Iris squeezed her hand in return. "I didn't sleep with your husband. Well, not now, anyway. I had a thing on him once, years ago, in Springfield. It was before the war. It was—it doesn't matter what it was. It's over."

"You know that we're not really married," Shannon said softly.

"You are really married now, if I understand things right."

Shannon flushed. "He had to marry me or hang."

Iris shook her head, and her sage green eyes glittered knowingly. "You don't know your man very well, Mrs. Slater. No one ever forced Malachi to do anything that he wasn't willing to do already, deep down inside." She brought her finger to her lips. "Sh! He's coming back. And men are funny. They just hate to have women talk about them."

Shannon smiled. Malachi thrashed his way through the bushes with Justin Waller's buckskin horse.

"Shannon, can you ride with me?"

"Yes."

"Iris? You'll be all right on Shannon's black?"

"Yes, Malachi."

The two of them were meek, Malachi thought. Damned meek, for a pair of hellcats.

He walked over to Shannon and reached down to her, wishing that his hands would quit shaking. It had been the longest day of his life. He'd had to wait and watch and steel himself to be patient lest Waller killed them both. He had barely managed to keep still when Waller had started shooting at the tree and the ground.

He pulled Shannon to her feet. The once beautiful satin nightdress was mud-stained and torn. "We'll get you into a warm bath and dressed as soon as we get to the Haywoods'," he said gruffly.

She smiled tremulously and stumbled against him. Her eyes shone with their own crystal-blue radiance, and he couldn't look away from them. They had never been so softly blue upon him. They carried a look of innocence and knowledge, older than the hills, and they had never carried such tenderness.

He swept her into his arms. Her eyes remained locked with his. Her arms curled trustingly around his neck.

He set her atop his horse and mounted behind her. She leaned against his chest, and they were a silent party as they rode back to Haywood.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Shannon was certain, upon their return to Haywood, that she had never been more cherished in her life.

They had been met on the steps of the inn by Martha and Mr. Haywood and what seemed like half the town. Cheers went up as they rode in. Malachi handed Shannon down to Matey. A woman quickly brought a blanket to wrap her in, and Martha Haywood brought her water, which she gulped down until Malachi warned her that she must go slowly. That was the last she saw of Malachi. The men dragged him off to the saloon.

It was the last she saw of Iris for the moment, too, but she didn't dwell on the thought.

Martha clucked like a mother hen and took her immediately beneath her wing. She fed her roast beef with hot gravy, potatoes and carrots. Hot tea was made with brandy, and the bathtub was filled with steaming water and French bubble powder.

Shannon bathed with a vengeance. She wanted to wash away so much. The dirt, Justin's touch upon her…and the blood that marred not only the night, but so much of the countryside. She scrubbed her flesh and her hair, and she wasn't happy until she had scrubbed both a second time. Martha stayed with her, helping her rinse out her hair. And when Shannon stepped out of the tub at last, Martha was there with a huge fluffy towel to wrap around her. When she was dried, Martha offered her a new nightgown.

It was entirely different from the first. It was soft flannel with little pink flowers and it buttoned all the way to the neck. It was warm and comfortable, and Shannon loved it. Combing out her clean but snarled hair, Shannon thanked

"You've been so very good to us." Martha waved a hand in the air. "We haven't done a thing, dear."

Shannon laughed. "You're harboring a man whose face graces dozens of wanted posters and you've treated me like a daughter."

Martha looked at the bed as she straightened the sheets and plumped the pillows. "I'd like to think that if my girl lived, dear, she would have been a great deal like you." Shannon came over and kissed her cheek. "Thank you. That's so very sweet." Martha blushed. "Crawl in here now. Someone wants to see you."

Her heart fluttering, Shannon crawled into the bed. Malachi was coming. There were things she wanted to say to him.

Things that she needed to say. Martha smiled and left the room, closing the door behind her.

It didn't lock anymore.

Shannon sat back against her pillow, biting her lower lip and smoothing her fingers nervously over the covers. She heard a slight sound as the door opened and she looked up with anticipation.

Iris Andre walked into the room.

Shannon tried not to show her disappointment. She smiled as Iris came to the bed, pulling a chair over from the hearth. "How are you feeling?" Iris asked her. She smiled, and her eyes were bright with concern.

A moment's jealousy rose within Shannon, and she tried to swallow the feeling. Iris had such lovely flame-colored hair and bright green eyes. She had changed into a soft blue cotton dress, high-necked, decorated with rows of soft white lace. She looked beautiful and worldly and sophisticated, and somehow angelic, too. And once, Malachi had had a love affair with her. Iris denied that she had slept with him this time, but he had been with Iris far more than he had been with Shannon.

"I feel fine, Iris, thank you. The nausea has all gone away. Food helped."

"So you're none the worse for wear?"

Shannon ruefully pulled the sleeves back on her gown and showed where her wrists were chafed. She shivered, and her smile faded. "He killed your friend. I am so sorry."

"So am I," Iris said softly. "No one deserved to die that way, not even a…whore."

"Oh, Iris!" Shannon sat up and reached out for the woman's hand.

Iris smiled. "You are very sweet, do you know that?"

Shannon flushed. "There isn't a sweet bone in my body." She hesitated. "Ask Malachi. He'll tell you."

"Malachi!" Iris said, laughing. There was a sparkle about her eyes.

"Why are you laughing?" Shannon demanded.

"I'm enjoying this, I suppose," Iris said, and then she sighed. "He does say that you have a temper. And you are good with a Colt. I'm glad I never tempted you to shoot."

"I was very tempted to shoot when we met," Shannon admitted.

"I'm glad that you didn't," Iris said. She stood up abruptly. "I guess I had better go. Malachi is anxious to see you—"

"Iris?"

"Yes?"

"I don't understand." She had to force herself to look at the other woman. "He didn't come back here last night…" She couldn't help it. She lowered her eyes, and her voice trailed away.

"I wasn't here, honey. I went over to Sparks."

"Oh!" Shannon looked at her again.

"It's a long story. I'm sure that he wants to explain it to you himself. I'll see you tomorrow. Malachi is anxious to get on his way tonight—"

"He's leaving?"

"There I go again. He'll explain—"

"He's leaving me here?"

"No, not exactly. Please, let him explain." Iris didn't give Shannon another chance to question her. She smiled and hurried out of the room. Shannon's mind began to race. Something had happened, something that she didn't know about. They were getting closer and closer to Kristin, and Malachi meant to leave without her.

She started to crawl out of bed. If he was leaving that evening, so was she.

She started at the sound of a tap on the door. Malachi? She glanced at the door, remembering what had happened when she tried to keep him out. And now he was tapping quietly?

He didn't wait for her answer. He stepped into the room. Shannon quickly glanced his way. He had been at the saloon, but he hadn't been drinking, not much, anyway. He still wore his cavalry hat. He was taking chances here, she thought. But then, maybe it didn't matter in Haywood. Maybe the war had really ended here.

She loved him in that hat. She loved the way the brim shadowed his eyes and gave mystery to his face, and she loved the jaunty plume that flew with Rebel fervor.

She loved him…

His shirt was torn at the sleeve and covered with dirt from his fight with Justin Waller on the ground. His shoulder was visible through the tear, bronzed and muscular. There was a masculine appeal to him that made her heart ache to look at him—mussed and torn in her defense, ramrod straight and tall and lean and rugged. She felt that she stared at him for ages, but it could have been no more than seconds. He frowned as he realized that she had been about to crawl out of bed. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm going to get dressed. If we're leaving—"

"I'm leaving."

"But—"

"Shannon, I'm just going ahead of you by a day. I have to go tonight." He smiled, and his lip twisted with a certain amount of amusement rather than anger. He strode across the room to her and caught her by her shoulders, pushing her gently back down on the bed and sitting by her thigh. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words would come to her. She didn't feel like fighting him at that moment She didn't feel like fighting at all.

She reached up and stroked his cheek, feeling the softness of his beard.

He caught her hand and kissed her fingers. "I was so damned scared today," he told her.

She smiled. "So was I."

"Are you really all right?"

She nodded. "You came in time."

He folded her fingers and set them down upon her midriff. He stood and wandered idly over to the window, leaning against the wall and staring out at the street. "Did Iris tell you? She found Cole."

"What?" Shannon shot up with pleasure. "Oh, Malachi, I'm so very glad. Where? Is that what—"

He turned around and walked back to her. She was kneeling at the end of the bed. Her hair was drying in soft, waving tendrils that curled over her shoulders and breasts and streamed down the length of her back. Her eyes were beautiful with enthusiasm. She looked completely recovered from the day, and exquisitely alive and vital.

She loved Cole, she reminded herself. She always had loved Cole. The bright enthusiasm in her eyes was for his brother.

"Cole is in Sparks."

"Oh, no!"

"It's all right. He's safe. Iris has a friend there named Cindy who has a—er—house… on the outskirts of town. Cole is there. He's safe. He's gotten word to Jamie. That's why I have to leave tonight."

Shannon started to crawl out of bed again. "Whoa!" he told her, catching her arm. "You aren't coming. Not tonight."

"But Malachi—"

He caught her chin and lifted it. He met the dazzling sapphire blue of her eyes, and smiled. "I'm not leaving you, Shannon. It's too much trouble to try. But I want you to stay here tonight, please. I want you to get one good night's rest. Iris will bring you in the morning with the buckboard. All right?"

"But Malachi—"

"Shannon, we have to figure out a way to free Kristin. There isn't going to be anything that you can do until we form some kind of a plan. Please, get some rest tonight. For me."

The last words were softly spoken. They were husky, and they seemed to touch her with tenderness.

If he had yelled or ordered her around, she would have fought him. But he wasn't yelling; he wasn't angry. His hand upon her was light, and she longed to grip it and kiss his fingers in return.

"Stay?" he said.

She nodded. He stroked her cheek before turning away from her. He tossed his hat onto the chair.

"Will you take good care of that for me? Bring it tomorrow in the buckboard. Pack it. They probably won't think too much of it in Sparks."

"I'll pack it carefully."

"Thanks."

He started to unbutton his shirt, then realized that it was torn beyond salvation. Grinning at her, he ripped open the buttons. "This one has bit the dust, don't you think?"

She nodded. She didn't care in the least about his shirt. She cared about his shoulders, bronze and hard and glimmering in candlelight. And dried blood showed on a cut on his arm.

Shannon leaped out of the bed. He started to frown at her again.

"Your arm," she told him softly, as she hurried past him to where a clean cloth lay over the rim of the bath. She picked it up and wet it and came back to his side, suddenly hesitant to touch him. She looked up, meeting his eyes, and she flushed.