"Captain Slater—well, of course, you are a civilian now, aren't you, sir?"

"The war is over," Malachi said flatly.

"But you choose to wear that uniform."

"We fought with honor."

"You still deny the Union?"

"The war is over," Malachi repeated.

"You would like it to continue? You still think that the South can rise again and whip the North, eh, captain?''

"No, sir. I think that the war is over, and I damned well would like it to end for good!"

A loud murmur rose in the courtroom. Shannon smiled. It seemed the first ray of hope. The people were with her husband.

"Did you ride with Quantrill?"

"No."

"Never?"

"No, never. But I would have ridden with my brother. If you'd seen his wife, lying in a pool of innocent blood, you'd have ridden, too."

"Captain, you seem to be an ornery sort."

"I'm telling you the truth, and that is all. This is a court of law, and we are sworn to the truth, right?"

"You're bold with your brand of truth."

"I have to be. And I have to believe that there is still justice in this land. If justice has not been lost, then my brother Cole is innocent, and so are James and I."

"You were regular army."

"Southern cavalry. Under John Hunt Morgan."

"Sounds like you avoided the border war, captain. So tell me, why don't you come clean, and give us the truth about Cole Slater."

"The truth is, Mr. Green," Malachi said, his eyes narrowed sharply, "that my brother is one of the finest men I've ever met in my life. In the North or the South. And if Cole is guilty for wanting to hunt down the man who murdered his wife, then I'm guilty, too. I would have been with him if I could have been."

"An admission, gentlemen of the jury, there you have it! You may step down, Captain Slater!"

"Admission!" Shannon didn't know that she was the one who had shouted until everyone turned to look her way. "Admission! Why, you Yankee bastard!"

There was an instant uproar. Some people were laughing, and some, the northern sympathizers, were offended. The judge slammed down his gavel. "Young woman, one more such outburst and I shall hold you in contempt! Are we understood?"

She sank into her chair. Only then did she realize that Malachi was watching her, too, and that a smile curled his lip. She lowered her eyes, then met his once again, and the smile warmed her and gave her courage.

Malachi walked down from the stand, and Jamie was called up for questioning. He was barely civil, but Taylor Green didn't manage to get a single rise out of him. Jamie could be as stubborn and proud a Slater as either of his brothers.

Shannon sat in the court with Kristin and Matthew and Iris, listening to it all. When the session broke, she was allowed to see Malachi for a few minutes.

"Yankee bastard?" Malachi teased her, his eyes dancing. "Did I hear you say that? You, Shannon McCahy Slater, called that man a Yankee bastard?"

"Malachi!"

"I could die happy, hearing those words upon your lips!"

"Don't you dare talk of dying!"

"I'm sorry."

"Damn your pride!" she told him savagely, tears glisten-ing in her eyes. "You are innocent, and it's as if you're trying to make yourself sound guilty!"

He smiled, tilted her chin and kissed her. "I can only tell the truth, Shannon."

She wanted to say more. She wanted to argue and hit him and make him see reason, but an officer of the court came and took him away, and she wasn't able to say anything more.

The days went on, and the situation began to appear bleaker and bleaker.

It wasn't that it didn't seem to be a fair trial. It was just that Taylor Green seemed to know how to make a simple statement of fact sound like a full confession. And the fact remained that Cole had ridden with Quantrill. No matter how briefly he had done so, it was enough to condemn him in many hearts. Still, she knew that his first speech had also touched the hearts of many. The brutal slaying of a young woman was a heinous act to any ordinary man, be he a Yankee or a Rebel.

On the fourth night of the trial Shannon went to see Mr. Abernathy. He was at dinner, and his housekeeper nearly stopped her from reaching him, but she pushed by. He was just about to start eating his dinner—a lamb chop, peas and a roasted potato.

"What are you doing?" Shannon demanded. She was so distraught that she picked up his plate and tossed it into the corner of the room.

He arched his snowy brows, and cleaned his fingers on the napkin that was tied about his throat and covered his chest He smiled slowly at her and glanced remorsefully toward his lamb. "Mrs. Slater, I could call this assault! At the very least, it's a case of assault against a very fine lamb chop!"

"I'm sorry," Shannon murmured swiftly. She was sorry. She drew up a chair at the table. "I'm just so worried—"

Mr. Abernathy smiled again and took her hand, patting it "Trust me, Mrs. Slater. Trust me."

"They could hang, sir!"

"I'm not going to let them hang. Now you'll see, you'll see."

"When?"

"Why, tomorrow, I do believe. The prosecution seems to have finished. I'll start with my case tomorrow. And I'll wager you two lamb chops that I'll need but a day!"

Shannon couldn't believe that he could possibly undo all the harm that Mr. Green had done. But he gave her a glass of sherry, and shooed her out the door.

Shannon went back to the hotel, where she found Kristin red-eyed and puffy-faced from crying. Shannon hugged her sister and lied through her teeth. "It's going to be all right. Mr. Abernathy has it all well in hand. Why, he says he can have them freed by tomorrow!"

"He can?" Kristin wanted so badly to believe.

In the morning, Mr. Abernathy stood before the court and addressed the judge. "My defense is simple. I will prove that we've no case against any of these men, no foundation for a charge of murder. And, your Honor, I will request that the case be dismissed!"

The judge invited Mr. Abernathy to proceed. Mr. Taylor looked up in protest, and Mr. Abernathy bowed very politely to him. He looked around, opening his arms to the court.

Then Shannon realized that the courtroom was curiously filled with men, officers in blue and gray.

One by one they stood and addressed the judge.

"Sir, I'm Corporal Rad Higgins, U.S. cavalry. I came here to say that I rode with Malachi Slater back in April, against a horde of bushwhackers. I rode with Jamie and Cole Slater, too. I'd like to testify, sir, that I ain't ever rode with better men."

"Sir, I'm Samuel Smith. First Sergeant, Darton's brigade,

Union army. I'd been left for dead when these fellows came riding in. The fought and beat Quantrill's offshoots, and they offered me the finest medical care. Their doc even saved my arm, and it had been shot up mighty bad."

From a man with the stripes of an artillery sergeant on his arms: "I knew Cole Slater in Kansas before the war. I never met a finer officer."

One by one, the men stood. Soldiers in blue, soldiers in gray.

Then a woman stood up, plump, dignified, gray-haired.

"I'm Martha Haywood, and this is my husband, and I come to say that I ain't ever met finer people than Captain Malachi Slater and his bride, and that's a fact. And my husband will testify to that fact, too." Mr. Haywood stood alongside her.

Shannon looked around, incredulous. They were all there. Jamie's Confederate friends from Texas, the people from Haywood, even the professional gamblers from the saloon. And one by one they testified with moving stories to the honesty and honor of the Slater brothers.

When it was over, the judge stood. He slammed his gavel against his desk.

"I dismiss these cases," he told the prosecution. "Lack of evidence," he said flatly.

And he walked away.

Silence reigned for a moment. Then there was a Rebel war whoop as hats were thrown high into the air. The crowd rushed forward to congratulate the Slaters.

Shannon pushed her way through until she reached Malachi. He drew her into his arms, and he kissed her warmly.

"It's over," he said softly. "The war is really over."

"All of our wars are over," she promised him. She slipped her hand into his hands, then turned around, searching for Mr. Abernathy. She hurried over to him and gave him a tremendous kiss on the jowl. "Bless you! And I promise you a dozen lamb chops every year, as long as I live!"

"That would be right nice, Mrs. Slater, mighty nice."

"What's this?" Malachi demanded, shaking hands with his attorney.

"That's a mighty fine little woman you have there, captain." Mr. Abernathy said. "Some temper, though, huh?"

"It's a ghastly temper," Malachi agreed.

"Malachi!" she protested.

"I love it, though," he told Mr. Abernathy. "I wouldn't have her any other way. She's full of fire and sparks."

"Malachi—"

"In fact, I'm going to take her right home and see if we can't get a few sparks a-flying." His eyes fell on her. "Seems like a long, long time since I've been away."

"Scat!" Mr. Abernathy told them.

They still had to fight through the crowd. Malachi had to kiss Kristin, and Shannon had to kiss and hug Jamie and Cole, and the brothers embraced, and then Malachi and his brothers thanked each and every man and woman who had come to their defense. Shannon hugged Martha Haywood fiercely, and Martha told her with shimmering eyes that she should go. "And be happy, love! Be happy."

They came out into the sunshine at last.

Then Malachi kissed her. Slowly, surely, completely. He broke away. "Come on. We can go home. We can really go home."

"And start sparks flying?" she teased him.

"No," he whispered.

"No?"

His eyes danced, as blue and clear as the sky above them. "Sparks are already flying."

She smiled slowly, meeting his eyes, curling her fingers within his while he sun beat down upon them, warm and vibrant.

"Yes, let's go home!" she agreed in a fervent whisper.

Because they could. They could really go home.

Life and love were theirs, and they were only just begin-

The war was more than over. Peace had truly begun.

EPILOGUE

June 18th, 1866 Haywood, Kansas

Martha Haywood had just locked up the house for the night. There were no guests at the hotel, so she thought she might as well lock up early. She wished that someone would come through. It was summer, and it was beautiful, and it would be nice to be busy and have company.

She felt a surge of nostalgia for the previous year. She smiled, remembering all the hustle and bustle when Captain Slater had come with his Miss McCahy. Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe she and Papa shouldn't have forced the two to enter into marriage.

People had a right to make up their own minds.

She hoped things had worked out. Captain Slater and Miss McCahy had been the perfect couple. A handsome, dashing hero and a damsel in distress. But she hadn't heard from the two of them in a while, not since the letter at Christmas…

Martha started, hearing a fierce pounding at the door. She hurried over as fast as she could, muttering to herself. "People should have more courtesy. Why, I have half a mind not to open the door. Stopping this late along the way…"

But she threw open the door anyway.

For a moment, she just stared, stunned.

"Martha, may we come in?" Shannon Slater asked her. She looked like an angel on the porch, in her light blue trav-eling dress with a white lace collar. She held a big, blanketed bundle in her arms, and she stood next to her husband. He was as dashing as ever. His Confederate gray was gone, and he wore a well-tailored dark frock coat and a stovepipe hat. He was carrying a valise and held a squirming bundle as well.

Shannon didn't wait for an answer. Smiling, she stepped into the house, pressing her bundle into Martha's arms. "We are awfully late, aren't we? I'm so sorry. It's much harder traveling with the children."

"Children?" Martha sputtered at last.

"This one is Beau. And this—" she smiled, pulling back the blanket on Malachi's bundle "—is Nadine."

"Oh!" Martha said at last. "Oh, twins!"

"Twins," Malachi agreed, and he pressed his bundle, too, into Martha's arms.

"Twins!" Martha repeated, as if she could think of nothing else to say.