Malachi realized that Shannon had reined up behind him. "This is it," he said softly. "We'll rest here."

Nodding, she moved to dismount and missed her footing. She fell flat into the water on her rear and lay sprawled, apparently too tired to move.

Malachi dismounted and hunkered down in front of her, smiling. "Hey. Come on out of the water."

She nodded, barely. Her eyes fell on his, dazed.

He flicked water on her face and saw the surprise and then the anger spark her eyes. "You do need a bath," he told her. Dirt still smudged her face. "Badly. But this doesn't seem to be the right time. Come on, I'll help you out."

His greatcoat had fallen open, exposing the lace and flowers of her corset When he went to take her hand, his fingers brushed over the lace, and over the firm satiny flush that rose above the border. Warmth sizzled straight to his loins, and he paused, stunned by the strength of the feeling. He shook his head, irritated with himself, and grabbed her hands. "Up, Shannon, damn it, get up."

Sensing the sudden anger in him, she staggered to her feet, using his hand for support.

You're soaked. Let's get up on the bank."

Thank God he was exhausted, he told himself. Really so exhausted that he couldn't even think about what the sight of her did…

She sighed softly as they cleared the water, throwing his coat from her shoulders and sinking down to remove her boots. Her hair, touched by the pale, new light of the coming morning, glowed with a fiery radiance and teased the flesh of her shoulders and breasts. He didn't touch her at all, but the warmth sizzled through him again, making his heart pump too fast and his tired body come alive.

Maybe it was impossible to be too exhausted.

He gritted his teeth and swore.

She paused in surprise. "Malachi, what's wrong?"

When had she learned to make those blue eyes so innocent and so damned sultry all in one? And her hair, just falling over one eye now…

"What's wrong?" he yelled at her. "All I was trying to do was get Kristin back from the Red Legs, and instead I'm running over half of Missouri to get you back from a pack of bushwhackers. And did you try to use one ounce of sense in the hands of death? No, Shannon, you just provoke them further, and almost get us both killed."

She jumped to her feet. She was trembling, he saw.

"You don't understand. You don't understand and you can't understand. You weren't there when my pa was killed, and you didn't get to hear, in rumor and in truth, day after day after day, what was done to the men outside Centralia. You don't—"

"Shannon, I fought in the war. I know all about dying."

"It wasn't the dying!" Tears glittered brightly in her eyes, but she wouldn't shed them, she wouldn't break down again, and he knew it. "It wasn't the dying. It was the way that they died. He admitted it; that bastard admitted that he had been there, outside Centralia. He might have been the one who—who…Malachi, they had to pick up his pieces! They had to pick up Robert's pieces. I loved him, I loved him so much."

Her face was smudged but her chin was high, and her eyes were even more beautiful fevered with emotion. He felt her pain, and he wished heartily that he had never spoken to her. She still didn't understand. Justin just might want to do the same damned thing to her, if he could get his hands on her again. She'd fought Justin anyway. Or maybe she had understood, and hadn't cared.

She stared at him, her head high, her hands on her hips, her passion like an aura around her. "I loved him, and that bastard helped dismember him!"

"It can't matter!" Malachi told her curtly. "You can't allow it to matter right now!"

"You don't understand—"

"Maybe I don't understand, but you're not going to explain anything to me. No Yank is ever going to explain the horror of this war to a Confederate. We lost, remember? Oh, yes, of course, you're the one who likes to remind me of that fact"

"Maybe you do understand dying and killing. Maybe you just don't understand what love is."

"Shannon, you're a fool, and my life is none of your damned business."

"Malachi, damn you—"

"I don't want to listen right now, Shannon. I'm tired. I have to have some sleep," he said wearily. He didn't want to fight with her. He just didn't want to look at her anymore. He didn't want to see all the fire and excitement and beauty…and the pain and misery that haunted her.

He didn't want to desire her.

But he did.

He turned away from her, heading for the horses. For a moment he thought that she was going to run after him and continue the fight. But she didn't. She stayed still for several long minutes, tense, staring after him. Then she walked down to the water. He tried to ignore her as he unsaddled the horses and rolled out his bedroll and blanket beneath the largest oak.

He hesitated, looked at her bedroll, rolled behind the seat of her saddle. He unrolled it, too, beside his own. He didn't want her too far away. He knew that he would awaken if footsteps came anywhere near them, but he was still wary of sleeping. Justin struck him as the type of man who worked hard toward vengeance.

He could hear her, drinking thirstily, splashing water, washing her face. Scrubbing her face and her hands again and again.

He threw himself down on the bedroll, using his saddle as a pillow and turning so he could keep an eye on her. Day was coming fast now. Sunlight played through the leaves and branches, caressing her hair and shoulders and arms. It rippled against the water in a magical dazzle.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Scrubbing. Scrubbing away that awful bushwhacker!" she retorted.

"You can throw your whole body in later and scrub to your heart's content!" he called to her irritably. "Get out now. Let's get some sleep."

She turned around and saw him stretched out, then opened her mouth as if she was about to argue with him.

Maybe she was just tired. Maybe, just maybe, she was still a little bit grateful. Whatever, she closed her mouth and walked toward him.

She hesitated by her bedroll, looking at him. Strands of damp hair curled around her face, and its planes were delineated, soft and beautiful. Water beads hovered over her breasts.

He groaned inwardly and tipped his hat over his face. "Good night, Shannon."

"Perhaps I should move this." She indicated her bedroll.

"Lie down."

"I've never had to sleep this close to a Reb before."

"You slept with Justin just about on top of you yesterday."

She smiled with sweet sarcasm and widened her eyes. "I've never willingly slept this close to a Reb before."

"Willing or other, lie down, brat!"

He watched her mouth twist. He was too damned tired to argue, and if he touched her at that moment, he wasn't at all sure what it would lead to. "Please! For the love of God, lie down, Shannon."

She didn't say a word until she had settled down beside him, but then heard a tentative whisper. "Malachi?"

He groaned. "What?"

"What…what are we going to do now?"

He hesitated. "I should spank you, brat," he said softly. "And send you home."

"You—you can't send me home. You know that." There was just the touch of a plea in her voice, and the softest note of tears. "You can't send me back."

"That's right," he muttered dryly. "Justin is out there somewhere, waiting for you. Maybe I should let him have you. The two of you could keep on fighting the war, from here until doomsday."

"Malachi—"

"I'm not sending you back, Shannon. You're right about that; I can't."

"Then—"

"We're going to go onward for Kristin."

"But how will we find her? We'll never pick up the trail again. There's only a few of them left now, but they're so long gone that it would be impossible to find them."

"We don't need to find them."

"But—"

"Shannon, I know where they're taking her. They're taking her to Fitz. And I know how to find the town. We all know something about it, Cole, Jamie and I." He hesitated. "You forget, we've had dealings with the Red Legs before." He was silent for a moment, thinking back to when Cole's place had been burned down and his beautiful young wife killed. Malachi's jaw tightened. "I'm not sure if we can head them off quickly enough, or if we'll have to—figure out something else. We'll find her. We'll reach her."

"Do you think—do you think that she'll be all right?"

He lifted his hat and rolled toward her. She was staring at him so earnestly. Her eyes seemed old, so very wise and world-weary, and their tiredness added a curious new beauty and sensuality to her features.

He propped himself up on one elbow, watching her across the distance of the mere two feet that separated them.

"Shannon, they're going to take good care of Kristin. She is all that they have to use against Cole. Now, please, go to sleep." He lay back down, slanting his hat over his face.

"Malachi?" she whispered.

"What?" he asked irritably.

"Thank you—really."

Her voice was so soft. Like a feather dusting sweetly over his flesh. His muscles tightened and constricted and ached and burned, and he felt himself rising hard and hot.

"Shannon, go to sleep," he groaned.

"Malachi—"

"Shannon, go to sleep!"

She was silent. So silent then. She didn't try to speak again.

It was going to be all right. She was going to go to sleep; he was going to go to sleep. When he woke up, he wouldn't be so damned tired. He'd have so much more control over his emotions and needs.

A sound suddenly broke the silence of the morning.

He threw his hat off, leaping to his feet. She stared at him, startled.

She sat on her bedroll, cross-legged like an Indian, chewing on a piece of smoked meat. She had bread and cheese spread out before her, too, just like a damned picnic.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.

"Eating!"

"Now?"

"Malachi, I haven't eaten in ages! It's been almost two full days."

His temper ebbed. He hadn't thought to stop for food last night, and she hadn't said anything, either.

"Just hurry it up, will you, please?"

"Of course," she said indignantly. She stared at him with reproach. He threw up his hands, issued a curt oath and plopped back down on the ground.

He just had to have some sleep.

He didn't sleep. He listened as she finished with the food and carefully wrapped it up to pack in her saddlebags. He listened as she stretched out on the ground, pulling her blanket tight around her shoulders.

Then he just listened to the sound of her breathing. He could have sworn that he could even hear the rhythmic thumping of her heart.

When he closed his eyes, he could see her. Could even see the pink satin flowers sewn into the lace of her corset. He could see her flesh, silky soft and smooth, and he could see the length of her, and the beautiful blue sizzle of her eyes…

He didn't even like her, he reminded himself.

But then again, maybe he didn't dislike her quite so much, either.

Somewhere in time, he did sleep.

He slept well, and he slept deeply. Warmth invaded him. He felt more than the hard ground beneath him, more than the coldness of the earth.

He felt flesh.

He awoke with a start.

He had rolled, or she had rolled, and now she lay curled against his chest. His chin nuzzled her hair; his arm lay draped around her. He was sleeping on her hair, entangled within it. Her features in repose were stunning, a study in classical beauty. Her cheekbones were high and her lips were full and red and parted slightly as she breathed softly in and out. Her lashes lay like dusky shadows over her flesh, enticing, provocative. The scent of her filled him deliciously. His arm was over her breast, the fullness of one round mound…

He jerked away from her, gritting his teeth. He should wake her up. He should shove her from him, as hard as he could.

He bit hard into his lip, then carefully eased her from him. She didn't whimper or protest. It he hadn't felt her breathing, he might have been afraid that she had died, her sleep was so deep and complete.

He sat up and pulled off his boots and socks and walked down to the water. It was cool and good, and just what he needed. He shucked his shirt, and let the water ripple over his shoulders and back. He came back to his bedroll stripped down to his breeches.