Eve

Nick couldn't help but grin as he hopped down from the buggy. Finally, after nearly a month of asking, Vivienne Marshall had agreed to accompany him to the dance. It wasn't like him to persist in this fashion. After all, if one girl weren't interested there was always another who was. Vivienne, however was something special. She was easily the most beautiful girl in the valley, a marvelous dancer, daughter of a successful banker, all around, the most sought after darling of Stockton. Up until recently she was also hopelessly attached to Zack Morton. A complete waste in his opinion. Zack may have been able to beat Nick's time at hog tying, but he couldn't dance worth spit. Furthermore, he disliked it intensely when she danced with other men. It was over this point they had broken up. The boldest of Tom Barkley's sons was not a man to let an opportunity like this pass him by. He was an excellent dancer himself, and, when he wanted to be, he could be as suave as his older brother. Vivienne was as good as his.

As he swaggered up to the door he exuded confidence. He adjusted his tie and gave a stately knock. Not too hard, not too soft, knocks not too rapid in succession.

After a moments pause and still no answer he knocked again, a little louder and a little faster. He heard a muffled voice behind the door.

"Hold your horses, I'm coming as fast as I can. Oh, bother." The door handle jiggled a while until the latch finally released. His grin wilted considerably.

Whatever he expected when the door opened, this was not it. If he had been looking at the wild haired woman he might have noticed some slight similarity between her and his date. However, it was the very large knife in her right hand that commanded his attention. When he was finally able to wrench his eyes away from that impressive instrument, he couldn't help but marvel at the enormous trout hanging by its mouth from her left. Its belly was slit, and evidence of its innards clung to her apron and to the knife. Scales glittered softly reflecting the orange of the sunset. Nick wondered momentarily how she managed to open the door.

"Can I help you?"

Struggling to regain his composure, he straightened up and said with somewhat more enthusiasm than he had intended, "Oh, uh, good evening, Ma'am. I'm Nick Barkley!"

"Congratulations." Her expression was about as cold as that of the trout.

"I'm here to pick up Vivienne for the dance tonight. I'm her fish."

"Yes, I'm sure you are." She smirked as she headed back toward the kitchen door. "Just a moment."

She disappeared through the doorway and he heard a loud thump as presumably the unfortunate creature was deposited onto the table. Then she called up the back stairs, "Vivienne! Your (whack!) escort is here!" He heard another small thud as the fish head fell to the floor.

Next came the quiet squeak and a rush of water from the pump, and the woman reappeared, hands clean, fish, knife and apron gone.

"Well, come on in and sit down," she motioned toward the davenport. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? No? Just as well, she won't be more than an hour or so." The woman spoke somewhat more loudly than was absolutely necessary. Nick also noticed that she left the kitchen door open.

"She just had to tweeze her chin hair, glue on the wig, and file down her corns before she puts on her shoes," she winked. "You know, girl stuff." Mischief twinkled in her green eyes.

A decided crash resonated through the floor above. "I think I'll go see what's keeping her."

Isobel scuttled out of the parlor and up the stairs. If that doesn't get her down here soon, I don't know what will, she mused to herself. Never underestimate the value of humiliation as a motivator. Vivienne with all her grand affectations could use a little now and then. Not that she wasn't fond of her cousin. Nor did she begrudge her her many suitors, but the parlor was beginning to resemble a railway station, and she was starting to feel like a porter. Furthermore, the way Viv tended to keep them waiting for her was positively sadistic.

"Everything OK?" she asked ignoring her cousin's black stare.

"How COULD you? How could you answer the door like that?" Vivienne's whisper threatened to break into a shriek. "What were you thinking?"

"Well, I was thinking that I was busy preparing a meal, and you were sighing into a mirror and patting your hair. You might deign to answer the door yourself every now and then, you know."

"I can't do that! What kind of impression would that make?"

Isobel just smiled and shrugged.

"You could have let Ingrid answer the door."

"She's taking the day off."

"Or Poppa."

"He and Father wanted to check out that property before supper. You know, if you're not ready yet I could go down and entertain your visitor for you. I know some lovely songs I could play for him on the piano." Isobel's voice was all innocence, but her eyes held an evil glint.

"Don't you dare!" Vivienne exclaimed, barely stifling a shriek. In a moment she was hurrying down the front stairs.

Nick paced the parlor floor, stopping briefly to study the portrait by the fireplace. Two plain looking brown haired girls about 12 years old in lace and frills were seated next to each other at a piano bench. Something about the picture looked oddly familiar. The girl on the left in particular reminded him of someone, but he couldn't think who. There was a small brass plate attached to the frame with the words "Genevieve et Giselle." Of course, Giselle had been Vivienne's mother's name, hadn't it? Nick decided the socialite definitely favored her father's side of the family. The dark hair, the tiny upturned nose and the narrow, lightly curved eyebrows all came from Charles. Perhaps that dazzling smile, nearly too large for her delicate features, came from her mother. Nick would never know. The sisters in the picture showed no hint of mirth, and Mrs. Marshall had died shortly before her husband had moved into Stockton with their only daughter.

There was no doubt Vivienne's predilection for making her gentlemen callers wait came from her father. As a major holder in and loan officer of the Mercantile Bank keeping men on pins and needles was second nature to him. Nick doubted that "an hour or so" was an exaggeration. Miss Marshall was infamous for her slowness in getting ready. Neither did he relish the idea of whiling away the time in conversation with the Girl With the Knife. He glanced quickly toward the kitchen. Shudder. Oh well, there was plenty of bric-a-brac to hover over while he waited, and a sizable library if it came down to that. Nick grimaced. Zack claimed he could recite the titles of every book on the shelves, so many hours had he spent waiting for his girl to come down the stairs. Therefore, he was quite surprised and relieved when he turned around to see Vivienne dressed to the nines and waiting for him. She flashed one of her famous smiles and all else was forgotten.

They wasted no time in getting out the door.

Dylan Morgan and Charles Marshall arrived just as Isobel was laying out the dishes.

"Isobel, dear, dinner smells absolutely delicious."

"Thank you, Uncle Charlie. You have just enough time to wash up before I serve."

As Charles made his way to the wash stand, Dai strode up to his daughter and put his arms around her. "So it went well, Father? What did you think of the land?"

"Not bad. Not bad at all. And they're askin' a fair price. It's slightly more than I can afford flat out, but your uncle says we'll have no trouble gettin' a small loan to cover the difference. It'll be good to have a place of our own. Charles has been right generous to let us stay on with him this long, but charity don't sit comfortable with me. As soon as our things arrive from Pittsburgh we'll set up shop. The folk around here know my work's good. God willin' we'll be paid off by Christmas time."

"But are you sure that's what you want? Wouldn't it make more sense to set up shop in the city?'

The old smith grinned. "If I were a sensible man, I never would have married your mother! " Isobel had to smile as he lifted her off the ground and swung her around. She'd heard enough tales about her mother's fiery disposition to know the truth of that."This is beautiful country, Isa, and I've missed it. I only left to be close to you at Saint CeCecelia'slia's. But," his eyes grew serious, "the city is too filled with memories. And," he added "I want you to have something more to offer a husband than a forge and bellows."

Isobel started to pull away, "Father, I..."

"Now, now, no pressure, my dear, I promise. You'll find someone eventually. A pretty girl like you?" Isobel winced, but he father continued on blithely. "Just look how the fellas crowd around your cousin, and she's worse than your mother ever was. Now a sweet tempered girl like you could have any man she wanted." He kissed the top of her head and let her go. "Speaking of Vivienne, where has she got to?"

"There's a dance in town tonight," Charles answered entering the room. "A benefit for the school, I believe. One of those Barkley boys invited her. Which one was it, Isobel?" The two men sat down at the table.

"I believe he said his name was Nick," Isobel answered curtly. "I'm not sure."

"Barkley." Dai Morgan considered for a moment. "Let me see, I did a fair amount of work for the Barkleys. One big piece in particular--a gate it was. Lots of fancy vine work. Ye-ess, I remember him. A bit of a wild 'un if I recall. You trust him with your daughter?" he scowled.

"More than I did that rascal Zack Morton. Thank God she finally shook him. I can sleep at night now. That whole clan is nothing but a bunch of ruffians. Nick at least has to answer to Victoria, and she is a force to be reckoned with."

Around and around inside the square the couples twirled as the musicians played. Everyone appeared to be having a wonderful time. Those who were too tired to dance stood along the edge of the crowd clapping their hands and tapping their toes. Others sampled the punch and cookies served by a crew of volunteers. As the polka finished, Nick whirled Vivienne toward the edge of the dance square. Vivienne pulled out a dainty lace handkerchief and patted at her nose.

"Nick Barkley, that was absolutely wonderful. I am so glad you invited me tonight. I haven't danced like that in I don't know how long!'

"I am happy to oblige, Ma'am," Nick beamed and gave a small bow.

The music began again, but they made no move to return to the foray. "Can I get you something to drink?" he offered.

"Oh yes, please. I'll wait for you right over there."

Nick elbowed his way over to the refreshment table. There next to the punch bowl stood Audra filling glasses.

"I see you two are having a good time," she observed.

"Yes, indeed. What about you? How come you aren't out there dancing with Carl Wheeler? I thought he'd asked you to come with him tonight."

"Yes, he did. But I told him no." Her eyes flickered briefly. "I told him I had to help the Ladies' Guild with the refreshments." She ladled out two more glasses. "That will be ten cents, Nick, five cents a glass."

"Ten cents!" he exclaimed in mock astonishment. "That's ridiculous! I could get a real drink over at the saloon for that." He looked disdainfully at the contents of the punch bowl.

"Its for a good cause. We're taking pledges for contributions as well. The school board is buying a whole new set of text books. The pages are falling out of the old ones. They also need to put in some new desks. Miss Haney says she's gotten five new students since the term began and they're squeezed in so tight the children are practically falling off the benches. She says if were any more the children would have to take turns standing."

"Well, you're making a noble sacrifice." Nick picked up the glasses and started away from the table.

"Nick!"

"Huh? Oh yeah." He shifted both glasses into his left arm and fished in his pocket for some change. He made a show out of handing her one shiny dime.

"Here you go, Sis, but I still think its highway robbery. Pointless, too. Miss Haney is going to have to forget about trying to squeeze any more desks in there. They'd need a bigger building, and that'll cost a good deal more than five cents a glass."

"What a wonderful idea! I'll bring it up at the school board meeting tomorrow. I'm so glad you're taking an interest."

"Whoa there, I didn't mean--"

"I'm sure a fifty dollar pledge from you will go a long way toward the costs of expansion. Miss Haney will be so thrilled."

"Fifty dollars! Who said anything about any fifty dollars?"

"Well you can't go around telling the school board to get a new building without being willing to support it, can you? And you yourself said it will cost much more than five cents a glass."

"I was wrong. This isn't highway robbery; it's out and out piracy. I'd better get back to Miss Marshall while I still have a shirt on my back."

Nick found Vivienne sitting under the old oak tree. She kept glancing around wistfully, as if looking for someone.

"Here you are!" He offered her a glass.

The girl startled, but recovered quickly and smiled broadly. "Oh, thank you, Nick. I'm positively parched." He settled down next to her under the tree. For a while they sipped their punch in silence. Nick surveyed the couples. There was Heath by the band. For a man who didn't much care for dancing he was making a pretty good job of it with Amy Foster. Hardin was there with Sally Ann. "You're welcome to her," Nick thought to himself. He got a quick glimpse of Conner "Philly" Padgett giving him the hairy eyeball then turning away. Not terribly surprising, considering Conner was Morton's foreman. Plus the Barkley's former ranch hand had other reasons for disliking him. Nick was just about to see what girl he had come with when Vivienne distracted him.

"I'm sorry about the reception Isobel gave you this afternoon."

"Who? The fish girl? What is she, the new maid?"

"Heavens no!" Vivienne laughed. "If she were our maid we could just fire her and be done with it. Isa's my cousin. She and my uncle came out from Pittsburgh last month. They're staying with us until Uncle Dylan finds them a place of their own."

"You have my sympathy."

"Oh, Isa's not so bad. She just likes to make an impression on people."

"Well she certainly did that."

Vivienne took a final sip and looked sorrowfully at the empty glass.

"Here, let me get you another," Nick offered. " I think I'm owed a refill considering what I paid for the first one." That is, he thought as he maneuvered through the crowd, unless Audra manages to wrench an even bigger contribution outta me. It never ceased to amaze him the way women in general and his little sister in particular seemed to be able to walk all over him. If a man tried to pull half the stunts she did he would soon find Nick's fist in his face, no question about it. But Tom Barkley had taught his son never to raise his hand against a woman. He never had, though there had been many a time in his life when he had been sorely tempted. Unfortunately, neither had he ever discovered a viable technique for defending himself against the wiles of the fairer sex. He mentally crossed his fingers.

When he got to the refreshment table, however, the middle aged school teacher was serving the punch. Audra was nowhere to be seen. "Back for more, Mr. Barkley?" Miss Haney inquired, dipping into the bowl.

"What happened to Audra? She taking a break?"

"Hmm." Miss Haney pointed toward the dance square with her chin. Nick turned around and looked in the direction indicated and his eyes turned black. There she was, enjoying the waltz. With Conner. Fury danced through his limbs. He had half a mind to walk over there and beat the living hell out of that arrogant little sonofabitch. He had a lot of nerve coming here to court his sister. If it weren't for the beautiful socialite watching he'd teach him a thing or two. And Audra! He'd gone to all that trouble to smooth things over with Carl, and she goes and pulls something like this.

"That will be ten cents, Mr. Barkley."

Without looking back, Nick reached into his pocket and drew out a handful of change which he tossed absently onto the table. Miss Haney started to protest, but he was already striding away with the drinks.

"I'm sorry, Vivienne, I've gotta go talk with Heath about something," he apologized when he reached his date. He handed her the punch. Confused, Vivienne accepted both glasses, and he turned around and disappeared.

*

"Heath! Uh, sorry Amy. Did you see-"

"Yeah, I saw him."

"Well, what do you wanna do?"

"I don't see there's much point in doin' anything, Nick."

"Aw, come on Heath! You heard the way he used to talk in the bunkhouse. I'll be damned if I'll have the whole town talking about our little sister becoming one of 'Philly's fillies!"'

"He knows better than to try anything, and she knows better than to let him. Just let 'em be for now. We can have a talk with her later when we get home."

"Let 'em BE? Oh, no. This has gotta stop. Here and now. Are you with me or not?"

Heath sighed an apology to Amy. "I'm with you, Nick. If just to keep you from doing something we might all regret."

Whatever the brash older brother had intended was prevented by the sudden appearance of Carl Wheeler. The tall, dark haired rancher strode right up to Audra and her companion. "So this is why you didn't want to come with me, Audra? I might have known." He nodded toward Conner. "When did he join the Ladies' Guild?"

"Carl, I can explain." Audra began.

"You lied to me, Audra."

"No, Carl, really. I did come to help out. Conner just asked me to dance during my break."

"And I supposed he just HAPPENED to be hanging around."

"This is neither the time nor the place for this discussion," Conner interrupted.

Carl turned to face Conner head on. "I wasn't talking to you, Padgett." He accented the "you" with a push that sent the small man backing into several couples. Those who had been still dancing stopped. The music stopped, too. In a moment two of Conner's bunkmates and the Morton brothers were at his side, hell bent on destruction.

"Conner, no!" Audra called out, but it was too late. The cowhands sprung on Carl. Nick looked at Heath who shook his head.

"I sure hate to get my good suit dirty, Big Brother, but five against one just ain't fair."

"I hear ya." Nick grinned widely.

The tall blonde valkery was the picture of rage. "I hope you two are proud of yourselves. You're lucky the sheriff didn't arrest the lot of you, breaking up the dance the way you did."

Nick had a feeling it was the presence of his and Heath's dates rather than luck that saved them from that particular fate. Fred would not have relished having to escort the girls home and explain to their angry fathers the goings on of that evening. He was happy to leave that task to the culprits. Charles Marshall had been surprisingly forgiving when he found out it was the boys from the Morton ranch with whom they had been fighting. Vivienne was less so. The ride back to the Marshall house had been a cold one. Not nearly as cold, however, as the reception in the living room when he and Heath returned home.

"Now Audra, you can't blame us for that," Heath protested. "It was Conner threw the first punch."

"AFTER Carl pushed him. What you two did was unforgivable!" Audra fumed.

"What WE did?" Nick retorted. "You're the one sneaking out with that good for nothing-"

Audra ignored her black haired brother."I might have expected this kind of behavior from Nick, but I thought better of you, Heath. You behaved like absolute animals."

"I'm sorry things worked out the way they did, Audra, but with all that Morton crew piling on top of him like that, Carl didn't have a chance."

"And that's another thing." She turned back to Nick. "It was positively cruel of you to bring Carl into this."

"Oh come on, Audra. You don't think we had anything to do with him showing up did you?"

"You mean you didn't?"

"Of course not. Heath and I didn't even notice Padgett was there until a few moments before."

"But you would have told him, wouldn't you?

"I might have," Nick answered, folding his arms across his chest. Heath merely held up his hands and backed off.

"And you can't see what's wrong with that?"

"I think he had a right to know."

"Nick, Carl and I are not seeing each other any more. We haven't been for a long time now. Who I choose to go to a dance with is none of his business. Nor yours for that matter." She jutted out her chin, glacial blue eyes throwing out icy daggers.

"So you admit you came with him."

"I came to help the Ladies' Guild, but yes, I did tell Conner I'd be there if that's what you mean."

"After all he's done you still want to make a fool out of yourself over him. He's bad news, Audra."

"What has he ever actually done besides join up with the Mortons after you drove him off the ranch?"

"I didn't drive him off. He left of his own free will."

"After you threatened to fire him if he didn't stop seeing me."

"I never threatened to fire him. Did I threaten to fire him, Heath?" Heath shrugged.

"Well you certainly made it clear you meant to make life difficult for him, and that amounts to the same thing," Audra retorted.

"Audra, you have no idea what kind of a man he is."

"He's a fine man! Kind, hard working, and a gentle man."

"That's what you think. That Philadelphia pretty talk of his has clouded your judgment."

"You had a fine enough opinion of him before we started seeing each other. Heath here said you came this close to making him foreman after we lost Dace." She held up two fingers in her brother's face to illustrate.

Nick winced involuntarily. She had hit a sore spot. Dace had ended up floating face down in the San Joaquin River with his skull dented by a hammer, the victim of a family of jackals who preyed on guests to their boarding house. Nick had very narrowly escaped Dace's fate after a serious case of bad judgment on his own part. The bait had been lovely, and he had swallowed it whole. He had a sudden vision of glittering scales on a knife and the thud of the fish head on the floor at the Marshall house. Women could be dangerous creatures.

That, however, was beside the point. What mattered now was that a self proclaimed philanderer with a big mouth was trying to add a very prestigious notch to his gun belt.

"Foreman, working with men. A man can be a good worker and a good leader and still have no idea how to treat a lady properly."

Audra let her hand drop, flicked her blond hair over her shoulder and pursed her lips. "Well I guess you would know all about that, wouldn't you," she snapped, spun on her heels and walked away.

*

Victoria's only daughter buttered her toast in silence as she contemplated all the possible ways to kill her brothers. Driving the butter knife through their interfering skulls held a certain appeal, but then she might get blood stains on her new outfit. Ground glass in the eggs? Cyanide in the coffee? Neither of those were to hand. Besides poison was so impersonal. There was always the chance Nick would choke on a piece of ham. The way he wolfed down his breakfast it was surprising he hadn't yet done so of his own accord. All she had to do was wait until he got his mouth good and full then grab his napkin and ram it down his throat. Heath would be a bit more difficult. Murdering him would require a bit more subtlety. Maybe she could push him out of a window....

"Audra, are you going to pass me the salt or are you waiting for it to get up and walk over here all by itself?" a voice interrupted her thoughts.

"What? Oh, sorry, Jarrod. I was just thinking." She picked up the salt shaker by her left elbow and leaned kitty corner across the table to give it to her eldest brother. Heath, sitting next to her reached to take it and pass it on. Audra glared daggers at him and he withdrew his hand.

"And what has you so pensive this morning?" Victoria asked her daughter.

"What do you think?"

"You mean Nick and Heath's behavior last night." It was a statement, not a question.

"It was positively unforgivable."

"We're just trying to look out for you, Audra," Nick muttered between bites.

"I'm perfectly capable of looking out for myself, thank you very much."

"Well, you'll get no argument from me on that account." Jarrod smiled.

Reluctantly, Audra smiled back. In some ways Jarrod treated her as if she were older than Nick did. Perhaps because he had been away so much while she was growing up, first the fancy boarding school when Father realized how serious he was about wanting to go to college, then at Harvard, then in the army, and after that as a legal intern. They hadn't REALLY gotten to know each other until she was practically an adult, and he treated her accordingly. Nick on the other hand, except for a brief stint in the army near the end of the war, had been there constantly by her side. Always the big brother telling her what to do. Always looking after her. Always trying to run her life for her.

When she was younger she didn't mind it so much. A spirited child, it never hurt to have a big brother who promised to lick any boy who gave her grief. Nick saw to it that anybody who picked on his little sister lived to regret it. This was not to say that she didn't get her share of pulled pig tails. He had seen to that, too.

"What time does your train leave today, Jarrod?" Victoria asked, changing the subject.

"Four o'clock, but I want to get into Stockton earlier. I have some papers I need to go through at the office."

"Do you think you could give me a lift? I understand Dai Morgan is back in town, and I wanted to welcome him and inquire about a new screen for the fireplace."

"Who?" Nick asked, washing down his last mouthful with a gulp of coffee.

Darn, thought Audra. An opportunity lost.

"Morgan. He's a blacksmith. He does beautiful work, and I thought he might make something along the same motif as the gate out front. He put that together for us about fourteen years ago, before he moved to Pittsburgh. He did most the work in the churchyard as well. Reverend Stokes told me he and his daughter are back and staying with the Marshalls. I'm surprised you didn't see him last night."

"Oh, that Dai Morgan."

"Didn't he have a son as well?" Jarrod asked pouring himself more coffee.

"Mmm," Victoria nodded, setting down her cup. "That was Roger. He drowned the summer before they left. Dai was at wit's end, and Isobel was crushed. She and her brother had been very close."

"What brings them back to Stockton?"

"Jarrod, I haven't even spoken to him yet. I hope the rumors are true, and they've decided to stay here despite their misfortune. I'm looking forward to seeing him again. I'm sure Isobel's changed quite a bit since the last time we saw her."

"Not really," Nick replied, making a face.

The tone in his voice caught his little sister's attention. "Isobel Morgan," she contemplated out loud, her lips starting to curl into a smile. "Wasn't she the girl who--"

It was Nick's turn to give Audra an icy stare.

"Who what?" Heath asked smelling his half-brother's embarrassment.

"Well, I suppose you could say she flattened him," Audra continued. "Gave him a black eye as big as your fist."

"Nick, that true?"

"She ambushed me. Tripped me up with a broom," Nick nodded seriously.

Heath eyed him incredulously. He couldn't resist needling. "She was bigger than you, I suppose?"

"I believe she was nine, to Nick's thirteen," Jarrod offered.

"TEN!"

"Nick, there is no need to raise your voice," Victoria scolded.

"I stand corrected," Jarrod smirked, getting up from the table. "If you will excuse me, I have packing to do."

Heath continued to stare at Nick after Jarrod left the room.

"Well?" the elder brother challenged.

"Well, I guess we'd better get to work on that fence over on the east ridge. You'd best bring that fancy new rifle of yours though, Big Brother."

"Why's that?"

"You never know when you're going to run into a ten year old girl with a broom!" Heath rose quickly from his seat and started toward the door.

"Ha, ha. Very funny," Nick sneered sarcastically, getting up to follow. Before they reached the parlor they couldn't help but hear Audra's parting shot.

"She was nine."

At 13, Nick was more than a match for any boy his age. Nevertheless, the specter of Dai Morgan standing above him, hammer in hand made his blood run cold. Though he had the reputation for being a man of peace the expression on his face was anything but peaceful. Even amid the ruckus of the 4th of July festivities Nick believed he could have heard a whisper from the giant's frame. The words were delivered in a calm voice, but he fully comprehended the violence behind them. And the smith was reputed to be a man of his word.

"If you lay one hand on my daughter I will rip your lungs out."

"But I, uh, didn't mean, uh..." How could he explain it wasn't the little girl he had been after but that rotten little imp of a brother? The boy had been flinging dirt clods at him (at least he thought it was dirt clods) off the roof of the livery stable. Last time it had been leeches. A lesson had to be taught. Nobody, but nobody pulled that kind of crap with Nick Barkley, especially a little snott nosed nine year old rat like Roger Morgan. Somehow he didn't figure the smith would be any more understanding if he knew it was his son who was the target of his ire. Dai stood staring down at him sprawled on the floor of the warehouse as if waiting for the boy to finish. Nick picked the one true thing he could say without further endangering himself.

"I swear I didn't touch her!"

The blacksmith narrowed his moss green eyes, seemed to consider then finally quietly answered, "See that you don't." Then he turned around to glare at the clown faced, frizzy haired slip of a girl who had hidden behind his legs. "I think you'd best come with me. I don't know what you and your brother been up to, and I don't figure I want to know, but you'll be spending the rest of the afternoon tied to my side."

"Yes, Father" she answered, hanging her head, but from his vantage point on the floor, Nick could see the half smile on her lips, and as the two of them walked she "accidentally" stumbled over the broom handle, glanced surreptitiously back at him and stuck out her tongue.

*

"Mother, can't I stay up just a little longer?" Audra whined pulling off her wrap.

"No, Dear, its time for bed. Eugene fell asleep an hour ago, and he had a nap this afternoon." Victoria handed her youngest son's inert body to Silas who quickly carried him up the stairs.

"Mother, Eugene's just a BABY! I'm a whole fifteen months older than him, and I'm not a BIT tired."

"You're just excited. I was almost certain you were about to drift off until the fireworks started and woke you. I'm sure you'll fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow."

The precocious five year old was not to be dissuaded. "Jarrod and Nick get to stay up."

"Now Audra," Victoria scolded. "Your brothers are a good bit older than you. Jarrod's a college man now, and Nick is helping your father put away the team."

"I'll help with the horses!" the little girl volunteered whirling around and skipping back toward the door. Jarrod caught her half way.

"Oh no you don't, Missy!" he said with a smirk. "It's off to bed with you."

"Oh, please! I want to stay up with you, Jarrod! You'll be going off to Harvard soon, and then I won't see you for ever so long."

"Now, don't you bat those pretty blue eyes at ME, Missy. You do as Mother tells you!"

"But..."

"MOVE!" Audra let out an exaggerated sigh and started up the stairs. Jarrod's ice blue eyes softened a bit, and he added in a gentle tone, "I'll be up to give you a good night kiss just as soon as you're ready for bed."

"And you'll tell me a story about school?" she brightened.

Jarrod chuckled and nodded, "All right."

"A long one!" Happily, she tripped up the stairs to her room.

Jarrod smiled and shook his head. "Mother, she's positively spoiled!" he mused.

Victoria raised her eyebrows and glared at her oldest son. "And whose fault do you think that is? Since you've come home from school you've been waiting on her hand and foot. I'm surprised you didn't offer to cut her food for her at dinner! "

"Now, Mother you can't blame me entirely. I don't recall Father ever being as permissive with me or Nick when we were that age. Who would have thought Tough-as-Nails Tom Barkley would be so easily softened by a tiny female with great big eyes?"

Victoria cocked her head and blinked, "Oh, don't be all THAT surprised. But don't worry about your sister either, Jarrod. Nick makes sure she doesn't get away with too much."

Jarrod walked across the parlor to the sherry cart."Speaking of my dear little brother, he's going to have quite a time trying to live down this afternoon with his friends. Can I pour you a nightcap, Mother?"

"No, thank you, Jarrod."

"I'll have a whiskey if you're pouring, M'boy." Tom Barkley called from the door as he wiped his feet. "What's this about Nick?"

"It's nothing, Father," Nick started, fixing Jarrod with a warning glance, but his brother, not to be silenced cut him off.

"Hah! I would have given anything to see it. Apparently somebody heard little Isobel Morgan over at Martin's warehouse yelling at the top of her lungs. When her father got Nick here was lying on the floor and she was sitting on his chest, beating him about the head." He handed his father a glass of the amber fluid and poured one for himself.

"Is that how you got that shiner, Boy?" Tom exclaimed, "I thought you said you and Rufus Jr. had a few words."

Nick turned his head slightly in an unsuccessful attempt to hide the darkening bruise below his left eye. His ears began to glow red. "That was later."

"What I want to know," Jarrod continued, "is how a big boy like you let a nine year old girl get the best of you."

"She took me by surprise-I, I was running and... tripped. Next thing I knew she was on top of me screaming and punching."

"And you just let her?"

"Well, what was I supposed to do? hit her back?"

"Did you try talking to her? You could have asked her what she was upset about."

"TALK TO HER!" Nick exploded at his older brother, hands on his hips. "I just TOLD you she was SCREAMING! She couldn't have heard a TRAIN WRECK if it had happened right NEXT TO HER!"

"Nick, there's no need to screech," Victoria scolded exasperatedly, suppressing the urge to cover her ears. She would be glad when her second son's voice finally changed. Perhaps then his tirades wouldn't pierce her eardrums quite so painfully. His legs and lungs had apparently grown faster than his larynx, and the result was impressive to say the least. She hardly dared to hope the ferocity or frequency of his outbursts would improve much with age, but she took comfort in knowing they would not forever threaten to shatter every window in the house with the shrillness of their pitch.

"Besides, I know WHY she did it," he continued in a more subdued tone. "She's just plain ornery, that's why. She and that good for nothing brother of hers. They were chucking, uh, things at the boys and me and I came after to give 'em a little talking to."

"A talking to?" Tom asked suspiciously.

Nick shrugged his shoulders.

"You mean to tell me you took out after a little girl not half your size?" the father's eyes hardened considerably.

"No, NO! It was Roger I was after. She just popped up out of nowhere and, and..." Nick realized he was getting nowhere fast.

"You'll pardon me if I don't think much better of you beating on a little boy half your size."

Nick stood his ground. "Well someone's got to teach him a lesson, and if his daddy can't he shouldn't be surprised if someone else does. He's always doing things like that, like pulling out that dead rattler at the Sunday School picnic, or, or the worms..."

"That was your own fault, Nick. You know better than to put your boots on after a swim without checking them first," Jarrod observed.

"You're just sore because you didn't think of it first." a little voice chirped from above. Audra stood at the top of the stairs in her nightgown. The look on Nick's face showed she wasn't half wrong. "Jarrod, I'm ready for my story now."

"Her majesty beckons; I must depart." Jarrod gave an exaggerated bow, set down his empty glass, and started up the stairs.

Tom Barkley was not quite through with his second son. "Nick, I don't want you making trouble with the Morgan twins. Their father has enough to worry about trying to raise those two rascals by himself without your making matters worse. You're much better off trying to make a friend out of a potential enemy than the other way round, and that young Roger sounds like he could be a formidable adversary." That said, the patriarch headed up the stairs himself.

Nick started up behind when his mother stopped him.

"And where do you think you're going?"

"To bed. I'm bushed."

"Not before you've have a bath. I'll go tell Silas to heat up some water. What did you say the Morgan boy was throwing at you?"

*

"You were beautiful this afternoon! Truly beautiful!" the skinny dark silhouette of Roger appeared through the open window. The boy leapt deftly as a cat and landed silently on his sister's bed.

"Where have you been?" Isobel whispered, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "Nobody's seen you since you ditched Nick this afternoon, and Father's fit to be tied. He kept looking at the razer strop all through dinner."

Roger winced. "Did you save me something? I'm as hungry as a bear."

Isobel nodded and reached under the bed for the knotted napkin. "It ain't much, but it was all I figured I could carry under my skirt without him getting suspicious."

"I was fetching us some bait for tomorrow. I don't know what you want to tag along with those guys for, though. I'd rather it was just you and me. They'll probably just run us off anyway."

"After what you did today I wouldn't blame 'em," his sister huffed. The little girl watched her twin deftly untie the bundle with his long delicate fingers. Inside were a piece of bread stained with gravy, a few green beans and a small piece of cheese. "In fact, I'm not sure even I would want you with me."

"Hey, you were the one what knocked him down," Roger retorted offended.

"That was because he was gonna murder you!" Isobel's eyes bugged. "You really shouldn't provoke him like that. One of these days you're gonna pull something, and I won't be round to provide a diversion. Then he and R.J.'ll rip you apart for sure."

"They'll have to catch me first." the boy smirked, taking a large bite of the bread. Immediately he pulled his lips down in a grimace. "You make this?"

"Who else?"

"Its as dry as a mouth full of oats, and these beans look like they've been boiled a week. You need to learn to cook, girl." Isobel frowned and reached to take the napkin away, but the boy quickly stuffed the rest of the food into his mouth.

"Why do you need to keep baiting him like that when you know he's gonna bite hard?"

Roger shrugged. "Can't help it. He makes it too easy. Anyway, this time I figure I had good enough reason. I was climbing up on the livery stable to get a good view of the fairgrounds when I caught him and old "Pussface" smoking a cigar he said he'd snitched from his daddy's study. He said he'd give me what for if I told on him. I said I figured just the smell would give him away and offered to give him a little something to cover up the scent."

"And you just happened to have an arm full of wet ones handy," the girl eyed her brother sideways.

"Huh uh," he grinned sheepishly, "I always keep 'em in a bag. Say Izzy, how many of them cigars do you figure he'll have to smoke before he stops sounding like a girl?" His sister giggled. The big black haired bully took a lot of flack for his clear sweet soprano, especially now that he had hit his teens. Roger probably had the right of it that Nick was trying any means he could think to usher in the change. Isobel gave her brother a little push. He picked up her pillow and hit her over the head with it. Soon they were rolling around, wrestling and swatting each other with pillows making the feathers fly until she fell off the bed with a loud thud.

The twins froze and listened. First there was silence, but then inevitably they heard the sounds of their father stirring. Roger slowly got up off the bed and braced himself to face the music.

*

The Morton ranch was nearly as big as the Barkley spread, although the land was less diversified. Whereas the Barkleys had planted a vineyard and a variety of orchards, the Mortons had left nearly everything as open range. They were cattlemen through and through, not deigning to distract themselves with planting anything other than a handful of oats for the horses, which they tended indifferently.

Neither of Rufus Morton's boys had ever attended school. Mrs. Morton had managed to teach her children to write and figure, but her husband ruled their time was far better spent helping out on the property than picking up useless information in a schoolroom. The family prided itself on being self-sufficient. They owed nothing to anyone, and felt not at all obligated to the community at large -- an attitude that particularly rankled Conner Padgett's eastern sensibilities. The large house was just as full of expensive furnishings as the Barkley mansion, but somehow it lacked the opulence, the polish of the home of the more prominent family. One might have said it lacked the feminine touch, for the lady of the house existed as little more than a shadow in this stronghold of masculine pride. The chairs in Rufus' office were more functional than ornamental; the overall color scheme: brown and brown. Depressing, thought Conner as he stood holding his hat and waiting for the elder Morton to come downstairs.

The old man had said he wanted to have a word with them before they went off to their respective tasks for the day. Conner was eager to get going. There were three blooded colts to break, and since his amazing performance at the rodeo against the Barkleys, Rufus had vowed he wouldn't have anyone else starting them. Zack claimed he had business in town that couldn't be avoided. That left R.J. to oversee the men. Conner grimaced inwardly. The sooner those colts were broken the better. It always took a long time to get the hands back into some state of discipline after being left under the older Morton brother's supervision.

Zack was preening himself in the mirror hanging over the credenza. The bruise under his left eye didn't appear too bad. He absently smoothed his mustache and picked a piece of something green out of his teeth. Reflected in the mirror he spied his older brother slouched back in the over stuffed leather chair. His feet were propped up on their father's desk, and his acne scarred face bore an expression of deep concentration as he delicately cleaned his fingernails with a hunting knife.

"If you mark up that desktop Daddy'll have you strung up and horse whipped," Zack nodded, adjusting his tie.

"And who's he gonna get to do that, Zacky boy? You?" R.J. snorted, not looking up from his excavatory operation. He apparently had dug out something mildly interesting, for he examined it closely before flicking it onto the floor.

Rufus sauntered into the room and pushed his son's feet down before settling his buttocks on the corner of his desk.

"You boys wanna explain what happened last night? Harris and Jones are all busted up. They said you got into it with them Barkleys."

"Just a little difference of opinion, Daddy," Zack shrugged.

"You give 'em hell?"

"Nah. Fred came in and pulled us off before we could fix 'em proper," the younger boy answered.

"What were you all doing in town anyway? Didn't I tell you to go through them stock figures?

"Zacky boy wanted to go get a peek of his girlfriend at that school benefit they was havin'. Then Philly here got himself in trouble with Wheeler over that Barkley girl." R.J. grinned at his foreman in a not so friendly manner. "You know, I wouldn't mind givin' her a donation myself."

Anger welled up inside Conner, and he started toward the tall brown haired man, but Rufus intercepted him. "Relax, Boy! He didn't mean nothin' by it."

"Don't worry, Philly," R.J. laughed with a lascivious sneer, " I won't go pokin' around in your pasture."

"Speaking of poking around in pastures, next time I run into that Nick he's gonna wish he never even heard of Vivienne Marshall!" Zack said picking up his hat off the credenza. "I've invested a whole lot of time and patience in that girl, and I ain't about to let some swaggerin', hornless, pampered Her'ford try to butt her out from under me."

Audra poked through her wardrobe, trying to pick out just the right outfit for the school board meeting that evening. She would want something businesslike, yet appealing. Tasteful, and not too revealing, yet something that, well, emphasized her assets. Maybe the purple pants suit would do.

Audra took a certain joy in knowing she was looking her absolute best. There is a talent to being able to choose the proper clothes. What a woman wears can create the mood for an entire occasion. The right kind of dress can make a man feel at ease or on his guard; generous or restrained. Sometimes it didn't matter how well you could talk or how worthy the cause; if you wanted at response from the big donors you needed to have the proper look. Clothes could say, "I know what I am doing--you can trust what I say," or sometimes, "I am helpless; please come to my aid."

There were so many messages one could convey, but which one did she wish to employ? She regarded the purple outfit, a scowl creasing her high brow. Maintaining the position of a woman of stature was a difficult task. There were so many conflicting rules. You must do this to be useful. You must do that to be appealing. You must be proud, but not too proud. Elegant, but not narcissistic. Nick often made fun of her attention to detail, but Audra had a suspicion that what she felt when she had everything arranged just so was akin to how her brother felt when he roped a calf at a full gallop on the first try. A pride in doing something well. Except when a woman took pride in her appearance it was called vanity. She sighed heavily. I must seem that way, but I'm not. Not really. When I do something I like to do it right and the best I can. Nothing by halves, that's what Father always said. Is it wrong to want to look the best that I can? It's not that I want others to look at me and be jealous. That's not it. That was NEVER the point. Well, maybe a couple of times. But it makes me feel good when things fit just so.

Conner understood. He was a man who noticed things. She had known that the first day he walked into the parlor looking for Nick. She had been putting some final touches on a quilt for the under 18's competition at the state fair. When she showed him her work, he didn't say "That's mighty purdy, ma'am," as she would have expected from one of the other hands. Instead, in an educated Eastern accent he complemented her on the way the pattern of the swatches of cloth in the contrasted with the quilting. Mathematical, he had said it was, clearly impressed, and she had been flattered. Since then he never failed to compliment her whenever the opportunity arose.

That had been six years ago, and in the intervening time she had been too preoccupied with the dashing Carl Wheelers and Don Jarvises to pay much attention to the very short Philadelphian of questionable reputation. More recently, though, as she had come to know him better she found him sensitive to more than her artistic and habilimentary passions, and she began to admire the kindness he showed to man and beast alike, and especially his way with horses. He was never known to wear a spur, and was able to direct the movements of his mount, Candide, so precisely and with a touch so slight he could have been talking to the animal directly with his mind. He also showed great respect for her pursuit of charitable causes, something her brothers appeared to merely tolerate.

Of course, Conner had his faults as well. Audra was not so blind or deaf as Nick and Heath might think. She knew the sort of boasts he had been known to make, if not the exact content, and they caused her some concern. The women, the drinking, the women, the gambling, the women....

He had hired on as a temporary laborer to pick oranges. His youth, accent and soft hands had initially made him the butt of many jokes. He took it in stride, though, and his way with people combined with the audacious creativity of his braggadocio earned him an odd kind of admiration which turned to respect as he quickly adapted to ranch life. Audra's brother had been impressed with his natural leadership and ability to handle a horse, and when the picking was over he offered the odd Easterner a permanent place as a ranch hand. Under Nick's tutelage he learned quickly. He had taken to the trade like a fish to water, and by the time Heath came to Stockton, Conner might have been working cattle all his life. Nick must have felt a keen betrayal when he quit the ranch to go work for the Mortons.

Thinking of Conner just made things worse. What was she going to do? Audra was about ready to cry.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. She heard the soft voice of her mother. "Audra?" Quickly she wiped her eyes.

"Yes, Mother. Come on in. I'm just going through my closet." Victoria opened the door and approached her daughter's side. "What do you think of this for tonight?" she asked, handing her mother the hanger.

Victoria considered the outfit for a moment then hung it back in the wardrobe. "I'm sure whatever you choose will be fine, Dear. After all, it's not the dress that matters but the woman that's in the dress."

Suddenly the young woman turned to face the elder and bit her lip. "Mother, do you think I'm vain?"

"Audra, what makes you ask?" Victoria inquired.

Oblivious to the amused glint in her mother's eye, the girl continued. "Here I've been standing for almost an hour going through my dresses. I know what Nick would say: 'Just put something on, for crying out loud. Why do you have to fuss over yourself as if the world turned on what color frock you were wearing?"' Her voice cracked, showing more emotion than the topic of conversation warranted. Victoria's expression softened, but she chose not to dig deeper for the present.

"Oh, Nick might say something like that, but we both know how he appreciates the end result."

"You haven't answered my question, Mother."

Victoria looked down at her hands for a moment and smiled. Looking up she explained,"I'd say that a woman who takes two hours to get dressed is no more vain than a man who wants his companion to look as if she's taken two hours to get dressed." Audra was suddenly reminded of Hester Converse, Nick's fiancee for all of two weeks. During the family's annual trip up to the lumber camp she had taken at least that long preening herself for the evening's footstomp, and a sizable portion of that time gazing into a hand mirror. Nick had been impatient at first, but when she appeared fully groomed he was as proud of her appearance as if he had primped her hair himself. Audra smiled shyly; she took her mother's point.

Having broken through her daughter's scowl, the silver haired woman pressed on. "Audra, there's nothing wrong with taking pride in your appearance just as long as you don't start thinking its your most important attribute. There is a good deal more to a woman than what can be seen on the outside. But something tells me you're less concerned with what Nick thinks of you than what he thinks of Conner Padgett."

Audra and her mother sat down on the bed. "It's both, Mother," she admitted. "You know, sometimes I think that no matter who I choose to go out with Nick will find something wrong with him. Even Carl, his best friend: if we hadn't broken up during that whole sheep fiasco I'm sure Nick would still have eventually locked horns with him had we gotten really serious.

"I realize I've made some unwise decisions in the past, trusted people I shouldn't have. Nick has always been the first to warn me when I was heading into treacherous waters, and was has always been ready to catch me before I made a mistake. I suppose I should be grateful, but somehow I'm not. I feel like a fancy goldfish cooped up in a pretty little fish bowl surrounded by pretty little things when all I want to do is leap out into the sea!"

Victoria looked at her daughter with a mixture of love and pride. She reached out her hand and stroked her long blond hair. "As a mother I've found one of the hardest things to do for my children is to let them make their own mistakes. I'm sure it is just as hard for your brother. But only by running the risk of making an unfortunate choice can you have the opportunity to make the right one for you.

"I've watched you grow from a tiny baby in my arms into a beautiful intelligent young woman with a mind and heart of your own, and he has, too. I know he would love to be able to protect you from all the pain in the world, but some pains are meant to be borne. No one, not your brother nor I nor anyone in the world can tell you who to love. Do you truly love him, Audra?"

"Oh, I do. I know I shouldn't, but I do."

Then Nick is going to have to learn to live with that."

"I know the concerns he and Heath have about Conner, but I just can't believe any of the stories he has told are true. For one thing, the ones I've heard have been so, well, fantastically unlikely."

"Such as?"

"Nick and Heath haven't told you? I thought there were no secrets from you on this ranch!"

"Oh, I've heard a thing or two, but not from them, no."

Embarrassed, even alone as they were, Audra blushed, looked around the room, and then leaned over and whispered into her mother's ear. Victoria listened patiently for a while nodding occasionally, and then her eyes popped open wide.

"That would be quite an accomplishment," she admitted.

"So you don't think it could be true?"

"I'm not sure its even physically possible." Victoria shook her head as if trying to remove a image from her mind. "Your young man has quite an imagination." She hoped that Audra wasn't getting in over her head, and reminded herself that the way men talk does not necessarily reflect the way they behave.

"Now, if you're not busy, how about coming to town with me and Jarrod. I'd love to have company for the ride home."

"Thank you , Mother, I think I will. I need to get away from the house for a while."

"As for tonight, I recommend the blue dress. It matches your eyes nicely, It's not too revealing, and I seem to recall Conner saying that he liked that one particularly. You were planning to meet with him after the school board meeting, weren't you?"

"There really are no secrets from you, are there Mother?"

*

"'Oh my name is Samuel Hall, Samuel Hall,"'

Isobel sang quietly to herself as she sat in the drawing room mending one of her father's shirts.

"'Oh my name is Samuel Hall, Samuel Hall.

Oh my name is Samuel Hall, and I've only got--'"

"Isobel, must you?" her cousin scowled looking up from her romance novel.

"'But it's better than none at all..."'

"A lady would never sing such filth!"

"A lady wouldn't know it was filth, or admit it if she did,

'Damn your eyes...'"

Vivienne closed her book. "A woman can't help what she hears, but she can help what she repeats," she huffed.

"Funny you should bring that up," Isobel commented, "because I could have sworn I heard you and Zack having a little chat on the back porch yesterday morning after Uncle Charlie went off to the bank."

"Why you sneaky little eavesdropper!" the younger girl accused, throwing the volume at her. Isobel, however had become used to Vivienne's outbursts over the past month, and had no trouble ducking the offensive object without any visible concern.

"I wasn't eavesdropping, Viv. I respect your privacy," she calmly reassured her cousin, putting down her sewing. "I just happened to be visiting the euphemism at the time." Vivienne consciously cringed at the indelicate reference."I don't know what you two said to each other, and I don't want to know, but I don't think its a good idea for you to be sneaking around behind your father's back. If you're going to keep seeing Zack than do it, but don't try to hide it from him."

Vivienne shook her head. "Poppa's not like Uncle Dylan, Isa. I'm sure your father would be glad to have you seeing someone, anyone." Isobel ignored the jab. "But Poppa hates Zachary. It's much better this way, without him looking over my shoulder all the time. As long as he sees me entertaining other young men he won't suspect a thing."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Isobel advised. "It's only a matter of time. I'm not the only one in this family with ears, or the only one who goes back there over the course of the day."

"You won't tell, will you?"

Isobel considered for a moment then sighed. "No, I'm no tattle tale, but there is Ingrid to worry about. Or Father might be looking at just the wrong moment. You'd be wise to keep him away from the house."

Vivienne nodded. The advise was sound. "You don't like him, do you Isa?"

"Whether or not I like him doesn't really matter. I do not find him fundamentally evil, if that's what you mean, but neither do I find him particularly appealing."

"Well, I think he's wonderful. He's so handsome and raw and strong and brave and independent, like a wild stallion. Poppa just doesn't like him because he's not the sort to be content spending the whole day cooped up in an office." It was Isobel's turn to grin, albeit wryly. Vivienne had spent her childhood in New York. Even after four years in California her view of cattleman was based predominantly on the accounts of countless dime novels, and she was a hopeless romantic. The plainer girl knew her cousin was in for a wicked surprise when she learned that most stallions needed to be gelded before they were fit to ride. Still, though, she had a feeling the highly spirited, highly civilized girl couldn't help but have a positive influence on the unsuspecting Mortons. She had a bewitching effect on men, and used it to her advantage.

"His mustache looks like a greasy caterpillar."

"I happen to think it is very becoming."

"Ah well, I guess beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

"You mean like that skinny old George you used to write about?" Vivienne snorted.

"George was very sweet."

"Then why didn't you marry him?"

Isobel shrugged and replied flippantly, "He was a tenor, Viv. I'm not about spend the rest of my life fighting over who gets to sing the descant." It was not exactly a lie; George was as fond of singing harmony as she was, and someone needed to carry the tune. Neither was it the entire truth, though. She felt that old familiar nausea and redirected back to the subject.

"Zack Morton is no worse than most cowboys I've met," she finally conceded, silently adding or better. He was a bit "raw" as Vivienne had put it, but no more so than that Nick Barkley who had shown up on the porch the previous evening. There was another man who wouldn't appreciate being 'cooped up in an office' all day. Viv sure knew how to pick 'em. Isobel shook her head to herself just thinking about the rowdy teenager she had known. She remembered him even if he didn't remember her. And if he didn't remember her, so much the better. Some things are best forgotten. "His brother, R.J. on the other hand makes my skin crawl. You'd do well to keep clear of him. I would not trust him any farther than I could throw him."

The younger girl could not help but smile at that. The picture of the diminutive Isobel flinging the six foot three Rufus Jr. was just too much. The body would not fly far, though she would doubtless give it a good solid try!

Downstairs, the doorbell rang. Isobel rose, but her cousin gently seized her wrist, stopping her. "Ingrid will get it. Just promise me, Isa, you won't tell. Not even Uncle Dylan. I'm meeting Zack this afternoon. If Poppa comes home before I do could you please make up something to distract him?"

The brown haired girl shook her head. "I'm sorry, Viv. I'll keep quiet for you, but I won't lie. If he asks me where you are..."

"And if I don't tell you where I'm meeting him?"

"Then lets hope he doesn't ask me with whom you are. That's as much as I will promise."

"Mrs. Barkley is it? Well its a pleasure to see you!" the blacksmith's heavy bass greeted the visitors.

"It's wonderful to see you, too Dai," the elegant silver haired woman replied. " And please, it's Victoria. You remember my daughter, Audra."

"Audra? Well, I shoulda guessed you would be grown now, shouldn't I? The last time I saw you, you were just a little wiggly thing in yellow pigtails." He turned back to the mother. "Looks just like her father she does. Come on in and take a seat! Isobel!" he called, "Come see who's here!" Victoria allowed herself to be directed to the davenport where she and her daughter sat down. Dylan Morgan was just as she remembered him. A little grayer, perhaps, but his eyes appeared to have regained some of the fire that had left them when his only son had died.

"I was real sorry to hear about your Tom," the big man said when they were all seated. "He was a fair man, your husband."

"Thank you, Dai. I know he thought well of you, too. I was so glad to hear that you and your daughter had decided to return to Stockton. It must have been a very difficult decision."

"Not really, Mrs...Victoria. Pittsburgh never did suit me. I could take it while Isobel was in school, and was proud to do my part for the war effort, but this is our home. My wife and son are buried in the churchyard. On top of that, I'm the one that recommended my brother-in-law move out here with Vivienne. Might as well join him. We can be two old widowers together." One corner of his mouth turned up in a sardonic smile.

Just then two young ladies emerged from the hallway. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Barkley, Audra!" Vivienne smiled effusively. "It's so good of you to come!"

"Isobel, go on into the kitchen and make some coffee for our guests," Dai told his daughter.

"Don't be ridiculous, Uncle Dylan." Vivienne scolded, "That's what we have Ingrid for." Wordlessly, the German maid exited. "I'm sure Isobel would much prefer to remain here and visit. I'm sorry I can't stay myself. I have some errands to run before dinner." She brightened at a sudden thought, "Isa, why don't I get you that music from Reverend Stokes while I'm out? You said you wanted a chance to practice before the Sunday service. It might take him some time to find it, though on such short notice." The older cousin flashed her a warning glance, which she ignored and turned toward the guests. "Please be sure to give Nick my fondest regards."

"I thought after last night you might not be very happy with him," Audra said.

"It's impossible to stay angry with Nick for very long," Vivienne replied, heading out the door. "I'm sure he had a very good reason for his behavior."

Isobel reached out to shake hands with the Barkley emissaries. Victoria observed the small woman--at twenty six she could hardly be called a girl anymore--with some curiosity. The tiny face of the child she remembered had for the most part grown sufficiently to support the ears that stuck out at an odd angle from her head, and her nose, which could never have been referred to as petite, no longer seemed ridiculously large. The Pennsylvania winters had mostly faded the impudent freckles from her cheeks, but her scalp still generated quantities of that fine brown hair that refused to allow itself to be restrained by pins. In looks she was very much like her mother, save the Welsh ears and the contemplative moss green eyes--her father's sole physical

contributions. "It's good to see you again, Mrs. Barkley. Audra, I wouldn't have recognized you. I don't imagine you remember me. How old were you, eight? when we left?"

Audra smiled warmly. "That's right, but I certainly do remember you. You had a way of letting people know you were there."

Isobel grinned at the floor. Her mother's grin, in perfect proportion to her other features. "Yes, I suppose Roger and I were quite a pair, weren't we?" She looked up again, brushing a feral lock out of her eyes. "That's why Father spent his life savings to send me off to St. Cecelia's: to try to make a lady out of me, but I'm afraid the damage was already done!" Dai Morgan winced briefly at the mention of his lost son, but gazed fondly at his daughter with a look that said he did not consider her to be at all damaged. Victoria remembered that look. It was much the same look he used to give his late wife, gone these twenty-some years. Jenny had never been a beauty, but no one could tell Dai that. When she sat at the piano bench, eyes closed fully absorbed and enthralled in the music she created, he claimed she rivaled the angels.

"Did I hear correctly?' Mrs. Barkley asked. "Will you be playing at church this Sunday?"

"Yes, I will. The reverend tells me that Mrs. Fortesque's arthritis has been giving her too much pain for her to feel comfortable continuing to play at the services, so I volunteered. I admit to an ulterior motive, though. Once we get settled I won't have Uncle Charlie's piano to practice on anymore. Reverend Stokes said he wouldn't mind if I wanted to come in and play something secular every now and again on a week day, just as long as I keep it reasonably tasteful."

Ingrid silently entered the room carrying the silver tea service. Dai watched her uncomfortably as she set the tray down on the black marble table and left. When she had gone, he leaned over to Victoria and confided, "I can't get used to havin' servants around. They make me nervous." It seemed comical that the sturdy man trying to pour, whose muscular hands dwarfed the delicate handles of the tea cups could be made nervous by anyone or anything.

"Please, Father, let me." Isobel deftly extricated his oversized fingers from the dainty object and served the coffee.

"Have you found a place to settle down yet?" Audra asked taking her cup.

"Mmm," Dai answered. "Oh, no, thank you Isa," he interjected declining to risk his digits again in the fragile porcelain. "There's a place up by where Foster's Creek joins the river. I've made an offer and the owner's accepted. All that's left is to sign the papers."

"Isn't that where the sawmill used to be?"

"That's the place. The mill itself is about falling down, but the house appears to be in reasonable shape, and there's a storage building that'll serve my needs. Its close to town and they were asking a good price. Best of all, Isa's found a mighty sweet fishing spot right there. She's been going out most every free morning and bringing us back trout near as big as my arm. Quite the fisherman my daughter is. You should have seen the collection of flies she had in Pennsylvania." Isobel rolled her eyes.

"How long do you think it will be before you're open for business? We've been needing a new blacksmith in these parts. Of course, we have our own shop at the ranch, but none of our hands comes anywhere close to producing your caliber of work."

"A week at most. I wired a friend of mine to ship out our things just as soon we arrived. In the mean time I've been helping out Bob Richards. He took over my old place when we left, and he's been swamped with work."

"That's wonderful, Dai. You see, there's a piece I'd like you to make for me. Do you remember that gate Tom commissioned you to do for our twentieth anniversary? Well, I'd like to have a fireplace grate..." Mrs. Barkley went on to explain in detail the work she had in mind.

The school board meeting had run late, but it had gone well. Despite the previous evening's fracas enough money had been raised to pay for new readers and history texts. Everyone was agreed that they needed a new building, and as predicted the superintendent was pleased with Nick's "volunteering" to head the committee. She felt a little guilty for putting her brother on the spot, but not so guilty as to let him off the hook. Perhaps the extra project would keep him busy enough to keep him out of her hair, or at least teach him the consequences of butting in where he didn't belong. She looked at the clock over the mercantile; it was eight-thirty. Not all that late. That gave her at least half an hour before she had agreed to meet Nick with the buggy, more if she knew her brother. Mr. Morgan had asked Mother to send him some sketches of the original gate along with the measurements for the fireplace, and Nick had been quick to volunteer to bring them, especially when it appeared Vivienne had forgiven for neglecting her last night. Still that wasn't much time to visit with Conner, and he was nowhere to be seen.

"Well howdy there, Philly. Long time no see!" the barkeep greeted the short cowboy with a big smile. "I'll go get you a bottle and a glass. Hey, Trixie, Hetty! Look who's here." Two saloon girls, a blonde and a red head looked up from the card game at the corner table and beamed.

Conner shook his head. "Just a beer for me, Casey."

"Where ya been, lover?" the blonde asked as her friend sidled over to him. Conner blushed and stepped back.

"I appreciate your concern, ladies, but I'm afraid I'm spoken for now."

The red head scowled and fingered his vest. "Oh she can't be that good, Philly. Besides, I've never known you to be content with just one woman before."

He held up his hands in protestation. "I'm a changed man, Trix," he explained. "Love's arrow has pierced me through. I am wounded to the soul and I'll never do a thing to hurt her." Noting their disapproving looks he added, "Not that I won't always have a warm spot in my heart for you two."

"I'd prefer a warm spot in your bed," Trixie quipped, stroking his arm. "That's more than you'll get from that high brow Barkley girl you're chasing. You're crazy if you think you're going to get anything more than a kick in the pants for your trouble. Mark my words, that lot'll have you drawn and quartered before they'll let her marry the likes of you." Conner gently removed her fingers from his clothing and patted her hand. The girl sighed resignedly, and touched his cheek. "Let me know if you change your mind, Sweetie. You know where to find me." She arched her left eyebrow, then turned and went back to hover over the poker game.

Frowning, the foreman quickly drained his beer and tossed the bar man a nickel. "I'd best be going," he said.

"Good to see you again," Casey replied. "Don't be a stranger."

Audra observed him step out of the saloon with some discomfort. Officially her boyfriend was on the wagon, alcohol wise and otherwise. If he was drinking, what else might he be doing? She tried hard to banish the thought from her mind. He'd never before given her reason to doubt his sincerity, but given his history any sign of backsliding was disturbing. She watched silently as he stopped outside the doors to light a cigar. When he glanced up he noticed her.

Not waiting for him to get his bearings, she strode over to him.

"Conner, what were you doing in the saloon?" she challenged.

"I just stopped in to get a beer, Audra. Nothing else."

"But you promised..."

"I promised to stay out of trouble, and I have. I just got a little thirsty waiting for you. If you don't believe me you can go in yourself and ask." Immediately he regretted his words. It wasn't fair to take out his irritation on her, and suggesting she set foot in such a place was beyond the pale.

"There's no need for you to get sharp with me, Conner Padgett," she snapped.

Repentant, he took her hands in his. "I'm sorry, Audra. Please forgive me. I've had a pretty rough day; I didn't mean to be so rude to you."

"Why? What happened?" Conner explained the day's difficulties. First there was the face-off with R.J. in the morning. Conner did not elaborate on the subject of their conflict, but Audra assumed it had to do with Rufus' trusting his judgment over that of his oldest son and heir. Then, Harris had warned him the work Rufus Jr. was directing the men to do on the bridge over the creek was shoddy. Someone was likely to get hurt trying to cross. Tied up with his current work, Conner would have to convince Zack go back and have the grumbling crew take it apart and start all over again. Worse still, the young bay had been behaving oddly, shying away and bucking whenever he raised his arm. Sure enough, when he inspected the animal he noticed small abrasions about its neck and head, and was furious. He had known R.J. was resentful that his father had seen fit to charge their foreman with the training of those three expensive colts, but it had not occurred to him that the brute would risk ruining a perfectly good tempered animal out of spite.

Audra listened sympathetically, appalled that someone would purposely beat an animal to make it mean. Nick and Heath would never have allowed something like that to happen at their ranch. A couple of years back Jonas Frye had raised a club to a horse and was immediately shown the door, even though the beast in question was his own property.

"Conner," she began, "why don't you leave the Morton ranch? I don't see why you decided to go work for them in the first place."

"Audra, you know I couldn't keep working for your brothers, even if they weren't dead set against us seeing each other."

"But the Mortons? You knew Nick was relying on you to finally beat them in our annual rodeo. You could have gone to work for the Spencers or the Wallaces or--"

"Or the Wheelers?"

"That's not funny."

"I was looking for work, and Rufus was hiring. He was willing to pay me a reasonable sum, and I accepted. You'll pardon me if I wasn't feeling all that charitable toward your brother at the time."

Audra shook her head. "I don't like this, Conner. You're very important to me, but so is my family." She pulled her hands back and turned away. "Maybe we should have just backed off for a while; given them time to get used to the idea and to show them you're not the womanizer you've made yourself out to be." She looked back to see the Morton's foreman studying the toes of his boots. "You're not, are you?"

"I'll admit, in the past I've done some things I'm not entirely proud of now," he confessed, "but not for a long time. These past two years I've been reexamining myself. Bettering myself as a man." He chuckled ironically. "Funny, it was Nick who inspired me to do it. He had faith in me, or at least I thought he did."

"I'm sure he'll come around again eventually."

"That's not the point," he scowled. "If there's going to be any future between us we need to start on even ground. I don't want to have to answer to your brothers every time we happen to have a disagreement about what color to paint a fence."

"Conner you know I would never involve them in our problems."

"Its not a matter of you involving them," he countered. "They involve themselves. All you have to do is look hurt and they come running to your defense. That's no way for a man to live. A man has to be free to make his own decisions and follow his own conscious without worrying about having his boss's approval. I won't live like a trained pup, getting rewarded when I please you and punished when I don't do exactly what they want. At least with the Mortons I know I get paid what I earn; nothing more and nothing less."

"The ranch belongs to me as much as it does to my brothers," she protested. "Once we," she blushed, "if we get married, you'll be a partner, not just an employee."

"Between Nick, Heath, and Jarrod I think there are enough partners running the Barkley ranch. Besides, I don't want anyone saying I was just handed a piece of an empire that way. Soon I'll be ready to buy a place of my own. Flat out. I've been saving up my pay ever since I came out west. That plus my share of the rodeo winnings is enough to buy a reasonable size piece of property and a few head. Once I get my legs under me I'm pretty sure I can entice Harris and Reese away from the Mortons, and then I'll have a real ranch on my hands. I know it won't be anything compared to what you're used to, not at first, anyway. But with hard work, determination, and a good woman at my side I don't think there's anything I can't do.

"You can't keep sitting on the fence, Audra. Eventually you're going to have to break away. You can't spend your whole life just being someone's little sister. You must make your own life, and I would be honored if you would consider making that life with me. If its the money or the fancy house you need--"

"You know that's not it. I would be willing to live in cave with you if need be, but don't ask me to choose between you and my family." She reached out to embrace him, but he pulled away abruptly. "I'm sorry, Conner," she started, but he refused to acknowledge her. She turned silently and walked toward the livery stable to wait for her brother.

Her brother was waiting for her when she came back from the river, and he was bitter. Yet again she had chosen to spend Saturday morning tagging along behind Barkley and his cronies while they went fishing. At first the boys tried taunting her and chasing her off, but 'Frizzy Izzy' like her brother was a tenacious child and kept returning. Eventually Nick, who had been under pressure from his father to make peace with the Morgan twins, had convinced his friends to let her be, and after three years they had learned to tolerate if not always appreciate her occasional presence. They had to admit that with fly or live bait she was an excellent angler and never went home empty handed. She was even occasionally willing to part with one or more of her catch if some of the other fishermen had not been so lucky. She usually attributed her success to the gigantic leeches Roger would collect for her from God-knows-where and feed off his own body. "It makes 'em juicier," he would claim. Maybe it was the size of the black worm-like creatures, or perhaps it was something in the smell of the rogue's blood that taunted them, but for whatever the reason, the fish never failed to bite at his bait.

Isobel had not been looking forward to the reception she would get from her brother when she returned home. He made no secret of the fact that he resented her going off without him despite the fact that he himself did not much care for the sport; he lacked his sister's patience and skill. However he did miss the time they used to spend together. The older he grew the more his father had demanded of him in the work shop leaving him less opportunity for recreation himself. On top of that, he had never approved of that crew she insisted on following. Nick especially made his stomach turn. He hated that swagger and the way he pushed other people around. He hated the way the other kids got out of his way when he walked down the street, the way he moved so confidently and had so many friends--friends he could pick a fight with and still be friends with the next day. Most of all, though, he hated the way his sister seemed to hover around him like a fly over a dead carp. Roger continued to hassle the older boy every chance he got, and the more time Isobel spent in his company the less benign his "innocent pranks" became.

"You think he wants an ugly little toad like you chasing after him?" he said helping her to clean the fruits of her mornings industry. "You're embarrassing me."

"I'm not doing anything to be embarrassed about," she protested, "and I'm not 'chasing after him' I don't even like him. Not like that anyway."

"Then why do you spend so much time around him, Izz?"

She shrugged her shoulders evasively and smirked, "maybe because it pisses you off so much."

"He's an ass..."

"Everyone's entitled to his own opinion."

"And a bully..."

"He's the one who got R.J. to stop throwing rocks at me."

"So that makes him a saint?"

"No, but I figure it makes him a decent human being, which is more than I can say for some people."

"And an idiot," he added slicing open the belly of the pike.

"He's not an idiot."

"He is if what I hear's true."

Isobel fought hard not to bite, but her brother wiggled the bait some more.

"In fact, I reckon he's about the stupidest boy in the valley."

"I think I know a stupider one."

"At least I know well enough to stay away from Susie Baker."

That got her attention. Susie had a well earned reputation among the boys of Stockton. She was pretty and she was wiley, with a list of ex-boyfriends a mile long, each from a more prosperous family than the previous. Roger's brag was hollow-- the lovely sixteen year old would no sooner have anything to do with the twelve year old blacksmith's son than she would the fish he was gutting. At Isobel's last knowledge Susie had been seeing Rufus Jr., though she doubted the girl would stay with him long. Even the size of the Morton coffers could not make up for the unpleasantness of Rufus' eldest offspring in looks and temperament. He was a dangerous boy, and it was only natural that she should run to his black haired, hazel eyed and wealthy companion for refuge.

She shook her head. "He's not that dumb. Everyone knows what she's after. Besides, R.J. would kill him if he caught him messing with his girl. Nick may be stronger, but R.J.'s meaner."

"You wanna bet?" Roger had that vicious gleam in his eyes.

"No."

"Hah! Then you admit it. The boy's a sucker."

"I didn't say that."

"Then bet me. Come on. Two weeks chores." She considered for a moment then nodded her assent, and the siblings shook hands.