morning with his shirt hanging open and his hair tousled and his bare

feet riding the rocks with confidence and invincibility.

"Let me help you out of those dusty travel clothes," Dolly said. She was

quick and competent, and Tess felt immediately at home with her, able to

accept her assistance. In seconds she was out of her dirt-coated

clothing and into a wooden hip tub with a high back that allowed her to

lean in 55 comfort. Dolly tossed her a bar of rose-scented soap and a

sponge, and she blissfully squeezed the hot water over her knees and

shoulders.

"What did you do to your hands, young lady?" Dolly demanded.

Tess looked ruefully at her callused palms.

"Driving. I can do it, of course. It's just Uncle Joe usually did most

of the driving."

She didn't know what it was about saying his name, but suddenly, tears

welled in her eyes.

"You should cry it out," Dolly warned her.

"You should just go right on ahead and cry it out."

Tess shook her head. She couldn't start crying again. She started

talking instead.

"He raised me. My parents died when I was very young, both caught

pneumonia one winter and they just didn't pull through. Joe was Father's

brother.

He sold Father's land and put the money into trust for me, and he took

me to live with him, and he made me love the land and reading and Texas

and the newspaper business, and most of all, he made me love the truth.

And he never gave up on the truth or on fighting. And that's why I have

to keep it up.

He always gave me everything."

Her voice trailed away. So much, always. She remembered learning how to

ride, and how to ink the printing press, and then how to think out a

story, and what good journalism was, and. And what it was like to live

through pain, and stand up tall despite it, and to learn to carry on.

Joe had been there when she had fallen in love with Captain David Tyler

back in '64, when his Confederate infantry corp had been assigned to

Wiltshire. She had been just seventeen, and she'd never known what it

was like to love a man in that mercurial way until she'd met David.

They'd danced, they'd taken long walks and long rides and they'd had

picnics out by the river, and he had kissed her, and she had learned

what it was like to feel her soul catch fire.

They'd known the war Dolly sniffed, apparently uninterested in a woman

running a paper or a ranch.

"There's things a young lady should be doin', and things she shouldn't!

Now you, you need to be married. You need yourself a man."

Tess sank back into the water wearily.

"I need a hired gun, that's what I need."

Dolly was quiet for a moment, then she said enthusiastically, "Well,

then, you really do need Lieutenant Slater."

"What?"

Dolly came around the side of the tub and perched on a stool.

"Why, he was claimed to be an outlaw, him and his brothers! There was a

big showdown, and the three of them shot themselves out of an awful

situation.

Then they surrendered, and all went to trial, and the jury claimed them

innocent as babes!

But those Slater boys--why, it was legendary!

He's as quick as a rattler with his Colt." He was, Tess thought. She

couldn't forget the way he had killed the snake. She might have died,

except that he was so fast with that gun.

She shivered suddenly. Maybe he wasn't what she needed. He was what she

wanted. A man good with a gun. A man with hard eyes and a hard-muscled

chest and hands that were strong and eyes that invaded the body and the

soul.

"Someone's got to escort you to Wiltshire," Dolly said flatly.

"And Jamie, he's got time coming. And he really ain't no fool. I know

there's this big thing going on about whether it was Indians or white

men attacked you, but Jamie, he'll find out the truth." "He didn't

believe a word I said."

"Oh, but he could discover the truth! He knows the Shoshone, the

Comanche, the Cheyenne, the Kiowas and even the Apache better than most

white men--most white men alive, that is! Why, he speaks all their

languages! He can tell you in a split second which tribes are related to

which, and he knows their practices, and how they live.

Sometimes he even knows the Indians better than Jon Red Feather, 'cause

you see, Red Feather is a Blackfoot Sioux, and he thinks that the world

begins and ends with the Sioux!

If you're telling the truth--oh, my dear! I didn't mean that! I know

you're not telling fibs! But if you're right about it being white men,

why, Jamie will find that out. He won't let the Comanche be blamed for

some atrocity they didn't commit!"

Tess was silent. Dolly spoke again, softly.

"If it isn't Lieutenant Slater who takes you, it might be the colonel

himself. His wife was killed by Pawnees before the war, and he ain't

ever forgiven any Indian since. Or else there's Sergeant Givens, and

he's an Indian hater, too. Or Corporal Lorsby, and he's a lad barely

shaving, he won't be too much good to you. Oh, wait just a minute, I've

got some shampoo here, all the way from Boston."

"I don't want to use your good" -- "Come, come, what good does it do to

this old head of mine? Use it!

Your hair will smell just like spring rosebuds, and every bit as sweet

as sunshine."

Tess accepted the shampoo. She disappeared beneath the water to soak her

hair, then she scrubbed and rinsed it. As she rose from the water again,

Dolly was still talking to her.

"Lieutenant Lorsby, he's a good boy. He's just untried.

He's never been in a battle. He came from the east, and I'm sure he's a

bright and wonderful boy, but he don't know a Kiowa from a Chinaman, and

that's a fact. You really need to think about this, you know."

Tess nodded, feeling a chill as the steamy water cooled. Maybe she did

need Lieutenant Slater after all. She smiled at Dolly.

"Could I have the towel, please?"

Dolly held it, and Tess stepped from the bath, wrapped the towel around

her and took a seat before the fire as she started to dry her hair.

"All right, Dolly, so tell me, please, just what is it about this Miss.

Eliza that's so horrible."

"why, I'm not quite sure.

"Ceptin' she seems to think that she's God's gift to the men of the

cavalry.

Jamie's the only one who's never fawned over her, and I think that's

exactly why she's set her cap for him! He ~ms to be amused most of the

time, but the woman does have a wicked fine shape, and a wicked heart

and mind to go along.

You'll see. Now sit back, and I'll bring you your tea, and then some of

the finest Irish stew you'll ever taste. Then I'll see to getting the

rest of your things brought in. I have a nightgown for you, right over

there on the bed. Once you're all ~uched in, I'll see to the rest. You

need to get some sleep." Dolly brought her tea, then the stew, and it

was delicious.

Tess hadn't felt so warmed and cared for since. Since Joe had died.

The thought brought her close to tears again, but she didn't shed them.

She finished eating and put on the nightgown Dolly had provided for her.

She crawled into the bed, more exhausted than she had imagined. As Dolly

started to leave the darkened room, Tess called her back.

"Thank you, Dolly. Thank you, so very much."

"It's nothing, child."

Tess sat up.

"Dolly?"

"yes?"

"I didn't take you from your family, did I?" She smiled.

"Me? No, child. I sit around most of the day and remember Will. My

husband. He was with the cavalry, killed just a few years ago. He made

it home, though. Jamie Slater brought him home to me. He rode through an

ambush to bring Will home. So now I mind the store a few hours a day,

and I try to look after the soldiers that need a little mothering. And

now you.

It's been my pleasure, dear, so you go on and get some sleep."

Dolly was gone then. Tess yawned in the luxurious warm comfort of the

clean bed. She stretched out, thinking that she would sleep. If she

wasn't plagued with memories of Joe.

But it wasn't memories of Joe that kept her from sleeping. Even in the

darkness and the warmth, she felt strange 61 chills snake along her

body. It was Jamie Slateifs face she saw before her in the darkness, the

dry amusement in his gray eyes: Then she remembered the feeling of

wicked, surging heat as his gaze fell over the length of her. He had

stayed away. And he had been drawn back. Almost as if he was feeling the

same thing.

She didn't need a lover, she told herself. She needed a hired gun.

Maybe she would have to barter to gain what she wanted. Barter! she

charged herself.

And in the darkness she admitted that he cola id be as cold and hard and

ruthless as stone, he could care for her not at all, or perhaps even

want her with a curious interest. It didn't matter. She hadn't thought

about any man in over five years.

But she wanted this one. That he could deal well with a gun was all the

better.

When she finally did sleep that night, it was with the stern reminder

that she ought to be saying her prayers. That she ought to hope that

Jamie Slater wanted nothing more to do with her, that the stoic colonel

would take her to Wiltshire.

She could fight von Heusen, and she would. She just wasn't sure if she

could fight von Heusen and all the decadent and shameful things she felt

for Jamie Slater at the same time.

It was wicked.

It was true. If Joe had taught her anything, it was wisdom. She couldn't

change what she was feeling, even if what she was feeling could only

cause her pain. Exhaustion overwhelmed her, and she slept. Slept, and

dreamed.

Of smoke-gray eyes, of a man with broad shoulders, taking her into his

arms.

Naked, as she had been by the brook.

He was moving into a trap, Jamie thought the next night as he walked

along to the Casey house, where Tess Stuart was. He was definitely

moving into a trap, because he couldn't call Tess a liar. He did know

the Indians well, and he couldn't let a huge war get started because

everyone was unjustly blaming the Comanche. He was going to have to find

out what had happened.

He paused at the door before knocking upon it, swallowing down a

startling, near savage urge to thrust the door open and sweep the

challenging and all too luscious Miss. Stuart into his arms. No matter

how he tried, he could not forget everything that he knew about her. No

matter what gingham or frills or lace or velvet adorned her, he kept

seeing beneath it.

He'd lied to her. She was very much alive. She spoke of passionate life

and living with her every breath, her every word. Her gpirit was ever at

battle, never ceasing. She would stay on in Wiltshire, he was certain,

no matter how stupid it would be for her to do so. She was determined to

fight this von Heusen, and she would fight him even if they met on the

plain and he was carrying a shotgun and she was completely unarmed.

If. if. Was the man really so dangerous?

He didn't want to believe her. He wanted to be a skeptic. But there was

truth in her passion, in her determination.

There was truth in the honesty of her beautiful, sea-shaded eyes, eyes

that entered into his sleep and made him wonder what it would he like if

she looked at him with her hair wound between them and around them in a

web of passion.

Every time he was near her he felt it more. Something like a pounding

beneath the earth, like a rattle of thunder across the sky. Every time.

And if he didn't watch out, the day would come when he would thrust wide

a door and sweep her hard into his arms.

He wouldn't give a damn then about Indians or white men or the time of

day or even if the earth continued to turn. All that would matter would

be the scent of her and the feel of her silken flesh beneath his