Mae had to fight to gather enough breath to speak, but she knew, knew in her heart despite her terrible desire for Vance, that this was not the time. It was the time for her, but not for Vance. If she took Vance to her bed, it would be like letting a man who'd been lost in the desert for weeks drink himself to death at the first taste of water. They would have a few minutes, a few hours even, of unbearable pleasure in one another's arms, and in the morning, Vance would walk away and never come back. It had never mattered so much that that not happen. Trembling, heart on fire, Mae braced her hands against Vance's shoulders and pushed her gently away. "I want you in my bed. Do you hear me?"

Vance--chest heaving, eyes glazed--nodded mutely.

"I want you, but not when we're both so hungry we'll tear each other to pieces." She grasped handfuls of Vance's shirt when Vance tried to back away. "Listen to me. You're not alone. I feel what you feel.

I need what you need." She took Vance's hand and eased it inside her robe, then pressed Vance's palm over her breast where her heart lurched wildly. "Feel what you've done."

Vance dropped her head with a groan as she cupped Mae's breast.

She'd never touched another human being with passion, and now she could think of nothing else. "I need you. Please. I can't stop."

Laughing softly, Mae clasped Vance's wrist and moved her hand from her breast. "Now I know you're just playing on my sympathy."

Shakily, Vance laughed and her mind cleared a fraction. "I was hoping you'd find it in your heart to be charitable, considering how I've been...wounded and all."

"Oh, I might find a soft spot or two for you in my heart." Mae backed toward the other room where the tub awaited, pulling Vance along by her hand. "Now I want you in the tub with me."

Mae's robe had fallen open and her breasts were bare. They were full and firm and rose-kissed. Her body was hot and passionate. She was beautiful. But what gave Vance the courage to answer was the tender welcome in Mae's eyes.

"Yes," Vance said quietly. "I want that, too."


CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"Oh my goodness!" Martha Beecher stood in the middle of the kitchen with her hand pressed to her heart, her gaze darting from Kate to Jessie. "Whatever has happened! Kate--look at you, you're soaked. You're sure to get ill again behaving this way." She cast a quick but disapproving glance in Jessie's direction.

"We're quite all right, Mother," Kate said with the slightest hint of ire. After all she'd experienced that evening, such fuss over a little bit of rain felt ridiculous. "We just need to get into some dry clothes and everything will be fine."

"Go on into the parlor and stand by the fire," Martha instructed.

"I'll make some tea."

As Kate and Jessie started from the room, Martha gasped and caught Jessie's arm. Anxiously, she asked, "Is that blood on your shirt? Are you hurt?"

"It's just a scratch. I'm fine, thank you," Jessie said quietly.

"What's happened?" This time, Martha spoke calmly, as if the true gravity of the situation had settled her nerves.

Jessie glanced quickly at Kate, who nodded. "Horse thieves shot at me and some of my men up in the hills yesterday. My friend Jed is at the doc's right now."

"Is it serious?"

"Yes, ma'am." Jessie's voice trembled and she reached for Kate's hand.

Kate moved quickly to Jessie's side and slipped an arm around her waist, hugging her close. "Tea would be good, Mother, if you could make some. We're both chilled."

Martha regarded the way Jessie leaned against Kate for support, heard the quiet steady strength in her daughter's voice, and saw, truly saw for the first time, the woman Kate had become. It was impossible to deny the powerful feelings between the two younger women, no matter how dearly she might have wished it otherwise. She remembered those terrible hours when she had thought she would lose Kate to illness.

She recalled Jessie never moving from Kate's bedside and promising any sacrifice if Kate would only live. And after, when Kate was barely days from death's door, Kate's determination that nothing would keep her from being with Jessie, even if they had to leave the territory to be together. It was foolish to think that anything as petty as the small- mindedness of others would ever keep these two apart.

"Take Jessie upstairs to your room and get out of those wet things.

I'll find some clothes of your father's that will fit Jessie well enough for now. You both need to get dry before you catch your death."

"Thank you," Kate whispered, hugging her mother tightly.

v The large tin tub stood behind the dressing screen in one corner of Mae's bedroom. Vance took comfort in the fact that the area was only dimly lit by a single oil lamp burning on the dresser on the far side of the bed, which took up the center of the room. She hoped that the scars on her chest and shoulder would blend with the shadows of the room and be less shocking, if no less unsightly. Even her father, a physician and a man used to seeing the worst of the human condition, had exclaimed at the state of the wounds the first time he'd seen her.

To give him his due, however, she had only just arrived home from the hospital in Richmond and not everything had healed by that time.

"Whatever you're worrying about," Mae murmured, "it's probably a waste of good energy."

"Mae, you don't know--"

"You don't know where I've been, what I've seen," Mae whispered, slipping both hands beneath the edges of Vance's open shirt and pressing her palms to Vance's chest. "Stand still now and be quiet.

Let me see you." When she felt Vance shiver violently, she added, "Put your hand inside my robe, on my waist. Hold me."

With a shuddering breath, Vance parted Mae's robe completely and curved her arm around Mae's waist.

"Ready?" Mae leaned into Vance's body and kissed her throat.

"Yes."

Mae skimmed her hands from Vance's chest to her shoulders and over her upper arms, pushing off her shirt. It fell to the floor next to the tub behind them. Vance's pale skin shimmered like silver in the lamplight. Her breasts were small and taut, her chest lean and tightly muscled like the rest of her body. A patch of scar tissue, the skin pebbled and rough, stretched from the outer edge of her left breast around her side. Carefully, Mae stroked the uneven surface.

"Is it painful?"

"No," Vance rasped, keeping her eyes on Mae's face. "Not when you do that. Sometimes...sometimes when I'm tired, or I've ridden for a long time, it gets sore."

"Does it help to touch it?"

Vance laughed unsteadily. "I don't know. It feels rather nice just at this moment."

Mae kissed the tip of Vance's chin. "You might not be thinking altogether clearly right now. We'll have to find out later."

"All right." Vance was having a hard time sorting out all the conflicting feelings that were warring inside her. Mae was so close that the heat of her body penetrated Vance's trousers, warming her thighs and pelvis. Mae's perfume, a bold scent sweetened by Mae's own distinctive flavor, assaulted her senses, making her dizzy with desire. Her belly was tight with longing, and she wanted to touch Mae everywhere. The brief wonder of Mae's breast in her hand was almost all she could think about. If she'd been whole, if she'd had two arms, she would never have stood so quietly, waiting. She would have touched Mae the way she hungered to, would have given free rein to the fire that was rapidly consuming her sanity. She remembered what Mae had said just moments before. I feel what you feel. I need what you need. She had to believe that, or her feelings of impotence would drive her mad.

"You're still shaking. Are you still scared?" Mae asked tenderly.

"No. I...oh!" Vance stumbled back a step as Mae moved her hand from Vance's chest to what remained of her left arm.

"Tell me if I hurt you." Mae spoke slowly, taking care to keep her voice level and firm. She'd seen far worse than the stump that ended just above where Vance's elbow should have been. She'd seen men trampled by horses, women torn apart by deliveries gone wrong, children dead from the pox. Vance's arm ended in a rounded lump of scar tissue that was far less horrible than she would have expected.

Still, this was the woman she cared for, and no matter how well healed the wound appeared now, she knew that the damage extended far deeper than flesh, and she ached for that pain. She did the only thing she could think to do. She curled her fingers gently around Vance's arm and tenderly kissed the scar.

Vance gasped again. It was so unexpected, so unlike anything anyone had ever done, that she couldn't take it in. Her knees gave way and the next thing she knew, her cheek was pressed to Mae's bare stomach as sobs racked her body. Dimly, she was aware of Mae stroking her hair, her neck, her shoulders. Mae was saying something, crooning words that had no meaning but that caressed and soothed the raw weeping places in her soul. "Sorry," she choked out, "sorry."

Tears streaked Mae's cheeks unheeded. She had not imagined it possible that something as simple as a kiss could do this to one so strong, so brave. Brokenly, she whispered, "It's all right, sweetheart,"

although she doubted the truth of her own words. Sometimes there was nothing to do but to live with the pain.

"I wish..." Vance rubbed her cheek against Mae's skin. Desire warred brutally with need, and it was the need she feared more than loneliness. The desperate longing to be comforted, to be healed, that she'd kept chained for so long was dangerously close to escaping now. Unleashed, it would swallow her alive and destroy any hope of friendship with Mae. "I wish I had come to you whole."

Mae bit back her sharp protest, because she understood pride and independence. She understood too that Vance would allow nothing to grow between them until she was certain that the feelings rose from love, and not pity. "Looking at you pleases me to no end." She caressed Vance's tear-streaked face. "And you're about as brave a person as I've ever met."

Sighing, Vance closed her eyes. "I don't see what you see."

"I know." For an instant, Mae pressed Vance's face hard against her body, then gently pushed her away a few inches. "Vance, you're getting chilled. Let's both get in the tub so I can hold you."

After a moment, Vance got unsteadily to her feet and fumbled with the buttons on her trousers. "If we wait much longer, it will be cold."

Mae smiled. "I don't think we're going to notice."

"You're the only person other than the doctors and nurses and my father, who's a doctor, too, who has touched me there."

"I didn't mean to open old hurts." She brushed Vance's hand aside and finished unbuttoning her trousers for her.

Vance trailed her fingers through Mae's curls as she worked, then dipped her head and kissed Mae softly. "You didn't. Sometimes healing hurts."

Nodding silently, afraid that she might burst into tears now, Mae pushed Vance's clothing down and shed her own robe. She stepped into the tub, settled down with her back against one end, and held out her hand. "Come sit against me."

Carefully, Vance climbed in and eased down between Mae's legs so her back nestled against Mae's front. The water was still warm, and, despite her exhaustion, at the first contact with Mae's body, she came instantly awake. Mae's breasts pressed against her back, and when Mae angled her legs over Vance's beneath the water, the intimate contact caused her skin to flush with heat. Vance groaned and let her head fall back against Mae's shoulder. "I never want to move."

Mae nuzzled Vance's neck and wrapped both arms around her waist. "Then we won't."

Lazily, Vance turned her head and kissed Mae's neck. "The steam smells like you."

"It's the scent I use. I put some in the water."

"It does things to my insides."

"Nice things, I hope," Mae said a bit breathlessly. Everywhere their bodies touched, which was everywhere possible, her skin tingled.

Her breasts were full and aching to be caressed. She was hot and pulsing below, desperately needing to be filled. Still, she only smoothed her hand up and down Vance's belly while pressing her cheek to Vance's throat. What there was between them was not to be hurried, but to be savored. This moment was about trust as much as passion.