"Are you telling the truth? " She jerked her hand away from his and


tried to get around him. "There's something else you should know. "


"Yes? " Daniel asked.




"The fire . . . it wasn't an accident, " she blurted out. "I remember


what happened, and I remember . . . apples."




"Apples? " he repeated, clearly not understanding.




She nodded. "I was having trouble sleeping. That isn't unusual, " she


thought to add. "I never sleep through the night. I thought I heard a


peculiar noise coming from downstairs. It sounded like glasses


tinkling."




"I don't understand."




"You know . . . when you toast someone and your glass clinks against


another glass . . . It was that sound that I thought I heard."




"So what did you do? " "Tilly wasn't feeling very well, and I didn't


want to disturb her, so I put on my robe and my slippers and went


downstairs to investigate. If someone was knocking on the front door,


I wasn't going to open it, of course.




I was going to tell whoever it was to come back in the morning.




When I reached the foyer, I noticed the dining room window was wide


open. The wind was making the curtains billow into the room. I became


alarmed because I remembered closing it before I went up to bed, and I


was the last one to go up the stairs."




"What did you do then? " Daniel asked.




"I went into the dining room to shut the window, and that's when I


smelled coal oil."




"You mean kerosene? " "Yes, kerosene, " she answered. "I put my hand


on the windowsill and it was covered with oil. It was as though


someone had only just poured it there." l s "And then what happened?




" "Tilly had placed a basket of apples on the kitchen table after


supper.




One of her daughters had given them to her."




"What do apples have to do with the fire? " "I could smell apples. I


know it sounds crazy, but I think someone was eating one. I wanted to


run upstairs and wake Jessica and Tilly, but I was suddenly afraid to


move. I could feel the breeze on my arms from the swinging door that


connects the kitchen with the dining room, and I heard the squeak the


hinges make. I knew someone was rushing toward me.




I could feel him coming. I turned and started to scream, but I don't


know if I made a sound or not."




"That's when you were struck, wasn't it? " "I don't remember being


hit. I just remember turning, and then you were leaning over me,


Daniel, and I was outside . . . in the grass. If Jessica hadn't found


me and dragged me out, I would have died in the fire.




"I'm your witness, " she whispered once again. "I don't want them to


hurt Jessica or Rebecca. They're innocent." Daniel couldn't resist


touching her. He reached out to wipe away a tear from her cheek.




"You're also innocent, Grace." They stared into one another's eyes for


a long minute. Daniel was overwhelmed with the desire to keep her


safe. He had failed with his wife and his daughter because he hadn't


been there to protect them. He decided then and there that he wouldn't


let Grace out of his sight.




Any one who tried to harm her would have to go through him first.




"Daniel, are you all right? " "Yeah, I am."




"You look terribly . .




. angry."




"I don't want anything to happen to you, Grace." He was gripping her


shoulders, his hold fierce, protective. He was hurting her, but she


knew if she told him so, he'd feel terrible. She gently pulled his


hands away and held on to them. "Nothing's going to happen to me."




"I'm going to protect you."




"Yes, you are, " she agreed.




"And I must protect Jessica and Caleb." He raised an eyebrow. "Why?




" he asked.




"She risked her life for me, " she answered.




"What about Rebecca? Do you feel responsible for her too? " "In a


sense I do. She's been so kind and thoughtful." He put his arm around


her shoulders. "Come on. I'm taking you home, Miss Winthrop.




No, that isn't right, " he teased. "It's Lady Winthrop, isn't it? "


"No, Daniel, it's Grace. Just plain old Grace."




"Ah, Grace. There's nothing plain about you. Nothing at all. "ţq v


he baby was in his line of fire. He wanted to kill the boy first, but


he wouldn't give in to the inclination because the mother would have


time to run for cover, and she was his primary target. It was


imperative that she die. There was a deputy walking by her side who


was fully armed, watchful, and who just might get off a lucky shot of


his own if he was given the chance.




Mr. Johnson shifted his position on his belly, determined to wait


until all three of them were crossing the street. From his perch on


the roof above the general store, he had a nice clear view of the road


below, and with his Winchester, he wouldn't miss. Patience, he told


himself as he felt the surge of excitement rush through him. The guard


first, then the woman, then the boy. One, two, three, as easy as can


be.




Anticipation made him giddy. The thrill he felt before a kill was as


good as being with a woman. No, it was better than that, he thought.




Much better.




They were taking their time, strolling along the boardwalk, stupidly


ignorant and blissfully unaware that they had only seconds left to


live. Their executioner giggled like a young boy while he waited to


seize the opportunity.




Jessica argued with the guard about their destination. She wanted to


walk over to the jail, but York was determined to take her back to the


hotel. The dour-faced deputy Sloan had hired was a rather plain man


with only one vanity, his handlebar mustache. The long black hairs on


his upper lip curled out and up over the sides of his nose. The pomade


he'd used stiffened and starched each hair, so that when he talked, his


mustache didn't move at all.




Jessica took hold of Caleb's hand as she stepped off the boardwalk.




York had hold of her elbow and was trying to guide her across. There


wasn't any traffic on the road behind the physician's house, for it


dead-ended at the stable around the curve. When Caleb wanted to run


ahead, she made certain it was safe for him to do so and then let go of


him.




Cole had just turned the corner and was striding down the center of the


street toward them when Caleb spotted him. The baby started running.




He stumbled twice as he tripped along but quickly regained his feet and


continued on. Jessica and York increased their pace to catch up with


him. Caleb was chattering away, and Jessica was smiling like a proud


mother while she watched her baby's antics. When Caleb was about


thirty feet away from Cole, he raised his arms and demanded, "Up, " in


a roar that echoed down the street.




Mr. Johnson edged up to his knees, swung his Winchester into position,


and fired. The guard dropped. Like a pigeon in a shooting gallery,


York was moving forward one second and dead on the ground the next.




Jessica screamed. York was facedown in the dirt. The bullet had


sliced through his heart, just as Mr. Johnson intended. He never ever


missed.




Jessica fell to her knees and struggled to turn the guard over so that


she could help him. There was blood everywhere. "Mr. York, " she


whimpered. "No . . . no . . . Mr. York . . . " She reached for the


gun in his holster and had just pulled it out when a shot spit the dirt


up next to her side. She screamed again, dropped the weapon, and then


grabbed hold once again.




"Get down, " Cole roared to her as he raced forward. The shots were


coming from the roof above the general store, but he couldn't see the


gunman's exact position. He kept shouting at Jessica to get the hell


out of the street, to duck, but she wasn't listening to him.




She squinted up at the roof as she lifted the gun with both hands and


tried to fire. She was shaking so much she almost dropped the gun


again, and when she finally fired, the bullet shattered the glass of


the second-story window.




The sound of gunfire had frightened Caleb, and he was running back to


his mother. "No, " Jessica cried out.




Mr. Johnson watched as she ran to intercept her baby. He was toying


with her. He was having such a fine time, he couldn't resist playing


cat with his little mouse. Because he so enjoyed the look of stark


terror on the woman's face, he wanted to prolong the thrill. The boy


had quickly come back into range. That was nice. Mr. Johnson smiled


as he once again considered killing the boy before the mother so that


he could watch her expression. It was bound to be priceless.




She was moving too quickly to suit him. we canpt have that, he thought


with a chuckle as he fired at the ground in front of her. She came to


a dead stop. "That's better, " he whispered, but then she was moving


again, and he had to fire at the ground to get her to stop. Dust


sprayed up into her face.




Damned if she didn't start running yet again. God love herţ and He


would soon have that opportunity, Mr. Johnson thought, if she went


right to heaven. Was she as pure as she looked? Mr. Johnson


sincerely doubted that. There was no such thing as a pure woman, and


he wasn't going to dispatch this woman to heaven or hell quite yet.




She had to suffer first. His rules, not God's, but in his mind he was