"Well, there you are," Nick said heartily. "I hope you'll agree there's no sense in riding all that way in this rain. I told Ciego to hitch up the buggy."

"Thank you, Nick, but I still prefer to ride. I think the rain will let up soon–look, it's stopped already."

"Mother, that's a terrible idea and you know it. It must be a hundred miles!"

"I've ridden farther," she said coolly. Nick knew–almost–better than to argue when she got that cool look in her eyes. "Besides, it'll be a nice ride now that the heat's broken. I'm looking forward to it."

Against his own inclination, Nick turned to Heath. "Don't you think this is a bad idea?"

Heath looked down at his plate. Mealtimes were still the hardest. All too often he would sit, silent and uncertain, as the talk eddied around him. He still burned with embarrassment remembering that first breakfast, how he'd tucked his napkin in his shirt like a bumpkin. He worried he'd do other things wrong.

And now he was caught between them. Well, he wouldn't do it. The thought of spending the better part of a week alone with this woman was a little frightening. He wouldn't get wrong-footed with her right at the start. And what did he know, how far she could ride? "I reckon she knows best," he muttered.

Nick scowled. "What would you care, anyway?"

"I imagine he cares a great deal," Victoria said quickly. After all, if I'm wrong, he'll be getting just as wet." She forced a smile. "Thank

you, Heath, for believing I know my limits better than these three."

It was a nice save, but not quite nice enough. Nick's words were unspoken but everyone at the table knew what had gone unsaid. What do you care, you're not really a member of this family. There had been a few such moments. Victoria was usually the one to smooth them over.

"Well, fair lady," Jarrod said gamely, "if you're going, you'd better git. May I escort you to your mount?"

Thank God for Jarrod. Victoria knew that he was as uneasy as Nick was, but he worked harder to hide his feelings. She took Jarrod's proffered arm, as if they were at a fine reception.

And Audra. She slipped one arm under Nick's, the other under Heath's. She had taken all of this better than the boys. Already there was a lightheartedness in her manner with Heath; she treated him with the same sportive good humor she showed Nick or Jarrod. With Audra he came closest to unbending.

Ciego was sorry to have his work for naught, but he set to work saddling Lucky with good grace. Heath saw to Buffalo Gal himself.

"You know, Heath, there are other horses on this ranch. Maybe that poor girl would like a little rest," Jarrod said.

Heath shrugged. "She's good on long trips."

Jarrod laughed. "And she's good on sprints. And, as I recall you saying, she's a fine cutter as well. I sense a bit of a tall tale here."

Heath wasn't sure how to answer, but Jarrod's grin convinced him there was no malice. "You saw her run yourself."

"That I did. For a short-legged pony she can run."

"She's not–" Don't argue, he thought. He ain't fighting, why are you? "She's sure-footed."

"Another wonderful quality." Jarrod patted Buffalo Gal, who was a little short-legged but powerfully muscled through the chest and hindquarters. She wasn't pretty, but there was a look of alert intelligence in her dark face. Heath had owned the little Modoc for three years; she was the only valuable possession he had. Unusual for a Modoc, her coat was thick and bushy, even in summer.

"Missis Barkley!" Ciego led out Lucky, who was limping. "He go lame! All this wet, his old bones got sore, I guess."

"Well, there you go! Hitch up the buggy again, Ciego," Nick said.

"Not so fast," Victoria said. Lucky was definitely limping. "As Jarrod says, there are other horses around here." She looked in the barn.

"Put my saddle on Charger, Ciego."

"Charger!" Nick exploded. "Mother, you can't! He's not fully trained!"

"What you're trying to say is that he's too much for me to handle. But I've ridden him before. He may not be fully trained for work, but he takes the saddle well enough. Ciego, saddle him up."

Ciego, looking miserable, took Lucky back in. Caught between Missis Barkley and Mister Nick–a bad place! He would obey the missis,but Nick would be to give him grief...

"What route were you planning on taking, Heath?" Jarrod asked.

"Thought we'd go by Lumberton. We should make Piketown by tomorrow night." Victoria's friend Mary Robeson lived in Piketown. "It's maybe two hours to Calic from there. Come back the same way."

Ciego led Charger out. He was a beautiful bright dark bay, with black mane and taile and one short white stocking. He was a three-year-old, ungelded, bred and trained on the ranch, the best they'd ever bred. For all his breeding and spirit, he was surprisingly gentle and easily managed. He was patient and quiet while Victoria mounted.

"We'll telegraph you from Calic," Victoria said. She fell in behind Heath. Charger barely had to amble to keep up with Buffalo Gal. She turned once to wave.

"I don't like it," Nick muttered. "Not one bit."

Jarrod clapped him on the shoulder. "Mother pleases herself, Nick. They'll be fine." He sighed. "Better than us, probably. They won't be eating Audra's messes."

The narrow strip of blue in the west had disappeared.

About an hour out of Stockton it began to drizzle. "You want to go back?" Heath offered.

The trail was muddy; there were deep grooves from wheels. "No, I think we're better off on horseback. If you don't mind."

"I been wet before."

It was a fine mist, hardly even a drizzle. In oilskin capes they hardly felt it. The state of the trail made it difficult to ride abreast; they stuck to the edges of the trail. Heath was right, the Modoc was sure-footed. She picked her way lightly over the rough edges of the trail.

Charger, though, was a little restive at the easy pace; he wanted to run. But the footing was too uncertain, and she had to check him from time to time. When he came up too close to Buffalo Gal she would angrily flick her tail in his face. It was clear she didn't like being followed so close. Cattle she was used to and could boss; other horses she didn't like.

Farther north the trail turned into wooded country. It was narrower but less chewed up, and under the cover there were few raindrops. But every little creek had risen, and there were quite a few to ford. Buffalo Gal took the fords as easily as the trails.

Charger was game at first. But as the water got deeper and quicker he began to balk. At one stream–perhaps only ten feet across but running so fast the little wavelets were white–Charger rolled his eyes, jerked his head, and refused. No amount of coaxing could get him in.

Heath had already crossed before he realized he was alone. "Won't he go?"

Victoria was embarrassed. After all the warnings–and she couldn't manage him after all. She was glad Nick wasn't here. "I think he's tired of getting his feet wet."

Heath turned back. Again, Buffalo Gal moved obediently and carefully. Once back across, Heath dismounted and shortened up his stirrups. He then put out a hand to help her down.

"I can handle him," Victoria said stiffly.

"I'm sure you can, ma'am. But we need to be hurrying on. Let me try."

Unwillingly, she swung down. With a small boost she was astride Buffalo Gal. With a quiet, "Git on, gal," from Heath, she dutifully turned into the stream a third time and crossed cleanly. Once across she stopped and looked back, waiting for him to come take her reins again.

Heath hadn't mounted yet. Instead he stood close to Charger, talking to him softly. The big horse dropped his head as if to listen a little more closely. At last Heath, leading the horse, waded in. After a moment's hesitation, Charger followed.

"I think he'll be fine now," Heath said. "He just needs a little experience." Victoria got back on Charger, and Heath resumed the lead on Buffalo Gal.

Heath was wrong. It was late afternoon before they needed to ford again, and again Charger balked. Again Heath led him across. This time the water was up almost to his waist. "Boy howdy, I hope he gets over this before the water gets any deeper. I ain't much of a swimmer."

"Why don't you keep him, Heath? You seem to have a way with him."

Why did he hesitate? Charger was a beautiful creature, who clearly liked and trusted him. Why did he look so uncomfortable? Was he really so attached to this barrel-chested pony? "Don't worry," she smiled. "I'm sure Buffalo Gal will take good care of me."

"She surely will, ma'am." So he mounted.

"You look very comfortable up there," Victoria said encouragingly, but got no reply. At least they made a prettier picture, she thought, with the big man on the big horse, not a squat Indian pony. She found Buffalo Gal an easy mount. For a cowpony she had a soft mouth. She thought she herself was just being tolerated, for the pony kept her eyes firmly on her master.

It was late when they reached Lumberton, past dark. Victoria was all for pushing on and camping on the way. Heath quietly vetoed her idea. Tactfully, though, he based his objections on the horses. "They need a good feed and dry straw. For that matter, so do I."

"A hotel it is, then."

Dinner was mostly silent. The food was bland but warm; Heath tucked right in. He and Nick had appetite in common, at least. "I'm surprised you're so hungry. You must have done a much harder day's work."

"Oh, I have, ma'am, I have."

"Like what?" she asked.

"You name it. When I was just a kid I helped with the laundry, washing miner's clothes. Picked apples and oranges. Did a season on a salmon boat. Mined. Scouted. Army. Drove a stage. Drove some cattle. I did everything but horsestealing."

"I'm glad you didn't try that. Did you ever think about settling down?"

"Tried to. Wanted to, I thought, but I couldn't seem to. There was a girl–well, it's a few years gone. Woulda married her if she'd had me.

I guess I might have settled then."

"She didn't want to marry you?"

"No." He smiled to himself. "She decided to be a nun instead. I took that a little personally."

He went back to his meal. She noticed how rough and calloused his hands were. She said quietly, "I'm sorry you had to work so hard."

He looked at her sharply, stricken. There was a look of half-shame, half-anger. "I didn't–I don't–" He couldn't finish, and looked away.

After a moment he began pushing his beans around, but there was no heart in his actions.

"I make you uncomfortable, don't I?" she asked.

"No, ma'am." But the answer was clearly a lie.

She put a hand up. "Please, please, stop the ma'am. It's just us, no Nick around to make a ruckus. Heath, can you talk to me?"

He put the fork down. At last he said, "When I come–came–I wasn't thinking it through. What'd it mean. What'd it be like."

"Are you sorry?"

"No...yes, in a way." His face was earnest, strained, and strangely familiar to her. "I was only thinkin what I wanted, for me. Didn't think how hard it might be. How bad I might feel–for hurtin you." He mumbled. "Like her."

"Like her?" Victoria repeated, startled. "Like–your mother?"

"Yes, yes. You look like her, a little. Your smile–it's like her. Like she woulda been, if life had been kinder to her. If she hadn't–If I hadn't—"

"Stop it," she said quickly. "You shouldn't think like that. I'm sure she wouldn't want you to."

He looked at her darkly. "You don't know." He gathered himself together, took a deep breath. "I'd best to make sure the horses are bedded down. Please don't wait on me."

Victoria sat alone at the table for some time. Those few moments had opened a chasm before her. These last few weeks she had given little real thought to how he must really feel. She hadn't known what scars he carried, what secrets. He was right: she didn't know. But she knew more now, and could guess even more. The grief and anger he'd shown were raw wounds, festering because he worked so to keep them hidden.

At last she went upstairs. Perhaps it was better he hadn't come back. It would be a slow process. And delicate. One wrong step and it would be ruined. It would be much harder than she'd expected.

There was a single swinging lamp in the stable. Charger let out a friendly nicker and took a little sugar. Even in the dull light the dark bay coat shone, taut over the firm muscle.

Buffalo Gal was a little distant; she hadn't liked being put in unfamiliar hands at the rear. But with a little stroking, a little talking, she came round. He'd never known a horse that liked to be talked to so much. He thought it was because she'd been broken the Indian way; the Modocs gentled their horses.

"There, girl, there..." In the dim light, alone, it was possible to turn back the hot tide of feeling that had threatened to overwhelm him. His eyes, this throat burned, but he knew it would pass.

Would it? Six weeks; he could count every day that had passed since she'd died. If he let himself he could see the dusty graveyard, the rough hole, the poor pine box. Hannah's soft weeping, Rachel's gentle grief. His own dry eyes, stiff lips, barely able to make the responses. The clop-clop of dry clay on raw pine. The hot, hot sun.

He certainly hadn't expected to find a woman so much like her. It was a goad, a pain, and a joke: what life might have been. His grief was a terrible weight he could not set down. It grew worse, not better. And there was one, oddly familiar, to whom he thought he could turn. But it would be a terrible betrayal. They were each the cause of the other's pain, Victoria, his mother–and him, most of all.

Not for the first time he thought: I'll leave. I have to see this trip through but then I'll leave. For a long time he'd thought of himself as a man who belonged nowhere and to no one. It was a hard, empty feeling and not one he'd ever gotten used to. But he'd long a long way like that. He reckoned he could go further.

"Yes, we'll ride on, girl," he said softly. Buffalo Gal finished her apple contentedly.

There was no renewal of the last night's confidences. His face was haggard and set; she thought he'd slept as badly as she had. Her saddle was back on Charger. In his rejection of the horse she foresaw a deeper rejection.

Again there was rain, but it was still a soft, fine rain. They were in higher country now, with few creeks to cross; Charger gave her no problems. They reached Piketown at dusk.

At the clatter of hooves Mary Robeson was at the door. "Victoria! How wonderful to see you again. It has been an age."

The two women embraced warmly. "But, Victoria, surely you didn't ride all the way from Stockton! You must be wet through. But it must agree with you. You look wonderful." Mary turned to Heath. "You must be Heath. Welcome. I'm afraid I don't keep a stable boy any more. Could you see to the horses yourself? But don't tarry. Supper's already on the table."

Victoria felt a flush of gratitude. So like Mary, graceful and easy. She knew from Victoria's letter of the upheaval in the family. But she didn't stare or act coldly. Her warm kindness eased a difficult situation.

Mary talked with that same easy warmth, filling Victoria in on the recent doings of mutual friends. Kindly she explained to Heath who and what she talked about, pressed seconds on him. Once or twice she actually teased a smile from him.

After coffee Mary said: "Now I'm sure you'd like a smoke and a nip of something stronger. There's whiskey on the sideboard, but I'm afraid you'll have to have your smoke on the porch. Tabby doesn't like it at all, poor kitty. But my best rocking chair's on the porch, and,thank heavens, the rain's stopped."

When the door closed, Mary came over to Victoria and put her arms around her. "You poor dear. How difficult this must be for you."

"For all of us."

"Are things settling down?"

"I don't know. A few days ago I would have said yes. Now I'm not so sure. It–he has changed everything, Mary. I don't know how we can go forward."

Mary filled the cups, offered one to Victoria. "You will, though."

Victoria smiled grimly. "I wish I had your certainty."

"I wish I had your strength. And that's not flattery. No, you'll find your way. When you want to do something you always find a way. You and Tom both."

Both women drank quietly. At last Mary said, "There's a lot of Tom in that boy, Victoria."

"Do you think so?"

"Oh, yes. Only partly looks, though the resemblance is there. It's more the little thing–the way he moves."

"Yes," Victoria admitted. "Yes, I've seen it too. I don't think the children do–but they don't remember him–as a young man. Isn't it strange, Mary, that he would be the one most like? Not one of my sons..."

"Victoria." Mary's voice was firm. "You've already chosen to take this young man in. There's no point in regretting the past. The problem is making the future. What's troubling you, dear? Is it Tom?"

"Partly. It is terrible to realize, after all the years–Mary, I never even considered that there would be another woman. But I can live with that, I think. It was so long ago...But Heath. I hadn't realized how hard this has been for him. I don't know how to help him. And yet I have to find a way. I honestly believe this is what Tom would have wanted."

"I believe you're right, dear. It is what he would have wanted. And perhaps he could have made things easier. But perhaps not. And in any case, he's not here. Can I help?"

"You have." Victoria forced a smile. "Just by being yourself. Mary, what should I do?"

"Be patient. It's all new, for all of you. But, Victoria, you can't be half-hearted. You have taken him in. You mustn't leave him half in, half out. Be patient. Hopefully he's enough of his father's son to find his way." Mary gave her a last hug. "I think he's been banished long enough. Why don't you invite him back in?"

Heath had skipped the rocking chair; he was on the porch steps, rolling a cigarette. Despite the flimsiness of the paper his fingers were nimble and sure. With a good meal warming him, chased with a little whiskey, he felt pleasantly tired, especially after last night's restlessness. Even Victoria's arrival on the porch didn't disturb him.

"My," she said. "You certainly are good at that."

"Infantry trick. If you can roll while you march you can do it anywhere."

"No cigar?"

"Not for everday. Every now and then, maybe."

There was a fresh, green smell in the air. No moon or stars, still cloudy, but there was a softness to the evening air. She too felt pleasantly tired. She patted his shoulder. "Don't stay out here all night. Your room's the first door on the left. Good night, Heath."

"Night."

At least there was no ma'am.

They were up early; there was still a two-hour ride to Calic. As they were leaving, Mary impulsively kissed heath on the cheek. "You are a handsome young man. Your father was, too, at your age." From the kiss, or the easy way she said, "your father," he blushed. "He was a shy one, too."

"I don't remember Tom as being shy," Victoria said.

"He'd outgrown it by the time he met you. Don't forget I knew him first! Don't be such a stranger, dear. Come again soon–both of you."

There was a damp stillness in the air, and the sky was still gray. But Victoria's heart felt lighter. Mary had done them both good.

In Calic they had little trouble finding Jim Lockery, the mine owner. "Ah, you must be Mrs. Barkley!" He came forward with a hand extended. "And Jarrod, I presume."

"Jarrod is in Stockton with a trial," Victoria said. "This is my son, Heath."

"Charming, charming." If he knew anything more–if rumor had reached this far–he didn't show it. "Well, all the information you need is here, Mrs. Barkley. Assays, the books, all records. You'll see that the Little Shasta is in fine shape."

"So why's it for sale?" Heath asked bluntly.

"You Barkleys! Business first, just like I'd heard. Well, young fella, I'm not a westerner by birth. No, sir, I'm from upstate New York. I've made my stake and I'm ready to go home to the dear old Hudson. Sit around the fire and tell my tales of the wild west. Perhaps I'll right dime novels!"

Surrounded by Lockery's bonhomie they looked over the paperwork. Heath didn't know much about bookkeeping, but the assays sure looked good. The Little Shasta had yielded a small but consistently good load for three years, and according to the engineers, the load was still strong.

"Well, Mrs. Barkley? Is it time to talk price?"

"I'd like to go down first," Heath said.

"Go down?"

"Really, Mr. Lockery," Victoria said, "we'll have to insist."

"Surely you don't mean to go down, Mrs. Barkley! A mine is no place for a lady such as yourself!"

"Perhaps. In any case I have no desire to go down. But Heath will."

Lockery looked unhappy, but he did his best to cover it. "Of course. Today?"

"Today," Heath and Victoria said together. "I'll get settled here and telegraph home," Victoria continued. "You go on with Mr. Lockery."

It was early evening before Heath returned, grimy and tired. "Well? What do you think?"

Heath shrugged. "Hard to tell. There's a vein there all right. But who knows how long it'll hold out? Lockery's worked it three years. Up here the lodes run thin. She may be tapped out. And..."

"And what?"

"Just a feeling. The timbering looks rotten. A lot would have to be redone soon–it's a wet mine, for sure. And the air's bad. It's not deep yet but the air's already real bad. If you had to follow the vein farther down it'd be tough. I don't know if it could be ventilated."

"Then all his paper work?"

"Could be true enough, I guess. He sure hasn't been putting his money into upkeep."

Victoria though this over. "I think it's a bad bargain," she said finally.

"You're not thinking that just on my say-so, are you? I just told you what I seen–what I saw. I'm no expert."

"Still, you have valuable experience. And of course as a member of this family your opinion counts–in this as in other things. But it's not entirely your say-so. I found Mr. Lockery a little less than convincing. Didn't you? I have my doubts about his honesty. What you saw supports my suspicion. This is a pig in a poke, and we're well clear of it. I'll send Jarrod a telegram tomorrow and we can head back."

Heath stayed still. "Earlier–with Lockery. You called me your son."

"Yes, I did."

"Why?"

Victoria waved a hand in dismissal. "You are a son of this family. It seemed easier than explaining."

"Easier. Yes, I guess." He turned away.

Remembering Mary's words Victoria pressed on. "Of course, if it bothers you, I won't. I understand you might feel–disloyal, I suppose. But, Heath, you chose to come to us. We–all of us, Heath–have chosen to be a family, with you in it." She sighed. "Perhaps I didn't say that right. I have been trying to find a way to make all this easier for you. Maybe I haven't done a good job. Maybe you have to solve this for yourself. But I am trying."

"Yes, I know. Thank you." He closed the door quietly. She didn't know if she'd made things better or worse.

Victoria left a curt note for Lockery with the desk clerk, politely disclaming any interest in the Little Shasta. She hoped Lockery would understand the depths of their disinterest and not take the note as an invitation to further bartering. She also sent Jarrod a telegram: Mine no good, home tomorrow night, love, mother.

In the afternoon they were overtaken by a fierce downpour. Even under the trees, under blankets, they were soaked. The hard rain lasted for nearly two hours, with intervals of high winds and thunder.

When the rain at last slowed, Heath said, "We're between a rock and a hard place. We can go back to Piketown or push on for Lumberton, but I don't see us making either by nightfall. What do you want to do? Turn back?"

Victoria was suddenly terribly tired. Turning back, starting over tomorrow, was unbearable. She wanted to be home, dry, quiet, and alone, with a little time to think. "We can't get any wetter," she said. "Let's go on to Lumberton. If we don't make it we can camp."

Heath looked doubtful. "It's gonna be mighty damp. Hard to start a fire."

She shrugged. "We'll be dry by then. And it shouldn't be too cold tonight. Let's get going."

With all the rain the creeks were running even higher and faster than before. Again, Charger balked at fording. This time Heath took the time to switch saddles, accepting it would be his job to get the big stallion home. Again, though, sometimes the horse had to be led across. Of course it was at the deeper, faster water that he refused to carry a rider through. Heath found himself wading through chest-high water with a thousand pounds of skittish stallion on his heels.

Night fell. They were still a good way from Lumberton. They halted at a stream. It was narrow, with steep banks, but deep. In the dim light the fast-running water showed white. "Let's stop here," Heath said. "I don't fancy the idea of swimming these horses in the dark. To easy for ‘em to lose their footing." He didn't like to admit it, but he was tired, too, and not looking forward to another drenching. The stream had risen right up to the top of its banks. In the dark it was impossible to tell how deep it was. Even Buffalo Gal seemed nervous.

He unsaddled the horses and tied them close to the stream, where they could drink their fill. Victoria gathered dead leaves and kindling.

But it was damp and hard to catch alight. When it finally did catch, the fire was poor and smoky. It was enough to make a can of tepid coffee but no more. Heath dug pemmican and some hardtack out of his saddlebags. Both were tough, even after soaking in the coffee.

He tried to feed larger branches onto the fire, but they were too green or too wet to burn. Soon the fire smoked out altogether. Their blankets were still wet through from the afternoon, and, contrary to Victoria's prediction, the night was cool, almost cold. It would be a long and cheerless night. Heath was uncomfortable, but he'd been worse. Heavy and cold as his wet boots were, he knew better than to take them off; by morning they'd be shrunk too small to wear.

Somehow he'd managed to keep his tobacco dry. From long practice he could roll a smoke in the dark. The only light was the bright orange tip of his Bull Durham.

"Think we'll make Stockton tomorrow night?" Victoria asked hopefully.

"Don't see how. Even with hard ridin. And trails' be just as muddy tomorrow. We better wire ‘em in Lumberton." After his cigarette was finished, he said, "I sure am sorry about this. Reckon we shoulda turned back after the rain."

"We wouldn't have made Piketown, either."

"No. But maybe if we'd struck south...But I don't know these parts well."

There was a distant whirring sound. Heath thought it was the wind picking up. Maybe another storm coming. Whatever it was, the horses sure were nervous. Charger was straining at his tie-down. Even Buffalo Gal was skittish, tossing her head and showing her teeth. Wolf? He wondered. Indians? But there hadn't been Indian trouble up here in years. But a wolf...He wondered if his ammunition was dry enough to fire. "I'd better tie them horses down a little tighter."

"Do you hear that?"

"Wind, I reckon."

"It sounds almost like a train."

"No tracks around here," he said uneasily.

Buffalo Gal was shivering and showing the whites of her eyes. He'd never seen the Modoc so riled up. "Easy, girl, easy," he said soothingly. He strengthened her tie-down and patted her neck. He could feel her trembling. Wolf, he thought again, and pulled his gun before going over to Charger.

In his distress Charger had gotten his lead tangled around a bush. Heath would have to untie him and untangle the lead before he could get him more secure. "Whoa, boy, easy now," he murmurred.

"It's getting louder," Victoria said.

It was. For a moment he was distracted, turning all his attention to listening. That sound. More than wind.

In that moment Charger's head came free, and he bolted. He caught Heath unawares, with only one hand on the lead. The explosion of speed knocked Heath to the ground, and Charger ran wild, as if the weight of a full grown man were no more than a feather.

Victoria, watching, was speechless with fear. The horse would drag Heath to death–or stumble in the darkness, injuring them both. She ran after them.

Heath dropped his gun, got his other hand on the lead. The extra force began to pull Charger's head around, slow him down. He slowed enough for Heath to get his feet under him, shorten the lead. At last he seemed to have the horse under control.

The roaring intensified. They looked back to see a wall of dark water tearing down the channel, well over its banks. Buffalo Gal screamed. The branch she was tied to snapped and she disappeared into the dark churning water.

Heath shoved Charger's lead into Victoria's hands and ran for the water. She was too stunned to react. He slipped, or jumped, into therushing water and she was shocked out of her silence. "Heath, no!" She dropped the lead and Charger darted off into the woods.

She ran to the bank. In the darkness she could see nothing at first. The water rushed by, with branches and stones rolling on its boiling tide. My God, she thought, no one could survive that.

A flicker of movement caught her eye. In the darkness and turmoil she might have missed it or imagined it. But no, there it was again.

Panic gave clarity to her thoughts. An arm, a head, bobbing out of the water. She realized he must be caught somehow.

She ran to an outcropping of cork. She dug her toes into the heavy wet soil behind the rock. One hand scrambled for a handhold. The other reached into the water. Once, twice, she flailed without result. On the next try she caught a handful of material and yanked.

Good strong chambray. She'd grabbed his collar. His head came up, went down under a wave. She hung on for dear life. She shouted but couldn't make herself heard over the din.

She never knew how long it lasted. Several times the water crashed right over her head. Once she lost her foothold and he sank under the water again, the deadweight nearly dragging her in. Her feet caught again and she kept holding on.

At last the water slowed, receded. At first he was motionless and she thought, horrified, that he'd drowned and she'd been holding onto a dead man. Then he drew a long, sputtering breath.

"Heath, thank God!" She tried to pull him up. He was too heavy for her alone and he wasn't helping. He seemed stunned–or unwilling.

She doubled her efforts; he was still too heavy. She shook him. "Goddamn you, help me! I haven't hung on this long to let you go.

Heath, pull yourself together and help me. I can't let go now."

Her words seemed to rouse him. He was able to kick his feet free. With her help he clawed his way up the rock. They both lay back, panting and exhausted. He coughed up some of the dark water.

Victoria gathered her small store of remaining energy and went to fetch the blankets. They were still damp but better than nothing. She wrapped one around Heath. He was bone-cold. "I'm sorry," she said gently. "I know that pony meant a lot to you. How long did you have her?"

"Three years." He shivered. "Three years. I told you I'd done all kinds of jobs. Always liked workin cattle best. Never had a good horse.

Just scrub from the remuda." He stopped. But he wanted to talk; the darkness made it easier. "When I turned 21, my mama–she had this pin, from her mother. She'd died when mama was little. All she had. She'd always kept it, no matter how bad things got." He stopped again, drew breath. "She finally sold it and give me the money. For the Modoc." He laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. "I been pretty low but I'da pawned my boots before I let that pony go. Even when she died and there's no money for a stone. Even then."

It was the longest she'd ever heard him talk. It was also the most personal. "She must have loved you very much."

"Oh, yeah. Oh, yes." That same laugh. "Lotta good that did her. She didn't have to have such a bad life. She was pretty, sweet. Even after–even after I was born, there were men who woulda married her. But they wouldn't take me, see. And she wouldn't let go of me."

For the first time Victoria felt a stirring of anger. Oh, Tom. How did this happen–how could you let it happen?

"When I was little, I thought she was just–she's just the most wonderful person in the world. Happy, even when things got bad. Laughing.

When I got older–when I understood what I was, what she'd done–sometimes I hated her. How could she be so stupid? Why'd she do this to me?

"To me. Making that kinda life for me. I didn't think–couldn't think it was the other way round. I done it to her. If not for me–and when I

was mad with her, mean to her, runnin away, she never turned on me. Never. She gave me the money for the Modoc–"

His voice broke. Victoria thought he couldn't go on, but he pulled himself together. "That's what she got for her trouble. Hated her sometimes." His voice took on a new bitterness. "And here I am. Sleepin in a warm bed. Ridin that big bay stallion. She's cold in the ground, not even a stone for her. Hated her sometimes. That's the kind of man I am. You think I'm like him? Maybe Tom Barkley wasn't such a great man after all, if that's what I am."

"She must have loved you very much," she said again. Her own voice was uncertain. "You must have loved her very much."

"Loved her. I tell you, when they put her in the ground, in that miserable old mining camp, I didn't have a tear in me. And now, for some scraggly, short-legged Indian pony–"

And then he broke. The tears he'd held for so long came all the harder for the wait. Her own eyes stinging, Victoria put her arms around him. To her surprise, he did not push her away, but clung to her. She was glad, fiercely glad, that she'd held on so hard. He was worth saving. But could she do it again? This was far more dangerous than a flooding creek. The last bond to his old life, his old loyalties, had snapped. She had to help him start over.

Even after she was quiet she did not let go. She thought of that other woman, a woman she'd resolutely tried to forget. How would it be,she wondered, alone with just this one child? How would she have managed? She understood the terrible strength of being a mother, the hope and the fear. How much harder might it have been? Could she have done any better? She doubted.

It would be too easy now–and wrong–for him to just turn his back on his past, on the woman who'd sacrificed so much for him. There had to be some way for him to hold onto the goodness of that past and still to forward.

"I don't know if it's possible," she said at last, "but I think we'd both better try to get some sleep. We'll have a long walk in the morning."

"Yes, you're right. I'm sorry," he said awkwardly.

"Don't be. I feel like I understand so much, much better. I'm just sorry it happened this way."

To her amazement, she slept, despite the damp and the cold. When she woke there was weak, watery sunlight poking through the leaves. She was stiff from sleeping on the ground but strangely refreshed. The stream had retreated to its normal banks and moved lazily. It was as if last night's flooding had never been.

Heath was nowhere in sight, though his blanket was folded over his saddle. For a moment she felt dread. But then she heard footsteps.

Heath was leading Charger. "Look who I found," he smiled. "Turned out he didn't run very far. He's a little scratched up but no other harm done. At least we won't both be walkin."

He put her saddle on Charger.

"I think we should take turns," Victoria said resolutely.

Heath laughed. It was not the harsh, angry sound from last night. "Won't get there any faster. Besides, he don't seem to want to go into the water with me on his back. I've carried my saddle before this."

It was a quiet trip, but more companionable. There was little of the stiffness that had choked every moment between them. It occurred to her that perhaps he just wasn't much of a talker; he'd grown into a man watching and listening. Charger seemed even fonder now, keeping as close to Heath as if he were on a lead.

When the finally reached Lumberton, it was afternoon, too late to go on. Victoria wired the family about the change in plans. They got Charger stabled and made arrangements to borrow a horse for the ride home. They finally got dried out.

At dinner, Victoria said, "Heath, I know you probably don't want to talk, but I think there are things that have to be said. And settled. I hadn't thought you'd feel disloyal to your mother by coming to us."

"I guess that's it," he said. "When I decided to come, I was just looking straight ahead, not thinkin. Not lookin back. How can I take so much when she had so little?"

"Do you want to stay with us, Heath? Please answer me honestly."

He thought for a while. "Yes, I reckon. All those years I was on the road I thought I had nowhere to go, no home. But I did. Now she's gone I've known what it's like to be really alone. It's a hard feeling. I don't like it."

"Don't you wonder why your mother finally told you? After all these years?"

"I don't know. I guess it was just what she meant to do without knowing when to do it."

"Do you think she wanted you to come to us? Do you think she knew how alone you'd be? That she wanted you to have some family?"

He looked startled. "No, I never thought that...maybe."

"Does it make it any easier to think that? That this is what she wanted?"

"Yes, yes...I reckon it would."

The meal was finished. The waiter was hovering, waiting to clear the table. But Victoria sensed the conversation wasn't finished, so she made no move to rise.

"I said I didn't like takin things," he said at last. "It's not really things, or money, that's hard. I've thought for a long time I wasn't worth much. On my own, outside of things. I'm not sure I'm the kinda man who can measure up or fit in. Be reliable. Be worth all you're doin."

"You are," she said firmly. "As time goes by, as we get used to each other, you'll stop asking yourself those questions."

Heath fiddled with his empty glass. With a sudden intensity, he asked, "Why're you doin this for me? Why are you tryin so hard? You don't know me. I can't be anything but a hurt and an embarrassment to you. Why?"

Victoria considered her words carefully. She sensed that a wrong answer could dispel the fragile harmony she'd worked so hard for. "I could say that I'm doing this because I believe that this is what Tom would have wanted. I could say I think this is the right thing to do. All that is true. But mainly–mainly because I want to." With greater feeling, she continued, "I want you to think of us as your family, Heath. I know I can't be what your mother was to you. But I wish you could think of me as someone you could turn to. Talk to. Perhaps even lean on a little."

He put a hand gently over hers. "I'd like that."

Nick was still in the corral when the rode in the following evening. "Well! It's about time. I was about to go out looking for you."

"Trails were pretty wet," Heath said.

"I'll have you know it's been raining here too. Half the new fence posts fell over in the mud."

Nick helped his mother down. "Poor Charger! Look at those scratches. Ciego!"

"It's nothing serious," Heath said. "Not deep."

Nick grunted, "This is what I call a wasted trip. A lost horse and a lost gold mine."

"I wouldn't call it a wasted trip," Victoria said placidly.

Nick looked at the both of them, seeing a conspiratorial air between them. He didn't know what it was all about, but he was strangely relieved. "How'd you like Charger, Mother? Would you like to keep him?"

"I liked him fine, but no, thank you. I think he needs more schooling. Heath, I think you should take him."

"Me?" Heath was startled. "I don't think–"

"Now just a minute!" Nick exploded. "That horse–"

"That horse has taken a shine to your brother, Nick. Of course," she said, "it's up to you to see that he reaches his real potential. Nick, I'm not going to argue with you. As someone said, there's plenty of other horses on this ranch. Now let's go see if there's any supper waiting."

"If you don't mind," Heath said, "I'll just see that Charger's taken care of."

"Let Ciego do it. I've been on the road and I'm ready for a nice family supper."