I have got to be completely out of my mind, Isobel thought to herself, pulling her hair from the twig above her. The limb under her left foot creaked forebodingly as she endeavored to release her right from the crook of the branch above. Just don't look down. Heights made her dizzy; climbing had been her brother's specialty. The soles of her shoes were slippery, and she lost her footing. Before she knew it she was hanging sideways, arms around the branch above her and her right foot painfully twisted still caught. If she had known that her warnings to Vivienne regarding digression would have resulted in this, she would have kept her mouth shut. She disliked deception and creeping around, yet here she was sneaking out to deliver a message from her cousin to her par amour in the least dignified manner possible, risking life and limb in the process. As she brought her left leg up and hooked her knee over the right one, the bough started to bend. She could not imagine how things could possibly be worse.

"Well, well, Isobel!" came a disturbingly familiar low voice from below.

Oh God no. She closed her eyes and prayed for a miracle. Please make him go away.

"I'd always figured you were part cat." She opened them again, and in the moonlight she could barely make out the figure of the last person on earth she wanted to see.

"Good evening, Mr. Barkley. What brings you here?" she asked politely as if she were seated calmly on the front porch instead of clinging precariously to the upper branches of a pear tree.

"I thought I heard something back here, and figured I'd take a look." He folded his arms across his chest and cocked his head to one side. Are you, uh, breaking in or breaking out?"

"I'm enjoying the view."

"It ain't too bad from down here either."

Horrified, Isobel moved to readjust her skirt, but given the darkness and the awkwardness of her position she reconsidered. She realized he could see no better than she could and shot back, "Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Huh uh, nothing that can't wait. I've got some drawings here for your father to look over. I didn't know you and Vivienne were related. No wonder it took her so long to come around. Just what exactly have you been telling her about me?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. I had considered telling her that I remembered you as a reasonably decent human being, but I'm not a very good liar." The twig she had been gripping in her left hand snapped, and her struggle to renew her grip sent down a shower of leaves and fruit.

Nick stepped back narrowly avoiding being splattered by the over-ripe missiles."You wouldn't be needing a hand there, would you?"

"No," she willed it to be the truth. However she was wondering more and more how she would manage to get down. Roger had always made it look so simple. Of course he never had a full skirt to worry about, or such horrible shoes! If only she could take them off. She was so much more agile barefoot. "You can go now."

"And leave a damsel in distress? I wouldn't think of it."

"I am not in distress!" she said a bit more sharply than she had intended, for she was becoming more and more so. Her arms were growing weary, and it occurred to her that very soon she was likely to lose her grip and wind up hanging upside down from her stuck foot with her skirt over her head, likely tearing a tendon or two in the process. Alternatively, the momentum produced by her swinging body could release her foot thus sending her plummeting head first to the ground below. Neither option particularly appealed to her. Furthermore, even in the unlikely event that she managed to free herself before her arms gave out there was no way she could see going back the way she came. The window hovered impossibly out of reach. She made the mistake of looking down once more, just to judge the distance of a possible fall, and squeezed her eyes shut again. The world began to spin. Or was she the one spinning? It hardly seemed to matter as she felt the gorge begin to well up from her belly. The blood pounded in her ears and sweat beaded on her forehead.

The tree itself seemed to shake in terror. She did not want to die in such an idiotic fashion. If she had to go, she much preferred a more noble manner, perhaps sacrificing her life rescuing babies out of a burning orphanage or succumbing to typhoid fever while nursing an entire town back to health, or better still passing quietly away in bed at the age of a hundred or so. Only one thought comforted her--a fall on the head from this height would either result in a quick death or at the very least the loss of such a sufficient chunk of memory that she would not be required to justify to herself or anyone else why she didn't just use the front door like a normal person.

A strong arm wrapped itself around her waist, and she felt something solid wedge itself beneath her. "It's OK. You can let go now." Odd, but she couldn't. Hard to believe that moments before she was certain she would lose her hold. "Come on now, I've got you." His voice was soft now, not at all mocking. "Just put your arms around my neck." Slowly she willed her body to relax, and her hands released their death-grip from the branch. "That's it. Here we go."

"My foot is caught."

"Yep, I can see that. Now, on the count of three I'm gonna lift you up and swing you over the branch till you're right side up..."

"Swing?!!" Swing sounded painful.

"I will carefully push you around and over the branch. You let me know if it hurts."

"Oh, I will."

"Izzy?"

"What?"

"You're going to have to open your eyes."

Oh hell.

She opened her eyes and saw the face of her deliverer. He was looking up where his left hand gripped the base of the branch above the one to which she was currently attached. He had either removed his hat before climbing up after her or lost it along the way, and a lock of his slicked black hair had fallen across his serious brow. His right leg was currently planted on the branch from which her free foot had slipped, his knee supporting the brunt of her weight. His left leg rested on the branch below that, and his right arm held her firmly in its grasp. The pounding in her ears had subsided somewhat, and she wasn't sure, but she thought she could hear his calm, slow heart beat where her ear was pressed against his leather vest. Rescuing damsels in distress was apparently an everyday sort of event for him.

"What I want you to do is to grab this branch up here, and then we'll see if we can't free you up. Are you ready?"

She nodded. No. He brought his left arm down, and pulling away repositioned both hands on either side of her waist.

"One...two...three!" Up she went. She was distracted by a brief flash of pain in her ankle, but stifled the urge to cry out. "Get the branch!" Recovering her senses she reached up and grabbed a hold. Quickly she planted her left foot against the trunk of the tree. She was still rather awkwardly positioned, but the strain on her right leg was relieved, and she was able to renew her efforts to free herself without causing any further injury. Nick found he had to move himself out of the way. Isobel's new position forced him to duck to keep from getting pushed backward as she struggled with her foot. More fruit fell to the ground. Nick crept around the trunk of the tree stepping over and ducking under branches until he was once again in a position where he could help. Between the two of them they were finally able to release the now badly scuffed shoe from the crook of the branch. They both breathed a sigh of relief, and with the gallant cowboy's aid she made it safely down.

Nick picked up his hat and brushed it off. "I don't suppose you want to tell me just what--"

"No. I don't," Isobel interrupted, looking away. She knew she should say thank you, but she couldn't force the words out. Instead she fingered for the note tucked into the waist band of her skirt. It was still there.

Nick shook his head, bent down, and picked up several of the less damaged pears putting them into his hat. "Vivienne said she'd been wanting to get some of these ones from the upper branches. I expect she'll be mighty grateful." She blanched as she saw him walk around toward the front porch to ring the bell. So much for making a clean getaway.

"Well, go on, git!" he whispered hoarsely, jutting his chin toward the street. Isobel smiled and returned to her errand.

Isobel was irritated.

There she was at the livery stable at the appointed hour, but Zack was not. She decided to wait a while just in case he was running late, but the minutes ticked on without his appearing. Great, she thought to herself. I've thoroughly humiliated myself for nothing. Again she questioned the wisdom of delivering her cousin's messages for her. She didn't like being an accomplice to deception, and she feared what the two of them might be planning to do. She closed her eyes and reminded herself of what she had learned long ago: a person who is bound and determined to do something stupid will surely find a way to do it. Getting in the way is about as useful as jumping in front of a speeding train in order to stop it. You're sure to get squashed and just might well derail the train in the process, leaving a wreck sprinkled with the remains of innocent bystanders. At least this way she would have some idea which way the locomotive was headed even if she couldn't do anything about it, and she might be in a position to reduce the carnage should the train chance to jump the track. Or so she kept telling herself.

There was another reason as well. Though she hated to admit it to herself, she envied her cousin's relationship with the Morton boy. Not Zachary himself, but the closeness they seemed to share. She had started to feel some of that herself with George back in Pittsburgh before pushing him away. She had met him as a member of the Community Choral Ensemble that had formed to present a performance of Handel's Messiah two Easters past. In the aftermath of the War Between the States the supply of male singers was greatly diminished. Tenors in particular were hard to find, but an asthmatic from childhood George had escaped the call of the bugle, and in the absence of mold, pollen, dust, and a dozen other triggers he had a beautiful, even powerful voice. He had been impressed by Isobel's extensive and eclectic musical repertoire, and the two had become friends. It was wonderful to spend time with a man who shared one of her passions, but as they grew closer she became less and less comfortable with the relationship.

She hadn't been really close to anyone since Roger's death. He had left a hole in her heart that she couldn't, wouldn't fill. It was a sacred place that belonged only to him, and when she felt it trespassed upon an aching nausea filled her, and she was forced to pull back. She could be cordial, even friendly, but she always maintained a distance between herself and others. A part of her soul had drowned along with her twin, and one cannot love without a soul.

It was getting late, quarter to nine. Vivienne had no doubt told everyone she was not feeling well or had turned in early, but the longer she stayed out the more likely someone else was to see her. It still amazed her that Nick hadn't given her up. Perhaps he felt he owed her...

As if in response to her thoughts, someone approached the stable. From the moonlight reflected off the long blonde hair, Isobel could tell in a moment it was Audra Barkley. Audra had recognized her just as quickly. There was no point in trying to duck out of sight, so she merely greeted the young woman as she drew near.

"Good evening, Audra. What brings you into town so late?"

"I was attending a school board meeting, and it ran a little late. Nick is supposed to drive me back home. I'm expecting him here any minute now. How about you?"

Isobel had briefly considered lying, but chose instead to be truthful. If she had been in town all evening, Audra might know where to find the delinquent lover. "I'm looking for Zack Morton. I don't suppose you've seen him?"

"No, I'm afraid not. He wasn't at the meeting." She thought a moment and then continued, "I will tell you who might know, though: Conner Padgett. He's the Morton's foreman, and I know he's in town. I last saw him about five minutes ago in front of the saloon near the mercantile."

"Thank you. I'll go have a look for him." She started away.

"Isobel?" the blonde called out. The blacksmith's daughter looked back. "Did you happen to run into my brother."

"You might say that. He arrived at Uncle Charlie's house oh, about half an hour ago." Forty-five minutes if you counted the tree incident, but she decided not to bring that up.

The Barkley girl practically burst out laughing. "The look on your face, Isobel! Do you still hate him that much?"

"I don't hate him exactly. I just haven't quite forgiven him."

"But why? What did he do?" the tall blonde blinked, puzzled.

"He disappointed me."

The gate was an impressive work of art. It was composed of an arch and two panels that swung out, each with a large bold capital B in the middle pierced with a diagonal line. It stood about 10 feet tall and was just as wide. The verticals were covered with an ivy motif that branched out to circle the family brand and wove into a gentle tangle at the top. Tom Barkley and Dai Morgan had spent weeks fussing over the design of the present for his wife, and the construction had taken months. Officially, it was a secret, but an undertaking of this size is not easily hidden in a town the size of Stockton. On the day of their 20th wedding anniversary Victoria did her best to look surprised when the wagons rolled up pulled by double teams and creaking under the weight of the iron portal. Her appreciation, however was genuine.

"Oh, Tom it's beautiful."

"Kind of fussy if you ask me," Nick offered, eyeing it skeptically. He was not looking forward to the prospect of unloading the monstrosity and setting it into position.

"I don't seem to recall anyone asking you," Jarrod returned. He had come home especially for the celebration. "I agree with Mother. Mr. Morgan, you have created a masterpiece."

"This thing's gotta weigh a ton. What if it falls over? Someone's liable to get his head bashed in."

His father clapped his second son on the shoulder. "Well, we had best make sure it doesn't, then, hadn't we?" Tom and Dai oversaw the crew and the elder two male offspring as they unloaded the pieces and carried them over to the carefully prepared portland foundation. Audra, Roger and Isobel cheered them on while Eugene watched the operation behind the safety of his mother's skirt. It took a team of horses, many hands and a good deal of sweat to lift the structure into position, but the pieces fit perfectly into place, and despite the size and awkwardness it went together without a hitch. The hinges were perfect, and the massive panels swung noiselessly open and shut with only a light push.

With the heavy work completed, Victoria brought out a tray with lemonade for the workers. Dai appreciated the heavy glass tumblers and was impressed by the luxury of ice in the drink. The San Joaquin River never got cold enough to freeze in the winter; ice had to be brought down from the mountains. By this time of year those who had the means to stock an ice house were generally running low and tended to husband their treasure with care.

"We'll be having ice cream tonight, won't we, Ma!" Eugene squeaked, still wrapped in his mother's garments.

"I do hope you'll join us, Dai."

"Oh, I don't know, Mrs. Barkley," the smith waffled. "I wouldn't want to intrude on your fancy party."

"Nonsense! It's no intrusion. We would be proud to have you come. We'll be having guests from all over the valley driving through those gates this evening, and I would love to have them meet the brilliant man who created them."

The giant blushed under the praise. "Well, when you put it that way...I think I could dust off my Sunday coat, and Roger's still got those pants and jacket you passed on to us. They're in pretty good condition"

Victoria smiled, "I don't think Nick wore that suit more than once or twice--he was growing so quickly. It's probably the only one he hasn't destroyed."

That left only Dai's frizzy haired daughter unaccounted for. Of her two dresses one was badly stained and the other in need of mending. The Barkley adults looked at the diminutive girl and then at their own daughter. Even given Isobel's size there was no way the twelve year old could possibly fit into the wardrobe of the eight year old.

"Mother," Audra chirped up, "What about that dress Aunt Lucy just sent me from Denver? It's much too big for me..."

It certainly was a big party. The Barkley home was all decked for the affair. The building had been started approximately five years before and was surrounded by young trees. Rose bushes were already firmly rooted and flourishing--Victoria had planted them as soon as the workmen's boots ceased treading the ground in front of the structure. The interior of the house was still not completed to her satisfaction, but one never would have known it. Exquisite tapestries and rugs covered any unfinished work. One could not help but marvel at the sight. There was a magnificent staircase going up the front and elegant wallpaper. There was even a pump right in the kitchen, a luxury indeed. And, of course, the lovely grand piano. Isobel did not remember her mother at all, but everyone who knew her claimed she had played beautifully. Perhaps someday she would learn to play as well, maybe at that school her father kept threatening to ship her off to.

Half of the valley's elite and not so elite were gathered in and around the beautiful mansion. A crowd had gathered around Dai Morgan congratulating him on the work he had done, and those eager to emulate the prominent family inquired whether he would be available to produce similar monuments for themselves. The Walkers were there and the Hammonds, the Coopers and the Mileses. Little Evan was chasing Audra around with a frog he had smuggled in in his pocket, and Nick looked like he was getting ready to do something about it. "Where do you think you're going?" he bellowed. His voice had deepened considerably since he was thirteen. It was not so deep as the blacksmith's, but it had already developed a roughness. The cigars had done their work. The Mortons were absent, but that was no surprise; they tended to keep to themselves. The Reverend Stokes was congratulating Mr. and Mrs. Barkley on the occasion. He hoped he and his new bride would be so happy in twenty years. Nick's big brother, Jarrod, was talking seriously with Judge Cross. The word "war" was came up several times. Out of the corner of her eye, Izzy could see Dr. and Mrs. Baker chatting with each other. Instinctively, she looked around for their daughter. When she found her she didn't like what she saw. She waited until the buxom sixteen year old was gone before saying anything.

"Roger, what were you talking to Susie about?" Isobel challenged her brother.

"Oh, nothing really," the boy smirked. "Just giving her a couple of suggestions, hedging my bet you might say."

"That's not fair!"

"Who said anything about fair? You're not trying to back out, are you?"

"No, I'm not. I still think he's got too much character to get sucked in, no mater what you say."

"Yeah, well I don't think Susie will be waving her lure at his character.

"And what makes you think he'll bite?"

"She's a pretty girl..."

Izzy scowled. "You can't throw a rock around here without hitting a pretty girl! And she's got a reputation."

Roger guffawed, "Well, not all boys would consider that a bad thing. You just watch. She'll have him wrapped around her little finger before the sun sets."

The chamber orchestra had begun to play, and couples were dancing in every open space in the house. Isobel watched with some jealousy. Her father didn't much approve of dancing (an oddly puritan attitude from a man who bellowed out bawdy songs while he worked at the forge), and she did not know how. It certainly looked like fun. In this dress she could almost imagine being out there twirling around herself, even if it meant having to hold hands with a boy. Even that might not be so bad she mused, if it were the right boy. Roger creeped up behind her and startled her.

"Hey Izz!" he sang quietly. "Where oh where has that Nick got to?" His eyes held a triumphant gleam.

She looked around frantically until she saw two figures through the window out on the back porch. She got up and started toward them. "And what do you think you're gonna do?" her brother asked her. "You've lost already."

"Not yet, I haven't," she whispered approaching the pair. "If you can hedge your bet, so can I."

"Oh, Nick. I don't know what to do." Susie complained wiping her the corners of her baby blues with a delicate handkerchief. She sat on the porch swing gazing up into the hazel eyes of the good looking young man. "I'm just so scared if I tell him its over I... I just don't know what he'll do. I know you two are friends, but--"

"No friend of mine if he would treat a girl like that!" the tall boy protested. He was the picture of the gallant champion, and she the weeping damsel in distress. It made Isobel sick. She had no respect for damsels in distress. Damsels need to learn to take care of themselves rather than throwing the nearest willing body at their problems. Unable to restrain herself she launched herself between the knight and lady.

"Oh, Nick save me! Save me!" she mocked, dramatically throwing her arm across her forehead and arching her back.

"For Christ's sake, Izzy, would you get out of here!" Nick whispered hoarsely, trying not to attract attention.

"This happens to be a private conversation," Susie's eyes had turned from pathetic weeping pools to angry shards of ice.

"Did you ever hear such crap? You aren't falling for any of this, are you?"

"Why don't you go find some dolls to play with? This is none of your business." Nick looked uncomfortable.

Susie was becoming conscious of the attention the disruption was beginning to attract, particularly the suspicious gaze of her parents. "Maybe we'd better talk about this later," she suggested to her black haired confidant. She touched his hand. "Thank you so much for listening, Nick. You've been so very sweet." She batted her big, blue eyes which had once again melted into weepy pools. She left the tall young man regarding the tiny girl angrily.

"I can't stop you from bugging me at the river, but I sure don't have to put up with it here."

"I'm just trying to keep you from doing something stupid." The girl was unphased by his fury. She pulled herself up onto the swing and began absently kicking her legs.

"What do you mean, stupid?" he growled. Nick hated being called stupid.

"Do you really want to get on R.J.'s bad side? 'Cause you're going about it the right way."

"You let me worry about R.J."

"And she's just as bad..."

"Susie? She's an innocent victim. She's as harmless as a kitten."

"Kitty bites."

Nick blushed slightly and couldn't suppress a tiny smirk.

"And she's too old for you."

He leaned down and forward looking her directly in the eye. "Now aren't you the pot calling the kettle black?" He raised his left eyebrow.

She puzzled over that a moment, then suddenly comprehending, Isobel made an eeeew! face and drew back. Nick burst out laughing.

"What pray tell is so terribly amusing?" Jarrod asked appearing on the porch.

Nick was still doubled over with laughter. He shook his head. "Little Izzy here is trying to protect my reputation."

Jarrod raised both eyebrows and regarded the embarrassed child. "Well, you sure have your work cut out for you. Little Brother, when you've caught your breath you might want to come inside. They're getting ready to cut the cake."

Isobel looked back through the window behind her and saw the grinning face of her brother "Two weeks!" he mouthed silently.

The ice house was as good a place as any to cool off. She entered the small building, careful to leave the door propped open a bit. The last thing she needed was to get locked in and have to be rescued. She wanted to be alone, and with all the people around the house it seemed the only place where she could sit with her thoughts. She especially wanted to get away from Roger, whose self-satisfied grin made her want to choke him. It had been her own fault, though. Nobody had forced her to take the bet.

The sound of voices startled her out of her thoughts. There were footsteps coming closer. Quickly she scrambled up the pile of ice blocks and perched just out of sight. "Damn that Eugene," one of the voices said. "He left the door open again. Its a wonder the ice hasn't all melted by now." The door creaked open, and Isobel could just make out two silhouettes--a boy and a girl. Oh, no. She was grateful for their whispers and the muffling effect of the straw and sawdust. She really didn't need to hear what they had to say to each other. The bet was lost, the fish was caught, and she had no desire to watch him cleaned and gutted.

It was dark and cold. Isobel curled up into a ball in an effort to keep warm. Unfortunately, in her efforts to get comfortable she sent down a tiny shower of straw. "What was that?" Susie spoke suddenly.

Nick looked around then looked up. He thought he saw something moving "Who is that up there? Gene? Get down here before I come up and break your neck."

Discovered, Isobel could think of nothing to do but comply. The sooner she got out of there the better. When he discovered who it was climbing down he was even more furious than before. "Who the hell do you think you are? Do you think this is some kind of a joke? I don't like you. I don't want you around. A fellow's got a right to live his life without having some ugly little toad following him around watching everything he does!"

Isobel looked as if she had been punched in the stomach. It was a mean thing to say, and he knew it. The queer little thing couldn't help being ugly. God! why wouldn't she just leave him alone? As if reading his mind, Isobel lifted her borrowed skirts and picked her way over the blocks of ice. "Sorry," she mumbled without looking up. The door of the ice house squeaked quietly as she opened it, and a shaft of orange sunset briefly fell upon Nick with his arms around the older girl.

He was speechless. It certainly wasn't the first time she had ever been told such things, and she'd never seemed to be affected by them before. He had always been impressed by the little squirt's resilience, the way the other kids rocks and insults seemed to slide off her without making any impression whatsoever. The way she kept coming back no matter what people thought or did. Who would have thought she wasn't invulnerable? Suddenly Nick was washed over by a tide of guilt.

"Thank God she's gone!" Susie sighed. "Now, where were we?"

"Hang on just a minute," he said unwinding himself from her. He slipped out the door momentarily to look for the little girl, but she had disappeared.

At a quarter past nine, Nick Barkley emerged from the Marshall house.

He had faithfully delivered the drawings with which Victoria had provided him and stayed for a drink, a cigar, and a visit with Vivienne. The drink had been a very good Irish whiskey. The cigar from Charles Marshall's well stocked humidor was likewise excellent. The visit with Vivienne however was, well, odd. Her reaction to the pears was quite peculiar. She had looked up at him startled and almost, he thought, guiltily. She became rather nervous and began looking around the room, stealing glances at her uncle and father. Nick realized at once she must have known about her cousin's escape. He waited until they had a moment alone to reassure her that her secret was safe with him, but she only seemed to become more confused and disturbed. It was almost a relief when he excused himself and bade them farewell.

As he walked out onto the street he stole a last glimpse at the few branches of the pear tree that were visible from the front of the house, and he found himself smiling. What a strange creature that Isobel was. He had come to think that nothing that girl did could ever surprise him again, but danged if she didn't keep thinking up doozies. Well, if she was going out to meet some fellow, all the more power to her. She could use somebody to take that edge off of her, and he knew how intimidating her giant of a father could be. He couldn't help but feel glad for her, whoever she might be meeting. She always had such difficulty getting along with people, and as for looks, well, Isobel was certainly no Vivienne. But then, he was surprised to find himself thinking, Vivienne was no Isobel either. She had that certain, what was it? Indefinite things bothered him. He had to identify it. Spirit? No, Vivienne had spirit. More an audacity of spirit, or gall. Yes, gall, that was it. Happy to have put a name to the thing, he walked on. She had been scared to death up there, but that didn't stop her from trying her damnedest to help herself. Nick had been around peril enough to recognize terror when he saw it, and she would have let herself fall before admitting to it or asking for help. That was a feeling he could well identify with. She was Izzy the Bold and Indomitable now, then, and always. And, he recalled thinking of her grinning as she left, she does have the same smile as her cousin; that could go a long way. Heck, it made her look almost pretty. Almost. He decided that Isobel definitely needed to smile more often.

He was passing the mercantile when he heard her voice coming from just inside the saloon. Gall. Definitely gall, he shook his head.

"You won't forget now? Nine o'clock tomorrow evening at the old mill."

"The old mill, nine o'clock. Absolutely. I shall write it on my heart." Nick stopped short. The second voice was revoltingly familiar.

Audra had to grab ahold of her seat as the buggy gave another shudder. "Are you <strong>trying</strong> to hit every pothole?"

Nick did not answer. I shoulda busted his head open. If I turn back now I still can. He glanced at Audra sitting next to him, and she could see the barely contained fury in his eyes. Not that she ever really needed to see his eyes to know when he was angry. Every part of his body screamed even on the rare occasions when his voice was silent.

"Nick, what has gotten into you?" she demanded, bracing herself. She knew he could not keep quiet long, and the sooner he exploded the better. The ride would be much more comfortable once he had let off some steam. Abruptly he put on the brakes, stopped the team and turned toward her.

"You want to know what's wrong?" he punched out. "I'll tell you what's wrong. My little sister is seeing a rat. Everybody knows he's a rat. Everybody tells her he is a rat. But does she listen? Noooo. She has to wait 'till the rat," he waved his hand, fishing for words, "does.. ratty things."

"We've been through this before--"

"Well apparently not enough. Do you want to know what I just saw?" Audra shook her head. "I'm gonna tell you what I just saw. Your precious rat boy, Conner the Philadelphia philanderer making arrangements to meet with...someone else."

"You've been spying on him?!" she accused, becoming angry herself and not a little embarrassed.

He rolled his eyes and threw back his head then again regarded her. "No, Audra, I just happened to be in the right place at the right time."

"Then how do you know you saw what you saw? Maybe you misunderstood." Nick glared at her. She was reaching. "Well, who was he meeting with?"

"Does it really matter?" He couldn't quite bring himself to divulge that. "I'm just say'n I don't figure he should be sneaking off with anyone if he's as devoted to you as he makes out to be." Audra had no answer, and he released the brake. He shook the reigns with a gentle "Hyah!" and they started rolling again.

The ride was a somewhat smoother after that, but Audra's thoughts bumped around uncomfortably inside her head. She knew Conner had been angry when she left. Was he angry enough to want to hurt her that way? She couldn't believe that. He did not have a vindictive nature.

Then she remembered her curious meeting with Isobel at the livery stable. She was looking for Zack. A sudden thought occurred to her. Perhaps Nick had overheard her talking to Conner and had misunderstood. That would make sense, though she couldn't quite see the wiley young woman wanting to meet secretly with the Morton boy. He was younger than her, and while he was of much better character than R.J. something told her Isobel would find him a good deal more "disappointing" than her own brother.

She looked at the dark man, still visibly agitated with his hazel eyes glaring at the road ahead, mouth turned down at the corner, hands gripping the reigns somewhat tighter than necessary. There had been many times she had been angered by him. Infuriated really. He had even hurt her before, although never seriously or viciously, and he had always been thoroughly remorseful afterward. But she could not recall him ever once disappointing her. None of her brothers had. Jarrod, Nick and Heath were all responsible, caring, principled men who always gave their best effort. They occasionally made mistakes--they were after all only human--but they never failed in duty, love or loyalty. Even Eugene who had finally come out from behind their mother's skirts only to send himself farther away from the protection of her loving arms than any of the others could have imagined still wrote regularly to express his devotion from far off Vienna where he had followed his mentor, Professor Hawthorn to study more about the remarkable practice of vaccination.

Of course, neither did she have any illusions about her brother that could be shattered. She knew he had a temper, that he often acted without thinking things through, and that he had particularly bad luck with women. The boy seemed wear a sign that said "walk all over me, please!" and he was always so surprised when they did. Audra resisted the temptation to turn around and check her own back for such a sign, for in many ways the two of them were very much alike.

She chuckled inwardly. What would Nick think of that comparison? He was always accusing her of being vain and flighty, but wasn't he just as bad? In his own way he took just as much care of his appearance. The way he carefully slicked back his hair instead of getting it cut to a practically short length or leaving it long enough to pull back. The way he swaggered around the ladies with his chest thrust out like a proud peacock. Those ridiculously large jingely spurs that he wore even when he wasn't riding. She knew she had seen him practice that cocky grin in the mirror when he thought nobody was looking. And he always had to be the best at everything: shoot the best, rope the best, fight the best, smoke the best cigars, escort the prettiest girls. As for flighty, wasn't he always coming up with hair brained schemes? Like when he went through the bunkhouse measuring the height of men's ears in his "scientific" efforts to identify a thief? Or going off half cocked, like when took out after that poor Gypsy, Corso accusing him of stealing a cask of wine when Nick himself had moved it without noting it in the inventory? Rash was flighty's male twin. Audra frowned again. Corso had ended up with a couple cracked ribs over that misunderstanding. What would happen if Nick went off half cocked after Conner? Conner was no old man, but Audra was no cask of wine.

"Nick, are you sure, really sure you know what's going on? Because I don't think you do."

"Audra, I heard him with my own ears," he said exasperatedly.

"Then let me talk to him about it."

"You think he's gonna be honest with you?" he stole a glance at her then looked back at the road ahead. "He's as slippery as they come. You go talk to him and within five minutes he'll have you on your knees begging his forgiveness for ever even thinking he could be two-timing you."

"That's not true," she protested.

"Oh? You'd even help him out. You want so badly to believe him you're probably making up excuses for him right this very minute, aren't you?" Audra was silent. How had he gotten to know her so well. "Aren't you?"

Audra tried to put aside her fury for a moment and started evenly, "I do think there is a reasonable alternate view of what you think you--"

"For crying out loud, Audra! Will you just give it up?! You just can't stand to think that maybe I'm right and you're wrong. You know, there's no shame in being wrong every now and then, just as long as you admit it to yourself once you know you're wrong, before you go and fool yourself into doing something irrevocably stupid." The blonde bristled at the term "stupid" and he realized he had not chosen the word wisely. Trying to soften the blow he half-smiled and added. "I know. I speak from personal experience."

Audra was not mollified. It appeared her brother was in no mood to listen to reasonable argument. She would have to wait until he was in a more receptive mood to talk to him. In the mean time she hoped he wouldn't run off himself and do something "irrevocably stupid."

"Just promise me one thing," she said.

"What's that?"

"That you won't lay a hand on him," she saw her brother inhale deeply in preparation for a vehement protest. "That you won't lay a hand on him," she insisted, "unless you actually see him doing something wrong. I don't mean planning about it or bragging about it. There has to be, as Jarrod would say, not a shadow of a doubt." Reluctantly, Nick agreed.

Saturday at two-fifteen Jarrod stepped off the train in Stockton. He wanted nothing more than to go home and have a good hot bath with plenty of soap. The trial had been short but excruciating. The defendant had been an unpleasant individual, irritable, unsavory, rude, morally questionable and downright unsanitary. He patently refused his lawyer's advise to clean himself up for the trial, and only the councillor's great skill at mollifying the judge spared him several contempt charges. Jarrod had better manners than to show his revulsion for the man who sat next to him at the table, but each day as he left the courtroom he had to resist the temptation to check his coat for lice. Even unpleasant people had a right to legal representation. Though he had no doubt in his mind that the man was capable of the crime in question and had probably committed several similar ones before, in this particular case Jarrod believed him to be innocent. The jury had unanimously agreed.

He hoped Nick and Audra had gotten over their differences. They generally managed to avoid conflict with each other ensconced as they were in their two separate worlds: his of working the ranch and hers of the kitchen, her hobbies and her causes. Oh Nick would occasionally tease her about her cooking, and Audra had a string attached to his wallet, but they took each other's jibes and offenses good naturedly. On the rare occasions when they came head to head, however, he was just as glad to be out of town. They were two peas in a pod: stubborn, rash, and used to getting their own way. Neither of them would be willing to give an inch if they could possibly help it.

Heath was patiently waiting for him in the buggy, on time as always. "Howdy, Jarrod. How'd thing'thingss go in Frisco? D'ja win your case?"things

"Yes, we did. Most of the evidence against him was hearsay and the one eyewitness was obviously lying. It never should have even gone to trial, except the defendant made himself so disagreeable they were hoping to put him into jail solely on the basis of his personality." Heath merely shook his head in response. "How rages the battle at home?"

Heath twitched his head. "Quiet, mostly. They seem to have come to some kind of a cease fire, but I don't know how long it'll last."

"Hopefully long enough for me to get myself clean and to burn this suit."

The day had indeed gone rather quietly. Too quietly in Victoria's opinion. At breakfast brother and sister were civil to each other, but their mother could sense the tension between them. It was a slight improvement over the day before--her daughter was no longer twirling the butter knife in that disturbing way--but the war would not be over until one or both of them gave in. Victoria was unsure how that would come about. They each had their points. Conner Padgett was not exactly the man she would have chosen for her daughter, but then Audra was an adult, entitled to make her own decisions, and mother and daughter were very different people.

Nick had spent the day fixing fences in the north pasture, and the two women concentrated on canning the last of the summer fruits. The season had run late this year, the trees had continued to produce decent fruit right up through the end of September. There would be plenty of peaches and pears in the larder this winter. When Victoria questioned Audra about the situation with Conner, the young woman was evasive. She did admit that the two of them had had an argument, and that she and her brother had come to an uneasy truce. More than that she would not say.

During dinner the two of them remained quiet while Jarrod regaled the family with the details of the trial, the defendant's outbursts, the landlady's testimony about the missing property and the sudden realization that she was actually wearing one of the supposedly stolen pieces of jewelry. Nick rolled his peas around the plate with his fork, his mind apparently on neither the food nor the conversation. He excused himself early, and when the moon was up he announced he was going out for a ride. Alone.

Nick knew he should not have come alone. Heath surely would have been willing to accompany him, and Jarrod for that matter. The lawyer's ability to talk his way around any awkward situation could surely come in handy. Not that he doubted he could take Conner should the need arise, but it would have been good to have someone who could back him up in a fight and in the eventual confrontation with Audra that was bound to follow. But extra witnesses were just what he wanted to avoid. He didn't want to embarrass Isobel any more than necessary. She had been in town only a month and likely had no idea what sort of man she had gotten herself involved with.

Deciding it would be better to arrive quietly, he stopped just short of Foster's creek and slid down off Duke's back. From this vantage point he could just make out the outline of the top of the old sawmill. He tied his horse loosely to a tree, and giving him a final friendly pat on the withers started off toward the buildings. As he approached he could see two horses hitched at the post. One of them was a paint that appeared to be old Beatrice from the livery stable. On the second, a light grey he could barely make out the vertical zigzag that was the brand of the Morton ranch. Odd. Conner's seldom rode any but his brown Candide.

Nick walked along the muddy channel that led to the great wheel. The sluice gate that connected it to the stream above the cascades had been permanently closed when the Royers had moved their operation downstream, but a tiny constant trickle of water kept the silted up trough moist. He followed it down to the sheer drop off above the mill where the wooden framework that had transferred the water from the channel to the wheel had crumbled away. The hill had a more gentle slope around the back of the mill, so he picked his way down that way. There were three buildings. The mill itself looked in rather questionable condition, and Nick doubted the pair would seek refuge there. The seasoning barn, where Dai announced his intentions to set up his forge seemed in good shape, but the house was by far the most likely place to find them

As he stepped onto the porch a loose board creaked. Damn, he winced. He stopped short and listened intently. There wasn't a sound. This was stupid. Why was he still skulking around? They weren't going anywhere, and he wasn't sure he wanted to interrupt anything with a sudden appearance. He sighed, lifted his right arm and flicked his wrist back, knocking one knuckled on the door.

Whispers wafted through the open window, and footsteps slowly approached.

"Vivienne?" Nick gazed at the dark haired beauty in confusion.

"What are you doing here? Where's your cousin?"

"Isa's back at home, I would imagine," she responded, just as shocked to see him. "Nick, you really should go." She started to close the door, but he lodged his foot in the doorway.

"Not until you tell me what's going on here."

"I, I thought you understood," the flustered girl began, straightening her rumpled dress, "after last night..."

"What?" he scrunched up his face, still bewildered, until he saw the mustachioed young man in the back of the room. Then the realization hit him like a slap across the face."Last night...the tree...Padgett..."

"Well look who we've got here," Zack sneered, approaching.

"I'm really very sorry, Nick. Please--" But Zack had already reached the door.

"Now, Sweetie, there's no need to be rude," he sidled up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled the nape of her neck. "Come on in, Nick old buddy."

Nick shook his head, raised his hands in a warning gesture and started to back up. Zack reached out with his left arm and grabbed his right, letting go of his lady love. "Honey, Nick here and I have a few things we need to talk over," he stated.

"Zack, dear, is this really necessary?"

"Absolutely."

Nick anticipated the right hook and deftly ducked out of its path at the same time freeing up his right arm. He delivered a punch directly to Zack's midsection, and the Morton boy staggered back. Nick wound up for another blow, but Zack ran forward butting him with his head , and they both fell off the porch, Nick careening backward barely avoiding cracking his skull on the ground. The two rolled in the dirt like a pair of brawling schoolboys. The one fueled by a jealous vindictive rage and the other by the shame of betrayal on top of the fury that had been eating him alive for the past few days. Despite himself, Nick was having a ball. It felt so good to let loose he hardly noticed the blows that his adversary was landing on him. When he did, he found the pain somehow comforting. It was something solid, something identifiable. A foe he was familiar with and knew how to handle, rather than the vague threat his sister had effectively forbidden him to challenge.

The shot of a gun interrupted their revelry. The two adversaries looked up into the barrel of the Winchester Vivienne had removed from the rifle boot of the gray. "<strong>I want the two of you to stop this foolishness this very minute!</strong>"

Well I'll be, Nick thought briefly, she does have gall.

"Now, Honey, you put that thing down before someone gets hurt," Zack pleaded gently.

"Don't be silly, Viv. You don't even know how to use that. Do you?" Nick added in what he thought was a reasonable tone of voice. "Look, you don't even have the thing cocked."

She cocked the rifle. Nick was taken aback. "Zachary, would you please be so kind as to get some rope?" Her lover got to his feet and walked obediently to his horse to fetch the long coil he kept tucked behind the saddle. "I'm truly sorry to have to do this, Nick, but I can't have you going back to town and telling Poppa about us." Zack tied his hands behind his back and led the tall, black haired man into the mill. Inside the building was empty. All the lumber processing equipment had been moved downstream to the new mill. The shorter man searched for a moment for something to tie him to, then settled for the support that had once held the linkage that attached the great wheel to the mill works.

"Take off your boots, Nick" he ordered.

"What?"

"Your boots. Take 'em off."

"And just how do you expect me to do that with my hands tied behind my back?"

Zack sighed and bent over to help him. At once Nick kicked up, deftly hitting the smaller man square in the face. Zack rolled back and stood up again then ran at the bound man knocking him to the ground and delivering a good many kicks of his own to his head and midriff. "That's enough Zachary! We don't want to hurt him. We just want him to stay put for now." The look in his eyes denied that sentiment, but a slave to his mistress he backed off. "Now, Nick, if you please..." She motioned the gun toward his feet. The man shook his head still incredulous, but one at a time, bracing toe against heel carefully avoiding the spurs with his socked feet, he eased his boots off. Zack tossed them aside, helped him to his feet again and led him over to face the support.

"Now, cross your legs around the beam and sit down." The position was awkward. Even unbound the agile man would have difficulty getting out of it, but for good measure Zack used another piece of the line to tie both ankles to one another with the rope making a full circle around the support.

"If we start riding now, how long do you think it would take to get to Modesto?" Vivienne asked.

Zack considered rubbing his chin. "I reckon we could probably get there by dawn," he said.

"Excellent!" she replied. "Then we'll see the parson there first thing in the morning and by the time Poppa even notices I'm gone it will be too late for him to do anything about it." Nick struggled to get up, but succeeded only in rattling the support. The roof creaked ominously over head.

"Ah, ah. I wouldn't do that if I were you," Zack scolded.

"You're just gonna leave me here? This whole place is gonna crash down on top of me the moment I budge."

"Don't worry Nick. Just sit tight, and I'm sure somebody will come by eventually. You did have the sense to tell somebody where you were going, didn't you? In the mean time, don't move around too much." He winked his eye and escorted his lady love out the door. It shut behind them. He heard them mount their horses and ride off.

Alone and in the dark, Nick cursed his own stupidity. When was he ever gonna learn? All the warning signs were there, Vivienne's sudden willingness to go out with him (after a year of courting with the younger Morton did he really think their attachment could end just like that?), the absent looks at the dance, her flustered embarrassment the night before when she thought Isobel had given her away. Of course Izzy could have given him a clue, he ruminated, but then remembering what happened last time she gave him a heads up regarding a woman, he didn't blame her for her silence. Good old Susie, the first of his follies. His mother had been shocked, his father furious, and he'd resolved to be mighty careful for a good long time after her. He only narrowly escaped getting pegged as the father of that baby girl, which at fifteen would have been devastating. Fortunately for him, the child had been born much too early to have been his. Not so fortunate for Susan and her little Hannah. Furious with his former friend and former girlfriend, Rufus Jr. denied having anything to do with its conception. Rather than push the matter, Dr. Baker chose to leave town with his wife, daughter, and granddaughter, moving his practice north to Sacramento.

If only Nick had remained careful, but then careful wasn't exactly in his nature.

Enough of that, though. He had other things to attend to, and freeing himself from this pickle could prove mighty difficult indeed. He tested the line on his feet and was answered only by a slight wiggle from the support and a foreboding creak from above. His arms were likewise useless. No one could fault Zack on his knots. He was one skilled cowboy. His manners at times left a little to be desired, but then Nick was in no position to judge.

The building was not completely dark. Looking around, he noticed the moonlight filtering through a sizable break in the wall near him where the neglected siding had fallen away. The crack widened all the way down to the floor making a hole big enough for a man to fit through in a pinch. If what he contemplated doing worked he might not have time to struggle to his feet and make it to the door.

The support was badly rotted. A good solid blow to the side might break it in two, but it could also send the ceiling crashing down on top of him. He decided to take that chance. He gently rocked his torso to the left, away from the wall, then heaved his body as hard as he could to the right. The support cracked a tiny bit, and a small shower of debris landed around him, a promise of more to come. Undaunted he wound up again and gave the beam another blow. More shingles and leaves fell from above, and the structure screamed. The building seemed ready to fall any moment and he was still as stuck as before. Third time's the charm, he hoped, slamming himself against the wood. The beam broke through, and the roof shattered as Nick freed himself and used his momentum to propel his bundled body through the break in the wall.

He rolled out of the building just in time. The mill collapsed inward, only the side with the hole remaining upright with the great wheel balanced precariously heavy at its side. Unfortunately, in throwing his body out through the hole in the splintering siding, he failed to take account of the pond. Decades before, water diverted from the river into the trough above filled the buckets of the wheel causing it to turn before cascading into the pool below from which it drained back to the river. The trough was now relatively dry and the wheel still, but the pond remained, the four foot deep gouge kept filled by rains and the high water table.

Bound hand and foot he plunged into the murky pool. Shallow as it was he could not seem to get his footing, and his body thrashed about like a fish on a line as he struggled to get his head above the water. He made a terrific gasp as his face finally broached the surface, opening his eyes just in time to see the shadow of the great wheel come crashing down on top of him.

Its support structure demolished, the great wheel, which for years had hung useless from the side of the abandoned mill, tipped up on its axle and fell into the pond dragging with it the remnants of the final wall of the building.

With a monumental effort, Nick took a deep breath and dove down under the murky water, narrowly missing being crushed under its weight. The wheel struck him painfully across his back and right shoulder, pressing him momentarily into the muddy bottom of the pool, but the dense water had absorbed enough of the shock and the weight to save his life. Despite the pain he managed to squirm out from underneath before his lungs burst. When he tried to return to the surface, however, he found the rope that bound his hands and feet had caught on the wheel. There was not sufficient slack for him to place his feet on the bottom and still keep his head above the water. His body was forced into a cruel approximation of the uncomfortable position he had enjoyed attached to the beam, except now he was faced with the problem of breathing as well.

Relax, he told himself, let go. As he did, he felt his lower body rise somewhat as he floated to the surface on his back. When his face finally emerged from the water he took a number of deep, grateful breaths of air while he glimpsed around as best he could to see if there wasn't anything else about to drop down on top of him. With some relief he ascertained the worst of it to be over. Only the full midnight moon still hung above him, and if that decided to fall, too, well there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

The considerate moon did not fall. She stayed perched up in the heavens watching over him like a princess over her royal champion as he tried one maneuver after another to try to free himself. It was a calm night. Not a cloud was in the sky to block her view or that of the myriad stars who had shown up just for the occasion. This was much to Nick's advantage-- the pond was as flat as a pancake once it had recovered from the earlier crash; a mild disturbance quickly absorbed by the indifferent pool. It made keeping his mouth and nose in the air a good deal simpler than it might have been had the wind been rocking its surface with little waves. As it was, only his awkward movements disturbed the water around him.

When he had recovered his breath, he first tried diving below again to try to free up the rope. This proved both exhausting and futile. For one thing, despite the moon's valiant efforts there was too much mud that had been stirred up and insufficient light to see where exactly the line was caught. Also the fact that his arms were behind him and his short tether prevented him from being able to even feel his way around effectively. Added to that the muscles across his back and shoulder where the wheel had hit protested against the movement. He didn't think he had broken anything, but the pain was excruciating. After several attempts in this direction he was forced to take another rest, floating quietly again while he regained his strength.

His tired mind began to wander. The moon looked particularly yellow tonight. The color of his sister's hair. He could almost see her up there looking down on him and saying, "What trouble have you gotten yourself into now, Nick?" Not in a mean or exasperated way, but caring and concerned and perhaps slightly amused. What the hell. If it weren't so damned uncomfortable he might find it funny as well. He was always the first one to laugh at his own foibles (God help the man that beat him to it). He had gone out of the frying pan and into the fire. It served him right for butting in where he didn't belong, but the lovely princess forgave him. He was, after all her champion, sworn to protect her from...from every evil that threatened. If he happened to get a little overzealous at times, well, such things happen when one is moon-struck.

With a jolt Nick realized he was drifting off to sleep. He shook himself, stirring up the water around him in an effort to bring himself back. Sleep was his enemy. It would surely mean death, and drowning in less than four feet of water would be downright disgraceful. It was time to get back to work. Trying to pick out the knots was useless. He had already ascertained the quality of the Zack's handiwork, and the fact that the rope was now wet would only make them more difficult to negotiate. Likewise freeing the rope from the wheel appeared hopeless. Perhaps he could find some sharp edge to rub up against to cut through the rope. He felt in vein as far along the portion of the wheel as he could go for some bit of metal. There were some promising fittings just out of reach, and he spent one bout of strength stretching and tugging with no success. Finally he set his sights a bit lower and was rewarded with a couple of rusty nails. Determinedly he set to work trying to saw through the individual fibers without yanking the nail out of position.

It was going to be a long night, but at least he had the moon's approving smile to keep him company.

Audra couldn't sleep. She had been tossing and turning all night, worried for Conner and for her brother. When Nick said he was going out for a ride she had her suspicions about where he was planning to go, but she determined not to follow. He had, after all made her a promise, and Nick always kept his promises. It was her job to trust. But then he didn't come and didn't come. He's a big boy. He can take care of himself. He's probably just letting off some steam, she tried to convince herself. Her other brothers echoed the sentiment. Eventually she forced herself to go to bed, but sleep refused to take her.

For hours it seemed she lay awake while her heart raced until she just couldn't stand it any more. She roused herself and walked to the window to see if there was any evidence of his return. The full moon shone on her face as she drew open the curtains to look out. Nothing.

Maybe he had gone into town for a card came or a couple of drinks. It was Saturday night after all. No, make that Sunday morning, she noted looking at the clock on her vanity. The little hand was just past the three. Perhaps he had gotten himself plastered and chosen to sleep it off at the Cattlemen's. Or maybe gotten into a "disagreement" with someone at Casey's. It wouldn't be the first time he had spent the night in jail after a saloon brawl.

That was most likely it, she decided. She moved to close the curtains again, but the moon seemed to call her. Come out, come out, the eerily glowing orb pleaded. Unaccountably she began to unbutton her nightgown and search the commodious wardrobe for her riding clothes. It took Audra, the Princess of Primping, all of five minutes to get out the front door.

She crossed the yard, tiptoeing quietly in front of the bunkhouse so as not to wake any of the men. Most of the help already thought she was a little bit touched in the head, though none dared to say so in the presence of any of the family. She didn't want to have to explain that the moon was calling her on an errand. Pantomime stood alert in her stall as if waiting for her. The black mare was sure-footed and fast and used to traveling in the dark and would be the perfect mount. Taking her time so as to get everything just right, Audra readied the horse to ride. She might be absent minded about some things, but an excellent horsewoman she knew the folly of rushing when saddling up. When she was satisfied that Pantomime was comfortable and safe to ride she mounted her horse and took off.

Down the road she flew, confidant of her purpose and Pantomime's knowledge of the terrain, blonde hair shining in the moonlight as it trailed behind her. She had to stop and get down momentarily when she reached the edge of the property a couple of miles down the road in order to open the large iron gate. After fourteen years the well maintained hinges still worked smoothly. Getting back on she had to decide which way to go next. Nick hadn't mentioned where he thought Conner was meeting someone, and she hadn't the vaguest notion. After thinking on it a while she turned Pantomime east toward the Morton spread. That was where she was most likely to find Conner, and if her brother had taken out after him Nick as well.

She failed to notice the pale moon setting in the west, in the direction of the river.

She had been gone two nights, and half the town was out looking for her. They were searching every well, every open mine shaft, every locked ice house and any other place they could think where a child might hide. No luck. But at the dawn of the second day Roger knew precisely where to look. He followed the river down to the place. He hadn't been there in over a year, but the location remained intact in his brain. No one else would know to look here, for she never shared the location of their special fishing spot with any of the other kids. Sure enough she was there. Wearing only a shift, dirty, and somewhat the worse for wear, but alive and apparently well.

He paused a moment to watch her a while before showing himself. There she stood thigh deep in the water, deeper in concentration. In her right hand she held the most expensive object she had ever owned. It was a store bought fishing pole with a reel and a crank, a Christmas gift sent in the mail from Aunt Gigi and Uncle Charles. It had actually been intended for him, but when he unwrapped the parcel and saw the look in her eyes he immediately offered to trade her for whatever inane object it was they had considered was appropriate for a girl her age. Probably a doll. For some reason people were always giving Izzy dolls. Perhaps they felt that she would feel duty bound to actually play with them knowing someone had spent their time or hard earned money to provide her with them. They needn't have bothered. She just wasn't that kind of girl.

Isobel brought her arm back then forward releasing the line and sending the fly sailing gracefully through the air, catching it again letting it drop softly as an insect on the surface of the water then reeling it back in. It was one fluid motion pure and beautiful in its own way. Though Roger did not much care for fishing himself he loved to watch his sister practice her art. With the pole in her hand she forgot to be sarcastic or suspicious or anything but Just Plain Isobel. And Just Plain Isobel was someone he missed terribly.

In the past few years she changed more than he wanted to admit. He had a sinking feeling they were growing irrevocably apart. What would happen once she really started growing up? What would she be like? Would she still be the sort of person he would want to spend all his free time with or would puberty turn her into another one of those boy chasing, tittering idiots he chucked horse apples at in the street? That seemed to be the way with girls, though he held the private hope Izzy would be exempt from that particular fate. He really wanted things to stay just the way they were back when she was content to have him as her sole playmate. He liked being the most important person in her life, and was jealous when he had to share her with the rest of the world. But more and more she was resenting his presence, and the more he tried to hold on to her the more she pushed him away. Perhaps a day would come when she wouldn't need him at all. The thought scared him. He could not even imagine not needing her.

She practiced the motion over and over again, patiently executing one perfect cast after another, but the fish were just not biting. Roger hated to interrupt her, even considered turning around and leaving as quietly as he had come rather than invade her private industry and face her well earned wrath. He couldn't do that, though. He couldn't just go back and say he'd found her and she was fine. He needed to bring her home. He cupped his hands to his mouth and called out to her, but she appeared not to hear him over the rush of the river.

Roger sat down and pulled off his shoes and stockings, then rolled up the legs of his trousers before wading into the freezing current. It was stronger than he expected, and he marveled that such a tiny slip of a girl managed to stand there hour after hour without losing her footing and getting carried away by the stream.

"Izz!" he hollered. "Come on out. I want to talk to you!"

"What do you want?" she called back without turning around, her voice as cold as the water.

He waded closer, not wishing to yell what he had to say.

"I want to apologize," he said.

"For what?" she asked blankly. She was going to make him work for her forgiveness.

"You know, the whole thing. With Nick?"

"There's nothing to apologize for. We made a bet. You won. End of story."

"Then what are you doing here? Everybody's worried sick about you." He smiled weakly, trying to gain her favor. "Father was eyeing the razor strop all through dinner." A joke. Never once had the blacksmith used that instrument on his daughter.

"I haven't caught anything yet. I'm not leaving until I catch something."

"You mean to tell me you've been out here two days and haven't caught anything?"

"Nothing worth keeping."

"With those feathers and stuff? I'm not surprised. How about I go get you something juicier?"

She rejected his offer with a shake of her head. They stood there for a while, neither one talking. Isobel kept casting her line and dragging the empty hook back.

Eventually she broke the silence. "That was a dirty trick you played."

"Yeah, I know."

"R.J.'s gonna make you suffer, too. He's not going to be happy when he finds you've been setting up his girl with someone else."

Roger gave a snort to show what he thought of that threat.

"You sent them to the ice house, too, didn't you?"

Roger shrugged. "I might have suggested it as a place to get away."

"Why? Wasn't it enough knowing you had won? Did you have to rub it in?" The line sailed through the air again, and the fly lit on the surface of the water. Again nothing. She looked so hurt. He felt like a worm.

"I don't know, Izz," he confessed, as she started pulling in the line again. "I guess I just...well you've been spending so much time with that lot and all. I thought maybe once you saw they weren't all that, you'd maybe start liking me again."

Isobel stopped reeling and regarded her brother, her eyebrows knitted together in disbelief.

"Liking you again?"

Roger looked away in embarrassment.

"I never stopped liking you; you're my brother!" The very idea was preposterous. "You piss me off sometimes," she admitted, "but that doesn't mean I don't like you."

"I just want us to spend more time together. If you go out east--"

"I'm not going out east. It'll take more than some fancy school to pull me away from here. You're stuck with me, Rog."

The boy brightened visibly. "Then you forgive me?"

Izzy grimaced. "Yeah, I forgive you." She finished reeling in her line and the two of them started to wade out of the water.

"Great, because you've got a lot of work to do. Let's see that'll be two weeks of emptying the garbage, two weeks of sweeping up the workshop, two weeks of changing the coals, oiling the--" His sister gave him a friendly shove. He went to push back, but he tripped his foot on a rock and fell sideways into the water. Before either of them knew what was happening the rushing current had grabbed him and was carrying him downstream.

Nick's hands were numb from the cool of the water and reduced circulation, and it was impossible to gauge what progress he was making with the nail.

Physically and mentally exhausted, he rested again (if one could call it resting) looking up in the sky. It was darker now. The moon had set, and only the stars were left to mock him before the sun saw fit to rise. The pain from the blow across his back and shoulder were now nothing in comparison to the protestations of the rest of his body to the constriction of the rope. His thigh muscles were starting to spasm, his pectorals and biceps to cry for freedom. Writhing only made matters worse, as every movement he made threatened to submerge his head. Worse still, the heat was being sapped from his body. Even the warmth of the Indian summer could not keep the pond from cooling through the night. His body began to shiver uncontrollably.

There was a tickling sensation on his right temple, and his right arm gave a twitch of its own accord as his body sought automatically to do what even his best conscious efforts could not accomplish. Frustrated, he risked another submerging to wriggle his body into a position from which he could rub his head on a bucket of the great wheel. He felt a kind of a squish, and turned his head slightly to see a darker stain running down into the water. Blood? Did he have another injury he hadn't known about? The thought of something squishy oozing from his skull nearly made him wretch. He couldn't remember hitting his head. He couldn't have injured himself that badly and not notice, could he? Or even still be alive?

He forced himself to look again, and in the dim starlight noticed a dark oblong shadow about three inches in length smeared against rim of the bucket. Suddenly identifying the source of the squish and the blood, he burst into a choking laughter that shook his whole body. His head went under water momentarily, and then he resurfaced, spouting like a whale. His diaphragm continued to spasm for a few moments as relief pushed aside his brief panic. Roger had taken the secret source of his miraculous bait to his grave. Now facing the prospect of death himself, Nick found himself the lucky heir to this rather dubious treasure.

It was a long ride to the ranch.The Morton spread was clear on the other side of town. As she approached the house Audra had the sinking feeling that she was in the wrong place, had made a bad decision. She hitched up Pantomime, tired from the long run, to a rail and looked around. The place was quiet in the pre-pre-dawn. There was only the sound of soft snoring wafting from the bunkhouse. She went over to the stable door and peeked in. A couple of the stalls were empty, but there between two other horses was the brown Candide. He had been dozing, but roused when she entered. She walked over to the stallion and rubbed his neck in greeting. If Candide was here, then so must Conner be. He was probably asleep not twenty feet away. That at least was a relief, but it still did not explain what had happened to her brother.

"Who's there?" She was startled by a thickly accented voice behind her. She turned around to see the outline of Javier Perez, one of the Morton's stable hands, his trousers hastily pulled over a light colored union suit. She must not have been as quiet as she thought, as he had obviously been asleep only moments before.

"It's me, Javier. Audra Barkley," she answered. "I'm looking for Nick. Has he been by here at all tonight?"

"No, Signora. Is no been here all night. The bosses go to town many hours ago to play cards. Maybe your brother there too," he nodded. "You want me to get Signor Philly?"

Audra flushed at the unfortunate nickname. "No, thank you, Javier. I'll just be on my way."

Isobel's heart lurched at the sight of the hopelessly contorted body floating belly up on the surface of the water.

Without thinking twice she dropped the rod and tackle and launched herself into the shallow water. Oh, God, don't let him be dead! she repeated over and over to herself as she waded toward the inert torso. As she approached she could see him shivering lightly and his chest rising and falling in rapid breaths. Alive, but not well. The most important thing now was to get him onto dry land, but he appeared to be stuck somehow. In a voice no louder than a whisper he stammered out. "R-r-rope, c-c-caught under the w-wheel."

Conscious! Better still. She touched his cold shoulder lightly in reassurance. "Sit tight. I'll be back in a moment." She waded back to the edge of the pond and raised herself out of the water. Finding her tackle box she fumbled to lift the latch and open the lid. From inside she produced her gutting knife and hurried back to his side. He startled a bit as the blade flickered past his line of sight reflecting the orange of predawn. She placed herself behind him, holding his head above the water with her shoulder. With her left hand she felt down his arm to where the rope pulled away. Carefully she cut through the line.

Nick moaned in blissful agony as the line that joined his hands and feet was severed. His hands were still bound together, but his legs were free to uncross and the sudden freedom of movement caused his over stressed muscles to scream in exultation. He allowed himself to be pulled to the edge of the pond. Isobel had no trouble shuttling him about in the water, but landing him was a challenge. His body was a good deal heavier without the buoyancy factor. She tossed the knife out onto the dirt and pushed with all her might until his head and shoulders were on dry land. Then she rolled him over on his side, retrieved the knife and carefully sliced through his bonds. Thus freed she was able to hook her elbows under his arms and with some effort drag him completely out of the water.

She needed a moment or two to find her breath, and as she recovered she surveyed her catch. He skin was soaked, shriveled and deathly pale, his lips blue. His eyes were closed with the effort of trying to speak, "Th-th-th..."

Isobel put her hand on his cheek and shook her head. "Never mind. Let's just call it even." He was so cold. She didn't know much about shock, but she did know he needed to get warm fast. That meant getting him indoors. The house looked impossibly far away. There was no way she would be able to drag him that distance in anything resembling a timely fashion. His hazel eyes opened slowly. She waited until he blinked a few times and seemed to focus then said, "Nick, we need to get you inside. I'm not sure I can drag you on your back, but if we can get you on your feet I think we can make it OK. Do you want to give it a try?" He took a deep breath, swallowed and then nodded. He tried to roll himself over, but after being bound so long his muscles were reluctant to respond. Squatting, Isobel took his left arm and swung it around her neck, then with a monumental effort on both their parts she lifted him to his feet. They walked together, she shouldering most of his weight, he propelling himself as well as he could in slow jerky steps. They fumbled onto the porch, through the front door of the house and over to the fireplace. Isobel looked around and found--bless Vivienne and her creature comforts--blankets, firewood, and matches.

She wrapped a blanket around him, and moments later, after she had a fire started, set to the business of getting him out of his wet clothes.

23 "Roger you little rat! You scared the hell out of me!" Isobel screamed

as her brother emerged laughing and dripping from the river.

She was furious. Her eyes bugged out like a frog and she looked about ready to strangle him. It was really quite impressive. Roger couldn't remember ever seeing her so mad.

"Oh come on, Izz. Where's your sense of humor."

"I thought you'd drowned!"

"Was it the slack jaw or the way I rolled back my eyes?" he teased.

"That's not funny, Roger," she replied pulling her dress on over her wet shift.

"For Pete's sake I was just kidding."

"Just kidding, huh? How's this for just kidding?" She bent over and picked up his shoes from the bank and threw them into the river. "I'll see you at home." Retrieving her rod and her own shoes she started to walk away.

"Hey, wait up!" he called, but she kept going. Roger looked back at the river. He couldn't very well go home without his shoes; he'd have to explain to Father what happened to them. Sighing he waded back in to look for them. Isobel would eventually get over it, and they could get back to the way things used to be. He smiled, confident that he was once again the most important person in her life. She wasn't far out of sight when he felt the weight of a hand gripping his shoulder.

"Well, well, well. Looka who we have here."

Too late Audra remembered Conner's concerns regarding the work R.J. had overseen.

She took the bridge at too high a speed, and was half way across when Pantomime's lead hoof hit a loose board. The mare stumbled, but did not fall and the blonde woman clung to her for dear life as the plank fell into the water below. Carefully she slid off the saddle to the unsteady surface in order to aid the black horse's efforts to free herself. With that one light burden removed, Pantomime was able to regain her footing, but her leg was definitely hurt. Slowly Audra led her limping horse the rest of the way across the bridge.

On the other side of the stream she stopped to examine the injury as best she could in the dark. The skin seemed to be abraded below the knee, and the animal was obviously in pain. Properly cared for she should recover, but for now the mare was unridable.

Being on foot she had to reexamine her options. She had planned to ride back west toward the setting moon, but with Pantomime lame it made more sense to go the short distance town. If Nick was there, wonderful. They could have breakfast together, and she could borrow a horse from the livery stable. They would nag each other on the way home. She about his drinking and gambling, and he about her flighty moonlight fantasies. If he was in a bad mood he would probably throw in something derogatory about carelessly injuring a horse as well. Hopefully he wouldn't be in a bad mood. She felt badly enough about the mare already.

If he wasn't in town, well, perhaps it was time to fetch the sheriff.

Proud to have developed a plan of action she resumed her journey, but at a much slower pace. As she walked the sky grew a little brighter. In the distance she could see someone riding toward her from the south, the direction of the town. It was a tall dark man atop a light maned sorrel. At first she thought it was Nick, and she took off her hat and waved it ecxtatically in the air calling out to him. But then she remembered seeing Cocoa in the stable. Nick would be riding Duke. Her enthusiasm waned considerably. As the rider came closer she could see other differences. He was taller in the saddle than her brother and a bit skinnier, and the uneven shadowing on his face was visible even from a distance. The brand on the sorrel was the vertical zigzag of the Morton ranch.

"Well, well, well, looka who we have here! If it ain't Stockton's prissiest do gooder!" the brown haired man drawled in an intoxicated voice as he came to a stop in front of the blonde and her injured horse.

"Good morning, R.J." she greeted him curtly. She tried to keep walking, but he blocked her way.

"Now what would the high and mighty Audra Barkley be doing tramping around Morton land at this hour of the morning?" he sneered. "You come to pay a little nighttime call on our foreman? He must be quite the stud for you to go risking your reputation for a taste of his magic."

"I did nothing of the sort!" she spat. "I'm out looking for Nick. He didn't come home last night."

"And you expected to find him here playing pinochle with Padgett?" he retorted dubiously, raising both eyebrows in an exagerrated manner. "Your brother wouldn't dare set foot on this property. He knows he ain't welcome here. Admit it, Girlie, you've been here doin' some 'charity work' in the hay loft, ain'tcha."

"I don't have to stand here and listen to this," Audra bit back. "Get out of my way!"

Instead, Rufus Jr. jumped down from his horse, landing directly in front of her. "Ain't nothing t'be ashamed of, Your Royal Highness." He gave a mock bow. From this distance the smell of whiskey on him was overpowering. "I reckon half the pretty girls in this county have rolled through our Philly's stable at one time or t'other. Our boy's got good taste he has," he added looking her up and down in a most discomforting way. He reached out and grabbed her by the arm.

"You're drunk!" she challenged, trying to pull her arm away. "Let me go!"

The man's grip only grew tighter. "Miss Civil Conscience. You think you're better than everyone else, but when the wolf howls you go running after him just like the rest of his bi--" with her free hand she slapped him across the face. R.J.'s eyes lit up like coals. "Oh, now, you shouldn't have done that," he spoke low and hard. He grabbed her by the wrist with his other hand and shoved her to the ground, falling heavily on top of her.

Audra had not grown up on a ranch filled with rowdy young men without learning something of the weaknesses of the male anatomy. She jerked her knee up good and hard into his groin, and as he doubled over in agony she pulled herself from underneath him. She started to run, but he recovered quickly from the assault and with his long legs he soon overtook her from behind. He threw his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides and carried her back toward the stream kicking and screaming. He tried to throw her down to the ground again, but undaunted the girl lashed out. Blow after blow she landed on his head and chest, though his body absorbed them like nothing. He laughed in contempt of her efforts until a lucky blow struck him in the eye. Then enraged he pushed her into the stream.

With a practiced hand he grabbed her by the yellow hair and shoved her head under the water while she kicked and struggled for freedom. He held her there for an eternity until her chest burned. She gasped and was rewarded with a lung full of water. Sure that this was going to be the end she felt a pang of regret that she had not been able to find her brother. She feared that he, too, was in peril at that very moment.

Nick tried his best to undo his buttons himself, but his frigid fingers refused to work properly.

Isobel did not try to prevent him, the movement would aid his circulation, but instead worked patiently around his fumbling hands. She kneeled beside him on the blanket and unbuckled his gun belt. The holster was empty; his weapon lay harmless at the bottom of the pond. Next she unfastened the black leather vest, pushing it aside to get at the buttons on his gray shirt. One at a time the mother of pearl disks reluctantly squeaked through the holes in the damp fabric. She had to stop momentary at his navel to pull the shirttail out of his trousers, then undid the final two buttons. She pulled the shirt open to reveal a pale chest from which hung numerous of the black worm like parasites. She deftly plucked them off, leaving tiny hemorrhages in the smooth virtually hairless skin that was an odd contrast to the dark mop on his head and heavy shadow on his face. Its innocent nakedness suggested to her a vulnerability that went beyond his current situation. A naive childishness normally hidden under leather and bravado, it reminded her of the smooth sweet soprano of his youth, and she couldn't help but wonder how much of the gravel in his adult voice came naturally and how much was affectation.

She helped Nick into a sitting position from which she meant to ease the fabric over his shoulders and start to pull the sleeves off his arms. He winced in pain at her efforts, but she gingerly persevered. The elbows were tricky, as the wet shirt clung tenaciously to his skin. While he leaned against her shoulder she worked the right arm a bit at a time until it was free. His shoulder was purple and swollen, and she whispered an apology for not having proceeded more gently. He grunted a "s'ok," his breath, surprisingly warm, on the back of her neck. The furnace inside him was not completely dead after all. It just needed a little fuel and encouragement. With the one arm freed, the left sleeve peeled off with relative ease. After another bloody harvest was thrown to sizzle in the fire, she gently lowered him back to the floor, more mindful of his injury.

His boots had already been removed, but the wet black stockings still covered his feet. She rolled them off, pausing between right and left to warm his frozen toes in her palms. Last but not least came the trousers.

Nick saw her hands reach to unbutton his fly, and in a bout of uncharacteristic modesty started to protest. With what seemed to him to be great force he moved his arm to prevent her, but she batted it away with surprising ease. "Don't worry," she reassured him. "I promise not to look." Having no other choice he allowed her to remove the heavy brown pants, mercifully sparing him the lightweight cotton drawers. To the relief of both of them fewer of the leeches had ventured inside his pant legs. Quickly she removed them then pulled the blanket up over his still shivering body. She spread the wet clothing on the hearth before the now roaring fire. Then, to his surprise, she began to disrobe herself.

He watched in exhausted amazement as in the light of the fire as she took off skirt, blouse, and undershirt (she wore no corset). Whatever peculiarity her features might have had, there was certainly nothing wrong with the rest of her, he was not too far gone to notice. She cursed over the stubborn shoes and eventually took a knife to the offensive buttons before she managed to pull them off. Then bare but for one thin petticoat she crawled under the blanket with him.

Against his frigid torso she felt painfully hot to the touch, and his first instinct was to pull away. She clung to him, however, pressing herself close and wrapping her warmth around him until his body gratefully accepted it. She gave naturally, without a hint of embarrassment or hesitation as if it were nothing out of the ordinary, but he could not believe that rolling on the floor with a naked man was something she did every day. She warmed him like a furnace, and after fifteen minutes or so he felt his own answering fire building up inside him. His arms, moving of their own accord wrapped themselves around the girl on top him, and he felt something else began to stir.

Her response to his sudden show of vitality was friendly but negative. "Don't push your luck, Cowboy. I pulled you out; I can throw you back in." They remained huddled together between the blankets while their clothes dried.

Audra was certain her lungs would explode when through the water she heard the muted sound of a gunshot.

Suddenly the pressure holding her head under water subsided, and she breached the surface coughing and retching. In a moment two strong, calloused, but well groomed hands were pulling her to the bank of the stream, and she could hear Conner's worried voice. "Audra! Audra, are you all right?" She coughed some more, spitting up a lung full of water and nodded.

"I think so," she croaked. "What happened to R.J.?"

Conner pointed, and Audra looked up to see the body face down at the edge of the water. There was a red stain in the middle of his back where he had shot the man who had attempted to drown her.

While Doc Merar checked over her exhausted, black haired brother, Audra and Conner spoke with the sheriff.

Conner had escorted her home mounted atop the sorrel, with the injured Pantomime limping behind. Only after he was certain the girl was in the safe hands of her family did he ride out to inform the lawman of what had happened. Fred had returned with him to the Barkley ranch, sending his deputy out to retrieve the body. By the time they arrived, she had removed her wet clothes, bathed and put on a clean dress. Heath was outside tending to the mare's leg.

There was no question Fred Madden believed their story. Audra was completely truthful by nature, and Rufus Jr. had been a bad apple since he was a boy. Still there was the question of what the young woman was doing on the Morton property. She was rather evasive on the subject, and kept saying something about the moon, obviously a trifle confused by the horror of her experience. Conner Padgett was a different matter. He was notorious, and even the pristine reputation of the Barkley princess would not keep rumors from circulating about the circumstances of the death of Rufus Morton's oldest son. Added to that was the fact that R.J. had been shot in the back.

"I don't have to tell you going back to the Morton ranch right now wouldn't be a real smart idea," the sheriff said. Conner nodded his agreement.

"I'd be obliged if you would take his horse back with you when you talk to them."

"Can do. Do you have any idea where you'll be staying? I'm going to need to be able to talk to you a lot over the next few days, especially if Rufus demands an inquest."

"I've been considering taking a room in town--"

"Nonsense, Conner," Victoria interrupted, then turned back the Sheriff Madden. "He'll be staying here with us, Fred"

Padgett started to protest, fearing this proximity to Audra after this affair combined with his reputation would cause them some problems from the community. The Barkley matriarch would hear nothing of it. "We are grateful for what you have done for Audra," she explained. "The last thing we want to do is make people think we are ashamed of her association with you. The Philadelphian was not so sure the rest of the family echoed those sentiments.

Doc Merar emerged from Nick's room and closed the door. "How's he doing, Doctor?" Audra asked, turning from Conner and the sheriff.

"He could use a few day's rest," the physician said walking down the stairs, "but he should be all right. He doesn't appear to have any broken bones, but I want to know if that swelling in his shoulder doesn't go down in a day or so."

"Can I go talk to him?"

"I don't see why not, although he's a bit tired."

Audra lifted her skirts and trotted up the stairs. She knocked lightly on the door. "Nick?" she called.

"Come on in!" he answered in a voice not quite up to its usual lustiness. She opened the door and walked over to his bed. Much of the color had returned to his cheeks, although he still looked a little bloated from his long exposure to the water.

"I'm glad to see you're looking better," she smiled warmly, sitting herself down on the side of the bed.

"How's Isobel?" he asked.

"She fell asleep on the sofa while we were waiting for the doctor to arrive," she replied, "She looked so tired we haven't had the heart to wake her." Nick wasn't surprised. He had been appalled to learn that the closest the audacious woman had been to sitting a horse was a merry-go-round at a Pennsylvania state fair. It seemed that along with dancing, Dai Morgan did not approve of ladies riding horseback, an opinion the blacksmith kept to himself in the presence of the Barkley women. Despite that, once Isobel decided Nick was out of immediate danger she insisted on riding Duke back to the ranch to fetch help. She had a bumpy go of it, but she reached the house in a timely fashion. It was less than an hour before Jarrod and Heath arrived at the remains of the old sawmill with the wagon. "She certainly is something, isn't she," Audra added.

"That she is," he agreed, cocking his head and raising one eyebrow. "What exactly I'm not quite sure," he scowled, but it might be worth finding out.

He focused again on his sister. "What about you? I hear you had some excitement yourself?"

"I'm fine, thanks to Conner. It's a good thing Javier woke him when I came looking for you."

"Looking for me? At the Morton ranch? Why?"

She blushed. "I was afraid you might have broken your promise and gone after him. You didn't say where or when you thought he was meeting someone, so that seemed like a good place to start. What were you doing over at the old sawmill?"

Embarrassed, Nick evaded the topic. He had been through it all with Fred and decided not to press charges against Zack or Vivienne. The anger had left him, and the Marshall and Morton families had enough to deal with already. He swerved onto another subject, still uncomfortable for him, but not as acutely so. And it needed to be said. "I haven't been fair to you, Audra, or Padgett, I expect." His eyes became serious. "I just don't want you to get hurt. Conner..." he shook his head, and looked toward the door. "He can be a good man. I guess I've known that for a long time, or I wouldn't have kept him on. I've been looking after you for so long, it's hard for me to know when to step back. Heck, I'm kicking myself now for not being there to help you with R.J.. I guess I'm not quite ready to hand over the job of being your champion."

Audra took his hand in hers and gazed lovingly into her brother's heavy eyes. Her face seemed to glow silver like the princess that watched over him the night before. "A lady can never have too many champions," she observed. She continued to sit by him as he drifted off to sleep.

"Just be careful, Little Sister," he mumbled in his last moment of consciousness.

Quietly she left the room and headed downstairs to rejoin those assembled in the parlor. As she descended she reflected on all that had occurred. She couldn't deny that she loved Conner, but neither could she put aside her reservations about him. It had been too short a time since his carousing days for her to be sure of him. He had proved today that she could trust him with her life, but could she trust him with her heart? Though it was all well and good to have a champion, a woman needed to use her good sense to look after herself.

"Have you decided where you're going to go?" she asked as she approached her beau.

"Well," he began, taking a deep breath, "I'll stay here a few days if you don't think your brother will put up too much of a fuss."

"I'm sure he won't. Not now. Not after today."

"Then, as I've been telling your mother here I'm going to see about purchasing some land. As I told you before, I've been saving up for quite some time now, and I think I'm ready to start up on my own..." He wasn't finished, and Audra had an inkling of what was coming next.

"I know I haven't lived the life of a saint, but I've turned myself around. I don't want you to have to choose between me and your brothers, and I'm sorry if I appeared unfeeling toward you in that regard. Perhaps," he admitted, "perhaps its because my own family won't have anything to do with me." It was the first time she had heard him admit that he even had a family.

"I'm a changed man Audra. It's going to take me some time to get myself established, and in that time I intend to prove to Nick and Heath and Jarrod and your mother that I am as good as my word and worthy of your love."

The blonde haired woman carefully considered the man in front of her, obviously serious in his intentions, and after a few moments' thought replied, "You're going to have to do better than that, Conner. You're going to have to prove it to me."