Miss. Stuart?" It was Sergeant Monahan. "Yes?" She almost shouted the

word.

He was at the rear of the wagon, smiling.

"Wasn't that just the prettiest little brook you've ever seen?"

"Absolutely beautiful," she said evenly. But it didn't

matter--apparently word of the shots had gotten out.

Another one of the men stepped behind Monahan, nodding respectfully to

her.

"Monahan! Hardy says she almost got it from a moccasin. Luckily the

lieutenant was near and blasted the thing to kingdom come. Ma'am, it is

the prettiest little brook around, but you be careful from here on out,

you hear?

You've become pretty important to all of us."

"Thank you, that's very kind," she murmured, but she knew that she was

blushing again. Everyone knew what had happened.

But they didn't really know. They didn't know what it had felt like when

his eyes had touched her naked flesh. "Rations aren't much, ma'am, but

one of the boys brought in a few trout. May I fix you a plate and bring

you some coffee?" Monaban asked her.

"Please," she agreed.

"That would be very nice." Monaban brought her a plate of food, the

other young man brought her coffee. She thanked them both. Then, as she

ate, it seemed that every man in the company came by to see how she was,

if she would like anything, if she needed anything, anything at all, for

the night.

She thanked them all, and when they left, and the darkness fell, and the

camp became silent, she smiled. They were Yanks, but a good group of

them. Maybe there was hope. She believed again. There were von Heusens

in the world, but there were others, too, good people. She just had to

keep fighting. She had to hold on to the ranch and she had to keep the

Wiltshire newspaper going.

"Miss. Stuart."

She started, feeling every nerve within her body come alive. She knew

the voice. Knew the deep tone, low and husky and somehow capable of

slipping beneath her skin. It was a sensual, sexy voice, and it awakened

things in her she was certain had died beneath the rifle fire of the

last years of the war, She inhaled quickly. If she was silent, he might

just walk away. He might believe that she slept and just walk away.

But he wouldn't. He knew she was awake. She sensed it, and she resented

him for his easy knowledge of her.

"Yes?" she asked crisply.

"I just wanted to make sure that you were all right."

"I'm fine, Lieutenant."

"Is there anything you need?"

"I want you to believe me, Lieutenant. And you're not offering me that."

He was silent. She hoped he would turn away, but she sensed he was

smiling.

"You didn't thank me. For saving your life."

"Ah, yes. Thank you for saving my life." She found herself crawling the

length of the bunk, then defying him over the rear edge of the wagon.

"Lieutenant?"

"yes?"

"Come closer, please."

He took a step nearer. Tess let her hand fly across his cheek. He

instantly caught her wrist, and she was glad of the surprised and

furious fire in his eyes as they caught hers. She kept smiling, even if

his fingers did seem to be a vise around her, even if the air seemed

charged with electricity. Even if she was just a little bit afraid that

he was going to drag her out of the wagon and down beneath him into the

dirt.

"I do thank you for saving my life, Lieutenant. But that was for the

ungentlemanly way in which you did so."

She pulled on her hand. He didn't let go. His eyes glittered silver in

the moonlight.

I'll try to remember, Miss. Stuart, that you are most particular about

the way a man goes about saving your life," he told her.

"You know exactly what I'm saying."

"I never meant to give you offense."

"Never?"

"I do swear so, Miss. Stuart. I kept my presence quiet because you were

as bare as a baby before I realized it. And then, well, I do admit, I

was caught rather speechless."

"You weren't speechless on the rock!"

He smiled slowly.

"No."

"Oh, you ... Yank!"

She tugged on her wrist again. He didn't release her at first, then his

fingers slowly unwound. He was smiling, she realized. And his eyes fell

over her again, and she felt as if he was burning the sight of her into

his memory. A flame shot high within her, and she didn't know if she was

horrified-or fascinated.

"Good night, Miss. Stuart," he said softly. Then he did walk away. She

didn't move, and after a moment he turned back.

"Miss. Stuart?"

"What?"

He hesitated.

"You're a very beautiful woman. Very beautiful."

He didn't wait for an answer. He walked away and disappeared into the

night.

Chapter Three.

Two days later, they reached the fort.

It was, Tess thought, a typical military fort in Indian country. The

walls of the stockade were high, maybe twenty-five feet high, and built

of dark sturdy logs. She heard the sound of a bugle while they were

still some distance from the fort, then the huge wooden gate swung open

to allow their party to enter. Looking up as they went into the

compound, Tess saw armed guards in their cavalry blue lined up on all

the catwalks and staring down at them.

She was grateful to have reached the fort. She was driving her mules,

swearing to them beneath her breath, and wondering if the calluses would

ever leave her fingers. She'd gotten them right through Uncle Joe's

heavy leather gloves.

She was sweaty, salty and sticky, and her hair was coming loose from the

neat braid she'd twisted at her nape. She had said that she could

manage--and Lieutenant Slater had let her do just that.

His men had continued to be very kind, and she had continued to smile

and be as gracious as she could in return. He had kept his distance

since he had left her that night, but she had felt his eyes on her.

Always. his eyes were on her. When she drove the wagon, she would

suddenly feel a warmth, and she would look around to discover that he

was no longer at the head of the column, but had ridden back and was

watching her. And at night, when. one of the men would bring her coffee

or food, he would stare across the distance of the camp fire. And by

night she heard footsteps, and she wondered if he wasn't walking by to

determine if she was sleeping. If she was safe.

Or did he walk by to discover if she might still be awake?

He infuriated her, but she was also glad, and she realized that she felt

safe. Not because she was surrounded by thirty or so cavalry men, but

because he was walking by, because he was near.

But now they had come to the fort. He would turn her over to his

commander and disappear from her life.

Someone would be assigned to see her to Wiltshire, and she need never

see him again. Never feel his eyes again, the touch of smoke gray and

insinuation that warmed everything within her and seemed to caress her

as if he saw her again as he had by the brook.

They were in front of the command post. Tess pulled hard on the reins,

dropped them and started to leap from the driver's seat. She smiled, for

Jon Red Feather was there to help her.

She had grown to like the man very much: his striking, sturdy

appearance, his silence and his carefully chosen words. And she sensed

that he believed her when others might not.

He set her upon the ground. She thanked him then looked at all the

confusion around her. Wives, children and perhaps lovers had spilled

from the various buildings in the compound to greet the returning men.

Monahah had called out an order dismissing them all, and the band was

quickly breaking up.

Lieutenant Slater was striding up the steps to the broad porch that

encircled the command post, saluting the tall, gray-haired man who

awaited him. Jon indicated the steps.

"Miss. Stuart, I believe the colonel will want a statement from you as

soon as possible. I'll see to your accommodations for the evening and

return shortly."

He walked her to the porch. Apparently Slater had already explained

something about her, for the colonel was quick to offer her a hand and

guide her up the steps.

"Miss. Stuart, our most sincere condolences on the loss of your uncle,

but may I say that we are heartily glad that you have survived to be

here today," "Thank you," Tess said. It was strange. It already seemed

like the whole thing had happened in the distant past. Days on the

plains could do that, she decided. And yet, when the colonel spoke so

solicitously of Uncle Joe, all the pain and the loneliness rushed back.

She tried to swallow them down. She needed to impress this man with

intelligence and determination, not a fit of tears. She didn't want to

be patted on the back. She wanted to be believed.

"Miss. Stuart, if you would be so good as to join us inside, the colonel

would like to speak with you," Slater said.

There was a startling light in his eyes as they touched her. Not

amusement, but something else. Almost a challenge. He wanted to see if

she would back down, she thought. Well, she wouldn't.

She walked past both men and into a large office with file cabinets and

a massive desk and a multitude of crude wooden chairs. Slater pulled out

a chair for her, and she sat down as regally as she could manage,

pulling off her rough leather gloves and letting them fall into her lap.

She felt Slater's eyes, and she looked up then looked quickly away.

He had seen the blisters and calluses on her hands. The colonel took his

seat behind the desk. He was an elderly man, whose gentle blue eyes

seemed to belie his position as a commander of such a post. His voice,

too, was gentle. Tess thought he was genuinely grateful to see her

alive, even if he had never met her before.

"Would you like coffee, Miss. Stuart? I'm afraid I've no tea to offer

you" -- "Coffee will be just fine, thank you," Tess said.

She hadn't realized that there was another man in the room unt'd a

s'dent young corporal stepped forward to bring her a tin mug of black

coffee. She thanked him and an awkward moment followed. Then the colonel

sat forward, folding his hands on the desk.

"Miss. Stuart, Lieutenant Slater informs me that you have claimed that

it was not Indians who set upon your band."

"That's right, sir."

"Then who?"

"White men. Hired guns for a man named yon Heusen. He is trying to take

my uncle's property and" -- "He'd have men attack a whole wagon train to

obtain your uncle's property? Think now, Miss. Stuart, is that logical?"