Samantha's Sacrifice

Samantha's Sacrifice by Sandi Hampton CONTENTS Praise for LAST CHANCE FOR LOVE Dedication Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter ...

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Samantha's Sacrifice by Sandi Hampton

CONTENTS Praise for LAST CHANCE FOR LOVE Dedication Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 A word about the author... Thank you for purchasing Other Cactus Rose titles to enjoy: **** 3

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His hot breath fanned her cheek. His muscled chest pressed against her breasts, sending her blood to the boiling point. She yielded to his demanding caresses. Why was she so weak when it came to him? And only him? She needed a defense against him, but she had none. His tongue darted between her lips. And she was lost. Lost in the emotions he aroused. Lost in her need for him. Lost in his touch. Lost, lost, lost... "No, I don't want..." But even as she uttered her denial, her mouth opened, her tongue meeting his in a frenzied mating.

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Samantha's Sacrifice by Sandi Hampton [Back to Table of Contents]

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental. Samantha's Sacrifice COPYRIGHT © 2008 by Mary Sandra Hampton All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Contact Information: [email protected] Cover Art by Angela Anderson The Wild Rose Press PO Box 708 Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706 Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com Publishing History First Cactus Rose Edition, 2009 Print ISBN 1-60154-573-8 Published in the United States of America [Back to Table of Contents]

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Dedication To Howard for his support, to my family and friends who encouraged me to continue writing, and to Jamie, my critique partner, for all her help. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter 1 Colorado, 1866 Samantha Adams pulled the team to a halt and studied the sign nailed to the ancient pine tree. McCarthy Ranch. No trespassing allowed. Trespassers will be shot. The clear warning made her throat tighten until she could hardly breathe. What was she getting herself into? She had business with Blake McCarthy, she reasoned, and therefore she wouldn't be trespassing. Hopefully they wouldn't shoot a woman. She wasn't looking forward to her meeting with the wealthy rancher. She was going to offer to marry him. The thought made her stomach churn. And since she wasn't what he was looking for, she expected rejection. But this was something she had to do. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Annie, her year old adopted daughter, playing on the blankets and smiled to herself. She'd brave anything, or anyone, even the devil himself, for that sweet child. Her hands tightened on the reins, and she yelled at the mules. The wagon lurched forward and through the gate. It seemed like hours before she saw the ranch house and outbuildings nestled at the juncture of two small rivers of blue against the backdrop of vast blue sky and lofty purple mountains. As she drove down the dusty road, she marveled at the sheer size of the ranch. As far as she could see, sleek cattle grazed on green grass. As she neared, she could see 10

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the main house better. Her mouth gaped open for the house could only be described as a mansion. Gleaming white in the bright sunlight, it boasted two stories. A porch with wide Grecian-style columns wound its way around the front of the house while two rocking chairs seemed to beckon someone to rock there. A large tree graced the house with welcoming shade. The other buildings looked to be a barn, stable, bunkhouse and probably a smokehouse. Horses filled the corral. From where she sat, she could see men milling around like busy little bees. Evidently, McCarthy was a wealthy man. Maybe he wouldn't mind releasing her from her father's contract. After all, Jocelyn had been the one contracted to marry him. But Jocelyn had eloped and then their father had gotten himself killed in an accident. Samantha and Annie were left all alone to face Blake McCarthy. For a moment, she considered crawling into the back of the wagon, changing into a fresh dress and combing her hair. But nothing she did would change the fact that she was tall and plain, and not what he wanted. She started down the sloping range toward the big house. Suddenly, a thought hit her. She'd have to confess to a perfect stranger that she wasn't a virgin, that she was a widow, and, even though she had Annie now, she'd have to confess that she was barren. Her face burned with humiliation at the idea of discussing such intimate details with a stranger. But it was too late to turn back now. Several minutes later, she drove into the yard and stopped the wagon. Before she could climb down, a horde of men 11

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crowded around her like bees around honey. Their stares unnerved her. Again, she couldn't breathe and gasped for air. "Hey, lady, who're you?" one of the men called out. "Never seed you before," another yelled. "I'd definitely remember setting eyes on you." "What do you want?" a third man said. Trying to stay calm, she focused her attention on the last speaker. "I'm here to see Blake McCarthy." "Why?" came another voice from the crowd. "I have business with him." "What kind of business?" She turned toward the direction of the voice. "I'll discuss that with him." The crowd of men parted, and a man stepped forward. "You are." The man's sheer good looks, not handsome but extremely ... attractive, shook her to the core. Standing about six foot two, he was tall and rangy. Dressed in dusty pants and shirt, his hat hid his eyes but not the square jaw with its shadow of beard, nor the harsh slash of his nose against bronzed skin. He wore a gun, a big gun, strapped to his thigh. And looked like he knew how to use it. He stepped forward and stared at her. As she gazed into brilliant blue eyes, she sucked in a breath at the intensity she saw there. "What business do you have with me?" Her tongue swelled up until she could hardly speak. "You're ... you're Blake McCarthy?" He nodded. "I am. Who are you?" 12

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"Samantha Adams." At the man's blank expression, she added, "George Wilkes' daughter." He shook his head. "I don't know no George Wilkes, lady, so you can just turn around and get off my ranch." Her heart lurched against her chest. "What do you mean you don't know my father? He made a contract with you. You're supposed to marry my sister." He raised an eyebrow. "I don't know anything about a marriage contract." Samantha took a deep breath and clenched her fists to still her trembling hands. This guy sure wasn't making it easy for her. "Mr. McCarthy, can we discuss this—in private?" "Anything you have to say to me, Miss Adams, you can say in front of my men." He crossed his arms over his chest, and the men crowded closer to the wagon. She wanted to slap the smirk off his handsome face, but she pasted a smile on her face. Evidently, he wanted to embarrass and humiliate her in front of his men. "Very well, if that's what you want. You're supposed to marry my sister, but she's going to marry another man. By this time, I'm sure they're already married." Another raised eyebrow. "Like I said, I don't know anything about a marriage contract." "But my father—" "Where is your father? Why can't he speak for himself?" "He was killed several days ago in an accident." "I'm sorry to hear that. So what do you want, Samantha Adams? Why are you here?" 13

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She met his hard-eyed stare. She could take the easy way out, and just turn around and leave. But her family pride meant a lot to her. And she had nowhere else to go. "To honor my father's bargain. I'm here to marry you—that is, if you want me." **** Blake stared up at the tall, raven-haired woman on the wagon seat. She wasn't what he would call beautiful. Her mouth was perhaps a smidgeon too wide, her frame tall and thin, her jaw perhaps too hard. But that could be because she was trying so hard to appear calm and self-assured. Over all, she wasn't bad-looking. But the last thing in the world he wanted was a wife. "Look, lady, I don't know what the hell you're talking about, or what you're trying to pull here, but I sure as hell don't want to marry you, or anyone else." He could've sworn he saw relief ooze from every pore in her body. Her face softened, and the rigid set of her shoulders relaxed. Her lips twitched as she seemed to screw up her courage to continue. The girl had grit. "That's fine with me, Mr. McCarthy. I wasn't exactly looking forward to marrying you either." His men broke out into laughter, but one look from him stilled their guffaws. Damn woman was making fun of him in front of his own men. "About the money...." "What money?" 14

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A look of surprise flitted across her face. "The money you sent to my pa to wed my sister." Blake frowned. Her story got stranger and stranger. Maybe she'd been in the sun too long. From the gaunt look of the mules and the broken-down wagon and her thin appearance and threadbare dress, they'd come a long way. And from her soft, lilting accent, they'd come from the south. At that thought, his gut tightened at the remembered pain that never left him. He focused on her face and caught a glimpse of green eyes that seemed full of ... sympathy? Then, realizing everyone was staring at him and waiting for him to speak, he hitched his thumbs in his belt and rocked back on his heels. "First off, Miss Adams, if I wanted to get married, I wouldn't have to pay someone to find me a bride. And about this so-called contract—" "Mr. McCarthy, my pa spent the money," she broke in, "and I don't have any to repay you. That's why I came in my sister's place. But since you don't want to marry me, when I get settled, I'll get a job and when I can, I'll send the money to you. That's a promise, and I always keep my promises." His respect for her grudgingly edged up another notch. She not only had grit, she had integrity as well. "Look, I don't—" "Hey, what's going on here?" He turned toward his father's voice. And then it hit him. Smack dab between the eyes. She'd had said her father had made a contract with Blake McCarthy. But there were two Blake McCarthys. He and his father. He locked gazes with the 15

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elder McCarthy. "Hello, Jack. You're just the person I want to see. You know anything about a contract with a George Wilkes for me to marry his daughter?" One look at his father's guilty expression answered the question. "So it was you?" "Now, son, hold your horses and let me explain." Now that it was a personal matter, Blake decided to move the discussion inside. "You can explain it to me in the house." He waved at Samantha. "And to her too." Walking over to the wagon, he held out his hand. "Climb down, Miss Adams. I think my father can solve this mystery." **** Samantha touched his hand, and a tremor coursed through her body. Startled, she jerked her hand back. He quirked an eyebrow at her. Ignoring him, she climbed down, then walked to the back of the wagon and picked up Annie. His jaw hardened, and his eyes darkened—in anger? She followed the two men into the house, aware of the curious stares of the ranch hands on her, and fought the urge to run. The sheer number of men overwhelmed her. She wasn't used to being around so many of the male persuasion. Blake McCarthy, the father, glanced over his shoulder at her, then back at his son, and spoke in a low voice. She couldn't hear what he said, but the younger McCarthy then looked at her and shook his head. Her cheeks flushed. She'd expected the rejection and had told herself it wouldn't matter. But, to her surprise, it did. Tamping down her feelings, she straightened her shoulders. 16

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She'd done what she thought was right. What she had to do. Her conscience was clear. She tried to sort out what had just happened. She frowned. The younger McCarthy had not known anything about the contract. Had the older McCarthy entered into the contract to obtain a wife for himself—or his son? From Blake the younger's reaction, Samantha could tell he thought it was for him. The door shut behind her. Her stomach churned, and for a moment, the thought of running to her wagon and making an escape crossed her mind. She took a deep breath. She'd hear what the McCarthys had to say, and then she'd be out of there—away from the younger Blake's piercing and disturbing stare. She glanced around the room. It was huge with high ceilings. The walls were of dark polished wood and gleamed in the soft light. A huge fireplace lined one wall. A leather sofa and two chairs faced the fire glowing in the fireplace. A shaggy rug separated the furniture and the hearth. A side table boasted a lamp, a crystal decanter and several glasses on a silver tray. While everything said money, this was clearly a man's room. No woman's touch could be seen. Before she could stop, a soft "oooh" escaped her lips. The two men turned to face her. Embarrassed, she sat the baby down on the floor and looked everywhere but at them. Her broken nails and dry chapped skin embarrassed her further. She quickly put her hands in her pockets and then waited for one of the two men to speak. 17

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Blake the younger took his hat off and tossed it on the sofa. He ran his fingers through thick brown hair. He leaned against the mantle. Even just standing there, he exuded an aura of authority and power. "You just come in on that wagon train yesterday?" "Yes." "It's a tough trip, especially on mules and women." Is he comparing me to a mule? "Yes, it was a very tough trip, but now, thankfully, it's over." Blake the elder walked over to her. "Would you like something to drink? Some coffee?" "No, thank you. Look, Mr. McCarthy—" "Yes?" Both men answered at the same time. She glanced from one to the other. Blake the elder grinned at her. "Call me Jack. That's what the men do to keep us apart." "Okay. Listen, Jack," she faced Blake the younger, "and Mr. McCarthy—" "No, no, no. Call me Jack and call him Blake." She clenched her hands into fists. She wanted to yell at him to hush so she could ask her question, but she didn't. Her momma had been a stickler for manners. "All right. Thank you, Jack, and Blake; what I'd really like is for someone to explain to me what's going on." "I think that's a good idea. I'm rather curious to hear the explanation also." Blake sat on the sofa. "Whenever you're ready, Jack." "All right, all right. I'll tell you ... everything. Won't you please sit down, Miss Wilkes." 18

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"It's Adams, Samantha Adams. I'm a widow." She perched on the edge of the chair seat. She braced herself for what was to come. "Oh, I see." He peered closely at her. "No, I don't see. Where's George and the blond sister?" Samantha fidgeted in her chair, annoyed and uncomfortable. "That's what I came here to tell you. My father had an accident ... and died ... a few days ago, and my younger sister Jocelyn has married another man." Jack's eyebrows knitted together. "I'm sorry to hear about George." He looked her over, and she squirmed under his scrutiny. "So you're George's oldest daughter, huh?" Thanks for pointing that out. "Yes. I came here to take Jocelyn's place and marry ... one of you ... because my pa spent your money, and that wasn't right. But since there's not going to be a wedding, somehow I'll try to repay you." "Well, Jack, what else do you have to say?" Blake rubbed his jaw. "I'm sorry. I was just trying to help." "And how is that?" Samantha could hear the sarcasm in Blake's voice. His father squirmed under the icy-cold stare. Jack lowered his gaze. "I just know how much you miss her, and my old friend George thought his daughter Jocelyn would be perfect for you. He showed me a picture of her. Jocelyn looks like ... Elizabeth." Blake jumped to his feet. If she thought he looked formidable earlier, it was nothing compared to now. His clenched his big hands—into big fists. "I've told you to never 19

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mention her name. And I don't want to get married—ever again. So if you ever pull another stunt like this..." Jack held his hands up as if in defense. "I won't ... I swear it. From now on, I'll mind my own business." "Make sure you do." Blake turned to her. "I guess that explains it, Mrs. Adams. And I must say I think you have a lot of nerve. I don't think you came here out of duty. You saw an opportunity to find a home for yourself and your kid and someone to take care of you, and you jumped at the chance." She cringed at his words. She'd expected them, but to hear them said aloud, made her feel ... unclean. "I assure you, sir, that is absolutely not true. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself and my daughter. I was just trying to do the honorable thing." "Okay, you did. And now, you're free to leave." "But what about the money? I don't have any money to repay you." "Since it was my father's money, I guess it's up to him." Samantha faced the elder McCarthy, desperately hoping he'd waive the debt so she could get out of here. "Well, it's an awful lot of money," Jack said slowly, "and I certainly do need it back." Samantha drew a deep breath. "I'll get a job and pay it back. It may take a while, but I swear to you that I'll honor my father's debt to you." Jack rubbed his jaw. "You know, I've got an idea, a darn good idea. We need a cook. You could work here as our cook until you've paid off the debt." "What?" Blake yelled. "Dad, are you crazy?" 20

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"It's strictly a business deal, son. If she leaves, I may never see any of that money." She jumped to her feet, startling Annie who whimpered and grabbed her skirt. "How dare you. I didn't have to come here, but I did. I could have stayed with the wagon train and went on to Oregon. But I didn't. And for you to insinuate that I'm a thief—" Jack held up his hand. "No, no. That's not what I meant. I just meant there are very few jobs to be had around here, and you may have to go to ... another town to find a job. That's all I meant." Somewhat appeased, she fell silent. To work here among all these men and around the handsome, but hostile, Blake McCarthy, set her heart to pounding. Well, it was out of her hands. She'd honor the debt, however she must. She'd let the two McCarthys make the decision. "Dad, if this is another of your hare-brained schemes to see me married, you'd best forget it." "No, son, I swear it's not. It's just that we do need a cook." He nodded at her. "You can cook, can't you?" "Of course. Nothing fancy, but everyday grub." Samantha felt the noose tighten around her neck. While she'd hoped for a place to live, life on the McCarthy ranch might prove ... unbearable. "Dad, I've been asking around town. There's a guy at the— " "But, son, we need a cook now. The men are grumbling about my cooking. Why, they say I'm trying to poison them. So, Mrs. Adams, I guess you're our new cook. You're hired." 21

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**** Blake could hardly believe what he'd heard. For his father to hire the woman on the spot infuriated him. But since he'd put the reins in Jack's hands, so to speak, he'd have to abide by the decision. Well, he'd make sure she didn't like it here. After he was done with her, she'd be glad to hightail it outta here. "And where is she supposed to stay, Jack? It wouldn't be fittin' for her to sleep in the house with me and you." "I've thought about that," Jack answered without a moment's hesitation. "There's that storeroom behind the cookhouse that she could use. I'll get the boys to clean it out, and we can move a bed in there. Should work out fine." You're a sly old fox, Jack McCarthy. That's a mighty quick solution to the problem. "Well, I'm against it." At those words, she glanced at him. Again, he was startled at the sight of her expressive green eyes. He found himself staring at her full lips and analyzing why he found her so damned attractive. If he took each of her features separate, they weren't anything to remark about. But when you put them all together, she was striking. He held her gaze for several long moments. Finally, she broke free and stared down at her hands. "You told me it was my decision," Jack said as he stroked his jaw. "Yeah, but what about the men? They're not used to having a good-looking woman around. What if they get outta hand?" Blake saw the woman's mouth gape open as if she hadn't expected a compliment. 22

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Jack raised his dark eyebrows. "I'd hate to think any of our men would get outta hand with a woman." He raised his eyebrows back at his father. "I don't mean our hands, but we hire on a lot of extras now and then." "I'll keep an eye on her, son." She held up her hand. "I don't need anyone to keep an eye on me. I'm a grown woman, and I can take care of myself." "We'll see." Blake grabbed his hat and stalked out the door. **** "Don't mind him, Mrs. Adams. He's all bark, very little bite." She turned to face Jack. "Somehow, I rather doubt that, but I'm not worried about him." She studied the older man. "Why would you do such a thing without telling him?" He groaned and rubbed his forehead. "Not you too. It's a long story. I'm sorry about all this. Your father had instructions to speak to me and no one else about this." "He never told me that." "Well, what's done is done. Listen, honey, I'm sorry for your loss." "Thank you. How did you know my father?" "We met a long time ago, before the war. I knew your ma too." "You did?" "Yeah. I had great respect for your mother. She was a good woman." "Yes, she was." 23

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"Well, come on, Mrs. Adams, and I'll show you around." Stooping over, she picked Annie up and placed the baby on her hip. The baby reached up and touched her face. "Momma..." She kissed Annie's hand and then tickled her under the chin. The baby gurgled, sending a wave of happiness washing over her. They were all each other had "Cute kid." "Thanks." Jack walked out the front door and down the steps. She followed him across the yard to a long rectangular building about halfway between the main house and the bunk house. He opened the door and ushered her into the room. Five six-foot tables with rough-hewn benches filled the room. A new-fangled stove had a place of honor on the back wall, flanked by a fireplace. Several shelves full of dishes, pots and pans lined the wall. He pointed at a door in the back corner of the room. "There's the storeroom. I think it'll work nicely for you and the baby." "Thank you." She walked over and opened the door. The room was a jumble of boxes, an old rusted stove and a host of other junk. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and she could hear the sound of critters scurrying for cover. But it'd be a roof over their heads, and there would be plenty to eat. She firmed her lips and turned to him. "It's fine." "It ain't very big. I know you must be disappointed, but—" She laughed. "After living in a wagon for months on end, it looks like a mansion. It'll do." 24

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"I'll get some men over here right away to clean it out. By nightfall, you should be able to move your things in." Since I don't have much, that sure won't take long. "Good. When do I start my duties ... as cook?" "How about tomorrow morning?" So soon? "That will be fine." "Okay. I'll be over at sunrise and show you the ropes." "Good. I didn't see ... the ... you know..." "Oh, yeah. I'll show you where it is. I'll assign you ... a ... special..." She glanced at Jack. His face was as red as a beet. Clearly, he'd not thought about separate facilities. And evidently there'd been no woman around in a long time. With an inward smile, she nodded. "Thanks. I appreciate that. And now, if you don't mind, I need to take the baby to the wagon and change her." He smiled and put his finger on Annie's cheek. The baby's small fist closed around his finger. "It's been a long time since we've had a baby around." Seeing tears misting his eyes, she raised her brows. She could hear the pain in the man's voice. Had a great loss hurt this man badly? Mind your own business, Samantha. Don't get involved. He cleared his throat. "Well, I'd best be getting your room cleaned up. You can look around the ranch if'n you want to." He walked off, calling to two men who stood by the corral. "Hey, you two, get over here. I've got a chore for you."

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The men walked toward her. As they passed her, they tipped their hats at her. "Glad you're staying, Mrs. Adams. It'll be good to see a purty face around here for a change." Purty face? Then Blake's words came back to her. The men aren't used to having a good-looking woman around. There must be a real shortage of women in these parts, she thought. "Thank you kindly. But you may think differently after you taste my cooking." The other man sent her a toothless grin. "Believe me, it cain't be no worser than Jack's." Samantha grinned back at the man, then made her way back to her wagon. After changing the baby, she decided to take a walk around the ranch. With Annie toddling after her, she wandered around the grounds. The sheer size of the McCarthy ranch continued to amaze her. The men sent curious stares her way, some openly admiring, but no one accosted her. Suddenly, loud yells from the men standing around the corral startled her. Curious about what was happening, but not wanting to attract any attention, she picked Annie up and wandered around the barn until she could see the corral without being seen. Blake sat astride a bucking bronc. His face was contorted as he battled to control the wild horse. His shirt was drenched with sweat, and the horse's coat was lathered white. The bronc bucked and twisted wildly. His body shifted violently to adapt to the animal's gyrations. The horse bucked again, and again, trying to dislodge its rider. Yet somehow he managed to hang on. Finally, the exhausted animal stopped, its head 26

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hung low in defeat. A smile of victory appeared on Blake's face. He waved his fist in the air, and his men yelled in praise as they shared his triumph. At that moment, he glanced in her direction. Their gazes locked. His smile vanished, replaced by—a challenge? But what kind of challenge? Thoroughly cowed, she scooped Annie up and hurried toward her wagon. She could feel his gaze lingering on her, and she fought the urge to glance over her shoulder. Telling herself not to be such a ninny, she slowed her feet. After all, he was only a man. But, a voice inside her protested, he's not like any man you've ever met. No one had ever stirred her blood like this, to the point where she couldn't think straight, to the point where her body raced to life, to the point where she lost coherent thought, especially not a man she'd just set eyes on a few minutes ago. Not even Peter. Yet the man disliked her intensely. Arriving at her wagon, she glanced over her shoulder and saw that he still stared at her. She straightened her shoulders and glared at him. Turning her back, she climbed into the wagon. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter 2 Blake watched Samantha scurry away. When she stopped and faced him, he had to admire her grit. She wanted him to think she was a scared rabbit, but it was all a pretense. She was a capable—and very determined woman. He'd bet she knew exactly what she was doing. While she didn't have the china doll features and petite stature of his late wife, there was something about her that struck a chord inside him—and that made him feel disloyal to Elizabeth. Dammit, Elizabeth had been dead for four years now. And his son too. His chest constricted with pain. Why couldn't he get on with his life? "Nice riding." The foreman's voice jerked him back to the moment. "That cayuse was a tough one. He fought you good all the way." "Yeah. Thank goodness, that's the last of the bunch." He rubbed his neck and then his shoulders. "Every last bone in my body hurts, some I didn't even know I had. I guess I'm just feeling my age." Sean Michael Patrick Flanagan, known as Irish, grinned at him. "I don't think age matters with that bronc." "Me neither." He caught a glimpse of the Adams woman climbing into her wagon. "Mighty fine looking woman. A mite on the skinny side," Irish said with a boyish grin. Blake glanced at his foreman—and friend. "Yeah." "Mighty strange situation." 28

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He could hear the question in his foreman's voice. With a wry smile, he filled Irish in on the situation. "Pa got caught in his own trap like a fly in molasses. Made that marriage contract without so much of a whisper of it. Never knew him to be so closed-mouthed." Irish stroked his red-bearded jaw. "Takes a strong woman to step up and volunteer to honor a contract like that." "Or a mighty desperate one," he countered. "She's looking for someone to take care of her, and her kid. And it's not going to be me." "A man could do a lot worse." "Yeah, I guess so. You throwing your hat into the ring?" "Who knows? Maybe." "I thought you were a confirmed bachelor. No woman's gonna tell me what to do or where to go—and all that." "Well, like you said, boss man, we're getting old. Maybe it's time for us to settle down." He shook his head. "Not me, my friend. At least not with a scheming woman like that." "Don't be too quick to judge. We don't know the whole story." "I know all I need to know," Blake slapped his friend on the back, "and I'm gonna make Jack's life a living hell until he yells 'uncle'." Irish chuckled. "I pity your father." "He needs to learn a lesson, and I'm just the one to teach him." He pointed toward the cookhouse where Jack was directing the cleanup of the storeroom. "Looks like the men 29

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are all acting like schoolboys trying to make an impression on her." Irish grinned. "I think I just might mosey over there and see if I can help." He groaned loudly. "Oh, no, not you too." "Just trying to be friendly like." With a roguish grin, the man walked away. Blake tugged on his bottom lip with his teeth. Samantha Adams had invaded his sanctuary and had already won the first battle. But, he vowed, she wouldn't win the war. He knew what she was up to, and it was no good. He marched toward the house. Once inside, he poured himself a brandy and then flopped down in his favorite chair in front of the fire blazing on the hearth. He rolled his head back and forth, willing the taut muscles in his neck and back to relax. The back door opened and his father's footsteps approached. Jack was humming softly which he always did when he was pleased with himself. Blake heard the clink of glass as his father poured himself a drink. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He waited for his father to speak. He knew it wouldn't take long. It didn't. "Well, we got Mrs. Adams settled in the storage room. I think it's gonna work out fine for her." Blake remained silent. "That's a real cute little girl she's got," Jack continued. "She says Annie is almost a year old." Still he said nothing. 30

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"I asked her about her husband. She said he died at the second battle of Bull Run." At that remark, he sat up straight in his chair. "Bull Run? That was four years ago. And yet she's got a one-year old kid?" He sent his father an 'I told you so' smirk. "So she shows up here to marry me with a bastard kid in tow? To honor her father's contract? And you hired her?" Jack frowned. "I must admit I was ... very ... disappointed when I heard that." He took a sip of his brandy. "She didn't seem to be that, you know, that kind of woman." "You mean you didn't want to believe she was that kind of woman because you were playing match-maker after I told you not to." Jack sighed loudly. "Well, I've already hired her. I can't fire her now." "Why not?" "Well, it just wouldn't be right." "Don't worry. I don't think she'll last long here. In fact, I'll see to it." **** As the sun dipped behind the mountains, Samantha moved the last of her possessions into the storage room. She lit the candle Jack had dug up for her and looked around. Her spirits sank. The gray walls and gray floor looked more like a jail cell than a bedroom. The men had done their best, but there was no warmth, no feeling of home. The wagon felt more like home than these four cold walls. But it was a roof over hers and Annie's heads. Until she paid her father's debt. And three 31

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square meals a day. Jack had made sure she and Annie had supper before he'd returned to the main house. And while she appreciated the salary Jack was paying her, it would take many long months for her to save enough money to repay her father's debt. Unless she could find a way to make extra money. The room was warm, full of stale air. She walked over to the lone window and shoved it open. A golden moon, full and heavy, hung in the night sky. She loosened her hair from its confining chignon. A light breeze cooled her face. The smell of pine wafted in on the night air, and she sniffed appreciatively. Annie whimpered. She picked the child up and walked over to the window. Crooning, she rocked the baby in her arms until sleep claimed the child again. After putting the baby in her sleeping basket, she walked outside. Her nerves were on end, and, even though she was exhausted, sleep would be a long time coming. Recounting the day's events as she walked, she wandered around the perimeter of the ranch, following the fence. As she rounded the barn, she came face to face with Blake McCarthy. When he saw her, his lips quirked into a sneer. "Why, Mrs. Adams, I thought you'd be fast asleep by now, what with moving into your new quarters and all. I figured you'd be plumb tuckered out." "Mr. McCarthy," she acknowledged him, "good evening." She fisted her hands, then stuck them in her pockets. His sneer again reminded her of his low opinion of her. She squared her shoulders to let him know she wasn't afraid of him. "I was just trying to cool off." 32

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"My father tells me your husband died at the second battle of Bull Run." He sure didn't waste any time getting to the point. "That's true." Her fingers dug into her palms. She knew what was coming next. "Yet you have a one year old daughter?" Samantha heard the disdain in his voice. She opened her mouth to explain but then clamped her lips shut. She didn't owe him an explanation. He'd already made it clear what he thought of her. Let the man think what he wanted. "Yes, I do." At her answer, he merely raised an eyebrow. Walking over to the fence, he propped a boot up on the bottom rail, leaned against it and stared at her as if waiting for an explanation. Well, he could wait until hell froze over. She averted her gaze. Why was she so attracted to this man when he so obviously detested her? Never before had she encountered a man whose mere gaze turned her knees to jelly. A man's man—but one who would appeal to almost any woman. For a moment, she wondered about the woman named Elizabeth and her relationship to the hard-eyed Blake McCarthy. Had Elizabeth been his wife? Had she left him? Or had she too been a casualty of the war? Not knowing what to say, she walked over to the fence and stared at the shadowy mountains looming against the darkening sky. She could feel his gaze upon her, and even though the night was now cool, she could feel a heated flush creeping up her neck. She fidgeted, wanting to run away. What was keeping her here, her feet planted like an oak, 33

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while this man passed judgment on her? Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him. "Good night, Mr. McCarthy." "Good night, Mrs. Adams." **** As dawn's early light crept into the window, Samantha slipped from her bed and stretched tiredly. She'd not slept well, her sleep interrupted by disturbing dreams. Dreams of a man with cold blue eyes and a cruel mouth, a mouth that had ravaged hers in kisses that took her breath and left her wanting more. Dreams that had left her shaken to the depths of her very being. She grabbed her robe from the mound of clothes she'd been too tired to sort and hang up last night and slipped it on. She walked over to the door leading to the kitchen. Opening the door, she peeked inside. Thankfully, there was no one there yet. Jack had told her that there was always fresh milk for Annie, and milking would be one of her chores. Thank God, she'd grown up milking cows on the farm. Finding the milk on the back counter, she poured a cupful and hurried back to her room. Annie was awake, her face a wreath of smiles. She sent up a quick prayer of thanks for this bundle of joy. "Momma." "Yes, darling, Momma's here. Is my sweet little girl hungry?" She picked up the baby and sat with her on the bed. The child drank greedily. A knock sounded at the door. "Mrs. Adams?" "Yes. Is that you, Jack?" 34

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"Yes, ma'am. Are you ready?" "Yes, I'll be there in just a moment." She placed Annie in her basket and slipped into her dress and shoes. She found her brush and ran it through her hair, then twisted the long mass into a bun. She grabbed Annie and her basket and toys, then scurried into the kitchen. She placed Annie in a corner where she could watch her, then walked over to Jack. "Good morning, Mrs. Adams. I hope you slept well." "Please call me Samantha." "Samantha. Hmmm, I like that name." "My sister always called me Sammie." Jack laughed. "I like that too." "Okay, so tell me what to do." He smiled at her. "First things first. I had Shorty start the fire in the stove. We store the wood right outside the door. Let me show you where we keep everything. The men will be here any minute." After a quick inventory, Jack set Samantha to cooking the bacon and eggs. About fifteen minutes later, the ranch hands filed in, each craning his neck to get a look at her. She smiled nervously in return. "Good morning," she said as she filled their plates. One cowhand in particular caught her attention. With red hair and a red beard, he stood out among the men. And he had the kindest eyes. She remembered seeing him last night. He walked toward her. "Howdy, ma'am. I'm Sean Michael Patrick Flanagan, the ramrod here, but you can call me Irish." "Nice to meet you, Irish, but what's a ramrod?" 35

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He chuckled. "The foreman." "Oh." "Glad to have you with us. We're looking forward to a woman's cooking. Ain't none of us getting fat on this swill Jack calls food." Jack came to stand beside her. "Well, Mr. Flanagan, sir, if you don't like my cooking, you know what you can do, and where you can go." Another chuckle from the Irishman. She laughed at their good-natured joshing. In the absence of Blake, she felt comfortable among these men. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, Jack. Such language and before such a beautiful lass." With a grin at her, the foreman joined the men at the huge dining table. Samantha blushed at the compliment. These men must not have seen a woman in months. She heard Annie's voice and whirled toward her. Two burly cowboys played peekaboo at her. Annie giggled, then gnawed on her fingers. She grabbed the coffee pot and went around the table, refilling all the cups. To her surprise, she found herself talking and laughing with the men. Once the men had finished their meal and Jack had left for the main house, she prepared an egg for Annie. She collapsed into the nearest chair to feed the baby. If she could only stay away from Blake McCarthy, maybe her time here would be bearable. **** As Blake saddled his horse, his gaze strayed to the cookhouse. His hand tightened on the reins, and the horse 36

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skittered away from him. Why couldn't he dismiss Samantha Adams from his thoughts? She was a loose woman, and only after what she could get. Yet she'd been in his thoughts all night. Hell, he'd even been tempted to eat breakfast over at the cookhouse just to get a closer look at her. Seemed like every cowboy at the ranch had showed up for breakfast. Including his father and his foreman. With a huff of self-disgust, he mounted his horse. He'd been too long without a woman, that was the problem. One night with Rosa, the beautiful Mexican whore at the Lucky Dollar, would rid him of any more thoughts about Samantha Adams. Blake nudged his gelding with his heel, and the buckskin eased into a run. Hearing the drumming of horses' hooves, he glanced over his shoulder. Irish rode up beside him, and the other men fell into line behind them. "The top of the morning to you, boss man." "You're mighty happy this morning." He shot a frown at his ramrod. "Is that against the law?" "Guess not." "Tis a beautiful day." "Ain't no different than any other day around here." Blake pulled his hat down to shade his eyes. "Oh, I don't know about that. A lovely smile from a lovely lass makes a lovely day." "Yes, well, as it turns out, your lovely widow, a widow of four years," he stressed the words "has a one year old kid. What do you think about that? On this beautiful day?" 37

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Irish considered that for a few moments, then shrugged his shoulders. "She's a lovely woman, with a cute little girl. I say we don't sit in judgment." With a loud cry, he kicked his horse into a run. With loud whoops, the men followed after him. Blake's mouth tugged down into a grimace. The woman had only been here less than a day, yet she'd already captivated the men. His thoughts raced. How did Jack McCarthy know George Wilkes? And how well had he known him? A discreet investigation might be a good idea. The next time he went into town, he'd kill two birds with one stone. He'd see Rosa and send a wire to his old Army buddy now turned detective. **** After cleaning the breakfast dishes and scouring the pots and pans, Samantha sat down with Jack and together they planned the meals for the week. He told her that in a few weeks he'd take her into town to meet the merchants. After learning that most of the men ate their noon meal while out on the range and the others fended for themselves, she sighed in relief. From breakfast time until dinner, she'd have free time to do her chores, including the milking. She glanced over to where her precious daughter sat playing quietly. God had not only blessed her with a child, but he'd given her a very good-natured baby who rarely cried unless hungry or tired. "Let's go for a walk, Annie. You need some sunshine. We'll clean our room later." 38

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Bright sunlight greeted them as they walked outside. She put her hand up to block the glare. Annie toddled off to the nearest patch of grass and grabbed a handful of brightlycolored flowers. She laughed aloud as Annie explored the yard, steering her away when she headed for the large dog sleeping under the tree. She heard the hum of wagon wheels and glanced up to see a buggy coming at breakneck speed. At the sight of the lathered animals, she grimaced. Unless it was a matter of life and death, that was no way to treat your horses. The woman in the buggy sawed on the reins and the team of horses ground to a halt. The noise frightened Annie, and she screamed. Samantha scooped her up and hugged her. "Shhh, sweetheart. It's okay." As the woman climbed down from the buggy, Samantha studied her. Dressed in the latest fashion with a green silk gown, green plaid jacket, and a matching hat with feathers atop beautiful blond curls, the woman made Samantha feel like a ragamuffin. The woman's gaze focused on her, and a sneer curled her lips. "Who are you? Where is Blake?" It appeared Blake McCarthy was partial to petite, fair-haired women. "I'm Samantha Adams, the new cook here." Her arms tightened around Annie. "And I don't know where Mr. McCarthy is." "Well, don't stand there like an idiot. Find someone who does." An angry retort came to her lips, but Samantha bit the words back. She needed this job so she could take care of 39

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Annie. If she angered this nasty woman, the woman might convince Blake to fire her. And she was sure it wouldn't take much convincing. "Yes, ma'am." She whirled and hurried toward the main house. She was relieved to see Jack coming toward her. "Someone's here to see Blake. A mighty impatient someone— with no manners." Jack's expression darkened into a scowl. "That's Amanda Jefferson. A ... friend ... of ... Blake's." "Oh?" Despite her resolve to remain calm, a knot formed in her stomach. The thought of Blake and this woman together made her nauseous. Jack looked at her, and she had the strangest feeling he knew what she was thinking. His gaze softened. "Don't worry. I don't think it's too serious." Samantha's face flushed. "It's certainly none of my business." Her back straight, she marched toward the cookhouse. Behind her, she could hear Jack trying to pacify the angry young woman. "Now, now, Amanda. Don't fret so. I'll send someone to find Blake." "He's so inconsiderate. He knew I was coming. I don't understand why he would do this to me." Out of earshot, Samantha slowed her feet. From what she'd seen of Blake and now this Amanda, they deserved each other. Yet, her jealousy lingered, floating in the air like a bad smell. She'd only known Blake a matter of hours so why should she be jealous? It wasn't like her. 40

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Once in her room, she put Annie down for a nap and set to making the room more livable. First, she gave it a good sweeping, then a good scrubbing. She found her mother's wedding ring quilt and made the bed, then hung white lacy curtains at the lone window. She searched her trunk and found a picture of Peter, then placed it on the crate used as a bedside table. She sat on the bed and stared at her deceased husband. Tears threatened, but she blinked them back. Loneliness swept over her like a raging river after a spring thaw. She shook her head to clear the self pity. Sadness gave birth to sadness, her mother always said. If working as a cook for a few months or a year was the worst thing that ever happened to her, she'd be a lucky woman. She jumped to her feet. No use sitting here moping. She'd get a head start on supper. A horde of hungry cowboys would be at the kitchen door soon. She checked on Annie who was still asleep. She picked her up and placed her in her basket, then went into the kitchen. After she sat Annie's basket in the play corner, she set about gathering her provisions. To her surprise, she found a barrel of apples. She grinned to herself—apple pies were her one, and only, specialty. She peeled and sliced the apples, then walked over to the stove. It was like nothing she'd seen before. The new-fangled stove had more handles and buttons than you could count. Not knowing exactly how to work it, she stuffed a wad of paper in it and lit the paper. She glanced at Annie and laughed at the baby's scrunched-up face. That meant one thing. Time to change 41

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her. She scooped the baby up in her arms, then hurried into the bedroom and lay the baby on the bed. She tickled the child's tummy and laughed as Annie giggled. She found cloths and cleaned the baby, then dressed her. Annie suddenly coughed and rubbed her eyes. "What's the matter, honey? Are you getting sick?" As if in answer, Samantha's eyes watered. An acrid smell tingled her nose. She glanced over her shoulder and saw wisps of smoke wafting up from under the door. Fire. She ran to the door and opened it. A deluge of smoke engulfed her, filling her lungs. Annie's cries echoed behind her. Telling herself to be calm, she returned to pick up the child. Throwing a blanket over them, she ran out of her room into the kitchen. Again, the smoke burned her eyes, blinding her. She heard cries from outside. "Help, "she screamed. "Here we are." The door crashed open, and two men rushed into the cookhouse. One grabbed her arm and shoved her toward the open door. She stumbled outside, pulled the blanket from over her head and gasped for air. Annie, too, instinctively took deep breaths. Men rushed past her into the burning building. And then she saw him. Blake McCarthy. And he was barreling down on her like a runaway locomotive. Jack and the snooty Amanda followed. She took a hesitant step backward. "There you are. What the hell happened here? Were you trying to burn the building down?" 42

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"No, no," she stammered. "I was going to make apple pie for supper. I don't know ... I don't know what happened." "Well, I do," he countered, "and I—" "Blake," Jack interrupted, "for God's sake, it was an accident. Just be thankful neither Mrs. Adams nor the baby were hurt." "If it were my ranch, I wouldn't tolerate such incompetence," Amanda said. "I would fire her immediately." Samantha braced herself for the blow to follow. How could she have been so careless? Blake was furious. He'd fire her for sure. And then where would she and Annie go? Instead, to her amazement, he looked at the other woman. His face hardened into a mask of indifference. "Then, I guess it's a good thing this is my ranch, isn't it? And I'll make my own decisions." A flash of anger flitted across Amanda's face, then was quickly hidden. She smiled, but Samantha could see it was a very strained smile. Amanda sidled up next to Blake and put her hand on his arm. "Why, of course, darling. I didn't mean anything by that. I just hate to see such incompetence." Samantha almost laughed aloud at the quick about-face. She stared at her feet to hide her smirk. While Amanda had wanted her fired, it had backfired on her. If she'd only remained silent, he would have dismissed her for sure. He turned to Samantha. "All right. This time was an accident, and I'll overlook it. But, believe me, if anything like this happens again, you will be fired. Do I make myself clear?" She nodded. "Yes, Mr. McCarthy." 43

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Without another word, he turned and marched off toward the house, Amanda on his heels. She turned to Jack. "I'm sorry I made—" To her surprise, Jack stood there, a huge grin on his face. He chuckled, then laughed aloud. To her amazement, she laughed with him. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter 3 It took all afternoon to clean up the cookhouse. Jack assigned two men to help her. When it was done and the men served a cold supper of ham and biscuits, Samantha thanked them. Tiredly, she kneaded her shoulders. She was exhausted. And dirty. Jack had shown her the creek that ran through the ranch property just a few hundred yards behind the house. He'd told her of a small secluded pool where she could bathe—in private. He'd also told the men that the pool was off limits to them. She collected Annie from her play area, clean clothes for both of them, soap and a blanket. She strolled leisurely to the river, Annie's head resting on her shoulder. The sun touched the distant mountains bathing them in golden light and the soft glow of twilight reflected on the rippling waters of the stream. She heard the gentle flutter of wings as an owl sailed past her. Standing quietly, she savored the view. Once at the river, she spread the blanket and placed Annie and the clean clothes on it. She stretched and kneaded the bunched muscles in the back of her neck. After scanning the area to make sure no one was about, she slipped off her shoes. She took off her dress, leaving on her chemise and petticoat, then undressed Annie. Holding the baby close to her chest, she waded into the clear, cool water. It invigorated her tired muscles, her aches and pains seemed to float away. 45

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Annie gurgled with pleasure and slapped at the water. When it splashed in her eyes, she blinked in alarm. Samantha laughed and wiped the water from Annie's eyes. She sat down in the shallow water and positioned the baby between her legs. She soaped Annie's arms and legs, taking care not to get it in her eyes. After rinsing the soap off, she helped Annie to her feet and laughed as the baby flopped down in the water. It splashed in her face, and she screamed. Samantha gathered her daughter to her chest and consoled her. Once Annie had ceased crying, Samantha stood and waded ashore. She dried the baby with a towel, then dressed her in her night gown. For several long moments, Annie fretted, fighting sleep. Samantha rocked her and soon the child was still. The water invited Samantha back into its cool depths. With one of her few remaining slivers of soap, she washed the soot from her hair. The sodden petticoat weighed her down. She walked back to shore and stripped it off. On impulse, she shed her chemise, dashed back into the water and swam across the pool. Tension flowed from her shoulders. Her spirit refreshed, she turned on her back and floated on a watery cloud—and forgot the day's disaster. **** Blake heard the splashing of water, and he pulled his horse to a halt. Dismounting, he hung his hat on the saddle horn, then melted into the trees and made his way toward the river. Even though the leaves were dry and brittle, he made no noise. Three long years of being a scout for the Union Army had honed his skills to near perfection. Since the river 46

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was only a few yards ahead, he dropped to all fours and crept through the bushes. Pausing only long enough to draw his gun, he parted the reeds at the water's edge. And saw a goddess. Samantha Adams stood before him bathed in moonlight. His breath caught in his throat. He should avert his gaze, but he couldn't. As he watched, she shed her petticoat. To his astonishment, she lifted her arms over her head and tugged her chemise off, then waded into the dark water. Water sparkled on her skin like dew drops on a rose. The cascade of ebony hair hid her face. Her legs were long and well-formed. Rounded hips flared from a tiny waist. Her breasts with their taut buds sent desire slamming into him like a bullet. His body responded, and he shifted uneasily. He must have made a noise because she stopped floating and looked in his direction. She ducked low in the water. "Who's there? Is someone there?" Dammit, how could I have been so careless? And what do I do now? Sneak off without being seen? Hell, no, this is my ranch, and I can go anywhere I damn well please. He stood, then holstered his gun. "It's me. Blake McCarthy. I was just coming back from escorting Miss Jefferson to town, and I heard noises. Since we've been having problems with renegade Indians, I thought I'd check it out. I'm sorry if I frightened you." "Your father told me I could come here. He said he'd tell the men." Her voice was low, uncertain and defensive. "Well, he told all the men—but me." Blake ran his hand through his hair and looked away from her. He should leave, 47

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but for some strange reason he didn't want to interrupt this ... intimate ... interlude. "But, then, why should I know? After all, I'm only the owner of this place." He returned his gaze to her. "I guess I'll be leaving now." She remained silent. Was she afraid of him? Maybe so. After all, he had yelled at her this afternoon and threatened to fire her. "Look, about this afternoon, I shouldn't have gotten so mad. I'm sorry." "No. You were right to get angry. I was careless. I'll pay you back for the damage I caused." "That won't be necessary. It was just some smoke damage." "It won't happen again." There was no fear in her voice. He'd been wrong about that. At a loss for words, he merely nodded. "Well, good night, Mrs. Adams." "Good night, Mr. McCarthy." Blake retreated. He returned to his horse. He put his hat on, then mounted and rode toward the house. His thoughts were full of the naked woman in the river. Try as he might, the vision of her lingered in his mind. Not since Elizabeth had a woman captivated him as this one had. His stomach churned into knots. He didn't like the vile taste of disloyalty that swirled in his gut. But Samantha Adams was nothing like Elizabeth. In looks—or actions. Elizabeth would never have stooped so low as to try to foist off a bastard child on another man. And Samantha appeared to have no shame for her actions. When he'd questioned her, she'd offered no explanation. 48

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He dismounted at the back door. A figure emerged from the shadows to take his reins. "Thanks, Shorty. Rub him down good, will ya?" "Sure, boss." His father met him at the back door. "Blake, there you are. I was beginning to wonder if you were coming home tonight. I was afraid you might have been caught in Amanda's web." Ignoring his father's baiting, he took his hat off and tossed it on the table. "Just had a little business to take care of while I was in town." Like a telegram to my old Army buddy to investigate one Samantha Adams. "And, Jack—?" "Yeah?" "Next time Amanda Jefferson shows up here, uninvited, send her home. I've got more work to do than babysit that spoiled brat." Blake ambled into the living room and poured himself a brandy. Jack followed him. "Well, she said you knew she was coming. And, I thought, since you were courting her—" "I'm not courting her. I'm courting her father's money." "That ain't exactly the gentlemanly thing to do." "No, it's not, but I've never given Amanda any reason to believe I'm going to marry her. Hell, I don't even like her half the time." "Well, if I know Benjamin Jefferson, he'll want to see a ring on her finger before he'll part with a dime." Blake chuckled. "You're probably right there. But if I decide to run for governor when we get statehood, I'll need the support of influential, wealthy businessmen like Jefferson." 49

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"And a beautiful woman on your arm wouldn't hurt your image none." "Amanda Jefferson would make any man's life a living hell. She's spoiled, mean-spirited and sometimes downright nasty." He took a sip of brandy. "But she is beautiful." Jack laughed. "That she is. Any more news in town about the territory electing a governor?" He shook his head. "I may take a ride up to Denver soon and see what I can dig up." Jack nodded, then sat down in the chair beside the hearth. He remained silent, staring into the flames. Unusually silent for Jack McCarthy. He's building up to something, Blake mused. He sat down opposite his father—and waited. Jack cleared his throat. "You know, son, I think we made the right decision by hiring Samantha—" "Samantha? You're on a first name basis with her already?" Jack grinned. "I like her. She's a hard worker, and she's got spunk. She said her sister used to call her Sammie." "Well, it wasn't our decision. If you'll remember, I was against it." "Yeah, how could I forget?" Jack stood. "Well, I promised Irish a game of checkers. I guess I'll go whupp him afore I go to bed." Chuckling, Blake nodded. His father and his foreman had a long-standing feud about who was the better checker player. "Well, good luck. I'm going to turn in." **** 50

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Samantha grabbed a corner of her apron and wiped the perspiration from her forehead. She pushed tendrils of damp hair behind her ears. Glancing down at the pile of dirty laundry, she sighed aloud. One more wash load. Doing the men's laundry for extra money had sounded like a good idea, but it was sure taking its toll on her. After only two weeks, her back ached from the continual bending and lifting, and her hands were as rough as cactus. She hung the damp clothes on the clothes line, then sat beside Annie. The baby had been playing in the mud, and her face and dress were coated with the black earth. "And what have we here?" Jack's voice sounded from behind her. She glanced up. "A mud baby." "So I see, but a happy mud baby." He wiped mud from Annie's nose with a finger "That she is," Samantha stood, then wiped her hands on her apron. "Well, I'd best get back to work." "Are you sure you're not overdoing it? You look exhausted." "I'm fine, Jack. Nothing a good night's rest won't cure." "Yeah, right. If you say so. Look, why don't I take Annie out of your hair for a little while? We've got some new baby chicks in the barn." "Are you sure you want to be bothered?" "Won't be no bother. In fact, it'll be fun." He helped Annie to her feet, and together they headed for the barn, Annie jabbering up a storm in her own language. 51

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As she watched them go, she wondered about Jack and his love for children. Was Blake his only child? Had Blake been a happy child? It's none of your business, she told herself. Stay out of it. Do your time here, and don't get involved. "It's not going to work, you know." "What?" She glanced up and met Blake's hostile gaze. Shorty stood behind him. "What's not going to work?" "You know what I mean." She shrugged. Picking up the last few shirts, she tossed them into the wash tub, then faced him. "No. I don't know what you mean. Please enlighten me, Mr. McCarthy." "You're encouraging my father to be with your little girl. Any fool can see you're using her to manipulate Jack and further your greedy plans." A harsh retort rose to her lips, but she forced it back. After all, this man was still her employer. And even though Jack had hired her, she knew he wouldn't go against his son if he decided to fire her. "Your mind is already made up about me, and I know nothing I can say will change it." She grabbed a shirt and slapped it against the wash board, sending suds flying. "So I won't waste my time." She waited for a snide remark from him, but he merely stared at her for a few moments, then stalked off. She expected Shorty to follow, but he didn't. Instead, he took his hat off. "We don't all feel like that, ma'am. I like having you and the little girl here." "Why, thank you, Shorty. That means a lot to me." A flush crept up his neck. "Well, that's all I gotta say about that." He hurried after Blake. 52

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She turned back to her laundry. With a sigh, she scrubbed the shirt in her hands. In two short hours, it'd be time to cook supper. She'd sure be ready for bed tonight. As she hung the last of the shirts on the clothes line, Jack returned with Annie, now covered with dried mud and hay. She picked her daughter up. "I've a good mind to toss you in the wash tub, little lady." "I think she needs to soak a while," Jack said teasingly. "I think you're right. Thanks for watching her for me." "My pleasure." Samantha headed for her room for clean clothes for herself and Annie, then headed for the river. She had just enough time to take a bath before she had to face the kitchen. **** After her chores were completed, Samantha discovered to her delight that there were a couple more hours of daylight. She was too tired to sleep, and having not left the ranch since the first day she'd set foot on the place, she wanted to take a ride around the ranch. Braving the possibility of Blake's wrath, she decided to ask Irish to saddle a horse for her. He was reluctant to do so. "Are you sure you can ride good enough to go off alone?" "Yes. Don't worry about me." "Well," the foreman protested, "Jack and Blake would have my hide if anything happened to you." "Hah! Maybe Jack, but not Blake. He'd like to be shed of me." 53

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"Oh, he's not as bad as all that. Look, why don't I go with you? Just to show you around so you don't get lost?" Samantha thought about his suggestion. He was right. She didn't know anything about the ranch. "Maybe that's a good idea." Irish smiled his agreement. "Good. I'll saddle the horses." She hurried to her room and changed into a pair of Peter's pants and one of his old shirts. She looked ridiculous, but riding astride would be much easier. When she joined Irish, he merely raised an eyebrow, and she made a face at him. "I know, I know, I look comical, but this is all I've got. I don't have a fancy riding outfit." "You look just fine." In less than fifteen minutes, they rode out of the yard, Annie sitting in front of her. As they rode across the range, Samantha felt her energy returning, and her spirits lifting. The night air was invigorating, and she felt the tension slowly slip from her body. Irish grinned at her. "You are a good horsewoman. I'm very much impressed." "And rightly so," she retorted and quirked an eyebrow at the red-haired Irishman. "Thanks for coming with me. I needed to get away. Not that I don't like my job," she added hurriedly, "but I just—" "You don't have to explain. I know what you mean. Sometimes when I'm alone at the line shack up in the mountains, I enjoy the solitude. The men think I'm crazy, but it helps me keep my head on straight." 54

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"Yeah, that's what I needed—to get my head back on straight." Samantha loosened her hair from its confining ribbon and let it fall free down her back. She shook her head, liking the feel of the unbound tresses. "You should wear your hair down more often," Irish said. "You have beautiful hair." Her cheeks flamed. "Thanks. My daddy didn't like me to wear it down. He said it wasn't proper." "I don't see nothing wrong with it." They slipped into a comfortable silence as the horses meandered their way up the slopes and through the trees. "It's beautiful here," she said. "I can see why people make the long trip out here." Irish nodded. "A little piece of Heaven, it is." "How did you happen to land up here in Colorado, Irish? It's a long way from Ireland." "Aye, 'tis true. I came to America as a wee lad. I served under Blake during the war—" "You fought in the war? Both of you?" "Yes, ma'am." "Which side?" Irish didn't answer immediately. "The Union." Samantha nodded. "I figured as much." "Does that upset you?" A sigh escaped her lips. "No. Not any more." "I heard you lost your husband during the war. I'm feeling real sorry 'bout that."

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"Thanks. Sometimes, it seems like yesterday, sometimes it seems like such a long time ago." Before her, Annie's head drooped, and she pulled the child back against her chest. "She's a fine lass, Annie is." "Aye," Samantha answered, mimicking the Irishman's brogue. He laughed, then pointed toward a strand of trees. She looked in that direction, then gasped. A magnificent buck with a huge rack of antlers watched them warily. She reined in her horse. "How beautiful he is. How regal. He looks like a king surveying his realm." "A mighty fine looking animal," Irish agreed. He nodded toward the setting sun, the fiery orb now touching the mountain tops. "It'll be dark soon. I guess we'd best head back." "Okay." As they rode back, she fought her curiosity, but it won. "Tell me about Blake." She felt Irish glance at her, but she avoided his gaze. "Why does he hate me so much?" "Blake, huh? Well, like I said, he was a Union officer. And a damned good one. A brave one. When the war was over, he asked me if I wanted to come west with him and Jack, and I said yes. Never regretted it." "You didn't answer my question, Irish." He chuckled. "I know. I don't know if there is an answer to your question. Blake lost his wife Elizabeth and his son Matthew during the war. He and Jack came home one day and found them both ... dead. A group of Johnny Rebs, 56

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deserters all, had attacked the house, killed everyone there, Elizabeth, Matthew, Elizabeth's mother and father." Samantha sucked in a deep breath. She couldn't get enough air in her lungs. "Oh, how terrible. I know how it feels to lose someone you love, and he lost a wife and a son. You have a hole in your heart that will always be there." "Blake ain't been the same since. He blames himself for not being there to protect them." "But it wasn't his fault—" "Try to tell him that. Anyway, I think he's afraid to feel ... anything. So he pushes people away." She wrinkled her brow. "I don't understand. What does that have to do with the way he feels about me?" Irish shrugged his shoulders. "Blake don't want to be attracted to you, but I think he is, and it scares him. So he does things to make you want to leave. At least, that's the way I see it." "What? That's absolutely preposterous. He detests me. He thinks that I'm—because of Annie, that I'm—" She bit off the rest of her words. For a moment, she considered telling Irish that she'd adopted Annie, but she knew he'd go straight to Blake. While she'd like to see Blake eat his words, her foolish pride wouldn't let her explain. One of her mother's favorite sayings came back to her. Don't cut off your nose to spite your face. "Now, now, nobody thinks bad of you. The Indians have a saying. You must walk the path I have walked before you can stand in my moccasins. So I try not to judge anyone." "That's very sweet, Irish." 57

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"Tis true." Again, a shrug of his shoulders. "It's not who we were, but who we are now that counts." "You're quite a philosopher, Mr. Flanagan." He laughed. "All Irishmen are—full of blarney, that is." Darkness had fallen when the main house came into view. A soft glow emanated from the windows, and she could barely make out wisps of gray smoke curling up from the chimney. I could get used to it here, but it can never be. "Thanks for going with me, Irish." "My pleasure." "Do you think it's all right for me to do this again? I mean, go for a ride?" "I don't see why not." "Will he mind?" She plucked at a loose thread on her shirt. "I'll speak to Jack." "I didn't mean Jack, and you know it. But thank you." "You're welcome. Well, here we are." Irish reined in his horse at the corral and quickly dismounted. He reached up to take Annie, and she handed the sleeping child to him, then slid to the ground. "You go ahead and put your lass to bed." He put Annie in her arms. "I'll tend to the horses." "Thanks. Good night." As she turned to go, a dark figure blocked her path. Startled, she stepped backward. "Well, ain't this nice," came Blake's sarcastic voice. "Howdy, boss man," Irish said and moved to stand beside Samantha. "Didn't hear you coming." "Yeah, I can see you had other things on your mind." "And just what does that mean, boss man?" 58

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In the murky darkness, Samantha felt, rather than saw, Blake stagger toward them. A faint whiff of liquor caught her by surprise. The foreman must have smelled it too because he caught Blake by the arm. "Blake, are you drunk?" "Drunk? Hell, no. I had a couple of drinks, but I'm not drunk." He slapped the hand away. "And even if I were, it's my business, it's my ranch and it's my liquor." "Right you are. Come on. I'll walk with you up to the house. I need to talk to Jack." "I don't need your help." Blake whirled, faced Samantha and wagged a finger at her. "What are you up to now, Mrs. Adams? First my father, and now my foreman. Have you no shame?" "I have no idea what you're talking about, Mr. McCarthy, but I don't think I like your insinuations." She pushed his hand away from her face. "The truth hurts, doesn't it?" Blake snapped. "That's enough, Blake. You're way out of line. We went for a ride. That's all." "It's not your fault. You're a man, and when she turns on that charm—" "Blake, stop it." He turned to Samantha. "Why don't you go on to your room? I'll see you tomorrow." With a thankful nod, Samantha scurried toward her room. Humiliation and anger followed her there. After putting Annie to bed, she paced the floor, shivering and struggling to be calm. How much longer could she endure Blake McCarthy's accusations and insults? 59

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But where could she go? She'd managed to save a few dollars from doing the men's laundry, but it wouldn't go far. Then what would she do? Her only salvation was to find another job in town. So when Jack took her to town to meet the merchants, she'd ask around. Anything would be better than this. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter 4 After a long night filled with dreams, Blake awoke with a headache. Elizabeth and Samantha had haunted his dreams yet again. He'd been making love to Elizabeth, then her face had turned into that of Samantha Adams. Guilt smothered him like a soaked blanket. He muttered a curse and punched the pillow. Again and again. Slowly, he rolled from bed. He needed a cup of coffee—and bad. He walked downstairs and found his father at the breakfast table. "Damn, Blake, what's wrong with you? You look like someone beat the tarnation out of you." "Thanks. That makes me feel better, a whole lot better." He sat down at the table and poured himself a cup of coffee. "What's the matter? You sick?" "No. Just didn't get much shut-eye last night." "How come?" Blake glared at his father. "Why all the questions? Hell, I don't know. Just couldn't sleep." "Well, don't bite my head off. I was just asking." Blake sighed loudly. "Sorry. I've got a monster of a headache. Didn't mean to snap at you." "Apology accepted." Shorty appeared with a plate of bacon and eggs and set it in front of him. "Thanks, Shorty. That looks good." 61

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"Well, since you got that there headache, I guess you don't feel like going into town today for supplies, huh?" He glanced at his father. The trip to town for supplies was one of his father's favorite things to do. "I had planned to go, but my rheumatiz is acting up," Jack replied to Blake's unasked question. "We're running short on a lot of things." "You know I hate that job. Send Irish." "He said he had to go over to the Bar K for you and look at some bull you were thinking about buying." "Oh, yeah, I forgot about that." He shrugged his shoulders. "All right, I'll go." "Thanks, son." Blake grinned to himself. He'd already planned to go into town today, and now he didn't have to give an explanation about his visit. His old Army buddy had sent a message that he'd be in town today if Blake could meet with him. Andy's investigation of Samantha Adams was now complete. And, as icing on the cake, Jack would think he owed Blake a favor. After breakfast, he walked out onto the front porch. He heard Jack's footsteps behind him. It was a beautiful clear day. The air was crisp, a hint that winter would soon join them. As he surveyed his ranch, his chest swelled with pride. In just a few short years, he, Jack and Irish had turned this place into a thriving, prosperous ranch. Shorty drove up in the wagon, stopped and jumped to the ground, then tied the reins to the hitching post. As Blake stepped off the porch, Samantha walked up, her baby in her 62

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arms and a cotton bag over her shoulder. "I'm ready to go, Jack." "What?" He whirled to face his father. "Jack, what the hell is going on? You never said nothing about her going to town." His father sent him an "I'm innocent" stare. "Didn't I? I guess I forgot. I want Mrs. Adams to meet the storekeepers and learn how to order supplies, and she can't do it by herself. And as you know, only me, you and Irish can sign on the account." Blake shook his head. His dad really didn't look good, and he'd been the one to send Irish over to the Bar K ranch to see about buying a bull. That left him. "Oh, all right. What the hell. Let's go, Mrs. Adams." Without waiting to help her, he untied the reins and climbed up on the wagon seat. He saw her glance at Jack who nodded at her. She shook her head. "Why don't I just wait and go with you another time? I don't have to go today." "We need supplies now. Besides, Blake doesn't bite." Her face turned beet red, and she muttered something under her breath. Probably something very unflattering about him. Jack walked over to her and took the baby from her arms. She scrambled up on the seat beside him and placed the bag at her feet. With wry humor, Blake noted she sat as far from him as she could. Jack handed the little girl up to her mother. Blake glanced at the dark-haired woman. Like always, her ebony tresses were pulled back into a chignon of sorts. Not like the other night when it had hung free, the night she and Irish had— 63

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Stop it, he told himself. Irish had said nothing happened, and Irish always told the truth. He continued his inspection of her. Her skin was fresh and wholesome with no makeup marring the skin. The dress she wore was the same ugly one she'd worn when she first appeared at the ranch. For a moment, he found himself wondering what she'd look like all dressed up in new fancy duds, her hair piled high in curls, her hands manicured ... Stop it, Blake, stop it. Flushing under his scrutiny, she put her bonnet on and tied the ribbon under her chin. She did the same to the baby, then turned to Blake. "I'm ready, Mr. McCarthy." Blake stared at her wide, full lips and fought an unexpected urge to kiss them. Catching him staring at her seemed to unnerve her. She licked her lips, which only enhanced his desire to taste them. What in tarnation was wrong with him? And was she as innocent as she appeared? Her crazy story about 'honoring her father's contract' was far-fetched indeed. And she had a dead husband—yet a one-year old child. And she, systematically, one by one, was winning over everyone at the ranch. It's a trap, he reminded himself, and he wouldn't fall into it. Clucking to the horses, he slowly drove the wagon from the yard. Even though he owed her an apology, he was determined not to talk with her. And he definitely wasn't going to apologize. He didn't owe her anything. For several miles, neither one spoke. Finally, she broke the silence. "Please don't be angry with your father. I asked if I could go into town with him. I could have come another time." 64

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"It doesn't matter." He shrugged his shoulders. "I just wanted to see if I had a letter from my sister." "You don't have to explain anything to me." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her firm her lips. While he had a ton of questions, he wouldn't ask her anything. He didn't want to get to know her. He already knew enough. Like how her hair shimmered blue-black in the sunlight. Like how she puckered her lips when engrossed in a task. Like how her bare body looked in the moonlight. Like how she smiled so sweetly at her daughter. Like how her hips swayed when she walked. Like how her green eyes sparkled when she laughed. Finally, his conscience got the best of him. "Look, about the other night," he paused, waiting for her reaction. "Yes, what about it?" Her tone was defensive. He hadn't expected her to shy away from the subject, and she hadn't. That was one thing he really admired about her—she faced things head-on. "I owe you an apology." "I think you owe Irish the apology. I know what you think of me, and I don't care, but Irish is your friend." She looked away from him. "I've already apologized to him. While I don't believe all your stories, I know that Irish doesn't lie." She turned her beautiful green eyes to him. He noticed how they darkened to almost black when she was angry. "And neither do I, Mr. McCarthy. Neither do I." "I guess time will tell, won't it?" He continued goading her, not really knowing why he did so. 65

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"Indeed it will. And I, for one, Mr. McCarthy, will be able to hold my head up high." The remainder of the trip passed in silence. An awkward silence at that. Annie said a few unintelligible words, and he had to laugh to himself. He glanced at the little girl and saw her staring at him—with eyes as blue as his own. With her blond hair and blue eyes, Annie didn't look like Samantha at all. She smiled at him, and a tremor wracked his body. The baby's smile had such sweet purity. Tears sprang to his eyes as he remembered his son. He turned his head so that she couldn't see. Samantha shifted in her seat, and he glanced at her. Annie cried and rubbed her eyes. She pulled the child's bonnet off and mopped the baby's face with her handkerchief, then lifted Annie to her shoulder. She rocked back and forth until the child went to sleep. "Sorry." "No need to apologize. Babies will be babies." "How much further?" "Not far." Curious stares met them as he halted the team at the general store. The sun was already past directly overhead. He jumped to the ground and headed around the wagon to help Samantha down. But she ignored his outstretched hand and climbed down alone, the baby perched precariously on her hip. She'd knowingly insulted him because the townsfolk were watching. He pasted a smile on his face. Cyrus joined him at the steps, and he shook the storekeeper's outstretched hand. "Howdy, Blake. I was expecting Jack today." 66

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"His rheumatism is acting up," Blake explained. "Sorry to hear that. And who is this little lady?" "Our new cook. Cyrus, meet Samantha Adams. Mrs. Adams, this is Cyrus Pearson, owner of the mercantile." "Nice to meet you, sir." Cyrus tickled Annie under the chin. "And who is this?" Samantha smiled at the storekeeper. "This is Annie." "As beautiful as her mother," Cyrus said with a wide smile. Her face reddened. Every time someone mentioned her looks she got all flustered. She didn't seem to think much of her own looks. Or was that just another one of her tricks? "Come on inside, Mrs. Adams, and I'll show you around." He turned to Blake. "Jack send a list?" "Yeah." He fished it from his pocket and handed it to the storekeeper, then he turned to Samantha. "I'm going to get a beer. I'll meet you back at the wagon in two hours." She nodded at him and followed Cyrus into the store. Blake headed for the saloon where he was to meet Andy. Taking his hat off, Blake slapped the dust off his pants with its brim and shoved the doors of the Lucky Dollar open, then sauntered into the saloon. Rosa detached herself from the arms of a rangy cowboy and hurried to meet him. He shook his head at her, and she frowned but turned away. Although he hadn't seen him for over a year, he recognized his old friend immediately. Next to Irish, Blake had trusted Andy as a soldier—and now as a friend. He made his way to the table where his friend was seated. "Howdy. It's good to see you again." 67

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"Hey, old buddy," Andy jumped to his feet and stretched out his hand. "It's good to see you too." Blake shook hands with his friend. He grabbed a chair, then flipped it around and straddled the seat, resting his elbows on the top. "When did you get in, and how long are you staying in town?" "Got in yesterday. Got to leave tonight for St. Louis." "Too bad. I was hoping you could spend some time at the ranch. I know Jack and Irish would love to see you." "And I'd like to see them, but maybe another time." He pulled an envelope from his pocket and took out some papers, then placed them in front of Blake. "Seems like your Samantha Adams is a model citizen." He picked up the papers and shuffled through them. "Cut to the chase, old man." "Well, the Wilkes are from Tennessee. Her name was Samantha Wilkes, and she married Peter Adams, a corporal in the Tennessee 25th Regiment. The records show he died at the second battle of Bull Run. Just like she said." He quirked an eyebrow in Blake's direction. "There were no children of that marriage." Blake nodded. "Just as I thought." "Mrs. Adams sold her farm and moved back in with her father and younger sister. After a few months, he also sold his farm, and they headed west. I couldn't find any information on any marriage contract. But maybe it was an oral contract. Did you ask Jack?" "No. Did you find out how my father and George Wilkes knew each other?" 68

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"Nope. The name Jack McCarthy didn't mean anything to the people I interviewed." "Looks like I'm back to square one." "Well, Ben Johnston, the wagon master on that wagon train she came in on, was on another trip. I'll catch up to him later." "Don't waste your time, old friend. Let me buy you a drink." **** As soon as she finished with Cyrus, Samantha hurried to the post office. To her dismay, there was no letter from Jocelyn. Biting back tears of disappointment, she thanked the clerk and left the post office. Since she had almost an hour before she was to meet Blake, she decided to take a walk about town. And scout out any opportunities for a job. But first she had to feed Annie. She found a bench under a fragrant pine tree and sat the baby at her feet. She opened her bag and fished out a banana, some crackers and a jar of milk. As Annie ate, she studied the town. There was the usual barber shop, livery and a couple of hotels. A restaurant adjoined one of the hotels. She saw the newspaper office, a gunsmith and a boot store. And, of course, several saloons. Even at this early hour, bawdy music and loud voices floated out into the streets. She picked up Annie, then slung her bag over her shoulder and walked toward the restaurant to see if they needed any help, but they didn't. The printer needed help, he said, but 69

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couldn't afford to pay her. Disappointment settled around her shoulders like a heavy cloak. As she continued her exploration, she passed a dress shop. The beautiful frock in the window caught her attention. A dress of baby blue, it had a full skirt edged with yards and yards of dainty white lace. Oh, to have a dress like that. Perhaps Jack would let her have the flour sacks and she could make herself and Annie a new dress. God knows she needed another dress. The one she had on couldn't be patched much longer. A woman appeared in the store window and puffed up the sleeves on the dress. Samantha stared in surprise. It was Martha Williams from the wagon train. She rapped softly on the window. Martha smiled in recognition and motioned for her to come inside. "Why, Samantha Adams, it is you—and baby Annie. Come here and let me hug you both." "Mrs. Williams, how good it is to see you." She found herself clasped tightly to the other woman's ample bosom. "I thought you and Mr. Williams were going on to Oregon." Mrs. Williams released her but kept Annie. "We were but Mr. Williams went and came down with the fever. I almost lost him. He didn't have the strength to go on so we figured this place was as good as any. The shop is prospering. The ladies here keep me busy." Samantha pushed her bonnet back. "I'm sorry to hear about Mr. Williams, and I do hope he's feeling better. But, to be perfectly honest, I'm so glad you decided to stay here. I 70

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know that's selfish, but it's nice to see a familiar face, and I'm glad your shop is doing so well." "Well, thank you. And what about you, dear girl? I've been worried about you seeing you were all alone." "I'm the cook at the McCarthy ranch." "You are?" Samantha grinned. "I know that sounds strange, me being one of the worst cooks around, but it gives me and Annie a place to live." "What happened to that friend of your father's? He couldn't help out?" "He got me the job." "Oh, I see. And what about that sister of yours?" "I haven't heard anything from her yet, but she promised to write. And she will." "Of course she will. You two were very close, and I know it's just a matter of time." Mrs. Williams handed Annie back to her. "If you ever need anyone to look after this sweet baby, you just let me know. I sure have missed her." "Thanks." "And," Mrs. Williams said as she stepped back and looked Samantha up and down, "we need to make you a new dress." She blushed. "I know I must look a fright, but I can't afford any new dresses right now." "You cain't afford not to. I hear tell Blake McCarthy is one of the richest men this side of the Mississippi River. The women all talk about him. Maybe you could land him for a husband." 71

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"What? Oh, no, no, no. That's out of the question. He's not interested in someone like me." "He's a man, ain't he?" "Yes, but—" Mrs. Williams laughed and held up her hand. "Well, I've seen him. He's a mighty fine looking man." "I agree that he's very ... handsome, but he doesn't even like me. He ... he ... thinks I'm a loose woman ... because of Annie. He thinks that because Peter died four years ago and Annie's a year old..." "Oh, I see." Martha wrinkled her brow. "And for some strange reason, you didn't see fit to explain to him that you adopted Annie when her parents died?" "No." Samantha firmed her lips. "He'd already made up his mind about me, so he can think what he wants." "Well, I'll keep it to myself, my dear. It's your business." "Thanks." "Look, I've got some scraps of material, and I'm gonna make you a new dress, and Annie too. You pay me when you can." As Samantha opened her mouth to protest, Martha held up her hand. "Now, there's nothing else to say. You come over here and let me get your measurements." Twenty minutes later, Samantha hurried to meet Blake. She didn't want to be late. He'll probably fire me if I'm late. As she passed the sheriff's office, the door opened and Sheriff Coulter stepped in front of her. She collided with him and almost dropped Annie. He grabbed her and kept her from falling. 72

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"Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean to run you over." He released her and stepped back. "I'm very sorry, ma'am. Did I hurt you or the little girl?" "No, we're fine, Sheriff Coulter." "Oh, Mrs. Adams, it's you." He took his hat off. A crooked grin snaked across his face. "I guess you found the McCarthy ranch from them directions I gave you." "Yes, I did. I'm the new cook there." "I heard tell they'd hired a woman. Guessed it were you. Never figured Blake would hire a woman." "Blake didn't. Jack hired me." "Well, I'll be damned—" He turned beet red. "Sorry, ma'am. Didn't mean to curse afore a lady like yourself." She laughed. "Don't worry, Sheriff. That was my reaction too." Glancing around, she saw Blake across the street and he was staring in her direction. And Amanda Jefferson was with him. Oh, great ... "I have to go now. Mr. McCarthy is waiting on me." "Mrs. Adams...." "Yes?" The lawman scuffled his feet. "Is there a Mr. Adams?" She braced herself and waited for the censure. Evidently Blake had already been talking about her and Annie. "No. I'm a widow." He twirled his hat in his hands. "Good, no, no. No, it's not good you're a widow. I just meant that maybe, sometime, maybe, I could call on you." She exhaled silently in relief. "Maybe, maybe later." 73

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"Well, sure. Don't mean to press." He grinned at her. "But there is a barn dance coming up soon." She liked his smile. While he wasn't a handsome man, he wasn't bad to look at. He was tall and gangly, all arms and legs. The lines around his face crinkled when he smiled, and a great shaggy mustache covered his top lip. "It's hard to say right now. Maybe." With a wave, she levered Annie to her other hip and picked her way through the wagons and across the street to where Blake and Amanda waited, the wagon full of supplies. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting, Mr. McCarthy." "No. In fact, you're right on time." "I was taking care of Blake," Amanda said, her voice colder than a late freeze, as she touched Blake's arm. That possessive move irritated Samantha. She ignored it and busied herself straightening Annie's bonnet. "Didn't know you were bringing the help to town nowadays." Samantha's face burned. Why was the woman so nasty to her? Couldn't she see that he wasn't interested in ... the cook? Blake ignored the comment, which also irritated her. Not one word in her defense. She'd best get used to the fact that she was only the "help" to him. She walked over to the wagon. With Annie in her arms, she couldn't climb up onto the wagon seat. To her surprise, Blake reached for the baby. She handed Annie to him. He held the baby out at arm's length, as if afraid of her. But then Annie smiled that sweet innocent smile. 74

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And Blake smiled back. When he realized they were watching, his smile disappeared, replaced by a frown. Samantha scrambled up in the wagon. As she sat down, he quickly gave the baby back to her. "Thank you." Amanda sidled up to Blake, a strained smile on her face. "I'll see you at the party. I'm so excited about it, Blake darling. Father said he's looking forward to it also. It'll be such fun." Party? Neither Blake nor Jack had said anything to her about a party. Was she to be the cook? She knew nothing about fancy cooking. Her stomach churned, and she felt ill. If she had to face a lot of people like that woman, she'd die of mortification. "Do you want me to come early and help you, darling?" "Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks." "Anything for you, darling." Her voice was a feline purr. As Blake turned his back, Amanda sent Samantha a victorious smile. She ignored her and straightened Annie's bonnet. Her hands itched to wipe that smirk off Amanda's face, and once she'd paid her debt and no longer needed her job, she might just do that. Blake climbed up on the seat beside her. With a wave, he flicked the reins at the mules. As they passed the sheriff's office, John waved at her, and she waved back. To her delight, Annie waved too. "I didn't know you knew John Coulter." Was there a hint of jealousy in his voice? No—she was imagining something that wasn't there. After all, she was just 75

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the help. "I met Sheriff Coulter the first day I came to town. He gave me directions to your ranch. He mentioned a barn dance—" "What? He asked you out? Already?" "Yes." She smiled smugly to herself. "He seems nice." She glanced at Blake. "John's a good man. A mite old for you though." "Oh, really? How old is he?" "He's got to be ... forty ... if he's a day." "That's not so old. Sometimes age doesn't matter." Peter had been nine years older than her, and she'd loved him. Not with the hot fire she felt when she thought of Blake, but an enduring flame that would have lasted forever ... if the war hadn't got in the way.. Oh, Peter, I miss you so much. I always felt so ... safe ... with you. Now I'm all alone. Just me and Annie. Her lips trembled. He must have noticed. "What's the matter?" For a moment, she was tempted to say nothing. Then, to her amazement, she found herself explaining. "I was just thinking about Peter, my husband. He was ... older ... than me. I miss him terribly." When he didn't say anything, she glanced up at him. "Irish said you lost your wife and son during the war. I'm very sorry." She could sense every bone in his body turning rigid. His lips thinned. "Irish talks too much." "That's what he says, too. He also told me he served under you during the war." 76

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"Yeah. He was a good soldier." He hesitated a moment. "Did he also tell you we wore blue uniforms?" "Yes, he did." "Well, I'll bet there's one thing he didn't tell you." She stared into eyes that were icy blue. A shudder ran down her spine. "And what's that?" "We fought at the second battle of Bull Run." Samantha gasped, her lungs sucking for air. "You what? You mean you were ... there? That day?" He nodded. "Yeah." [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter 5 Had his bullet been the one to kill Peter Adams? Had he made Samantha Adams a widow? Thousands of men had died at Bull Run that horrible day. Blake could remember it like it was yesterday. The incessant gunfire, the roar of the cannons, the agonizing cries of the wounded, the blood and the stench of death. Those things had haunted his dreams for a long time. The chances of him killing her husband were probably a million to one. Yet the possibility was there. It did exist. How would she react? She bit down hard on her bottom lip. While she'd accepted the fact that he and Irish had been Union soldiers, how would she feel knowing they were at the battle where Peter Adams died? A haunted look appeared in those incredible green eyes. His first instinct was to reach out and pull her close to comfort her. While he'd lost Elizabeth and Matthew, he had the satisfaction of knowing that their killers had paid dearly—with their lives. Annie began to fret, and she bounced the baby on her knees. Leaning over, she opened her bag and pulled out a cracker and handed it to Annie. When she finally spoke, her voice was steady. "At first, I hated the Union and every soldier that wore blue. But when the pain of losing Peter subsided a little, I realized there was pain and death on both sides. Too many men died during that horrible war, both in gray and blue, too many women left widows, too many children left fatherless." 78

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Like her Annie? But Peter Adams died long before the child had been born. Blake wanted to ask about the baby's father, but that was none of his business. People came west to escape their past—or hide from it. People out here respected their silence. After all, wasn't that one of the reasons he'd come west—running from his demons, trying to forget the pain of finding his wife and son dead? And to escape his guilt for leaving them alone? But the guilt had ridden the long journey with him, and still remained his constant companion. The pain of his own open wound made him change the subject. "Did you get a letter from your sister?" "No, and I must admit that I'm worried about her, but maybe it's too soon. Maybe in a week or so." "The mail can be rather slow out here. Next time one of the men goes into town, I'll have them check again for you." "That's very kind of you, but why are you being so nice to me?" Her question caught him by surprise. "Well, er...." "I know you don't like me. You think I came here to trick you into marrying me, or to ... somehow ... cheat you out of your money or your ranch." Her matter-of-fact statements startled him. "You speak your mind, don't you?" "Yes. I know most men find that disturbing. My pa always said it wasn't very ladylike, and he tried to beat it out of me. He said that I'd never be able to get a man. It shocked him when I married Peter." "I think I like it." 79

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She shrugged. It said I don't care if you like it or not because that's the way I am. "Mr. McCarthy—" "You can call me Blake you know." "You're my employer." "So is Jack, and yet you call him Jack. And you call that red-haired devil foreman of mine Irish." "Well, yes, but—" "From now on, call me Blake." The second he spoke the words, he regretted them. Why the hell had he done that? Staying on formal terms kept their relationship where it should be, employer and employee. "No. I don't think that's a good idea." His eyebrows shot up in surprise. He'd have wagered a lot of money that she would have jumped at that opportunity. But why did her refusal bother him? Was he jealous that she called Irish and Jack and even Sheriff Coulter by their names? Mentally, he shook his head. He wasn't the jealous kind. "Very well, Mrs. Adams." "Thank you, Mr. McCarthy. What I wanted to ask you was, well, Miss Jefferson mentioned ... a party. Is it...? I mean, am I going to...? I just wanted you to know that I can't cook fancy food." He laughed. "Don't worry. It's just a barbecue. The men will take care of cooking the meat." He heard her sigh of relief. "Oh, thank goodness. I was afraid ... well, you won't want me there, of course." "Of course, you'll be there. You'll be in charge of the planning and preparation. You are the cook, you know." Her mouth tightened. "Right. How could I forget that?" 80

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Her words fairly dripped with sarcasm. "What the hell do you mean by that?" She tilted her chin upward, a sign he now recognized as a symbol of her headstrong nature. "Nothing. Nothing at all. So, pray tell me, just what do you expect me to prepare for this party?" "Hell, I don't know. Ask Amanda." If Blake thought that would help, he was sadly mistaken. "I would prefer to do it myself." "But you just said—oh, never mind. Do whatever you want." Women. He'd never understand them. Men had probably said that from the beginning of time. "How many people will be there?" "I've invited about a hundred, but I'm sure they won't all show up." "A ... hundred? Oh my God, a hundred people." "It might not be that many." "But since we don't know for sure, we have to plan for a hundred. Isn't that right?" "I guess so. Look, I don't want to bother with all the details. You take care of that. Ask ... somebody." "I wish I'd known about the party before we left town. I could have asked Martha to help me." Blake glanced at her. He didn't know she had any friends in town. "Who?" "Martha Williams. She and Mr. Williams came west on the same wagon train as me, Pa and Jocelyn. She's opened a dress shop in town." 81

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He made a mental note of the name. If this woman had been on the same wagon train, maybe she could shed some light on who Samantha Adams really was. He'd have to find some reason to start up a conversation with her, maybe see her on the street or something. He definitely couldn't be seen visiting a dress shop. He'd be the laughing stock of the whole town. "Well, you've got a whole week to plan it and get ready." "A whole week? How kind you are." He laughed. "You'll pull it off, if only to spite me." She turned her face but not before he caught a glimpse of her smile. Blake flicked the reins over the horses' rumps, and the team surged forward. The sudden jolt startled Annie, and she screamed. Samantha cradled her in her arms and gently rocked back and forth. "Sorry. She's tired and hungry." "That makes two of us." Night had fallen when they arrived at the ranch. "That's strange. I don't see anyone." He pulled the team to a halt at the corral. After jumping down, he turned to her. "Let me have Annie." She handed the sleeping child down to him, then climbed down. He handed Annie to her. "Well, good night, Mr. McCarthy." "Good night, Mrs. Adams." After unhitching the team and caring for the animals, Blake walked to the house. Stopping on the back porch, he pumped some water and washed his face and hands. 82

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"Well, sure and begorra, 'tis our boss come home again to roost." He whirled and saw Irish's grinning face in the doorway. "I wondered where everyone was." "We expected you hours ago," the foreman continued. "We were beginning to worry about you, laddie." "I'll bet," Blake retorted. "Sure wish I'd been home today to escort the lovely colleen into town. Tis a task I would willingly have volunteered for. Sort of makes me wonder if I was sent on a fool's errand." Irish lifted his eyebrows, a hint of familiar mischief playing around his mouth. "You'd better ask Jack. He was the one who got to feeling poorly all of a sudden and..." The expression on his foreman's face stopped Blake. "What's the matter, Irish? Is it Jack? What's wrong?" "Jack done went and broke his leg, boss man. He fell down the stairs. Said he got dizzy. Shorty found him on the floor." "What? Is he all right? Where is he now?" "In his room. Shorty set his leg and put a splint on it. Jack says he don't want no doctor." "Stubborn old codger. I'll go up and see him." Blake dashed to the stairs and hurried to his father's room. He heard Irish behind him. He opened the door and saw his father propped up on pillows, his splinted leg resting on a mound of pillows. He was talking to Shorty who sat by the bed. He looked to be okay. Blake swallowed the panic that had risen in his throat. 83

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"Blake, son, am I glad you're back. Tell these two old women," he pointed at Irish and Shorty, "that I'm fine, just a broken bone." He walked to the foot of the bed. "You're right where you need to be. What happened?" "Like I told these two watchdogs, I just got dizzy and fell down. That's all." Jack propped himself up on one elbow. "That's all, huh? So why'd you get dizzy?" "Just probably got too hot." "Doing what?" Blake persisted. His father hesitated, and Blake knew he was trying to decide how much to tell him. "I cooked dinner for the men, and I got too hot sweating over that damned stove. That's all." Blake cursed under his breath. "That's why we hired a cook—so you wouldn't have to do it. Next time she's not here to cook, someone else can do it, or the men can fend for themselves. From now on, the cookhouse is off limits to you. Do you understand?" Jack nodded without hesitation, and Blake knew the incident had scared his father. "For the next couple of days, I want you to take it easy. Stay in bed. Shorty can fix your meals for you." "Hell, he's a worse cook than I am." "Then I'll have Mrs. Adams prepare your meals and bring them to you." Irish cleared his throat. "You know, I'm feeling a wee bit under the weather too. Maybe Mrs. Adams could—" 84

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"Aw, shut up." He faked a punch at his foreman, then turned back to his father. "You want me to get Doc Peabody out here?" "Hell, no. I'm telling you I just got too hot. Shorty done a good job setting my leg. Hell, it ain't the first time I've had a broken bone. You know that, son. I've had my share of them." Blake nodded. "Okay, no doctor for now, but we've got to keep an eye on it. Make sure it sets right." He walked over to the door, then turned back. "Listen, Shorty, you sit with him until about midnight, then wake me up and I'll take it from there. Okay?" "I don't need a damn nursemaid." "Well, you've got one anyway." Irish walked over to stand beside him. "I'll spell Shorty. You look like you could use some shuteye." He hesitated. He was indeed exhausted. "Thanks. I owe you one." "Hell, you owe me more than one. I've even lost count, but we'll let it go for now." He shoved Blake out the door. As Blake walked down the stairs, he heard his father and Irish laughing. Irish could make anyone laugh. Then he sobered. Had his father's explanation been true? Had he indeed got too hot and got dizzy? He vowed to keep a better watch over his father. With a bitter taste in his mouth, he entered the living room and sat down on the sofa. He stared at the flames dancing in the fire place. He heard the door close upstairs and then footsteps on the stairs. Irish walked into the room. As he 85

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passed, he clasped him on the shoulder. "You all right, boss man?" Not trusting his voice, Blake nodded. "He's a tough old buzzard. He's fine." Irish poured a glass of brandy from the crystal decanter and handed it to him, then poured one for himself. "I know. It's just that I've never seen him like that. He was as white as a ghost." Blake sipped the brandy. "Aye. It shook him up." "He could have broke his fool neck." "Aye, that he could. May the saints watch over him." Irish made the sign of the cross. "Why don't you get some rest?" He finished his brandy, then stood. "Good idea. I'll talk to Mrs. Adams tomorrow and ask her to look after him." "I'd be glad to speak to the lovely widow if you like." Blake sent his friend a wry smile. "You know something, old buddy, I think that's a good idea." Because I need to keep my distance from her. "You do?" "Yeah. Good night, Irish. **** The sound of crying filled the kitchen, taking Samantha's headache from nagging to explosive. She massaged her temples, then glanced at Annie and saw her gnawing on her fists. Thank God, Martha had told her what to do to relieve swollen gums. She picked the tot up and sat her on the table and then rubbed ginger root on her gums. The baby's cries faded. She lifted Annie to her shoulder and paced the floor. 86

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She walked over to the stove and stirred the vegetable soup, then tasted it. She smacked her lips. As she walked around the room, the comforting quietness struck her, and she hummed to herself. The tension ebbed from her body. The baby fretted for a few more moments, then went to sleep. Samantha laid her in the sleeping basket. She ladled the hot soup into a bowl, then toasted two pieces of bread and buttered them. She placed everything on the tray, then headed upstairs. Stopping at Jack's door, she rapped softly on the door. "Come in." She grinned and opened the door. Jack sat in bed, propped up on several pillows. "You're looking well. Your color is good and your eyes are clear." "I'm feeling good, thanks to your nursing. I'm ready to get out of bed and out of this room. I feel like I've been locked up for months instead of days. I'm getting cabin fever." "Well, your sentence is up tomorrow. Blake said you can get out of bed, but only if you use crutches." "I agree to that. Gladly." "I figured you would." "What smells so delicious?" "Soup." "Again?" He groaned. "I really want a steak." "Tomorrow, you get a steak." He smiled at her. "I can hardly wait, not that your soup doesn't smell delicious," he added.

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"Thank you." She set the tray down on the table beside the bed. After spreading the napkin for him, she handed the bowl of soup to him. "Need any help with that?" "No, thanks." He spooned soup into his mouth, then rolled his eyes. "This is the best soup I've ever had." "I doubt that, but I'm glad you like it." She touched his forehead. "No fever. That's good." She perched on the edge of the chair by the bed. "Listen, I really appreciate your taking care of me." "Glad to do it. I owe you a debt of gratitude. Without you, Annie and I would be homeless." "Weren't nothing. I like having you here. Has Blake returned yet?" "No. At least I haven't seen him." "He said he'd be home by nightfall." He took another sip of soup. "I'm sure he'll be here shortly." "Where's Annie?" "She's asleep, down in the kitchen." "She's such a sweet child." He put the soup bowl back on the tray, then grabbed a slice of bread. "You know, this being waited on ain't all that bad." Samantha laughed. "I wouldn't know about that. Maybe one day...." "You've been through a lot. Losing your husband and your father. More than a body should have to bear. You deserve better." "It got better when you hired me. You gave me and Annie a place to live, and I appreciate that." 88

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A strange look flitted across Jack's face. Almost a guilty look? "Well, it wasn't really fair of me to ... pressure you like I did. I'm sorry about that. After all, it wasn't your debt." "We've been through this before. My father's debt is my debt. If Blake owed a debt and couldn't pay it, you'd step up, wouldn't you?" "Well, yes, but—" "Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean that I have no honor." She tightened her lips. He shook his head. "Of course not, my dear. Why, you probably have more honor than most men I know. It's just that I took unfair advantage of your situation and I don't—" "What? What are you talking about?" "I have a confession to make. You see—" The sound of approaching horses interrupted them. Samantha stood and glanced out the window. Through the falling light, two riders rode into the yard. Blake and Irish. They dismounted and sauntered toward the house. Even from this distance, her heart raced at the sight of Blake. Why him? Why? He looked up toward the window, and she stepped back. "Is that Blake?" "Yes, it is. And Irish." She picked up the tray and hurried toward the door. "Well, since the men are back, I'll go clean up the kitchen, then retire for the night. Good night. I'll see you tomorrow." "You don't have to run off. He doesn't bite." She glanced over her shoulder at the older man. She didn't pretend to misunderstand him. "He doesn't like me. I know 89

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that, and you know that. He only tolerates me because ... of you." "That's not true. I see the way he looks at you." She quirked a brow at him. "You must be feverish." He laughed. "Maybe, maybe not. "Don't confuse contempt for attraction." "I know the difference. Well, good night, Samantha—can I call you Sammie?" Her heart fluttered. "Of course you can. I think I'd like that." "Good. Good night, Sammie. And thanks." "You're welcome." She smiled at him and left the room. As she hurried down the stairs, she remembered that Jack had been ready to confess something to her. But what? She'd have to ask him later. Right now, she wanted to get to the kitchen before Blake came into the house. But she didn't make it. He met her on the stairs. "How is he?" "He's doing good. No fever, color is good, and he's getting antsy—wants to get out of bed." She nibbled at her bottom lip. His nearness on the dark stairs awakened her body. Flickers of need and want skimmed over her, coming to rest in her most intimate place. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Thank goodness, he seemed oblivious to her dilemma. "That's good news." He took his hat off. "You think it's okay to let him out of bed tomorrow?" "I think you'd have to hogtie him in bed if you don't." He rubbed his forehead, brushing a lock of hair from his eyes. Oh, how she'd like to do that—and more. The heat simmering 90

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inside her exploded. She reached out to touch him, then realized what she was doing and drew her hand back. What was wrong with her? "Samantha, I mean Mrs. Adams, did you hear me?" "What? Oh, I'm sorry. What did you say?" He leaned closer to her. "Are you all right?" "Yes, yes, I'm fine." His lips, just inches from her own, dared her to taste them. She couldn't tear her gaze away. "I think you've been working too hard, cooking, doing laundry, taking care of my father, and taking care of the baby. You need some rest too. Why don't you take a day off?" There he goes, being nice again. "I'll be fine after a night's rest. And I still have a lot to do for the party." "Then take the day off and go into town. Shorty can see to the noon meal. You could see your friend Martha, maybe talk to some people about the party, hire somebody if you need help." "I might do that." She moved to pass him, but his big body blocked her way. Her breath caught in her throat. "Let me by please." A curious look on his face, he stepped to the side, and she scurried past him. Only in Blake's presence did she feel totally out of control. Once in the darkened kitchen, she checked on Annie. Her sweet angel still slept. She stretched her tired muscles and stifled a yawn. She'd clean up the kitchen, then hit the sack. She'd worry about ... everything ... tomorrow. She cleared the tray and stored it away, then washed the dirty dishes. 91

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Hearing a sound behind her, she groaned. If Annie woke up, she wouldn't go back to sleep for an hour or more. She whirled—and ran into a tall figure. Startled, she yelped. Strong hands gripped her arms, and she fought to free herself. "Who are you? Let me go." "Samantha, it's me. Blake." She ceased struggling. "Oh, thank God, it's you. You scared me." "I'm sorry. I thought I'd get a bowl of soup before you put it away. Jack said it was really good." "I'll get some for you." But before she could move, he pushed a sprig of her hair behind her ear. Immediate paralysis stilled her feet. She stared at him. The look in his eyes ignited flames which rushed over her like a wild fire. He pulled her into his embrace. "Blake, don't. You shouldn't—" "I know I shouldn't, but you shouldn't look ... so damned ... desirable." "No, no." She pressed the heel of her hand to her breast to calm her pounding heart. "This ... you and I, it's impossible." "Why?" "Because you don't even like me, you don't trust me. You think I'm a horrible person. And there's Amanda...." He put his finger to her lips, stopping the flow of words. He stroked her cheek, and a shiver snaked down her spine. He lowered his head, and she knew he was going to kiss her. Had her life been on the line, she could not have denied him. Or herself. [Back to Table of Contents] 92

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Chapter 6 Blake's mouth met hers. Nothing in her life with Peter had prepared her for the jolt of liquid fire that coursed through her veins as his lips assailed hers. The warmth of his body, the manly scent of horses and tobacco, and the hunger she sensed in him, and herself, ignited her senses. She'd never been more aware of her body than at this moment. A pleasurable tingle in the pit of her stomach tightened her nipples and she pressed herself to him. His mouth moved on hers. His heart pounded against her breast. In the back of her mind, she'd wanted this to happen. Ever since the first day she'd seen Blake McCarthy, a part of her had yearned for this moment. She pressed her body against his. The evidence of his desire brushed against her. Her breath caught in her throat. His arms closed around her, his hands scorching her flesh. She slid her arms up around his neck. "Open your mouth to me. I want to taste you." His words sent a quiver of excitement down her spine—and a flash of apprehension. In the short life of their marriage, Peter had never spoken to her like that, much less kissed her with his mouth open. While Peter was the only man she'd ever been with, she'd never felt quite this ... needy ... with him. Suddenly afraid, she clamped her lips together. He moaned as he flicked his tongue across her lips. Her resolve weakened. He moved his attention to the sensitive spot behind her ear lobes, teasing and tasting. Her knees 93

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threatened to buckle under her. She would have fallen had not he clasped her to his body. As if by their own volition, her lips parted. His tongue darted into her mouth, then plunged hotly between her parted lips, filling her mouth as he slowly, sensuously, explored its inner recesses. His probing tongue lit a fire deep within her. He demanded, and she responded. She felt his hands leave her arms and cover ... her breasts. She gasped, then pulled away. "What's wrong?" His voice, low and husky, teased her senses. "Blake, please—" "Did I hurt you?" His arms kept her prisoner. "No, you didn't hurt me. We can't...." "Why not? I want you." Want? Not love. Not care for. Only lust. That was what he meant. Even though she wanted to yield to him completely, she must not. Her pride must keep her strong. She could, and she would, control her rebellious body. She summoned all her strength and pushed him away. Stepping back, she stared at him, silently willing him to admit he felt ... something ... anything ... for her. "You want me? That's it? You already think I'm a loose woman. Are you trying to confirm that suspicion ... by tempting me?" "I think it's the other way around." She shook her head and turned her back to him. "Look at me." He jerked her around to face him, then tilted her chin back until she was eye to eye with him. "What's wrong?" 94

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"I don't want to.... "She couldn't say the words. "Yes, you do. Your body said you wanted me, and I want you." He stroked her arm. "So why not indulge ourselves?" "Indulge ourselves? Do you think so ill of me that you would 'indulge yourself' with me? Do you think I have no feelings? You're despicable." She raised a hand to slap his face. He grabbed her arm "Why, you little trollop, I should throttle you. Is it your game to tease me with your lovely body until—until what? Until you get what you want? Are you holding out for marriage? If so, you can give up on that idea." She blinked back tears. She wouldn't let him see her cry. "Nothing could be further from my mind, you low-down coyote. I wouldn't marry you if you begged me. And I promise you that the very moment I pay my debt to your father, Annie and I will leave, and you'll never see us again." She dashed to the corner and swept Annie's basket into her arms. The child whimpered in alarm. With a final glare at him, she opened the door. As she stomped off into the darkness, she heard him yell. "Well, you may not have to wait. I may fire you." "Then do it." Surprised at her own stupid challenge, she hurried her step. Arriving at her room, she closed the door behind her and leaned heavily against it, her breath coming in short gasps. Damn him, damn Blake McCarthy to hell. And then the tears came. ****

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As the door slammed behind her, Blake uttered a curse. So he'd been right about her after all. She was after him—and marriage. And since her bid to take her sister's place with the marriage contract hadn't worked, she planned to catch him the old-fashioned way—with her body. But even as his mind told him that, a strange yearning to still have her in his arms assailed him. No one had ever stirred his blood to boiling like Samantha Adams had just done. And with one kiss. He was a fool, but God help him, he wanted her. Wanted her so bad his body ached with his need. The door squeaked behind him, and he heard footsteps. He struggled to get his errant body under control, then turned and saw Irish in the doorway. "There you are. Your pa is asking for you." "For me? Is he okay?" "Aye. Just said he wanted to talk to you." The foreman glanced around the room. "Did the lovely widow leave?" "Yeah." "Tis a shame. I was going to escort her to her room." "Too late, my friend," Blake retorted, keeping his voice nonchalant. "Well, I'll go see what Pa wants." He headed for the stairs. When he entered the room, he found his father sitting up in bed, his splinted leg cushioned by several pillows. "You wanted to see me?"

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"Yeah, son, come on in and sit down. I want to talk to you." Jack ran trembling fingers through his hair. "I told Irish and Shorty to take a walk." Blake pulled a chair next to the bed. With a sinking feeling in his chest, he studied his father. "You feeling all right?" "Yeah, just got something weighing on my conscience. Wanted to tell you just in case something happened to me." "Ain't nothing going to happen to you. You just got a little dizzy." His stomach tightened into knots. "Like you said, it's just a broken leg." "Well, I ain't exactly getting any younger, you know, but it's not about that. It's about ... Samantha, Mrs. Adams." "What about her?" Had Irish or Shorty somehow seen him kissing her? No, that was impossible. "It's about the marriage contract." "What about it? Was there really a contract?" "Oh, yes, indeed, there was a contract." "All right, Pa. Spit it out." "I lied ... about the amount." Jack hung his head. "The amount I told her, that wasn't true. It was half that amount." For a moment, Blake didn't know what to say. Finally he found his voice. "Why in blue blazes would you do that? We don't need the money—unless there's something else you're not telling me. Dad, look at me. Is there something else you're not telling me?" Jack raised his head. "No, no, that's all." He rubbed his jaw. "I don't understand. Why would you lie about the amount?" 97

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"Because I'm an interfering busybody, worse than any old woman. I was still playing matchmaker, and I figured I could keep her here until ... you know ... maybe you and her would hit it off." He groaned and glared at his father. Jack stared at him, his chin stuck out. "And you did too. You know you did." "Did what?" "Hit it off. I see the way you look at her. And the way she looks at you. I ain't blind. There's a spark there. Even Irish remarked on it." "You're crazy. You must have landed on your head when you fell. She's a greedy woman, out for what she can get." "I don't think so, son, I really don't. She just don't seem like the type. She's been so good to me." "Well, I know her type. She got herself a baby by some man who probably ran out on her, and now she's hunting another man to take care of them. And it ain't gonna be me." "Well, I feel sorry for her. Poor child left alone in this world, and that purty little girl of hers. God knows it's hard enough on a man out here, much less a woman. I guess I thought I was protecting ... them." Because we couldn't protect Elizabeth and Matthew. The harsh words died on his tongue. Jack shared his guilt, and it preyed on him too. "Well, it's your call. What do you want to do?" "I need to tell her. She'll probably up and leave." Jack brushed his hand across his eyes. "I don't want her to leave. I like having her and the little girl around." 98

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"Pa, she's not Elizabeth and the little girl ain't Matthew. We can't bring them back." His voice shook, and he took a deep breath. "Listen, why don't we say nothing right now? She's working out as a good cook. The men like her. We don't have enough time to find someone else before the party. When she pays the right amount back, then we'll tell her." "I don't know, son. It's eating at me. It ain't right. I feel like I ought to tell her now." "Well, let's sleep on it, huh? We can't do anything tonight." Jack nodded. "Okay." Blake pushed his chair back. "Good night, Pa. Try to get some rest." "Good night, son." **** The next morning, Samantha busied herself at her chores. After a sleepless night of dreams of Blake McCarthy, she banished him from her thoughts. But, when she least expected it, her mind wandered back to him. She'd be feeding Annie and remember his kiss. She'd be baking bread and remember his kiss. She'd be cleaning the kitchen and remember his kiss. She'd be doing laundry and remember his kiss. Right after the noon meal, as she swept the kitchen floor, she heard someone calling her name. The voice came from the direction of the main house. Leaving Annie in Shorty's care, she walked toward the house and wondered why she'd been summoned. When she'd earlier checked on Jack, he'd had a good night's rest and appeared to be on the mend. 99

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So what now? Was she to be fired? Blake had threatened to fire her—was it to be today? And if so, where would she and Annie go? As she rounded the corner, she saw Blake and Irish on the porch. Both wore a frown. Blake ranted loudly while Irish vehemently shook his head. Must be quite an argument. She'd bet a month's wages it centered around her. At that moment, Blake saw her and scowled at her. As she walked up, they fell silent. "You sent for me?" "Yeah," Blake replied. When he said nothing further, she looked at Irish. In answer, his lips tightened into a thin line. Oh, boy, I'm in for it now. Whatever it was. "Look," Blake said as he took a deep breath, "no use beating around the bush. Jack is missing some money and some jewelry." At a loss for words, she stared at the two men. Finally, she found her voice. "What? And you think ... I ... stole ... it?" "Of course not," Irish protested with a glare at Blake. "Well, she's the only person who's been in the house except us and Shorty, and I know we didn't take it." His icy cold stare dared her to challenge him. "That only leaves her." "Oh my God, I can't believe this. You think I'm a thief." Her knees threatened to buckle under her. "I've never stolen anything from anyone in my whole life. Not even a penny. How could you think such a thing?" "Well, I don't think you stole anything," Irish told her as he glared at Blake, "and neither does Jack." 100

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"Then how do you explain the missing money and jewelry?" Blake asked. "Maybe Jack misplaced it. Did you ever think of that?" Irish retorted. "Or maybe it fell behind the bureau." "I already looked around the room. He said it was on his bureau, and now it's gone." Blake looked at her. "Did you see it there?" She nodded. "Yes, of course. He always puts his money on the bureau, but I haven't seen any jewelry." "Dammit," Blake cursed. "Then who—?" "Do you, do you want me to ... leave?" Despite her resolve not to cry, hot tears scalded her cheeks. "Of course not." Irish turned to Blake. "There could be any number of explanations for this." "I guess so. Very well, Mrs. Adams, since no one saw you take it, I guess you can stay." She stomped her foot. "Why ... why ... you,—you son of a bitch. How dare you. I didn't steal anything, but since you think so badly of me, I'm sure you don't want me around. I'll be leaving." "Samantha, please—" "No, Irish. It's very clear that Mr. McCarthy thinks I'm a thief so I will be leaving." "You're not going anywhere." All three turned to the voice. Jack hobbled out onto the porch, crutches under his arms. "Samantha, I don't think you stole my money or my rings. I probably misplaced them. I lose stuff all the time." 101

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"I can't stay knowing he feels ... this way. I'll pack up and move into town." "I won't let you," Jack protested. "At least give us a few days and see if the stuff shows up." Already regretting her hasty decision, she glanced at Blake. "Well?" "I guess Jack could have misplaced it." The sound of hoof beats caught her attention. Turning, she saw Sheriff Coulter ride into the yard. She whirled to face Blake. "Did you send for the sheriff to arrest me? Before you even talked to me?" "No. Not yet anyway." He waved at the lawman. "Howdy, John. What brings you out here?" "Howdy, boys. I came to see ... Mrs. Adams." He smiled at her as he dismounted. "Hello, Samantha. I hope you don't mind me riding out here to see you." While she really wanted to tell him that wasn't a good time for a visit, she pasted a smile on her face. "Oh, no, not at all. It's nice to see you." "Well, if you'll excuse us.... "Blake said as he and Irish retreated to the porch, then helped Jack inside. Wanting to get away from prying eyes, Samantha turned to the sheriff. "Why don't we walk this way, Sheriff Coulter?" "Okay. Please call me John." "Okay ... John. If you'll call me Samantha." "All right. Oh, wait, I forgot something." He returned to his horse, then pulled a package from the saddle bag. "Here, this is for you." He shoved the package into her hands. "What's this?" 102

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"Mrs. Williams asked me to bring it out to you." "Well, thank you. I wonder what it is." She squeezed the soft bundle. Her new dress? Yes, that must be it—and just in time for the party. Tears moistened her eyes at Martha's thoughtfulness. "What's wrong?" "Oh, nothing. I'm just a silly woman." They walked in silence away from the house and toward the swing that swayed in the breeze. She sat down and smiled up at him. "Please sit down, John." "Thank you." He took his hat off and sat beside her. "I can't stay long. I have a lot of work to do." He glanced toward the house. "I know. I don't want to get you in any trouble. Just a few more moments?" "Okay. Will you be at the party Saturday night?" "Sure will. I hope you'll save a dance for me." "Well, I don't know. I may be too busy, you know, because I'm the cook...." "Surely even the cook gets some time off." She picked at a loose thread on her skirt. "Well, maybe. I don't know. I may not be here." "Why not?" "I was thinking about moving into town." His brows lifted, then he smiled at her. "You were? That's wonderful. I could see you more often." "Well, it's just a thought. I haven't decided for sure." "I understand. You know, the barn dance is in a few weeks." He twirled his hat in his hands. "I was wondering...." 103

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Her heart heavy, she forced a laugh. She had to forget Blake McCarthy and live her own life. And going to the dance with John might be a good start in that direction. "Yes, John, I'll go with you." His grin stretched from ear to ear. "That's great. I was afraid you might have changed your mind." "I must admit I'm a little anxious. I don't know very many people yet." She shrugged her shoulders. "Well, you'll get to meet most of the people in the whole territory at Blake's barbeque. So when the barn dance comes, you'll already know everyone. You'll feel right at home." When she didn't respond, he continued, "So how's the job? You still liking it out here?" Remembering Blake's accusations, tears threatened, and she blinked them back, hoping John wouldn't notice. "Yes. Jack's been very kind to me and Annie." "Good. What about Blake?" Now why would he ask that? A sudden outbreak of goose pimples skittered up and down her arms, and she rubbed them briskly. "I hardly ever see him. He's always out on the range until late." She hoped her burning face wouldn't give her away. She jumped to her feet and strolled ahead a few paces. "Where's your little girl?" She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Shorty is watching her for me. The men have been great to help me out." He caught up with her. "That's good. You know, I don't know nothing about you. Tell me a little bit about yourself." "There isn't much to tell." 104

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"Well, you could tell me where you lived before you came out here." "Tennessee." "I thought so. Your accent said you're from the south." His gaze regarded her warmly. "Guilty as charged." "Can I ask you a personal question?" She sucked in a breath. "How personal?" "What happened to ... Mr. Adams?" Samantha hesitated. It was a simple enough question. "He was killed in the war." "I'm sorry." She changed the subject. "So how long have you been sheriff?" "Almost five years." A door slammed behind them. She turned and saw Blake and Irish stomp out of the house. Blake ignored her while Irish sent her a curious stare. They mounted their horses and rode off. Even from this distance, she sensed Blake's dislike and mistrust. Yet, at the same time, she yearned for one more time in his arms ... one final kiss. John Coulter was a nice man, but— Stop it, Samantha, stop it. Forget Blake McCarthy and get on with your life. She turned and smiled brightly at the lawman. "I think the dance will be fun." ****

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Blake urged his mount into a run, trying to escape the image etched in his mind—Samantha accepting a present from John Coulter. And for what? Services rendered? But why did it surprise him? He knew what she was, and what she wanted. But he'd hoped he was wrong. "Slow down, boss man," Irish yelled. "Where's the fire?" Reluctant to slow down until he'd come to terms with Samantha's disgraceful behavior, he pretended he didn't hear Irish yelling. He turned his horse toward the mountains. The rush of cool air soothed his spirits. He slowed his horse to a walk. Irish pulled alongside him. "Boss man, you don't really think Samantha took Jack's money, do you?" "I didn't take it. Did you? Or Shorty?" He shrugged. "Nobody else has been in the house but her." "Come on, be reasonable. Anybody could walk in when we're not there. The doors are never locked." "All right, I'll give you that, but I still think ... Oh, never mind. You're so caught up in her web that you can't see the writing on the wall. Just like Pa." "Will you listen to yourself? You're not being logical." "Maybe not. Well, what do you think about Coulter bringing her a gift? I don't think it's appropriate for her to be accepting gifts from men. Makes you wonder what she did for them." Irish shook his head. "We don't know that it was a gift or what, and we have to give her the benefit of the doubt." "Oh, it was a gift all right. She uses her beauty and feminine wiles to get what she wants." 106

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"She's a hard worker, boss man, and a good mother, and a genuinely nice person. And she's not a thief, and you know it." "Boy, does she have you two fooled." "But not you, huh?" "Nope. The woman is trouble. I may have to get rid of her." He heard Irish's sharp intake of breath. "You can't mean that. What would she do without this job? Where would she go?" Blake's conscience pricked him. What would she do? Where would she go? How would she take care of her daughter? Then he hardened his heart. She'd find some unsuspecting bastard to take care of her. "Oh, I'm sure she'd land on her feet. In fact, it looks like she's making John Coulter her next target." Irish didn't answer, and he whirled to look at him. "Have you told her how you feel?" "No. Someone like her ain't interested in somebody like me. I ain't got nothing to offer her. John Coulter's got a good job, got his own house. He's a decent man. It's better for her." The sadness in his foreman's voice cut Blake to the quick, but he kept silent. Irish wouldn't want his pity. And while deep in his heart, Blake knew he himself wanted Samantha, he didn't love her, and he couldn't trust her. But, oh, yes, he wanted her. With a fire that threatened to consume him. "Why don't you let her make that decision?" 107

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Irish rubbed his chin. "I wouldn't want to step on anyone's toes." "You won't be stepping on anyone's toes here, old friend." Irish nodded. "Well, if you're sure...." Bile rose in his throat at the thought of Samantha with anyone other than himself. Afraid that his best friend would read his expression, he turned his head. "Pa seems to be doing all right. He's getting around on the crutches pretty good." "Aye, that he is. He'll be as good as new real soon." "Too bad. At least now I can keep tabs on him." "Aye. He said he's looking forward to the party. He said he's tired of looking at mine and Shorty's ugly mugs. He's just sorry he won't be able to dance with all the lovely ladies." "Knowing Jack, I'm sure he'll play on their sympathies." "Hey, if you got a good thing, use it, I always say." "Right." Blake pointed northward. "Let's ride up to the north pasture to where the boys found that hole in the fence line and scout around." At his foreman's nod, he urged his mount into a run. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter 7 After John left, Samantha scurried to the cookhouse. Blake's angry scowl reminded her that he could fire her at any moment. She didn't want to give him any more ammunition to use against her, such as shirking her duties. She clutched her package as she walked to her room, all the while trying to forget his accusations that she was a thief. But why should she be surprised? He'd believed the worst of her from the very minute she set foot on this ranch. Shorty met her at the door, Annie tagging behind him. "Thanks for watching Annie for me." "You're welcome, ma'am. I like watching over her." He patted Annie's blond curls. The child looked up at him and smiled. "Shor ... tee," she said slowly. The old man's weathered face beamed. "Why, she said my name." "So she did." She knelt beside her daughter. "Annie, sweetheart, you said Shorty's name. Good girl." Annie looked up at the older man. "Shor ... tee," she said again. He chuckled. "Well, I'd best see to Jack." "Shall I come?" "Nope. He said he wants a bath so I guess I'd better take care of that." She grinned as she rose to her feet. "Good idea." "You know, Miz Adams, about the party..." 109

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"Oh, yes, the dreaded party." Her shoulders slumped. "I've been so worried about it that I've had nightmares about it and it will be here in a few days. I guess I'm still in charge of it." "Well, just so you know, I don't think you took nothing. And that's all I gotta say about that." "Thanks, Shorty. I know he doesn't trust me, so he might not want me in charge, why he might even hide the silverware," she said as she forced a smile to her face. "But until he says for sure, I'll assume I'm responsible and continue to plan for the party." "Attagirl. You know, I was thinking the last time we had a shindig like this, Mrs. Richardson from over to the Double R Ranch helped out. Nobody didn't mention that to you?" "No. Probably slipped someone's mind." She quirked an eyebrow at the old man. "I reckon. Would you like me to take you over there and see if she'd help out?" She hugged him, and his face reddened. "That would be simply wonderful. How can I ever thank you?" His embarrassment evident, he edged away from her. "No thanks needed. We'll ride over in the morning if'n you like." "I like, I like." "Okay." "Do you think it's okay with ... Jack?" "I'll ask him." He strolled away toward the main house. She picked Annie up, then walked into her bedroom. She sat Annie on the floor and handed her a toy. She tore open the package from Martha and gasped at the beautiful dresses. 110

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While she'd expected only one dress, Martha had sent a navy blue skirt, a matching plaid blouse, a simple white blouse and a black riding skirt. Now, she wouldn't have to wear Peter's pants when she went riding. But what caught her attention was the red dress. She'd never owned such a gorgeous dress. It wasn't the color she'd have chosen because red begged attention, and it wasn't attention she wanted at this party. Rather, she wanted to stay hidden in the background. But since her other dresses were almost rags, she would have no choice but to wear it. She held it up to her chest and stroked the satin fabric. Fine white lace edged a low cut neckline. Three quarterlength sleeves boasted the same lovely lace. Several rows of ruffles adorned the bottom. Carefully, she hung it up so the wrinkles would come out. And on the very bottom was another red dress. A red dress for Annie. Oh, Martha, thank you, she whispered aloud, how can I ever repay you? She dressed Annie in her new red frock, then laughed as she the child ran about the room. Then she donned her dress. Martha's measurements had been exact. The bodice hugged her breasts while the waistline wrapped around her like a glove. She tried to see her reflection in her small mirror, but it was impossible. She twirled, loving the feel of the full skirt as it blossomed out around her. She grabbed Annie's hands and danced her around the room. She laughed as Annie made up a few dance steps of her own. Memories swirled around her. The last time she'd dressed up and danced had been at her wedding. She'd been so 111

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happy that day. It seemed so long ago. Reluctantly, she took the gown off and again hung it up very carefully, then stared at it. As lovely as the dress was, it couldn't make Blake's ugly accusations disappear. How much longer could she endure his censure? Samantha took Annie outside to play. When the tot was tired, she bathed her and fed her, then put her to bed. She lay down beside her daughter and sang her to sleep. The next morning after her chores were done, Samantha dressed in her new blouse and riding skirt. At least she wouldn't look like a ragamuffin when she met the Richardsons. She gathered some extra clothing and food for Annie and packed them in a bag. Settling the baby on her hip, she made her way to the corral. "Good morning, Shorty. How's Jack?" "He had a good night. He's getting so darned ornery that I know he's on the mend." "That's good news. Er, did you ask ... I mean, is it okay— ?" "Yes, ma'am. Jack said he thought it was a fine idea and that he should have thought of it himself and that he apologizes." "Well, he's had a lot on his mind with that broken leg and all." But Blake conveniently forgot to mention it. Does he want me to fail? But that didn't make sense because if she failed, his party would be a failure. "I guess so." He proceeded to saddle the horses. She recognized her mount as the one she'd ridden the other night. Her cheeks warmed at the thought that Shorty might have 112

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witnessed that scene when she and Irish had returned from their evening ride and met a drunken Blake's accusations. She gave Annie to him to hold. She hung the bag over the saddle horn, then mounted. He handed the baby up to her. As they headed out the gate, Shorty rode a few paces ahead. That was fine with her for as she rode she admired the countryside with its colorful wildflowers and the distant purple mountains and let her thoughts wander. And she tried to keep them from wandering to one Blake McCarthy. They had ridden nearly an hour when Shorty's words intruded into her reverie. "Riders ahead." She straightened in the saddle. Shielding her eyes from the bright glare with her hand, she strained to see who was approaching. She noted Shorty's hand on his gun. A shiver snaked down her spine. Shorty reined in his horse, then relaxed, taking his hand off his weapon. "It's Blake and Irish." He raised his hand, and the on-coming riders waved back. She groaned inwardly. Of all the luck.... She braced herself for Blake's customary attack on her. "Hello Shorty, Samantha, what are you two doing out here?" Irish asked as he and Blake rode up and stopped. "I'm taking Miz Adams over to see Miz Richardson about the party." "Aren't you supposed to be watching Jack?" Blake's voice was as cold as a winter storm. "Tom is," Shorty said, not in the least bit cowed by Blake's icy voice.

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"Well, I'd prefer you do it." Blake turned to look at Irish. "Why don't you escort Mrs. Adams over to the Richardson place?" "Well, sure, but—" "Good. Come on, Shorty. I'll ride back with you." Shorty's face settled into an unreadable mask. He shrugged his stooped shoulders. "Whatever you say." As the older man turned his horse, she reached out and touched his arm. "Thanks for all your help." A tight-lipped smile was Shorty's only answer. As the two men rode off, she whirled to face Irish. "Why in Heaven's name did he do that? Shorty was only trying to help me." An apologetic smile settled on Irish's lips. "Well, he's real worried about Jack, and he trusts Shorty more than anyone else." "That's not it at all," she protested with a wave of her hand, "and you know it. Shorty told me just this morning that Jack was healing fine. It's because of me, isn't it? He still thinks I stole Jack's money." "That ain't it at all." Irish took off his hat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. He put his hat back on, then grinned at her. "Ready to go?" "You're not going to answer me, are you?" "Nope." She repositioned Annie on her lap. "Then I guess I'm ready to go."

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They rode in silence for about a mile, then he turned to her, a sober expression on his face. "You serious about John Coulter?" The question took her by surprise. For a moment, she was tempted to tell Irish to mind his own business, but she hesitated. He'd been kind to her ever since she'd arrived. "I really don't know him very well. So I'll reserve judgment for now." "Oh? I thought what with him bringing you a gift that you two ... might be serious about each other." She wrinkled her brow. "Whatever are you talking about? John has never given me," then it dawned on her, "oh, that, John was merely delivering a package to me from Martha Williams. You mean you thought—" His face turned as red as his hair. "I can guess who put that thought in your head," she said as she balled her hand into a fist. He didn't contradict her. "Just like I thought." "John's a good man," he continued. She nodded. "I asked some of the men about him, and no one had a bad word to say. Why do you ask?" He cleared his throat. "I was just wondering...." "Yes?" "Since you're not pledged ... or anything ... to John, if you'd like to go with me to the barn dance that's coming up soon?" Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Why, Irish, whatever are you saying? You've never said anything about ... that." She 115

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stared him. Another man interested in her? She must be dreaming. "Well, I didn't think it were proper to speak quite so soon. Why, you've only been here a short while, but since John scrambled up first in line, I knew I had to say something." She hesitated. "I don't know what to say. I'm very flattered, but we don't know each other that well either." "Oh, but we do. I know you're a good mother, a hard worker, you're kind-hearted, and you have a sweet disposition." She blushed. "Not always." He flashed that devilish grin at her. "Aye, not always, but you wouldn't be human if you didn't have your off days. Besides, I get down in the mouth too. We all do." "Aye," she mimicked him, "but I've already told John I'd go to the dance with him." "That's what I get for dragging me feet." He made a face at her. "But say you'll dance with me at the party." "Of course I will." She touched his arm lightly. "I'm not making a commitment to anyone at this time. Not until I get my life straightened out. Can you understand that?" "Of course I can. Just wanted to speak my piece, for the record you might say." As they rode toward the Double R Ranch, a comfortable silence settled over them. She'd never felt more desirable. Two good men wanted her. Yet neither one set her heart to pounding like Blake. Neither one made her knees turn to jelly. But Blake had clearly shown what he thought of her. Annie 116

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deserved a father. And if she had to put her ... needs ... behind those of Annie, she'd do that gladly. Annie started to cry, and she pulled a cracker from her bag and gave it to her. "She's teething, and she likes to gnaw on these crackers." "Aye, makes the poor lass miserable." At long last, the Richardson Ranch came into view. "Thank God. It's been a long time since I've spent so many hours in the saddle, and my body aches in a hundred places." Irish chuckled and took Annie from her. "Maybe we should've brought the buggy." She gave him a mock glare as she swung her leg over the saddle and slipped off the horse. "Here comes Seth Richardson." She turned and saw a tall, lanky, balding man striding toward them. Irish introduced her and explained their mission. With a nod, Seth turned toward the house and yelled for his wife to come out. A woman almost as tall as Seth appeared on the porch. "Seth Richardson, you don't need to be calling me like I'm your old hound dog." The woman shaded her face with her hands. "Who's there with you?" "It's Irish from over to the McCarthy ranch and he's got Mrs. Adams and her little girl with him." "Well, stop a'hollering and bring them over here." "You go ahead, Mrs. Adams, and me and Irish will go wet our whistle," Seth said with a slow drawl. She swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat, then chided herself for a coward. If she could face down Blake 117

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McCarthy, she could face anyone. "All right. Thank you." She took Annie from Irish and walked toward the house. As she neared it, three young girls joined their mother on the porch. All four women stared at her and Annie. "Come on in, Mrs. Adams." "Thank you. And please call me Samantha." She followed Mrs. Richardson into the house. An hour later, they headed home, Irish holding a tired Annie in his arms. "Well?" She glanced at him and smiled. "Not only did she agree to help, she had some great suggestions, and she agreed to come over on Friday so we can a head start on the baking. And Annie loved the Richardson girls. They played with her so much she's plumb tuckered out." "I can see that." "And she's going to bring her daughters over to watch Annie. I just might get through this after all." "I never doubted that for a moment." "Well, I did." As they neared the house, squalling from a nearby ravine caught their attention. Irish reined in his horse and handed Annie over to her, then dismounted. He walked over to the edge and peered down. "What is it? What do you see?" "A cow. She's fixing to calve," he answered. "Looks like she's in trouble. I'd better get down there. We're not far from the house. You go on. Send Shorty to help me." "Don't you want me to stay and help?" 118

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Irish shook his head. "No, ma'am. You go ahead and send Shorty to help." "Okay." With Annie clasped tightly to her chest, she rode toward the ranch. As she rode up to the barn, she yelled for Shorty. "Shorty, come quick." She slid from the saddle, then pulled her daughter into her arms. Hearing someone inside the barn, she raced in that direction. But it wasn't Shorty who walked out of the barn. Two men, recently hired hands, stood there, leering at her. She sucked in a breath. "Where's Shorty?" "Ain't seen that old woman all day," the one she knew only as Ace said. Ace looked like his name suggested—a slickedback, greasy-haired gambler. An involuntary shudder wracked her body. "What do you want him for?" the other man named Slim asked. "Whatever you need, we can give you." He put a hand to his crotch and jerked his lower body suggestively. "Yeah," Ace piped up, "and since you ain't got no husband, I'm sure you want some of this." A hungry leer on his face, he stepped toward her. She scanned the area for help. No one in sight. She stumbled backward. "I'm warning you. Stay away from me. Or else—" "Or else what? What are you gonna do, purty lady? I've bin wanting to get a hold of you since I first signed on here." Ace turned to his friend. "Maybe she can cook us up a big helping of loving." 119

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Slim laughed, showing dirty yellow teeth. Nausea rose in her throat. The thought of these men touching her in that way sickened her. She glanced toward the main house. If she could just get there before they— "Oh, no, you don't," Ace said and moved between her and the house. "Why don't you come into the barn with us?" "No. Don't touch me. I'll scream." Annie must have heard the fear in her voice because she buried her face under Samantha's chin. "Go ahead. Ain't nobody around." Ace darted toward her and grabbed her arm. She twisted around and broke free. But before she could escape, Ace grabbed her around the waist and dragged her toward the barn. She screamed, and Annie screamed. Slim snatched Annie from her arms and covered the baby's mouth. "Shut up, brat." "Leave her alone, you bastard." She stomped down hard on Ace's toes. He yelped and loosened his grip. She shoved him away and tried to pull Annie from Slim's grasp. "Give her to me. Don't hurt her." "We won't hurt her, if you do what we want," Ace said. "If not—" "No, no, don't hurt her. I'll do ... anything ... anything ... you want, just don't hurt my baby." "That's more like it," Ace said, "and just to make sure, Slim will hold onto your kid until it's his time." She told herself to be calm, that she could get through this as long as Annie was unharmed. But she wasn't going to make it easy for the bastards. If she could hold them off, 120

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maybe help would come. She dug her heels into the dirt as Ace dragged her into the barn. With a muffled curse, he shoved her into the nearest stall. She collapsed on a mound of hay. Ace jumped on top of her. His weight knocked the breath from her body. He lowered his head to kiss her. She twisted under him, turning her face away. He grabbed her chin and turned her face back to him. As he again lowered his head to kiss her, she spat at him. With a curse, he wiped the spittle from his face, then slapped her. Hard. Her head snapped backward, sending spasms through her jaw, and forcing her toward blackness. A million stars clouded her vision. She felt her blouse rip, felt his hand on her breast. Oh, God, please... Suddenly, he was gone, and she was free. She rolled to one side looking for Annie, seeking an answer as to why Ace had let her go. And then she saw him. Blake. A mask of rage hardened his face. At that moment, he pulled his fist back and slammed it into Ace's nose. Blood spurted everywhere, running down the man's cheek onto his shirt. Blake hit him again, connecting with the man's eye. Ace's head snapped backward. Another jab to the man's midsection. Ace crumbled, slowly sinking to the ground. Blake jerked him back up to his feet and hit him again. "Jesus, Blake, you're gonna kill him." 121

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Irish's voice. She strained to see him. He walked into her vision, and he held a sobbing Annie in his arms. And he had a gun—pointed at Slim. She shoved herself to her feet, and ignoring the pounding in her face, ran toward her daughter. "Annie." At her cry, Blake and Irish whirled to face her. "Are you all right?" Blake asked. "I ... will be," she reached for Annie and hugged the child to her chest. "Is she all right?" "Aye," he answered. "Just scared to death." "Oh, my poor baby," she crooned and rocked her back and forth. "It's all right, my angel. It's all right." She looked at Irish. "I thought you were out on the range." "When Shorty didn't show up, I came to find out why. Ran into Blake as he pulled that ... pig ... off of you." "Take Annie to your room," Blake ordered, "while we finish up here." He tossed Ace's limp body to the ground, like it was a rag doll. "What are you going to do with them?" "It were all Ace's idea," Slim protested, his voice a nasally whine. "Don't kill us." She stared at Blake. "You're not really going to kill them, are you?" "You don't think they deserve killing after what they did to you? After what they were going to do to you?" The word yes sprang to her tongue, but she bit it back. Her silence stretched on... "So you do. You just don't want to admit it." He hitched his thumbs in the waistband of his pants and waited. 122

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"Well, I want them ... punished," she admitted, holding his gaze for several long seconds, "but not killed." Finally, he nodded. "Okay. We'll do it your way. Irish, you and Shorty, take 'em to town to the sheriff." He reached down and grabbed the collar of Ace's shirt. He jerked the man to his feet, then shoved him toward Irish. As Ace fell, something shiny fell from his shirt pocket. Irish leaned over and picked it up. A smug smile quirked his lips. He held out his hand. A man's ring. "It's Jack's," Irish said. He grabbed Ace's shirtfront and searched the man's pockets. He pulled out another ring, then nodded at Blake. "Yep, that's the other one." "When you turn the bastards over to the sheriff, tell him Mrs. Adams will file charges against them for ... what they done, and I'll be filing charges for theft." "Right you are." Irish turned to Slim. "Help him up." Slim pulled Ace to his feet. Irish motioned with his gun for them to go outside. As he passed her, he stopped. "I'm mighty glad you're okay." "Thanks, Irish." Then she was alone with Blake. He stood there quietly, just looking at her. She waited for his censure. Would he think she'd "asked" for Ace's and Slim's advances? When he didn't speak, she decided to attack first. "Well, I guess that proves I'm not a thief." He took his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, I guess it does." 123

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"Is that all you have to say? You owe me an apology." She glared at him, then shook her fist. "I guess I do at that. I apologize, Mrs. Adams." "Very well. Apology accepted." She hitched Annie up on her hip. "I'll be going to my room now." She waited for him to stop her, to tell her that he was sorry, but he made no move. With a heavy heart, she ran from the barn. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter 8 Samantha's anxiety dawned with the morning. Sleep had eluded her all night. She sat up in bed and stretched. The dreaded day was finally here. Sunlight poured in the window, and blue sky peeked between the curtains. A light breeze fluttered the curtains. She climbed out of bed, somewhat relieved to rise and meet the day's challenges. If the party didn't go right, she'd be the one to blame, and Blake would probably use it as an excuse to fire her. After all, he blamed her for everything else, so why not? Mentally, she went over everything she'd done—and everything that had yet to be done. She glanced out the window and saw the men had already started their preparations. Irish and two men were digging a pit where a pig would roast slowly for the day. Nearby, Shorty and his crew were putting a side of beef on a spit over red hot coals. She roused Annie and dressed her. Later, she would sneak away and don her new red dress and put the matching red dress on the babe. As she skimmed her hair back from her face, she touched the side of her cheek, then yelped. She grabbed her mirror and studied her reflection. The bruises on her jaw had faded from blue and purple to pale yellow. She'd borrowed some face powder from Martha and, later when she dressed, she'd pat some over the bruised area and pray that no one would notice. 125

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Knowing that the Richardsons would be arriving soon, she shrugged into her robe and headed for the kitchen. She'd not had to prepare breakfast for the men today, but hopefully someone had made a pot of coffee. She needed a cup to soothe her jangled nerves. She left Annie playing on the bed and went into the kitchen. As she walked in, she saw a coffee pot on the stove, and a pail of fresh milk on the counter. She smiled to herself. Bless Shorty's heart. Even though milking was one of her chores, he always made sure Annie had fresh milk in the morning. As she poured a cup of coffee, the hair on the back of her neck prickled. She had the strangest feeling someone was watching her. Whirling around, she saw Blake seated at the far table in the corner. "You startled me. What are you doing here?" He stared at her, then ran his fingers through his hair, a gesture that was so sensual a tremor coursed down her spine. A sudden urge to comb her fingers through that shock of brown hair hit her in the gut. She shook herself, annoyed that her thoughts had drifted there. When she saw where his stare was directed, she sat her cup down and closed her robe, tying it at the waist. "It's my ranch. I can go anywhere I want." She slid her hands into the pocket of her robe, fisting them there. Trying to hide her irritation at his air of superiority, she forced a smile to her face. "Yes, of course, it is. It's just that you seldom favor us with your presence." 126

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To her surprise, he chuckled. "And do you want me to favor you with my presence, Mrs. Adams?" His voice, low and husky, rippled over her skin. Her heart thumped not once, not twice, but three times. While she wanted to scream yes, she shook her head. "No." "Thought you'd say that." Did he not believe her? She sought his gaze, questioning. He shrugged. "Well," he continued, "I guess I've hid out long enough. Jack's got two women from the hotel cleaning the house, and every time I sit down, they shoo me somewhere else." He stood up and grabbed his hat from the table. "How's the jaw?" She touched her face, fighting back a grimace. "It's fine." The lie slid easily off her tongue. He smiled. "You're a liar. I've been smacked in the jaw before, several times, and I know how it feels. It hurts like hell for a long time." He sauntered toward her, with nerveracking slowness, like a wolf circling its prey. He meant to intimidate her. She planted her feet and remained where she was. He stopped in front of her, skimmed the pad of his thumb over her lips, then toyed with the ends of her hair. A familiar thrill danced down her spine. How could she defend her heart against this kind of assault? Her bravado gone, she stepped backward. He captured her hands. "Are you afraid of me?" He pulled her closer to him. Close enough that she could fee his warm 127

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breath on her face, stirring the wisps of hair at her temples. "I know you're a liar, but I never figured you for a coward." Knowing he was baiting her, she clamped her lips together, swallowing a rush of panic. "Nothing to say?" The tone of his voice taunted her, mocked her, and dared her to ... to what? The air crackled between them. Her resolve weakened. She had to flee before she threw caution to the wind and yielded to the hunger she saw in his eyes. The hunger she knew that was reflected in her own. But she felt paralyzed, unable to move. She splayed a hand against his chest and strived to maintain self control. An impossible task. He framed her face with his strong hands and held her still. But beneath his forceful touch, she felt a gentleness she'd not sensed in him before. "Blake, please..." He held up his hand to stop her protest before she could even get the words out. "This has been coming for a long time," he said, his voice caressing her skin. "You know it, and I know it. No use fighting it any more." "No, no." "Yes, yes." He flicked his tongue over her lips, and her body quivered anew. He crushed his mouth to hers, demanding. And all Samantha wanted to do was give ... give ... give.... Loud cries from the bedroom intruded into her passiondrugged mind. What? Oh my God, Annie. How could she have 128

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forgotten her own daughter? What kind of mother was she? She broke free. Blake nodded toward the bedroom door. "You'd best see to her. We'll finish this later." Sanity, cold and depressing, made her deny his words. "No, no. There's nothing to finish. It's over ... now." "No. Not yet." He stomped toward the door. She whirled and ran, reluctant to leave. And that annoyed her. And frightened her. Back in her room, she picked Annie up and hugged the child until the crying stopped. Realizing that she'd forgotten the milk, she carried her daughter back into the kitchen. The room felt ... cold ... without Blake's presence. Shaking off her feelings, she poured Annie a glass of milk and prepared a bowl of oatmeal, then retreated to her room. She dressed while Annie ate her breakfast. She heard the sound of a wagon and peeked out the window. True to her word, Mrs. Richardson and her daughters had arrived with the sunrise. Scooping Annie up in her arms, she ran to meet the wagon. "Good morning," she yelled as she waved at the Richardson women. "Howdy," Mrs. Richardson responded as she heaved her bulk to the ground. "Mighty purty day." "Yes, it is. Would you like something to eat, or some coffee, before we get started?"

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"No thanks. We ate hours ago." Mrs. Richardson motioned to her daughters. "Naomi, you and Ruth take the baby and tend to her. And you be careful with her, you hear me?" "Yes, ma'am," the girls said in unison. Samantha handed Annie over to them, and they scurried toward the swing. Mrs. Richardson faced her. "Are you okay?" "Of course. Why do you ask?" "Seth done told me what those bastards tried to do to you. Oughta string 'em up. Thank God Blake got there in time." A warm flush crept up Samantha's neck and spread across her face. If the Richardsons knew, everybody in town probably knew. "I'm fine, just a little embarrassed." "Embarrassed? For God's sake, why? You ain't done nothing wrong. You hold your head up high, you hear me?" "Yes, ma'am." "They're the ones who should be horsewhipped." "Believe me, once Blake got through with them, I'm sure they wished they were dead." "Good for him." Not wanting to discuss the matter further, Samantha changed the subject. "Well, I guess we'd best get started." "Right you are." Several hours later, Mrs. Richardson, her face red from hours over a hot stove, motioned to Samantha. "I don't know about you, but I need a breather. I ain't a spring chicken no more." "That sounds good to me." She grabbed a glass of water and followed the older woman outside. Mrs. Richardson pulled a bale of hay under a shady tree, then plopped down on it. 130

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She sat beside the older woman. Taking the hem of her apron, she mopped the sweat from her forehead. "I'd say we're on schedule, wouldn't you?" "Yes," Mrs. Richardson agreed, also wiping the perspiration from her face. "Look, there's Blake." She pointed toward a man leaving the house. "He's a mighty fine young man." She glanced in the direction Mrs. Richardson pointed. Was Mrs. Richardson talking about the same Blake McCarthy that she knew? He waved and headed in their direction. Tamping down the urge to run, she pasted a smile on her face. And waited. "Mrs. Richardson," Blake said, "I wanted to thank you for helping out. Sure appreciate it." "It's my pleasure. How's your Pa feeling?" "Better. He'll be at the party. We'd have to hogtie him to keep him away. Seth is coming over, right?" "Oh, yeah, wild horses couldn't keep him away." "Good. Well, I'll leave you ... ladies," he glanced at her, his gaze raking her up and down, "to whatever you were doing." I know what you're thinking, Blake McCarthy. You're wondering if I'm really going to wear this horrible dress to your party. Are you in for a surprise. "I like that boy," Mrs. Richardson said as he walked away. "Too bad I ain't got a daughter old enough to marry off to him. Speaking of getting hitched, what about you, Samantha? You ever think about marrying again?" In the midst of taking a drink, water spewed from her mouth. Stalling for time, she wiped her chin. "Maybe. One 131

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day. When I find the right man, but I ain't found him yet." Liar, liar, that irritating internal voice chanted over and over. "Well, I never could figure out what he sees in that Amanda Jefferson. I don't fancy her at all. You know her?" "I've met her." She jumped to her feet and smoothed her apron down. She wasn't about to indulge in any gossip about his girlfriend. "I guess we'd best get back to work." "I guess so." By late afternoon, everything was ready. A wooden platform under the trees waited for dancers. Colored streamers blew in the breeze while pristine white cloths covered the tables. Bouquets of violets and larkspurs adorned the tables. Musicians sat under the trees and tuned their instruments. And the food was ready, enough to feed a hundred people. Besides the pork and beef, platters of fried chicken sent delicious aromas wafting through the air. Mounds of cornbread and biscuits, as well as mashed potatoes and fried potatoes, lined the tables. Corn on the cob, peas, squash, chicken and yellow rice completed the menu. On the dessert table sat several apple pies, pumpkin pies, cherry pies, two chocolate cakes, bread pudding, and much, much more. As the sun cast long shadows over the yard, she went in search of the Richardson girls and Annie. She found them in the barn playing with the new kittens. She thanked them for watching Annie, then hurried to her room to change clothes. She warmed water on the stove and poured it in a tub. Annie splashed and played, drenching Samantha. After bathing the baby, she wrapped her in a fluffy towel. Grabbing Annie's new 132

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dress, she pulled it over her head. Her blond curls glistened in the afternoon sun streaming across the floor and her blue eyes sparkled. Her chest swelled with pride. Annie would be the most beautiful baby at the party. As Annie played on the bed, she washed up and slipped into her new dress. She picked Annie up and danced around the room. Annie giggled, and she laughed. Loud cries from outside hurried her feet. She put Annie on the bed. She decided to leave her hair loose and brushed it until it shone, then tied a red ribbon in it. Finding her face powder, she dabbed it over her cheek. She stepped back, then nodded in satisfaction. The bruises were barely visible. Finally, she was ready. All she needed was her courage. She took a deep breath. I can do this. I can do this. If I say it enough, maybe I'll believe it. As she left her room, she walked past Shorty. He took one look at her and Annie, then whistled. "You two look great." "Thanks, Shorty. Have the guests started arriving?" He cleared his throat. "One guest has arrived." The tone of his voice said he didn't care for that particular guest. "And who might that be?" "Miss Jefferson. Come to help, she says. After everything's done, of course. You'd best be on your toes, Miz Adams, she's got her claws out. And that's all I gotta say about that." She drew in a ragged breath. "Thanks for the warning. Well, here goes." Squaring her shoulders, she walked toward the tables where Mrs. Richardson was laying out napkins and silverware. Mrs. Richardson's eyebrows lifted when she saw 133

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her. "Wow. That's all I can say. You'll be the most beautiful woman here tonight. Even prettier than her." She fairly spat the word out. "I assume you mean Amanda Jefferson. Shorty said she was here." She handed Annie over to Naomi and Ruth. "Yeah, and I want to see her expression when she sees you." Mrs. Richardson guffawed. "But you watch out for her, you hear? She ain't gonna take kindly to you upstaging her." "Well, I intend to do my job and stay out of the way and that's all. She can have the spotlight. I don't want it." She picked up a stack of napkins and placed them by the plates. "That may be your intention, my dear, but when all them young bucks catch sight of you, they'll be lining up to dance with you with their tongues hanging down to their knees." "Thank you for the compliment, but I'm sure you're exaggerating. I know I'm not young and pretty." "Samantha Adams, whoever put that idea in your head had to be eating locoweed. Uh, oh, here they come." She glanced toward the main house and saw Blake and Amanda heading in her direction, Amanda attached to his arm like a parasite. Behind them, she saw Irish and two of the ranch hands helping situate Jack in a chair beneath the trees. When Jack saw her, he waved, and she waved back. As Blake neared, she could feel his gaze on her. She tossed her hair and raised her chin. Thanks to Martha, she looked every bit as good as Amanda. "Mrs. Adams, Mrs. Richardson, my compliments. Everything looks just wonderful." 134

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"Thanks, Blake," Mrs. Richardson responded. Samantha remained quiet, staring across the yard. "Yes, it does," Amanda chimed in, "but, Blake dear, I really think we need to rearrange the tables. If we move them there," she pointed to a spot behind them, "then the flow of the guests will be much better." She smiled condescendingly at Samantha and Mrs. Richardson. "I know these ladies did their best, but they just don't have the experience of throwing great parties." Beside her, she felt, rather than saw, Mrs. Richardson tense. Knowing the older woman tended to speak her mind, she acted first. "Thank you, Miss Jefferson. I'll have the men move the tables as you suggested." "Why ... why ... thank you. Blake, dear, why don't we check out the other arrangements?" "I don't think we need to do that. I see more guests arriving. We need to go greet them." Blake took Amanda's arm, and they strolled off to meet the arriving wagons. She glanced at Mrs. Richardson and saw her face was beet red. "Don't let her get to you." Mrs. Richardson muttered under her breath but nodded. "Right you are. I don't want to ruin the party. What I'd really like to do is punch her in the nose." "I've entertained that thought myself several times." She laughed, then turned and yelled at Irish to join them. He whistled as he walked up. "Sure and begorra, I've died and gone to Heaven. Samantha, you look.... My gracious, I'm an Irishman, full of blarney, and I can't find the right word." 135

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She laughed. "Thank you, Irish. Would you help us, please? We need to move these tables like Miss Jefferson suggested." "Yeah, and then the queen bee will find something else to have us change," Mrs. Richardson added. "Anyone want to bet on it?" "Not me," Irish said with a shake of his head. "Me neither," she added. "Aye, she's already been fussing at me that I put the cooking pit in the wrong spot. Like I ain't never done this before." Samantha chuckled, and Mrs. Richardson slapped the foreman on the back. "Well, what are you waiting for?" He made a face at her. "I see more guests arriving, so we'd best move the tables. She wants them put over there. Mrs. Richardson and I are going to put the food out." "All right." Irish hollered at Shorty and motioned for Shorty to join him. She recognized many of the arriving guests. Mrs. Richardson whispered the names of those she didn't know. In less than an hour, about fifty people had arrived, including Martha and Mr. Williams. Samantha hurried to welcome them. "Martha, Mr. Williams, how wonderful to see you." Martha climbed down from the wagon and embraced her. "It's good to see you too, my dear." "I didn't know you were coming today."

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"Me neither, but I got a special invite from Mr. McCarthy. The note said he knew I was a special friend of yours and he wanted me and Mr. Williams to come. Nice of him, wasn't it?" "That doesn't sound like him. He must be up to something." She chewed on her bottom lip. "Wonder what it is." "Maybe he's just being neighborly. It looks like he invited everyone in the county." "Well, maybe ... Any way, I'm glad you're here." She pirouetted. "So how do you like my dress?" "I must say I outdid myself. You look absolutely stunning." "I can't thank you enough. I'll pay you when I can." "You'll do no such thing." She heard Mrs. Richardson calling her name. "Martha, Mr. Williams, will you excuse me? Mrs. Richardson needs help." "Certainly. Me and Mr. Williams will find a chair." "Good. I'll see you later." She scurried off to help Mrs. Richardson. In the next hour, another horde of guests appeared, but she was too busy to worry about them—and what they thought of her. By the time the sun had fallen behind the mountains, everyone had eaten, cigars had been handed out, and the musicians had made their way to the stage. She retrieved Annie from the Richardson girls and went in search of Martha. Her best friend sat by Jack. Jack must have been telling one of his tall tales because Martha was laughing. It appeared they had hit it off. As she took a seat by her friend, she put Annie down to play at her feet. 137

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But Annie headed the other way. The child stopped in front of a pair of long legs clad in black pants. Blake knelt beside Annie and tickled her under the chin. "Da ... da," Annie said loudly and clearly. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter 9 A collective gasp rose from the crowd at Annie's one-word speech. A heavy silence hung like a shroud as everyone waited for Blake's reaction. Samantha could hear the pounding of her own heart. She clasped her hand over her mouth and locked gazes with him. If looks could kill, she'd be a dead woman right now. With a forced laugh that didn't quite reach his eyes, he picked up Annie, walked over to Samantha and deposited the child in her arms. "You never quit trying, do you?" he asked in a low voice, full of barely-suppressed fury that only she could hear. She drew back as if he'd slapped her. "You mean you think that I told her—" "That's despicable—you're despicable, using your own daughter to further your greedy ambitions." A muscle twitched in his jaw. The look of utter disdain on his face brought her almost to tears. "How dare you say such a horrible thing, Blake McCarthy. I did no such thing. I would never do that." "Of course you'd deny it." With a shrug of his shoulders, he turned his back to her. "Kids," he said to no one in particular, "you just never know what they're going to say." "Or do," Jack added, his voice light. "Once Blake's mother and I were entertaining the parson and his wife, and Blake walked in the room completely nude except for his boots. Shocked the parson so bad he had to leave." 139

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Everyone laughed, and the tension eased. She sent Jack a shaky smile of thanks. He returned her smile with a twofingered salute. She looked up and caught Amanda staring at her with such malice that her face appeared contorted. Amanda quickly gained her composure and smiled at the crowd. "How cute she is." She took Blake's arm. "Blake, dear, shall we go see how Father is doing?" He nodded, and the pair stalked off. She glanced at Martha and saw her friend ... laughing? "Martha Williams, don't you dare laugh. This is not funny." "Oh, yes, it is." Martha tucked a wisp of gray hair back into the bun at the nape of her neck. Her mouth pulled down in a frown, and she sighed in defeat. "He thinks I put Annie up to this. He thinks I'm that ... that ... kind of person. He'll probably fire me." Martha sobered, her expression changing to one of concern. "Surely you jest." "Surely I don't." "Oh, for Pete's sake." Martha's lips pursed into a frown. "Annie is just a baby. No one took what she said seriously." "Sammie," Jack's voice rang out, "bring Annie over here, will ya?" "Sure, Jack." Ignoring curious stares thrown her way, she strolled over to where Jack sat, his leg propped up on another chair. He held out his arms, and she handed Annie to him. Immediately, the child giggled and grabbed Jack's nose. He wiggled his nose at her, and she squealed in delight. 140

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"I'll look after my," he lowered his voice, a pleased smile on his face, "granddaughter." "Oh, not you too. I swear to you I didn't have anything to do with that." "Of course, you didn't. I know that, but you have to admit that was quite a shocker." "Oh, I'll admit that. It shocked me too." "Well, I'll watch Annie while you go dance." "No, no, Jack. I'll just sit here by you and—" "You'll do no such thing. You've worked hard this last week, damned hard, and you deserve some fun. I know every man here wants to dance with you. Everyone has been asking about the beautiful lady in red. You're absolutely stunning." He waved at someone behind her, and suddenly Irish appeared at her side. "Mr. Flanagan, would you like to dance with the lovely Mrs. Adams?" Irish quirked an eyebrow at Jack, then at her, then stroked his red beard. "Aye, but I can ask her meself. My tongue still works." "Then do it." Jack turned to her. "See?" Tired of worrying about being fired, she threw caution to the wind. What would be, would be. She couldn't control how Blake felt. Or what he did. Or would do. Tonight she would be herself. "I can see there's no reasoning with you, Jack. Very well. Mr. Flanagan, shall we dance?" ****

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Blake stalked away, Amanda on his heels. Making a big scene now was out of the question. He'd take it up with Samantha later—when they were alone. How could she stoop so low as to use her own daughter to further her greedy scheme? He never would have believed that of her. Even knowing she was trying to get her hands on him, or his ranch, she truly loved her daughter. One couldn't fake the adoration he saw on her face whenever she was with Annie. But when Annie had called him daddy, something deep inside him had responded, unleashing pent-up emotions he'd hidden for all these years in the raw wound that was his soul. He'd wanted to sweep Annie up in his arms and hug her to his chest. For a moment, he'd wished he were her father. And Samantha his wife. And they were a family. Jarred by the thought, he huffed out a breath. He hadn't expected such intense feelings. He'd thought he was forever immune to feeling ... like that ... ever again. A renewed sense of loss surfaced, cutting into the fabric of his lonely being. "Blake," Amanda said loudly and tugged on his arm, "slow down. I can't keep up with you." Reluctantly, he slowed his pace. He raised a hand and kneaded the knotted muscles at the back of his neck and waited for her barrage of complaining. "You have to fire her, Blake. Of all the nerve. Teaching that child to call you daddy. I've never been more humiliated in my whole life. I'm glad Father didn't hear, but then I'm sure someone will welcome the opportunity to tell him." 142

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"Probably so, but it doesn't really matter. Everyone knows I'm not Annie's father. So let's just forget it." "Forget it? How can you say that?" "For God's sake, Amanda, your damned whining is grating on my nerves. I don't want to hear any more about it. Besides, no one is going to put much stock in the words of a child. Let's dance." He steered her toward the dancing platform. "But I don't want to dance—" "Well, we're going to dance." They arrived at the platform at the same time as Irish and Samantha. He stepped aside and with an exaggerated bow and wave of his hand, he motioned for them to precede him. Beside him, Amanda's sharp intake of breath signaled her disapproval. As the music started, he pulled Amanda into his arms. But he didn't want Amanda—he wanted Samantha. Yet she was in Irish's embrace, looking incredibly lovely, and wearing a smile from ear to ear. The red dress suited her. Its low neckline emphasized her bosom and showed off her tiny waist. Her hair hung loose, and his hands fairly itched to stroke the shining ebony curls. As he watched, she laughed at something Irish said. She appeared to be a different person tonight. "Blake, did you hear me?" "Huh?" He leaned back so he could see Amanda's face. "What did you say?" "You're not listening to me." Her bottom lip trembled. His conscience nipped at him. "Sorry. What did you say?" "I asked if you were going to fire her." 143

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"I don't know. I don't really want to deal with it now. I'll make my decision later." "No. You have to decide now. She's made us the laughing stock of the whole party." She stopped dancing and crossed her arms over her chest. "I insist you fire her now." "You insist? Who do you think you are? Listen, Amanda, I don't take orders from anyone, especially not a spoiled brat like you." He turned and stalked off the dance floor. Behind him, noisy sobs filled the air. He glanced over his shoulder and saw her bolt in her father's direction. Just great, he muttered. After tonight, there'd be no way he could count on Benjamin Jefferson's financial backing. And it was just as well, he wanted no damned obligations to weigh him down. As he passed Irish and Samantha, he caught his friend's worried stare. Samantha looked away from him. His stomach coiled into knots. He made his way to the makeshift bar the men had set up under the trees. Grabbing a bottle of whiskey, he poured himself a shot and gulped it down. This damned party was turning into a nightmare. He splashed more whiskey into the glass and sipped it slowly, enjoying the burn as it slid down his throat. His gaze flicked back to the dancers swirling around the floor. In her red dress, Samantha stood out from all the other women. She now danced with John Coulter, and the lawman couldn't take his eyes off her. She had definitely turned her charm on full blown. He fought the urge to run over there and grab her away from the hungry men hovering around her like vultures. Dammit, why 144

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did he care? He never cared when Amanda danced with other men. Suddenly, she looked his way, and they locked gazes. He raised an eyebrow and lifted his glass in mock salute. As he expected, the taunt drew a reaction from her. She tipped up her chin a notch. Spying Martha Williams walking across the yard, he put his glass down and cut a wedge through the crowd to intercept her. "Mrs. Williams, hello there. I'm—" "I know who you are, Mr. McCarthy. I've seen you around town." "I hope you're having a good time." "I certainly am, Mr. McCarthy. Thank you for inviting me and Mr. Williams." She smiled at him, but he noticed a wariness about her. "Could I get you a glass of wine?" "No thanks, young man. I don't imbibe of the spirits, but I'm sure Mr. Williams is making up for my shortcomings." Liking her immediately, he cracked a wide grin. "Now I know why Samantha, Mrs. Adams, likes you so much." "Samantha's a fine woman, and I think a lot of her." "You came in on the same wagon train together, didn't you?" She nodded. "She said she lost her father in an accident on the trail. Must have been hard for her." "Yep, he died on the spot. And that left Samantha and Annie all alone because her sister Jocelyn eloped. Gone 145

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during the middle of the night. Jocelyn might not even know her pa is dead." And although he'd probably regret his next question, he had to ask it. "And what about Annie's father?" Martha's face closed down, losing all its friendliness and warmth. "Any questions you got about Annie, or her father, you'd best ask Samantha." She turned and walked away. "Damnation," he swore. "Why couldn't I keep my mouth shut?" He glanced at the dancers and saw Samantha dancing with Seth Richardson. Was she going to dance with every man here? **** Samantha excused herself from another dance with Seth pleading that she needed a breather. She grabbed a glass of lemonade and found an empty chair set apart from the others. Slipping her aching feet out of her shoes, she wiggled her toes in the soft grass. "So here's where you're hiding. I've been looking for you." She didn't have to look to know who the venomous voice belonged to. "I'm not hiding, Miss Jefferson. I'm merely catching my breath." Amanda came into view, her lips curled in a sneer. "Well, you should be tired after chasing after every man here." She bit down on her lip and ignored Amanda's insult. "Did you want something, Miss Jefferson?" "You're not fooling anyone. I know what you're doing." "Oh, and what is that?" 146

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Amanda pushed her hair back from her face. Her face looked like it was carved out of stone. Except her eyes which seemed to burn with an inner fire. "It's not going to work, you know. You're not going to get away with it, because he knows what you're doing." "Who knows and what does he know?" "You know who I mean. Don't act stupid. You may be an uneducated boor, but you're as sly as a fox." "I don't know what you're talking about." She stood and faced Amanda. A strange calm settled on her shoulders. She wasn't about to cower in front of this mean-spirited woman. "I don't know what you're talking about." "Oh, yes, you do. You're trying to take him away from me," Amanda said, her voice rising to a shrill. She wagged her finger in Samantha's face. "And I'm not going to let you do that." Samantha slapped her hand away. "Don't be ridiculous." "Well, he's going to fire you, and you deserve it. This little stunt of yours tonight with your illegitimate brat was the final straw." Samantha sucked in a breath. She wouldn't allow anyone to talk like that about her daughter. She slapped her across the cheek. Hard. Amanda's head snapped back, and she stumbled backward. She stepped toward Amanda and shook her fist. "Don't you ever talk about my daughter like that again! Do you hear me?" 147

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Amanda's bottom lip trembled, and she rubbed her cheek, stepping further away. "I'm going to tell my father, and Blake—" "You do that," she said as she fisted her hand and shook it at Amanda. "And if they say anything about my Annie, they'll get the same thing. Do you understand me?" As Amanda turned and darted away, Samantha glanced down at her hands. She'd probably burned her last bridge with Blake, but if so, it was damned well worth it. Taking a deep breath, she sat back down to compose herself. She glanced up and saw Martha headed her way. "Samantha, what's going on? I saw you ... slap her." "Yes, yes, I did, and I'm glad I did. I've had it up to here," she pointed to her neck, "with that witch." "But why?" As she repeated Amanda's words, Martha's eyes grew hard. "Why, that bitch. Excuse my language, but that's the only word that fits her. She's no longer welcome in my shop." "Don't be silly. She's one of your best customers. She's got loads of money." "And she can keep it as far as I'm concerned." She grabbed Martha's hand and squeezed it tightly. "You're such a wonderful friend. First, these beautiful dresses for me and Annie. I've gotten so many compliments tonight. It's made me feel ... well, beautiful." "You are beautiful. The dress merely emphasizes that fact." "I was having such a wonderful time. It's been so long since I've laughed. My jaw actually aches I've smiled so 148

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much. Then she had to go and ruin it. I'm sure I'll be out of a job real soon." "Well, I hate to add fuel to the fire, but I feel like I need to tell you—" Martha paused and clamped her top lip over the bottom. "Tell me what?" Martha huffed out an indignant breath. "It's Blake McCarthy. He's been asking questions about you." Oh, no, here it comes. "What kind of questions?" As Martha related the conversation, her temper burned hotter than a prairie fire. "How dare him. Who does he think he is?" "Well, I didn't tell him nothing," Martha said as she rested her hands on her hips. "I told him he should ask you." "Thanks, Martha." "I just thought you oughta know. Well, I'm gonna find Mr. Williams and take him home while he can still walk." She patted Samantha's hand. "You know if you and Annie ever need a place to stay, you're always welcome at my house." Tears misted her eyes. "Thank you. I really appreciate that." On impulse, she kissed her friend on the cheek, then watched as Martha corralled her husband at the beer keg and single-handedly dragged him to their wagon. After shoving Mr. Williams up on the seat, she climbed up beside him. With a wave, she yelled at the team. The wagon lurched forward and rumbled off. Samantha searched the sea of faces for Blake. This was probably not a good time to confront him, but her rage would not listen to reason. Then she saw him talking with Amanda 149

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and her father. Even at this distance, she could see Amanda crying. She moved behind a tree and watched as Blake talked with the Jeffersons, his head moving up and down like a fishing bobber hooked by a fish. Finally, he left them and headed for the main house. Taking a roundabout way, she followed him into the house. She heard his heavy footsteps in the hallway. She opened the door, then stepped into the living room. As she passed the table, a handful of papers floated to the floor. She stooped to pick them up, then stopped short when she saw her name on the envelope. Moving to stand by the lamp, she opened the letter. As she read, her jaw went slack. He'd had her investigated. How dare he. First, he'd questioned her friend, and now this. Did he think she was a criminal or something? He'd been quick to believe she was a thief. Stuffing the papers into her pocket, she opened the door and stepped into the darkened hallway. Someone grabbed her, pinning her arms to her side, and forcing her up against the wall. A gasp escaped her lips, but before she could scream, her lips were covered with a hot, demanding mouth. Blake. Even in the dark, she knew his scent, his touch, his mouth. She turned her head, freeing her lips. "Let me go." "No. This is why you followed me, isn't it? This is what you wanted. Admit it. You may have danced with every man here, young and old, but it's me you want. Say it, Sammie, say you want me." 150

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"That's not true." Oh, but it is, an inner voice cried. I do want you. And ... I love you. She turned to face him. "And don't call me Sammie. Only my family and friends are allowed to call me that, and you're not my friend. I've told you to call me Mrs. Adams. And I followed you because I wanted to talk to you. Privately." "Anything you want to do in private is fine with me, Mrs. Adams. "Stop that. I want to talk to you about—" "Slapping Amanda?" She tensed, then braced herself. Here it comes. Well, she was ready for it. "No. I don't regret doing that one bit." "Good." "Good? You mean you're not going to fire me?" "Nope. Not for that anyway. She told me what she said, and I'm glad you slapped her." She stared at him. Finally, she found her voice. "Well, good. But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about. Martha said you questioned her about me. And Annie. And now this." She waved the report in his face. "You had me investigated. How dare you. My personal life is of no concern to you, and I resent your questioning my friend and hiring a detective. Of all the nerve." "You could have waited until tomorrow to tell me that. You followed me here for this." He grabbed her chin. "Ouch." "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to hurt you. I should've killed Ace for what he did to you." He gently tilted her chin upward until she stared into his eyes. In the murky light, she could barely 151

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make out the angles of his face and the harsh slash of his mouth. "Kiss me, Sammie. Kiss me." His hot breath fanned her cheek. His muscled chest pressed against her breasts, sending her blood to the boiling point. She yielded to his demanding caresses. Why was she so weak when it came to him? And only him? She needed a defense against him, but she had none. His tongue darted between her lips. And she was lost. Lost in the emotions he aroused. Lost in her need for him. Lost in his touch. Lost, lost, lost... "No, I don't want.... :" But even as she uttered her denial, her mouth opened, her tongue meeting his in a frenzied mating. He crushed her to his chest, his hands stroking her back. No longer pinned against the wall, she raised her arms and encircled his neck, abandoning herself to his kiss. As his mouth plundered hers, the ache in the very center of her womanhood intensified. She pressed herself against him, loving the feel of his hard body. He moaned against her ear. "Say it, Sammie. Say you want me. I want to hear you say it." His passion-filled voice excited her. "All right. Damn you, Blake McCarthy. Yes, I want you." His lips quirked into a smug smile. A smile warm enough to thaw a block of ice. "I knew it." He grabbed a tress of her hair and held it to his lips. "I've wanted to do that for a long time." 152

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She lost all ability to speak. Her tongue felt weighted. All she could do was ... feel.... "You look so beautiful in this red dress, the prettiest woman here tonight." Suddenly, his eyes grew hard and cold. "Did John Coulter give you this dress?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued. "And for what?" Lost in a swirling vortex of need, Samantha was too stunned to do anything but stare at him. "What—? What are you talking about?" "If Coulter gave this dress to you, I want you to burn it. I'll buy you all the dresses you need—or want." She stumbled backward against the wall. Reality crashed in on her, crushing her, holding her captive. His words, like shards of broken glass, cut her to the bone. "Martha made it for me. John merely delivered it. Oh, how could you think so badly of me? You've already judged and condemned me. And why do you want to buy me dresses? So that I'll yield to you and you can tumble me in the hay? You want to buy me, is that it?" She slapped his face. Her heart broke into a million pieces, and tears rolled down her cheeks. "Well, I'm not for sale." [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter 10 Since Mrs. Richardson had taken Annie home with her, Samantha slept late, the first time in many long months. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she'd lay abed past sunrise. In spite of everything that happened, Jack had proclaimed the party a great success and had given her the day off. The events of last night floated through her mind. She'd been having a wonderful time and had ruined it by slapping Amanda and confronting Blake. She should've just walked away from the woman and ignored Blake's questioning Martha and waited until today to corral him. Now, she had to make a decision. Stay? Or go? That is, if he didn't make the decision for her. A headache crept in behind her eyes, and she rubbed her forehead. She climbed out of bed and walked over to the window, her bare feet making no sound. She opened the curtain and gazed out at the mist-shrouded mountains. Heavy gray clouds hid the morning sun. Clouds as heavy as her heart. Resting her forehead against the glass pane, she argued with herself on whether to stay or go. Mentally, she listed the reasons she should stay. She liked Jack and Irish and the other men. Annie loved it here. She was saving money. She felt secure. She liked everything—except Blake's disdain for her and his ugly accusations. 154

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The confines of the small room closed around her. Despite the threat of rain, she dressed in her riding clothes and made her way to the corral where Shorty reluctantly saddled a horse for her. "You know you shouldn't go alone." "I'll be fine, Shorty. Mrs. Richardson told me of a beautiful valley near here where giant red stone monoliths rise from the desert floor. She said she's never seen anything like it. Do you know about this place? "Yeah. The Indians say it's sacred ground." "Will you tell me how to get there?" When he hesitated, she scrunched her lips into a pout. "Please." "All right, but it's against my better judgment. And that's all I gotta say about that." "Thanks. I just need to do some serious thinking." He nodded, then stuck a rifle in the saddle boot. "Watch the weather, you hear?" "I will." With an apologetic grin, she climbed in the saddle and rode out of the yard. As she rode, the sun banished the clouds, revealing the distant hills of crimson, yellow and brown, the snow-capped purple mountains against a sky as blue as ... his eyes. When several hours later she found the valley, she knew why the Ute Indians called this valley sacred ground. The bizarre rock formations burst straight out of the ground, standing alone, blood red against a clear blue sky, thrust upward by some ancient force. She reined in her horse and feasted her eyes on the magnificent scenery below. To her left, she saw a great rock balanced precariously on smaller 155

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rocks. A small stream of blue meandered lazily through the valley, lined by cottonwoods and willows. Its coolness beckoned to her. Letting her mount pick his way down the slope, the horse headed for the stream. Once there, she climbed down and let the animal drink his fill. After tethering him, she dampened her kerchief in the cold water and wiped her face and neck. The shade of a cottonwood welcomed her. She leaned against it and slid down the tree trunk. A cool breeze wafted over her. Across from her, ancient writings and drawings covered large boulders. In this place, one could feel the presence of a greater being. She could understand why the Indians considered this place sacred. Contentment flowed over her, and she closed her eyes. She'd do her thinking after a nap. **** A pounding in his head woke Blake. He sat up, and pain hit him like a left jab. He deserved the headache—he'd consumed way too much liquor last night. He slumped against the pillows, rolled over and covered his head with the blanket, willing the throbbing in his temples to subside. When it didn't go away, he sat up and hung his legs over the side of the bed. He needed coffee. Black coffee. And lots of it. He struggled to his feet and dressed. After washing his face, he ran a comb through his hair, then caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. He looked like he'd been on a three-day drunk. His eyes were puffy, and he needed a shave. With a curse, Blake opened his bedroom door and 156

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stepped out into the hallway. Silence greeted him. His father must still be abed. He made his way to the kitchen. He jerked open the kitchen door and found an empty room—but, thankfully, a pot of coffee waited on the stove. Grabbing a towel, he picked up the pot and poured himself a cup, then sat at the table and gratefully sipped the strong liquid. The pain in his head slowly subsided, and he decided he might just live after all. Yesterday's party had been a success with three exceptions. The first had been jealousy. His and Amanda's. Amanda had been jealous of Samantha's beauty and popularity, and he'd been jealous of the long line of men who'd danced with her. She'd danced with everyone but him. And secondly, he should never have questioned Martha. He should've known Martha would tell her. And, lastly, he'd acted like a jackass when he'd corralled her in the hallway. He owed her an apology. Why he continued to hurt her mystified him. He wasn't a cruel person. Why then did he continually try to drive her away? Because he'd fallen for her. Head over heels. And for little Annie. Not one to put off an unpleasant task, he put his hat on and headed for the door. Hopefully, she'd let him apologize. She'd probably meet him at the door with a gun. Only a few of the ranch hands loitered on the bunkhouse porch. Several were engrossed in a game of cards, while Irish sat at the checkerboard, challenging all comers. Normally, he and Jack joined them. Wanting to remain unnoticed, he walked the opposite way from the cookhouse, then circled 157

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back. Opening the door, he saw the main kitchen was empty. It seemed strange not to see her smiling face and Annie playing in the corner. He walked across the floor and knocked on her door. No answer. He knocked again. Still no answer. He tried the door knob. The door squeaked open, and he peeked into the room. Empty. Closing the door, he walked outside and around the yard. Still no sign of her. Maybe she'd gone into town. Spying one of the men at the corral, he ambled over there. "Hey, Tom, you seen Mrs. Adams?" "Yeah. She rode out 'bout an hour ago." "Rode out? In the wagon?" "No. On a horse." "Alone?" "Yeah." Blake uttered a low curse. "Where was she going?" Tom shrugged his shoulders. "Don't know." "Which way did she go?" "West, I think. You want me to ask around?" "No. Just saddle my horse, will ya?" "Sure, boss." In minutes, he'd mounted and found her trail. Damn fool woman. She knew better than to ride out alone. A sobering thought hit him. Maybe she was meeting someone. John Coulter, perhaps. He spurred his horse into a run. If she was up to such shenanigans, he'd fire her on the spot. If Amanda had her way, he would have fired her last night—after she'd 158

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slapped her. He grinned to himself. He sure would've liked to have been there when it happened. And he liked the fact Samantha had stood up for herself— and her daughter. Soon, he realized where she was headed. He remembered hearing Mrs. Richardson talking about the red rock valley, and he knew he no longer had to follow her trail. He made a bee line for the valley. He crested a small rise, then reined in his horse and stared down into the valley. Her horse grazed beside the stream. But there was no sign of her. Had the horse thrown her? Did she now lay hurt, perhaps bleeding? Riding further down the slope, he saw her. Reclining against the tree, her legs stretched out in front of her. A sigh of relief escaped his lips. He dismounted and led his horse down the rocky path. But when he rounded the corner, there was no one there. Suddenly, something poked him in the back. "Reach for the sky, mister. I've got a rifle in your back. Make one move and I shoot." Her voice. He raised his hands. "It's me. Don't shoot. I'm turning around." Slowly, he pivoted on his heel and faced her. "You." A sneer curled her lip as she lowered her rifle. "What are you doing here?" "I wanted to make sure you're okay. You shouldn't be alone out here. It's too dangerous." She raised an eyebrow. "You're so right. You never know when you're going to run into a low-down snake in the grass." 159

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"You're right, and this low-down snake in the grass came to apologize." "If I thought you really meant that—" "I do. Last night I acted like a real horse's ass. And I'm sorry." She didn't speak, merely stared at him. "You did a wonderful job," he continued. "The party went great. The food was fantastic, the decorations looked awesome. Everything. And then I screwed up and made an ass of myself. I shouldn't have said what I said, about the dress and all. I'm sorry for everything—but kissing you." "I'd like to believe you, but from the very first, you've made terrible comments to me and about me. Everybody knows what you think about me. You've accused me of trying to trick you. You've accused me of being a thief. You've even accused me of using my own daughter to further my ... what did you call it? My greedy ambitions? Why should I believe you now?" She turned to walk away. He grabbed her arm. "Wait, please. I don't expect you to believe me. Just give me a chance to prove it to you." She shook her head and pulled free. "It's too late. I've made up my mind. I'm leaving. I'll wait until you've found another cook, then I'm leaving. Or, if you prefer, I'll leave immediately." "But where will you go?" "Does it matter?" His brows drew together. "Yes, yes, dammit, it does." "Like I said, it's too late. And now that you know I'm all right, you can leave. I can find my way back." She stalked 160

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over to the tree and propped her rifle against it. Then, ignoring him, she sat and leaned against a boulder, then closed her eyes. His insides twisted into knots. "Listen, I don't want you to leave. You don't have anywhere to go, and I'd worry about Annie." He walked over and knelt beside her. "Look, what if I promise to stay away from you? Will you stay then?" She opened her eyes, and, as always, her beautiful green eyes mesmerized him. "No. I think it best I leave." She stared off into the distance, a far away look in her eyes. A spine-chilling noise pierced the air. A familiar noise. A deadly noise. "Samantha, don't move. Sit very still." "Why? What's the matter?" "Just be very still." "Why?" The noise sounded again. A rattling sound. This time she heard it because her face paled. She froze. "Oh my God. Blake ... Blake..." He rose slowly to his feet, pulling his gun. Moving very carefully, he stepped around her, trying to get a fix on the snake's location. "I don't see it," he whispered. "Grab my hand. When I say now, I'm going to pull you to your feet." She reached out, and he grabbed her wrist with his free hand. She nodded, her face pale but calm. The snake again rattled its warning, signaling it would strike at any moment. He tightened his grip and lifted his eyebrows, silently asking if she was ready. She nodded. "Now." 161

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With all his strength, he jerked her to her feet pulling her toward him. At the same time, the snake struck, its long body shooting through the air like a rocket. The reptile missed her by inches. He fired, and the bullet hit the rattler, severing its head and killing it instantly. "Are you all right?" "Yes, yes. At least I think so. But if you weren't here, I might have been bitten. Right now I might be lying there ... dying." "You're shaking. Just relax and calm down." "All I could think about was what would happen to Annie ... if that happened." A tear rolled down her cheek. He gently wiped away the tear. "But it didn't happen, honey. You're okay." "Thanks to you." She put her hand to her head, and her eyes rolled back in her head. "I think I'm gonna ... faint." He caught her before she fell. Gently, he picked her up and carried her down to the streambed, away from the rocks where other deadly serpents might lie in wait. After laying her down in a patch of grass, he retrieved his bedroll from the saddle and placed it on the warm sand. Then he maneuvered her onto the bedroll. He took his kerchief from his neck and dampened it in the stream. Kneeling beside her, he wiped her forehead. She groaned. In a few minutes, she opened her eyes. "What happened?" "You fainted." He rocked back on his heels. "I did? I've never fainted before." 162

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She tried to sit up, but he shook his head. "Just lay there for a few more minutes. I don't want you fainting again." She nodded and closed her eyes. He studied her, her heart-shaped face, full lips, the cute nose, and the long ebony hair. She opened her eyes and stared at him. He could feel the heat of her gaze. "Oh, Sammie," he whispered and pulled her into his embrace. **** His nearness, the feel of his lean, hard body next to her, his blue eyes dark, his mouth tempting ... her ... to ... Her body responded; she wanted this to happen, wanted this man, needed this man, more than she needed air to breathe. He tilted her chin backward and lowered his head. "Do you want me to do this?" He flicked his tongue over her lips. "And this?" He nibbled on her ear lobe. "And this?" He trailed hot kisses down the column of her neck. "And this?" His hand closed over her breast and kneaded the swollen bud. The shiver of pleasure that scorched her body shocked her. It'd been several long years since a man had touched her so intimately. She shivered uncontrollably. "Yes, yes, yes." "Kiss me, Sammie." She could not deny him. Or herself. She turned and opened her mouth to his assault. His hard, demanding kiss took her breath. As his tongue plundered her mouth, she met his questing tongue with her own. An answering shudder wracked his body. 163

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The long, hard length of him pressed against her. His heart pounded against hers, beating in rhythm. He rained kisses everywhere. On her mouth, her cheeks, her neck. Laying her back on the blanket, he opened the pearl buttons on her blouse, then pushed her chemise aside, revealing her breasts. His mouth closed around one throbbing tip, and he tugged on it gently with his teeth. A gasp burst from her like an erupting volcano. His assault on her breast continued as his hand stroked her derriere, and he cupped her to him. He pushed her blouse from her shoulders and turned his attention to her other breast, repeating his caresses until she was mad with need. She writhed mindlessly beneath him. He slid her skirt up her thigh. The touch of his hand on her bare skin left her gasping for air. She moaned deep in her throat. He stroked her inner thigh, reaching higher and higher until he touched the most private part of her body. He tugged her riding skirt down, then pushed her drawers aside. His fingers entered her body and kneaded the sensitive bud until waves of ecstasy washed over her, and she cried out his name. "Blake, oh my God, yes, yes." He fumbled with his clothing, then rolled atop her. Nudging her knees apart, he entered her. He mumbled her name, then moved on her. Each thrust carried her higher and higher, kindling the fire she'd long thought dead, until it was a blazing inferno. She met his thrusts with abandon, riding each crest, climbing, climbing, climbing. Her body exploded into millions of tiny shooting stars. Her body quivered, and again she whispered his name. With an answering shudder, he spilled his seed inside her. 164

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When he rolled off her, he pulled her with him until she lay curled beside him. Her head rested on his shoulder while her fingers tangled in the mat of hair on his chest. His heart pounded beneath her fingertips. Raising herself on one elbow, she studied his face, struck anew by his sheer good looks. The thick mane of brown hair, the square jaw and full sensual lips. His eyes were closed, his features relaxed. He opened his eyes, those beautiful blue eyes, and smiled at her. She basked in his smile, feeling like a schoolgirl. "You're so beautiful, Samantha." "You don't have to say that just because we ... you know. I'm not beautiful. Jocelyn got all the good looks in our family." "Don't say that. You are beautiful. In a striking way that grabs a person's attention and won't let go." She blinked back tears. She put her fingers to his lips, and he kissed them. Catching one between his teeth, he pretended to gnaw on them. "I didn't think I could want you again so soon, but I do," she whispered. She rose to her knees, then slipped out of her blouse and chemise and tossed them aside, baring her breasts to him. She straddled him and felt his manhood surge to life. He reached up and stroked her breasts, cupping them in his hands. Pulling her down, he suckled on them as she impaled herself on his shaft. New and exquisite sensations shot through her. Never before had she been so bold, so brazen. She moved on him, up, down, teasing, thrusting, until he grabbed her and held her as they rode each other to the stars. 165

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She collapsed on him, her body spent. "That was ... just perfect." "Mmmmm," he murmured as he stroked her hair, "it was. You were ... very good, very daring." A knot of dread formed right between her eyes. Why would he say that? Did he believe her ... to be experienced with ... many other men? She forced that thought to a corner of her mind. "I admit I surprised myself." She rolled off him and pushed herself to a seated position. Never before had she been so aware of her body. She gazed down at it in awe. Then, realizing what she was doing, she blushed and covered her breasts with her hands. Glancing at him, she saw amusement in his eyes. "Don't cover yourself. Your body is beautiful. I like looking at you." "You make me feel beautiful. I know I'm not beautiful, but I like to hear you tell me so." "Dammit, stop saying that. I don't know how you got it in your head that you're not attractive, but you are. John Coulter is hot on your heels, and Irish is not far behind him. You can have either one at the snap of your fingers." But I want you, Blake McCarthy. Please say you want me too. Was he telling her that she should go to ... John ... or Irish? She'd been so caught up in his loving that she hadn't thought about the consequences of her actions. He'd never said he cared for her, never said he loved her, yet she'd recklessly followed him ... to bliss. Had he just "indulged" 166

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himself with her? Tears threatened to come, and she hung her head lest he see them. "Honey, look at me." He tipped her head back. She met his gaze. "What's the matter?" "Nothing." She forced a smile to her lips. "I was just thinking about what ... just happened and if—" "Don't worry. If you become with child, I'll take care of it." His matter-of-fact words hit her like a brick. A chill settled over her, and she shivered. Her heart froze. "You're so ... very kind," she said, her words as cold and as sarcastic as she could make them. She grabbed her blouse, then shrugged into it. She stood and donned her skirt. "What are you doing?" "What does it look like? I'm getting dressed." "Why? What did I say to upset you?" She glanced at her. He truly seemed confused. "Well, if you don't know ... You don't have to worry about ... anything because I'm leaving ... tomorrow." Whirling, she dashed toward her horse and scrambled into the saddle. "Samantha, wait. I have to talk to you." She glanced over her shoulder and saw him reaching for his pants. He had broken her heart. Did he even know it? Or care? "No," she yelled. "There's nothing left to say." She put her heels to the horse's flanks, and the animal bolted forward. She glanced over her shoulder again and saw him step into his trousers. She had a few minutes head start. She'd beat him back to the ranch and tomorrow she'd leave. [Back to Table of Contents] 167

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Chapter 11 The next day, Samantha stood on the steps of the main house, gathering her courage. She had to tell Jack she was leaving—and give him a reason. Even though she hated to lie, she couldn't tell him the truth. Yesterday had been both the best day of her life, and the worst. While the physical joining with Blake had been wonderful and pleasurable, the scar his words left on her soul had convinced her, once and for all, that they could never be together. If there's a child, I'll take care of it. Was that what he thought she truly wanted? Someone to keep her? She didn't want a keeper—she wanted someone to love, and someone to love her. She wanted Blake to love her, as she loved him. Yesterday, she'd been tempted to tell him she'd adopted Annie and that she couldn't have any children and that he needn't worry about taking care of a child, but he didn't deserve an explanation. She smoothed her apron down and tucked several strands of stray hair into its confining bun. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. As her mother used to say, putting off the unpleasant didn't make it go away. While she wanted to see Jack and explain, she didn't want to see Blake. Stepping inside, she paused a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dark interior. No one accosted her as she walked through the silent house. She marched up the stairs. Stopping at Jack's door, she rapped softly. "Jack, it's me. Samantha. Are you there?" 168

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"Yes. Come in, honey." Opening the door, she saw him seated at the small desk by the window. His crutches leaned against the wall. "Good morning. I hate to bother you this early, but I need to speak with you." He smiled at her, then his smile faded. "What's the matter, honey? You look as serious as a sinner in church." When she didn't respond, he continued. "Sorry, bad joke. Come on in and have a seat." "If you're too busy, I can come back." "No, No. I always have time for you, Sammie. I was just working on the accounts. It seems that's about all I'm good for these days. So what did you want to talk to me about?" She cleared her throat. "There's no easy way to say this, so I'll just come right out with it. I've decided to leave. To move into town. I think it would be better for everyone." "Leave? But why? I thought you liked it here." "Well, I do, but Blake—" "What did he do? Is it about yesterday? What Annie said?" "No, no. It's got nothing to do with that." "Then what? The fight with Amanda?" "I guess everyone in the whole territory knows about that by now." He chuckled. "And all of them, especially the women, wishing they'd had the nerve to do it. She's trampled on a lot of toes." He drummed his fingers on the desk. "Did he chastise you about that?" "No." 169

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"Good. Then what?" His eyes clouded. "I know what it is." He rubbed his temples. "He said he wouldn't say anything." Confused by his words, she sat down beside him and placed her hand on his arm. "Jack, what are you talking about? Who are you talking about?" "Why, Blake, of course. He told you, didn't he?" She decided to play along. "Yes. He told me." "I should've told you first." "Yes, you should have. Why don't you tell me now?" He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, then took her hands in his. "Okay. I need to explain why I did it. I need to get it off my chest. As you know, I made a deal with your father for your sister to marry Blake. I was wrong to do that without his permission, but he's been so unhappy since Elizabeth died. And then you showed up here. Alone. So, once I met you, I admired your spunk, and everything about you. So I schemed to keep you here." "What do you mean you schemed to keep me here? You hired me, and I really appreciated that. You gave me and Annie a place to live." He seemed not to hear her. "I could tell there was a spark there," he continued, "between you and Blake so I—" "No, no, no. You're mistaken." She jumped to her feet. Had he told his father of their ... deed? "I don't think either one of you even realized it, but there was a spark there so I hired you as the cook until such time as you paid off your father's debt. But then," he paused and sighed heavily, "that's when I lied to you, and it's been gnawing at me ever since." 170

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"You lied to me? About what?" He hesitated. "The amount. What I told you wasn't true. It was half that amount." "But why would you do that? I don't understand." "I wanted you to stay here. I wanted you and Annie to stay here. So I figured the longer you were here, the more time you and Blake had to, you know, get to know one another and maybe you'd come to really like each other." Jack's confession hit her in the gut like a physical blow, and she staggered backward. "How could you? I trusted you." "I'm sorry, I really am. I don't hold with lying, and I wanted to tell you sooner, but Blake said we should wait ... a few days. Until after the party." "Why, that low-down polecat." "It's not his fault. Don't blame him. I told the lie. If I'd been a gentleman, I'd have told you the truth and then forgiven the debt entirely." He wobbled in the chair and grabbed the desk for support. She hurried to his side. "Oh, Jack, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you." He glanced up at her. "But I deserve it. Can you ever forgive me?" "Of course I can." She hugged the older man. But I won't forgive Blake. "Besides, had you forgiven the debt and sent me packing, I wouldn't have had anywhere to go." "Well, as of now, you don't owe me anything." She shook her head. "This changes nothing except how much I owe you. I still intend to pay my father's debt, and 171

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when I move into town and get a job, I'll pay you back. You have my word on it." "I don't want the money, honey." "But it's important to me to pay you back. It's something I have to do. Please understand that." "I'll try to understand it, but it's difficult. But, honey, where will you go?" "To Martha Williams. She said Annie and I could stay with her. I'll stay there until I get a job and my own place. And maybe if, I mean when, I hear from Jocelyn, we'll go live with her." "But I don't want you to leave town." "Well, sometimes we don't have a choice in our lives. You know that." His shoulders slumped. "Yeah, you're right. But you'll stay in touch, won't you?" "Of course." "And I can see Annie every now and then?" Tears misted in his eyes. She hugged him again. "You can see her whenever you want. I would never keep you from seeing her." "Thanks. You and that little girl mean an awful lot to me. You know that, don't you?" "Yes, I know, and we love you too." "When will you be leaving?" "I think it best I leave immediately." She stood and walked to the door. "Mrs. Richardson is to bring Annie home this afternoon. I don't have much, so it won't take me long to pack. So we'll leave first thing in the morning." 172

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"Sammie, is there something you're not telling me?" Caught by surprise, she stared at him. A curious glint flickered in his eyes, and she fought to keep her composure. "No, of course not. I just think it's for the best. That's all." "No, that's not all. There's something else, but I guess you'll tell me when you're ready." A misting of tears in his eyes brought tears to her eyes. She ran to him and kissed him on the cheek then rushed from the room. That night she packed her and Annie's few belongings. She pulled Peter's picture from the box where she'd thrown it and wrapped it. After being with Blake, she'd not been able to look at it. Then she folded her new red dress, stroking it lovingly. She'd never owned such a beautiful dress. Yet now the sight of it reminded her of Blake's accusation and what he thought she'd done to get it. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. After selecting what they'd wear tomorrow, she picked Annie up and sat her on the bed, then dressed her in her nightgown. Annie rubbed her eyes, then whimpered. "Come on, darling. Time to go to sleep." "No," Annie said. She threw her doll to the floor. "Oh, Annie, love, not tonight. Mommy's tired." Annie crawled off the bed, padded across the room and picked up her doll. "Oh, all right. You can play a little longer." She slipped out of her dress and into her nightgown. She lay on the bed and watched Annie play. Soon, the child tired and crawled up into bed with her. She pulled her daughter 173

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close and hugged her, crooning softly. About twenty minutes later, the baby fell asleep. But sleep eluded Samantha. Finally, tired of tossing and turning, she rose. After making sure Annie still slept, she wrapped her shawl over her nightdress and walked outside, hoping the cool night air would soothe her troubled soul. Mist rose from the dewy grass, giving an ethereal look to her surroundings. A horse neighed softly in the corral, spooking an owl into soaring on silent wings up into the night sky. She'd come to think of this ranch as home, but Blake had destroyed that dream. Now she had to leave. Suddenly, she realized she'd circled the main house and now stood below his window. What in tarnation was wrong with her? What if he saw her? Her humiliation would be complete. She had to get away before she was noticed. A slight noise from above drew her attention upward. To his window. And the shadowy figure silhouetted there. She stared up at the man for several long moments, embarrassed that she'd been seen. Would he think she'd come to beg—one last time? In one final act of defiance, she tilted her chin up, hoping he could see her disdain. Then, head held high, she turned her back on the man who'd turned his back on her and walked away. When at last dawn broke the horizon, she stowed her bags in the back of her wagon. It seemed so long since she'd first driven up to the McCarthy ranch and offered to marry Blake McCarthy. Had she known how that would play out, she might have kept driving. 174

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She heard footsteps, turned and saw Jack and Shorty approaching. She smiled at them but dreaded saying goodbye. Jack took Annie from her, and she climbed up onto the wagon seat. Jack kissed Annie on the cheek, and she giggled and grabbed his nose. A choking sound escaped him. He handed Annie to Shorty, then turned and hurried toward the house. Annie called Shorty's name, and something suspiciously like tears appeared in the old man's eyes. He handed Annie up to her. "Shorty, will you say goodbye to Irish for me?" "I will, but he ain't gonna like not being here to say his own goodbyes." "I know, but I have to go today. You understand, don't you? He nodded. "We're gonna miss you and the babe, and that's all I gotta say about that." He scurried after Jack. Her hands trembled when she picked up the reins and drove the wagon down the dusty road toward town. And didn't look back. **** Blake faced the angry stare of his friend and his guiltridden father. So she'd left like she said she would. An empty ache pounded in his chest. "Dammit, Jack, what did she say?" "Irish, I done told you what she said—just that it would be the best for everyone. That's all she said." Jack raised his 175

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hands in what looked like a gesture of helplessness. "I tried to talk her out of it." "Where did she say she was going?" Blake asked, knowing what the answer would be. "To the Williams house." "Blake, you know anything about this you're not telling?" Irish asked, his voice low and angry. "Me? Why the hell would you ask that?" "Because you've tried to run her off since she first got here. Always saying stuff..." Blake's hands tightened into fists, and he stuck them in his pockets. Had she said anything before she left? Did Irish know he and Samantha had ... been intimate? He stuck out his chin and stared at his friend. "Just what are you trying to say here?" "I'm saying she didn't say anything to me about leaving." Irish too stuck his chin out and glared back at him. "Oh? I didn't know she discussed her plans with you. Maybe you know something you're not telling." "Stop it, you two." Jack stepped between them. "You're acting like children. I think she left because I wasn't honest with her." He looked at his dad. He had a hunch what was coming. Irish glanced at him then back to Jack. "What are you talking about?" With a rueful sigh, Jack confessed that he'd lied to Samantha. As Blake listened, he heard despair in his father's voice. Jack blamed himself for Samantha's leaving. He knew he should speak up and allay his father's feelings of blame, 176

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but he remained silent. There was no way he was going to tell about the afternoon he and Samantha had spent in each other's arms. He had yet to come to terms with it. And what it meant to him. And he was still angry with her for running away without explaining. He'd thought the afternoon perfect, and there'd been so much he wanted to say to her. Words of love had lingered in his mind that sunny day. Words he thought he'd never say again. Ever since the moment she'd bolted and run, he'd relived that scene in his mind, wondering what he'd done to send her fleeing. It'd been when he mentioned a ... child ... and that if there was one, that he'd take care of it. Why should that upset her? Wasn't that what she wanted? Evidently not. Unless she was holding out for marriage. Maybe it'd all been a trick. Maybe she'd thought she could get pregnant with his child—and then have a hold over him. "Blake?" "Huh?" "Did you hear me?" "No. Sorry, Irish. What did you say?" "I said I was gonna ride into town and talk to her and see if she needs anything." "Doesn't matter to me. I say if she wants to leave, so be it. I'm not going to beg her to come back. She's made her bed, let her lie in it." "I just want to make sure she's okay." 177

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"Like I said, do what you want. I've got work to do." He shrugged his shoulders, then sauntered off toward the barn. **** "Oh, Martha, it was just horrible." Samantha sat down at the kitchen table and pulled her bonnet off. She unbuttoned her new jacket. "Everywhere I went they almost shut the door in my face. Even those businesses that had signs in their windows for a position said the job was taken. Mr. Fletcher at the hotel said he'd hire me if he could but Mr. Jefferson has told everyone not to hire me, and he's so rich and powerful that they're afraid to go against him." "That low-down skunk." Martha poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her. "Surely, there's someone in this town who ain't afraid to face down Benjamin Jefferson." "But to face down Benjamin Jefferson for a nobody like me?" She sipped the coffee. "It's been two weeks now—and no job. I may have to move on ... another city ... to find a job." "Don't make a hasty decision, honey. Something will come up. Have you heard from ... him?" She didn't have to ask who Martha meant. She'd needed someone's shoulder to cry on, and she'd confessed everything to her friend. "No. Irish and Jack have dropped by but nothing from Blake. He's probably glad I'm gone. That way he doesn't have to look at me every day and ... regret..." Her voice trembled.

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"Now, now," Martha patted her shoulder. "Don't get all upset again. You know you can stay with me as long as you need." "Thanks, I appreciate it, but I hate imposing on you." "Don't be absurd. Besides, I love having you and Annie here. It's nice to have a friend to talk to ... about things" "I thought you knew all the ladies in town." A horrible thought hit her right between the eyes. "Oh, no, are the ladies avoiding you ... because of me?" "Some of the women still bring their sewing to me because I'm the only seamstress in town, but they don't stay and talk and drink coffee any more." "I'm so sorry." "Now, don't you carry on about that." Martha stroked her chin. "I think Amanda has been ... talking ... spreading rumors, or something." A chill swept over her, and she shivered. "That sounds like her. What kind of rumors?" Martha turned troubled eyes to her. "Mostly about you. She found out when Peter died, I guess someone from the ranch said something, and—" "Blake. It had to be him. The bastard." She clenched her hands into fists. "I'd like to punch him in the nose." "Well, I guess she done the math," Martha continued, "and knows Peter was already gone ... when Annie would have been conceived, and since I promised you I wouldn't say anything, she just goes on and on. She's a terrible person. I told Mr. Williams that just the other day." 179

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"So everyone at the dance next week will think.... "She clasped her hands to her burning cheeks. "I ... I can't ... go. I won't go." Martha rushed over to her. "Oh, my dear, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have told you what that horrible person said." She took Martha's hand in hers. "Oh, but I'm so glad you did. If I had gone...." "But you must go, dear. You can't let her ruin it for you." "But every time one of them looks at me, I'll know what they're thinking about me. That I'm a loose woman. And maybe it's true," she said as she wiped her eyes. "I did give in to my feelings for Blake. Oh, why couldn't I have been stronger?" Martha hugged her. "My dear, when we love someone, truly love them, we let our feelings take charge, and our brains shut down." "I guess you're right." "So you have to go to the dance. If you don't go, she will win. Do you want her to win?" "Oh, I don't know what I want. I was so looking forward to the dance. I remember the last time I went to a barn dance. That was when I first met Peter. And he swept me off my feet, and I knew I was going to marry him. Maybe it was just the fact that someone showed an interest in me—instead of Jocelyn. That was the first time it ever happened." "Well, I think you should go. John Coulter is a fine man, and you owe it to him to go." "But what if I'm carrying Blake's child? I don't think that's possible because Peter and I could never have a baby. But I 180

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feel ... sort of ... different ... Oh, maybe it's all in my head." She massaged her temples. "I have to tell John—" "No, you don't. You're merely going to the dance with him. That's all." "But what will he think of me ... when he hears..." "It'd be my guess he's already heard. Don't see how he couldn't help but hear. And it don't seem to matter to him a'tall." "Men don't understand, Martha. You know that. The same rules don't apply to men and women. Why, I've even heard that there's a tunnel under the main street where 'decent' men can go visit the bordellos without being seen. And that's okay. But it's a different story for women." She pushed a wisp of hair behind her ear. "You know, I think Amanda Jefferson is doing this to run me out of town." Martha frowned. "Probably so. She wants Blake McCarthy, and you're standing in her way." Samantha jumped to her feet and paced the floor. "What she doesn't realize is that he detests me." "That's a very harsh word." "Well, it's true." "I still think you should go to the dance—and hold your head up high. You ain't done nothing wrong. In fact, you done something honorable. You took that baby when no one else would. Why don't you let me tell everyone you adopted Annie?" "After Amanda has spread her lies, I don't think anyone will believe you. They'll think you were making it all up." "You're probably right. I should've spoke up earlier." 181

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"But you didn't because I asked you not to. You're a wonderful friend." She hugged the older woman. "You know something, I think you're right. Why should I let that spoiled brat Amanda Jefferson ruin my evening?" Martha clapped her hands. "Good for you. Now I've finished your new frock. Let's see if it needs any alterations." [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter 12 Trying not to be obvious, Blake watched the open barn door. Beside him, Amanda tapped her foot to the lively music, her arm in the crook of his elbow, a smile on her face. He glanced at her. She was definitely a beautiful woman. And she knew it. Clad in an elegant gown fit for an audience with the queen of England, she looked out of place among the plainly-dressed women present. Of course, that was her intent. But even attired in all her finery, she couldn't hold a candle to Samantha whose beauty, integrity and spirit far surpassed her. He was in love with Samantha, so why wasn't he here with her, instead of with Amanda. He answered his own question. Because he was a damned fool. He'd thought Amanda would never speak to him again after the fiasco that was his barbeque, but she'd sent a letter to him saying that she forgave him. Thinking he'd done nothing wrong to be forgiven for, he'd torn the letter up. But she'd come to him, crying, and he'd forgiven her. They'd both been jealous and had let their jealousy make them crazy. And that he understood. He sneaked another peek at the door. Would she show up? From what he'd heard from Irish and others, Amanda had pretty much ruined Samantha's reputation. But, he reminded himself, Amanda had only told the truth. Strangely enough, he felt sorry for Samantha. The town gossips could be cruel, and most women could not survive such treatment. 183

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But, if he had to bet, he'd wager everything he owned that she had enough backbone to face down the whole town. "Why do you keep watching the door? You should be paying all your attention to me. I ordered this dress from back east just to look good for you. Why, it cost me a fortune." "You mean it cost your father a fortune." She glared at him, and he laughed. "Quit pouting. I just like to keep tabs on who's here so there's no surprises." "Humpff!" Taking her fan from her reticule, she fanned herself, the tendrils of blond hair flowing softly around her face. Suddenly, she jabbed him in the ribs. "Ouch." She nodded at a man across the dance floor, a man obviously staring at her. "That's Jacob Huntley, the new teller Papa just hired down at the bank. He's from New York." His sweeping gaze took in the man. Obviously a greenhorn. The man was tall and slim and dressed in a citified suit, with a tie that looked like it was choking him. The dandy bowed in their direction. Amanda's cheeks flushed pink, and she preened under the man's admiring stare. He watched with amusement as she tossed a blond curl off her shoulder. She glanced up at him, wanting to know if Blake had seen. And if he was jealous. "Why didn't you wear your good suit instead of this old thing you've got on?" She plucked at his coat sleeve. "You look so handsome when you're dressed up." 184

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He looked down at his attire. "What's wrong with what I've got on? If I remember right, this is what I had on the first time we saw each other, and you said I looked real handsome then." She cut a glance at Jacob Huntley, then sidled up closer to him. "But now I know how much more handsome you can be." "Well, I'm dressed for the occasion. A barn dance. While you most definitely are not." He quirked an eyebrow at her, and she glowered at him. He laughed to himself. Another glance at the door told him he'd have won his bet. For there she stood with John Coulter. The lawman wore a smile as big as his face. A very self-satisfied smile. His chest constricted like he'd been shot. He cursed under his breath. Before he'd met her, he'd not had a jealous bone in his body. Her ebony hair gleamed like black satin. Her lips were rosy, and her cheeks tinged pink. And her dress, a soft green color, was stylish, yet appropriate for the occasion. The offshoulder gown revealed creamy white shoulders, narrowing to a waist as small as Amanda's. The neck was low, but not too low, emphasizing the swell of her bosom. And her chin had that determined tilt to it. Like he'd known it would. Beside him, Amanda muttered something to herself. Evidently, she'd not expected Samantha to appear. "Of all the nerve," she said in a loud voice. "How dare she show her face among us decent women? I have to do something about this." "Just leave it alone." 185

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"I most certainly will not. Someone has to do something." With a flounce of her skirt, she marched across the floor and joined three other young women at the punch bowl. Irish appeared at his side. "Mrs. Adams is looking very lovely tonight. Don't you think so, boss?" "Aye, 'tis the truth," he mimicked his ramrod's manner of speaking. Unaffected, Irish laughed. "Coulter's a lucky bastard." "Why didn't you ask her?" "I did, but I took too long and John beat me to it. Putting things off, 'tis one of my major faults." Irish raised an eyebrow. "So the moral of the story is not to put things off. Or else you might lose something valuable." Damn red-haired Irishman could read him like a book. Speak up or lose Samantha. He decided to ignore the remark. "Take heart, laddie," he said with a grin, imitating the Irish brogue. "Since you're alone, you can dance with all the lovely colleens." "Aye, 'tis true, and I plan to do just that or my name isn't Sean Michael Patrick Flanagan." At that moment, John and Samantha walked by, and stopped. "Hello, Blake," John said and stuck out his hand. "John," he acknowledged as he grasped the proffered hand and shook it. The sheriff then turned to Irish, and the two men shook hands. With a twinge of guilt, Blake noted she avoided meeting his gaze but she favored Irish with a smile. But then, why not? Another eligible man to trap if she didn't get Coulter to marry her. 186

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Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Amanda extract herself from her circle of friends and head in his direction. Her mouth was a tight-lipped line. He groaned silently. Oh, boy, here it comes. She grabbed his arm, then turned her considerable charm, which she could turn on and off at a moment's notice, on John Coulter. "Why, Sheriff Coulter, how wonderful to see you. May I say that you are looking particularly dapper tonight." Evidently startled, the sheriff blushed at the compliment. "Why, thank you, Amanda, and may I say you're looking as beautiful as ever. You know Mrs. Adams, don't you?" "Oh, the cook? Yes, we've met." Amanda's raised voice drew curious stares from everyone within ear shot. "Oh, but you're not the cook any more, are you?" Blake noted with grim amusement Samantha's icy stare. "No, I'm not," she answered in a low but steady voice. John looked from one woman to another, and Blake could see the confusion on his face. "Well, yes, nice to see ... everyone. Samantha, how about some lemonade?" As John steered Samantha toward the refreshment table, Amanda hurried back to her circle of friends. He glanced at Irish, then shook his head. "Didn't know what hit him." "Aye, poor devil." **** Across the floor, Samantha pressed the heel of her hand to the hollow between her breasts. Her heart pounded so hard she was sure anyone within ten feet could hear it. Damn Blake McCarthy ... and damn her. He'd enjoyed Amanda's 187

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taunting of her. She'd seen it in his eyes. She'd known this was going to be hard, but not quite this difficult. "Are you all right? You're looking kind of pale." John held out a glass of lemonade to her. "I'm fine, but thank you for asking." She took the glass and took a sip of the frothy liquid. "What was that all about?" He jerked his head toward where Amanda stood talking excitedly with her friends. "She doesn't like me, John. I'm not quite sure why, but let's not let that ruin our evening." He smiled. "All right. Are you ready for a dance?" Samantha pasted a smile on her face. "Of course. I've been looking forward to it. I haven't danced in a long time." She handed her glass to him and he sat them on the table. They walked out onto the dance floor. I will have a good time. I will have a good time. As she went into his arms, the hair on her arms stood on end. Glancing over her shoulder, she locked gazes with Blake. His expression revealed nothing. She schooled her features to be as distant and cold as his. But she felt nothing in John's arms. No excitement. No sweaty palms. No racing pulse. Nothing. But I'm here to have fun, and he's a nice man. I have to forget everything else. As they danced around the floor, he stepped on her toes. "Ouch." "Sorry about that." "That's okay." She smiled at him. 188

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"I guess I ain't a very good dancer, am I?" She patted his arm. "Maybe you're just out of practice, like me." "It's nice of you to say that, but we both know it's not true." Then it happened again. "Sorry," he mumbled, his face red. You want to sit this one out?" "If you don't mind." "Not at all. Look, there's a seat over there." He led her to a nearby chair. "Would you like some more lemonade?" "I'd love some. Thank you." The moment he disappeared, Irish appeared and sat beside her. "Hello, there. Are you enjoying yourself?" "Oh, hello Irish. Yes, I'm having a great time, but I wish I weren't under such scrutiny." She nodded at Amanda and her friends. Blake stood nearby. "Aye, our witch in residence. For the life of me, I'll never understand what Blake sees in her." As if on cue, Blake and Amanda danced by. "They make a handsome couple. Probably the two best looking people here. She's very beautiful." "Only on the outside," he protested with a shake of his head. "You're beautiful inside and out." Her cheeks burned. "I know you're only trying to make me feel good, but thank you anyway." "Nay, lassie, I'm saying the truth." He stood up and held out his hand. "And now can I have me dance?" 189

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"But John—" "Can wait on you." He smiled at her and lifted his eyebrows. "It'll make him appreciate you all the more." His infectious grin brought her to her feet. "Okay." She walked out onto the floor with him. As she walked by two of Amanda's friends, they whispered loudly. "I can't believe she's here." "If I was her, I couldn't show my face." "Amanda said—" "Don't listen to them," Irish said loud enough for them to hear. "They're just jealous of you." He pulled her into his arms. "Jealous? Of me?" She huffed out a breath, then shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know why. I've no job, no home of my own, no money to speak of, and a baby to raise—alone." "We could remedy that, you know." "What do you mean?" "You could marry me. I'd make you a good husband." "Why, Irish, I don't know what to say." She rocked back on her heels and stared at him. "That's so sweet. And I think the world of you. But I can't marry you. I don't love you." "You could learn," he said. "That wouldn't be fair to you." "You love John Coulter?" She shook her head. "No." "You're in love with Blake, aren't you?" His words brought her feet to an abrupt halt. "Irish, why in God's name would you say that?" 190

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"Because I'm not blind." "But I don't—" "Yes, you do. But neither one of you hard-headed mules will admit it." He whirled her in a large circle. As she twirled, she lost her footing and stumbled backward. Strong hands caught her around the waist and braced her against a rock-hard chest. She saw Irish's eyebrows lift in surprise, and instantly she knew who held her. Her chest tightened. "Thanks for saving the lass, boss man. I think you deserve a dance with the lovely colleen for saving her from a bad fall." He put her hand in Blake's and strolled away. Not knowing how to react, or how Blake would react, she stood quietly, her heart again pounding heavily in her chest. She dared a peek over her shoulder at him. His blue eyes had darkened to almost black. His mouth was a harsh slash against his tanned face. He turned her around and into his embrace, then danced her around the floor. Surprised, she could do nothing but go with him. His breath on her face fanned her awareness, making her remember his kisses. And his loving. A tingling deep within her sparked into flames. She flicked her tongue over her suddenly parched lips. Suddenly, they were face to face with Amanda. He stopped abruptly, and again Samantha slammed into him. "Well, well," Amanda said loudly, her voice almost a screech. "How nice. I thought you were here with Sheriff Coulter, yet you seem to be dancing with everyone but him." 191

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"Amanda, don't—" "Oh, but Blake dear—" Amanda smiled sweetly at her. The knot in her stomach grew. Here it comes. "I just want to talk to ... her. Samantha, dear, is it because you don't have a man of your own that you're after my man? Don't you have a daughter—with no father?" A hush fell over the crowd. She straightened her spine and squared her jaw. It was time to make her stand—now. "How dare you talk to my sister like that?" My sister? Jocelyn? She whirled and saw her petite, blond-haired sister swoop down on Amanda like an avenging angel. Her breast swelled with pride and sisterly love. Tiny Jocelyn looked formidable as she stopped in front of Amanda and shook her finger in Amanda's face. "How dare you talk to my sister like that. She adopted Annie when the baby's parents died on the trail, and no one else would take her. You can ask anyone on the wagon train, and they'll tell you I'm telling the truth. She did an honorable thing, and now you're trying to turn it into something ... dirty. Well, I won't let you." "Jocelyn, please, that's enough," David said from behind her. "No, it's not enough. That's my sister she's talking about." **** As Blake watched the petite blond storm into the room, a muscle in his jaw twitched. Samantha's sister did indeed 192

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resemble Elizabeth, and for a moment he slipped back in time. In his mind's eye, he saw Elizabeth facing her parents and telling them that she was going to marry him, no matter what they said. Then he jerked himself back to the moment. When he heard Jocelyn's words, he couldn't believe his ears. If one could believe her, Samantha had adopted Annie. He'd been so quick to believe the worst of her. And yet she'd not told the truth about the child. Why? As Jocelyn lambasted Amanda, he smiled to himself. She was every bit as feisty as her sister. Amanda's friends surrounded her and whisked her away. She'd never looked for him, which was just as well. He needed a drink. He caught Irish's gaze and nodded his head toward the door. Irish nodded and headed for the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw John Coulter, Samantha, her sister and a young man he guessed to be Jocelyn's husband, huddled together, the sisters in each other's arms, tears streaming down their faces. Once at the saloon, they ordered a beer. He raised his glass and clinked it against the glass Irish held. "Quite a turn of events, my good man." Irish took a swig of beer. Some of it spilled on his beard, and he wiped it away with the sleeve of his shirt. "Quite a turn of events." "Yeah, so you said." He shoved his hat back with a knuckle. "Why the hell do you think she didn't say anything about adopting Annie?"

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"I don't know." Irish took off his hat and scratched his head. "I guess she knew she hadn't done anything wrong, and that was enough for her." "I guess so." "Not many people like that." Irish put his hat on. "I already said she's a strong and honorable woman." "But still," Blake rubbed his jaw, "you'd think she'd have told me, or Jack." "Why? Because you're such a lovable guy?" his foreman asked with a teasing grin. "Would you have believed her?" "Probably not." "At least you're honest about it." "Women. I'll never understand them," Blake downed the rest of his beer, "even if I live to be a hundred years old." Irish chuckled. "But, if we understood them, that'd take some of the allure away." "Well, I can do without it." He slapped his friend on the back. "I'm ready to go home. You coming?" "No." Irish nodded at a woman across the room, then grabbed a bottle from the bar. "I'm gonna lubricate my tonsils some more and then see if Lily wants some company. What about you?" He nodded toward the other end of the bar. Blake looked where he pointed and saw Rosa walking toward them, her hips swaying provocatively. It'd been some time since he'd been with the beautiful Mexican whore. "I'm thinking about it." He rubbed his jaw. "At least women like Lily and Rosa don't pretend to be something they're not. You pay them for their services, and that's all there is to it." 194

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The lovely whore sidled up next to him and rubbed her breasts against him. "Hola, Señor Blake, where have you been? I haven't seen you lately." She stepped closer and pursed her lips into a pretty pout. "I have missed your pretty blue eyes." "See you later, pretty blue eyes." Irish said with a laugh. "Shut up." Blake swung at the maddening Irishman who moved out of reach, then grabbed Lily around the waist, and they disappeared into a back room. Blake turned to the whore in front of him and studied her. A full blown Mexican rose of voluptuous proportions and a pouty smile. "So you wanna go upstairs, Señor Blake?" "Hell, why not? Give us a bottle, will ya, Charlie?" He pulled some coins from his pocket and tossed them on the bar. The bartender handed him a bottle of whiskey and handed two glasses to Rosa. Draping his arm around her shoulder, they climbed the stairs to her room. Once inside, he took off his gun belt and placed it on the table. She grabbed a decanter and poured liquor into two glasses, then handed one to him. He gulped it down, then poured himself another one. She pushed him toward the bed, and he plopped down on it. She unbuttoned his shirt, and her fingers teased the hair on his chest. As was her habit, she pushed his knees apart and moved next to his body. Her breasts, revealed almost entirely by her low-cut gown, were at eye level. Normally, those bountiful mounds would stir his blood to the boiling point. 195

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But not tonight. His body refused to waken. Instead, a vision of Samantha and her bare body on a blanket by the river floated through his mind. He growled low in his throat and, falling back on the bed, he pulled Rosa down on top of him. Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her. "Ayieee, Blake, I have missed you," she murmured. Reaching down between them, she groped for his manhood. Suddenly, nausea cramped his stomach. He wanted nothing to do with the lovely whore. Why the hell was he here? He rolled Rosa off him and onto the bed, then he stood and buttoned his shirt. "Blake, what is it? Where are you going?" "Another time, honey. I need to go home." "Home?" A frown creased her face. "Have I offended you?" "No." He pulled several bills from his pocket and tossed them on the bed beside her. "But why?" "I don't owe you any explanations." Grabbing his gun belt, he fastened it around his waist. With one last glance at the angry woman on the bed, he left the room and returned to the bar. But the liquor did nothing to erase Samantha from his mind. **** Meanwhile, after saying goodnight to John, Samantha and Jocelyn returned to Jocelyn's hotel room, having convinced 196

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David to take a walk. As they had done when they were girls, they curled up on the bed. She grabbed her sister's hand and held it tightly. "Oh, Jocelyn, I'm so glad to see you. I've missed you so much, and I've been so worried about you." "And I've been worried about you. We ran into Mr. Johnston, the wagon master, and he told me what had happened to Pa, so I knew we had to find you and make sure you and Annie were okay." "Well, I'm glad you did." "Sammie, was it ... was it because of me ... that Pa got drunk and fell off that wagon and kilt himself?" "No, honey." She patted her sister's hand. "It was an accident, pure and simple. Don't you be feeling guilty about leaving." Jocelyn's face broke into a relieved smile. "I have to admit I've been feeling mighty guilty about you and Annie. So, tell me, what happened with Mr. McCarthy? Did you go see him?" "Yes, indeedy," she said, then laughed, "and I offered to marry him, but, thank God, he didn't want to marry me. So they offered me a job as their cook so as I could work there and pay off Pa's debt." "Cook? You?" Jocelyn cackled. "Why, you've always hated cooking. I heard that horrible woman calling you a cook, like it was something bad. Who was she? And why was she being so mean to you?" "Whoa. One question at a time. I'll tell you everything." Well, maybe not everything. 197

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As she related everything that had happened since she'd arrived in Colorado City, leaving out any mention of her relationship with Blake McCarthy, Jocelyn's eyes became troubled. "But I don't understand. Why did you let everyone think Annie was, you know, your baby and that she had no father?" She rolled over and stared at the ceiling. "I probably should have spoke up, but when Blake McCarthy found out Peter died four years ago, and couldn't possibly be Annie's father, he looked at me with such loathing and disgust and never once gave me the benefit of the doubt, never once even asked me. He just assumed that I was ... that kind of woman and that made me so mad that I decided not to say a word. I didn't think he deserved an explanation. I didn't know he'd spread it around town. Looking back, I should've spoken up. As Momma used to say, hindsight is far better than foresight." She sat up and punched the pillow. "Any way, once I've paid my debt, I'm leaving this place. Annie and I are going ... somewhere else ... to another town, maybe Denver." Jocelyn clapped her hands. "Oh, Sammie, that's what David and I came to tell you. We're going to settle in Denver. David's uncle passed away and left him a farm near Denver. You can come and live with us." "That's wonderful, but would it be okay with David?" "Of course, silly. In fact, it was his idea. He saw how much I've missed you. Why don't you come with us now? Tomorrow? When we get the money, we can send it to Mr. McCarthy." 198

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"No. I'd like to, but I made a bargain that I'd pay it off. And that's what I'm going to do. If I can find a job. Then Annie and I will join you in Denver." "Sammie, please reconsider." Jocelyn smiled, her most beguiling smile. "Not this time, sis." "What does it matter to them? They're rich." Jocelyn's lips puckered into a scowl. "It matters to me." "Well, I can see your mind is made up so I won't try to change it. And, speaking of Annie, where is my beautiful niece?" [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter 13 Blake stood on the front porch and stared at the cook house. Dammit, she'd only been gone two months, and he missed her more and more each day. Missed her smile, her laughter, and the pleasure of just looking at her. And he missed Annie too. Missed seeing the child tottering around the yard, squealing in delight, playing with the dog, following him and Jack and the other men. The light had gone from his life. He'd gotten so used to seeing them around the ranch that they'd became a part of the ranch, a part of his life. Irish, Shorty and the other men missed them too and blamed him for her departure. And rightfully so. And they let him know that in no uncertain terms. And now there was an empty hole where his heart used to be. Like it'd been when he'd lost Elizabeth and his son. And every day since she'd left, he'd played that scene at the red rock canyon over and over again in his mind. He'd wanted to tell her he loved her, but the words wouldn't come. He'd only told one woman in his whole life that he loved her, and that had been Elizabeth. His guilt had grasped him around the throat and squeezed—cutting off the love words he'd wanted to say. Was it now too late to say them? Irish had told him she and Annie had moved in with Martha Williams and that she'd not been able to find a job. Thanks to Benjamin Jefferson. He had a good mind to pay a call on 200

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Jefferson. But maybe if she couldn't find a job in town, she'd return to the ranch. Maybe he should leave well enough alone. And she'd also told Irish that as soon as she paid Jack in full, she and Annie would be moving to Denver to live with her sister. He massaged his temples. He'd sure made a mess of everything. And if this mess wasn't enough, Jack had taken sick. For the last couple of days, he'd run a high fever and Blake and Shorty had taken turns putting cold compresses on his forehead. He'd had the chills, aching all over and a severe headache. Something he never had. And if that wasn't enough, he had abdominal pain, nausea and a poor appetite. And then yesterday, a rash had appeared, red spots and blotches on his wrists, ankles, palms and the soles of his feet. Today it had spread up his arms and legs. But what really scared Blake was his father's mental condition. It'd taken several long minutes this morning for Jack to recognize him. And that scared him more than anything else. Jack's condition even had old Doc Peabody stumped. He had advised Blake to take his father to Denver to see of the younger doctors who'd settled there who had more modern schooling. He didn't relish what he had to do today. He had to ask, or beg, Samantha to go with them to Denver for Jack, stubborn cuss that he was, wouldn't budge without her going with them. The ever reticent Shorty appeared with his horse, and, as usual, since Samantha had left, he glared at Blake the whole 201

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time. As Blake mounted, Jack hobbled out onto the porch. And again he was shocked by his father's appearance. He was a walking skeleton, his clothes hanging loosely on his frame. His skin seemed transparent, stretched taut over bone. Could Jack even survive this trip to Denver? "You bring her back, you hear, Blake?" "Yeah, Dad, I will. Even if I have to hogtie her." He saluted his father and kicked his horse into a gallop, wondering just how in the hell he was going to convince her to go with them. Why, she might not even talk to him. And he didn't cotton much to begging. Hopefully, she'd do it for Jack. And if not, well, he'd just have to take matters into his own hands. One way or another, of her own free will or tossed over a saddle, Samantha Adams would go with them to Denver. He couldn't—wouldn't disappoint his father. When he arrived in town, he stopped at the saloon. For courage. When the two whiskies failed to provide the backbone he needed, he stood, reluctant to face her, yet knowing he couldn't put it off any longer. Downing the last few drops, he stiffened his spine. When had he become such a coward? He pulled some coins from his pocket and tossed them on the bar, then headed for the door. He pushed open the swinging doors and crashed into—Amanda. "Sorry. Didn't mean to run you over." She hissed at him like a cat, claws no longer sheathed. "Didn't you? I wouldn't put it past you. After all, you made me the laughing stock of the whole town." 202

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He firmed his mouth and glared at her. "I don't think you needed any help for that." Her eyes narrowed into tiny slits, and he wondered how he'd ever thought her beautiful. The day after the barn dance he'd went to see her and told her their relationship was over. It'd been an ugly scene. She'd sworn vengeance on him that day—and on Samantha. "You know what I mean, Blake McCarthy. Don't pretend not to know what I'm talking about. You dumped me, and everyone in town knows it. The women laugh at me behind my back." "And now you've turned everyone against Samantha. You've ruined her reputation." Her frown turned into a smug smile. "Yes, I have, and I've made sure she'll never find a job in this town. Ever." "Maybe I'll hire her again." A gasp escaped her lips. "What? You wouldn't dare." "Won't I?" He pushed his hat back. "You don't know me very well, do you?" "Oh, I know plenty about you. Maybe I should tell her the things I do know about you, like that time we went to Denver ... and everything we did there." He shrugged his shoulders. "Tell her anything you want. Besides, it doesn't look like you're lacking for company. Heard tell you already found someone else to replace me. You've been seen with that dandy who works for your pa." "Just because Jacob isn't a ruffian who plays cards and frequents saloons doesn't mean he's not a real man. He was wonderful manners and—" 203

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"I hope you'll be very happy." He stepped around her, but she grabbed his arm and jerked him backward. "Don't walk away from me. I'm warning you." He pushed her hand from his arm. "And I'm warning you, don't ever do that again." A flicker of fear flashed across her face, and she took a step backward. "You'll be sorry. I promise you that." She backed away from him, then turned and flounced down the sidewalk. He watched her until she was out of sight, then turned to the onlookers who'd gathered. "Okay, folks, show's over." "What's going on here?" Sheriff Coulter asked as he sauntered up. "Nothing, John." The sheriff addressed the townsfolk. "Everybody move on. Go on about your business." He waved at the people like he was shooing a cat away, and they wandered off, then he turned to Blake. "What happened?" "Nothing to worry about. Amanda and I were just having a few words." "Oh, her." "Yeah. Her." "She and her pa have sure made trouble for Samantha." The sheriff took his hat off, pushed his hair back, then replaced the hat. "Nobody will hire her." "So I've heard. She can always come back to work for me." The sheriff's eyes narrowed. "I don't think she wants to do that." 204

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"Did she tell you that?" "Nope." "Then you don't know for sure, do you?" "Nope, guess not. Listen, I heard your pa was ailing. How's he doing?" "Not doing very well I'm afraid." He hated talking about his personal life to anyone, especially John Coulter. And not because Coulter was a bad guy, but because he seemed to be Samantha's main suitor. He grimaced. "Sorry about that. Er, which way you headed? I'll walk with you." He bit back a bitter laugh. The lawman wanted to know who he was here to see. Might as well tell him. He'd find out sooner or later. "I'm going to see Samantha." "She doesn't want to see you." Coulter hooked his thumbs in his gun belt and blocked his path. "You need to hit leather and ride." For a moment he wondered if Coulter knew what had happened between him and Samantha but quickly dismissed that thought. She would not have told anyone. Or would she? If she was still trying to grab his ranch, she might think telling everyone that he'd compromised her would help her obtain that goal. "Get out of my way, John." But the lawman didn't back down. "I'm afraid I can't do that, McCarthy. She doesn't want to see you." "I'll let her tell me that." "I'm telling you that." "Listen, Coulter, nobody tells me where to go or who I can talk to. Not even you. So unless I've broken some law, step 205

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out of my way—now." His hand grazed the top of his pistol. He flexed the fingers of his gun hand. The air seemed heavy, like before a storm, as the men faced each other. Finally, the sheriff stepped aside. "All right—for now—but if she tells me—" He strode forward, ignoring Coulter's words. She must really hate him. Stopping at the Williams' house, he rapped on the door. Martha opened the door. When she saw him, her lips puckered like she'd tasted something sour. "You? What do you want?" "I want to see Samantha." Martha hesitated, then nodded her head. "You wait here. I'll see if she wants to see you." She closed the door. In a few moments, she returned. "I'm sorry, Mr. McCarthy, she doesn't want to see you." She went to close the door, but he blocked it with his boot. "I'm going to see her, Mrs. Williams, even if I have to knock this door down." "Now, young man, you listen here—" "It's all right," came Samantha's voice from behind the door. With a nod, Martha opened the door, and he stepped inside. He took his hat off. The interior of the house was dim, and he blinked to adjust his eyes to the darkness. When he opened them, she stood there. More beautiful than ever. More desirable than ever. "What do you want?" 206

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He glanced at Martha, and she took his hint. "I'll get Annie, and we'll check on ... the pie ... in the stove." She disappeared down the hallway. "Well?" "It's about Jack." Her expression changed from cool and aloof to concern. "Jack? What's the matter with Jack?" "He's taken ill. Real sick." "Oh, no. Why didn't someone tell me? What's the matter with him?" Blake described Jack's symptoms, and he saw Samantha's lips tremble. She collapsed into the nearest chair. "Doc Peabody said he ain't seen nothing like it. I'm taking him to Denver to see a doctor there, and he wanted me to ask you if you'd go along and take care of him. Like you did before." Her brow furrowed. "Well, I don't know. I have responsibilities here." "I told him you probably wouldn't go." "I have Annie to care for..." "I'll take care of Annie," came Martha's voice from the other room. "Martha Williams, shame on you. You're eavesdropping." "Yes, I am. Tell the man you'll go." She hesitated, then nodded. "All right, I'll go but only because Jack asked me to go. It doesn't change anything between us." He nodded. "I know. Well, thanks. Listen," he lowered his voice, "about the ... you know ... at the canyon, have you ... are you?" 207

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"You don't have to worry. I'm all right." Something like regret crawled into his belly. Had he actually wanted her to be carrying his child? "Well, good. I guess. I'll send Irish to bring you out to the ranch tomorrow." **** As Samantha told Blake she was all right, she crossed her fingers behind her back. While she hadn't actually lied to him, she'd deliberately misled him for his child now grew in her belly. As she closed the door behind him, the urge to reach out and touch him, and comfort him overpowered her. For no matter how badly he treated her, he dearly loved his father. She leaned against the door. Oh, how she had missed him. Missed his touch, his kiss, and his loving for ever since he'd reawakened her body, she'd craved that fulfillment that only he could give her. "You're still in love with him, aren't you?" Martha appeared in the doorway, Annie in her arms. It was on the tip of her tongue to lie, but it would be futile. She and Martha had become very close friends during the last few weeks, and she'd poured out her heart to her friend. And Martha had held her hand as she'd cried. "Yes, God help me, but I am. Hopelessly." "There, there, child. Come on to the kitchen. Everything looks better over a piece of hot apple pie." ****

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When Irish arrived the next morning at dawn's light, Samantha was ready, her bag packed. Dressed in a navy blue skirt and white blouse, her hair pulled loosely back and tied with a blue ribbon, she climbed up into the wagon. Even the normally cheerful Irishman was somber. He cared for Jack as much as Blake did. As the wagon lumbered away from the Williams' house, she turned to the Irishman. "Irish, is Jack really as sick as Blake said?" "Aye, 'tis true. He's in bad shape." "But how? When did he take sick?" "It were real sudden like. High fever, belly ache, headache, and now he's got this rash all over him. And sometimes he don't know where he is." "Oh, my God." Her stomach churned into knots. "That sounds horrible." "Yeah, and old Doc Peabody ain't got no idea what it is." "But Doc Peabody thinks this doctor in Denver may be able to help him?" "Yeah." They rode in silence for a few moments. Then he spoke. "How are things ... in town?" Samantha knew what he was asking, but she chose to misunderstand. "Fine. Annie and I are fine." And he pretended to believe her. "That's good." They rode for a long time in silence before she spoke. "Funny, it seems like it's taking forever to get to the ranch," she said. "I guess I'm afraid of what I'm going to see there." "Aye. You need to brace yourself for Jack's appearance, lassie. He don't look too good." 209

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She nodded. "I remember the first time I came here. It seems so long ago. A lifetime ago." "You sound like you regret coming here. Has it been that bad?" "Not all of it, no." She touched his arm. "I've made some wonderful friends." "I hope I'm one of them." "You know you are. In fact, you and Martha are at the top of the list. Look, there's the house." As they neared, she saw Blake at the corral. He met them on the steps. "We just got Jack settled in the wagon. He had a bad night, and Shorty gave him some laudanum. He should sleep for a while." "You sure you don't want me to go, Blake?" Irish jumped down from the wagon seat, then held his hand out to her. "Thanks, but I need you here. I don't know how long we'll be gone, so you're in charge until I get back." "Okay. I'll put Samantha's valise in the wagon." "Thanks, Irish," she said in a quiet voice as she stepped down. She felt Blake's gaze on her, and she glanced at him. He looked like he'd not slept either. There were worry lines around his eyes, and the dark shadow of a beard. "You want some coffee or some breakfast, Samantha?" "No, thanks. Are we ready to go?" "Yeah." In less than ten minutes, the wagon left the ranch and headed west toward Denver. Blake drove the wagon while Shorty rode a short distance ahead. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Jack on the bed of pillows. He looked ... 210

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dead. A gasp escaped her lips before she clasped her hands over her mouth. Blake didn't look back. "I know. He looks like hell. He's gotten a lot worse and real quick too." She shivered. "What do you think is the matter with him?" He shrugged his shoulders, an aura of helplessness and despair clinging to him like an invisible cloak. "I don't know. It came on all of a sudden. Doc Peabody thinks it's some kind of infection. Said he ain't never seen anything like it." "Oh, my God..." "I hope he can survive this trip. We'll have to go pretty slow. It won't be easy for him." "We'll make it as easy as we can for him." "Thanks. Listen, about—" "Not now, Blake, not now." He nodded. "Okay." When they stopped for the noon meal, he went to gather wood for a fire so they could have hot coffee while she unpacked the picnic basket. A few minutes later, Jack awoke and called out. Shorty rushed to the wagon and helped him down, then to a seat on a nearby log. When he saw her, his eyes lit up. "Sammie, you came." "Of course I did. Did you doubt it?" His face clouded. "Well, to be truthful, after I lied to you—" "You just forget that because I have." He smiled at her. "All right. Thanks for forgiving me. Shorty, where's my mule-headed son?" "He's gathering wood, boss." 211

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Almost as if on cue, Blake appeared, his arms full of firewood. He dumped the firewood on the ground. When he saw his father, he grinned. "Dad, you're awake. You feeling any better?" "Oh, yeah. The sight of this pretty woman would make anyone feel like a young buck." She playfully slapped at his arm. "Jack McCarthy, what am I going to do with you?" "Marry me, Samantha." "What?" she asked. "What?" Blake asked. "What?" Shorty asked. "You all three heard me." She stared at Jack, her jaw slack. "Don't be silly. You can't be serious." "I'm very serious. Say yes. Then, if I don't make it, my half of the ranch will be yours." "Dad, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Blake whirled to face her. "Is this your idea? Have you been working on him already? Taking advantage of him while he's sick?" "How dare you! I would never do such a thing." "You've wanted my ranch from the first day you set foot on the place, but I never thought even you would stoop this low." Without giving her a chance to deny his accusations, he stalked off into the woods. There he goes again—thinking the worst of me. She faced Jack. "Now look what you've done. Where in the world—?" 212

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"Don't worry, honey. I'll go after him and tell him this is all my idea. You didn't know anything about it." He rose to his feet. Suddenly, he stumbled and would have fallen had not Shorty caught him. "I guess I'll have to do that later." "Jack McCarthy, sit down and don't move. Shorty, please get a fire started and put some coffee on." "Yes, ma'am." Within minutes, Shorty had a fire started and coffee brewing. The aroma wafted on the afternoon breeze, and she sniffed appreciatively. She turned to Jack. "Smells good, huh?" His sickly expression said no. "Could I have some water?" "I'll get you some." Walking over to the water barrel, she ladled the water into a cup and took it to him. He gulped it down. "You want some more?" "No, thanks." "How about some lunch? There's some of Shorty's delicious fried chicken, biscuits and several pieces of fruit." "Thanks, honey, but I don't want anything." He grimaced and clutched his stomach. "The mere thought of food makes me sick." "But you have to eat. You have to keep your strength up." He grinned weakly. "All right. Maybe a little bit. Just for you." "Good." But after a few bites, he handed the plate to her. "I don't think I can eat no more, Sammie." 213

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Her fingers shook as she took the plate. If Jack wouldn't eat, he'd probably not make it to Denver. "Okay, maybe later." She picked up a piece of chicken and took a few bites, but her appetite too had fled. She wrapped the food up and placed it back in the basket. "I guess we can save this for later." Then it was time to leave. And Blake had not returned. "Jack, I brung that sleeping medicine with us," Shorty said. "You won't some of it?" "No. Not yet anyway." Jack took her hand. "I think I'd like to ride up on the seat with this pretty lady." "I'd like that too." Once they broke camp, she climbed up on the wagon seat and grasped the reins. Shorty helped Jack up beside her, then mounted his horse. At that moment, Blake reappeared and saw his father on the wagon seat. He grabbed his horse's reins and stepped up into his saddle. Without a look at her, he led the way out of the clearing. Glancing at Jack, she saw his color had heightened. He locked gazes with her. "I'm glad you're here." "Me too." "I guess I picked a bad time to ask you to marry me, huh? I should have waited until we were alone." "Don't play innocent, Jack McCarthy. You may be sickly, but you know exactly what you're doing at all times. You asked me in front of him because you wanted him to hear 214

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you. You wanted to rile him and get his dander up. Are you still trying to play matchmaker?" "I guess so. But I didn't plan it. It was a spur of the moment thing. I just want to know that, if anything happens to me, you and Annie will be all right." "Nothing is going to happen to you, so quit talking like that," she said with a silent prayer on her lips. "You don't worry about me. I'm a survivor. I can take care of me and Annie. And there's Jocelyn and David. So we'll be fine. So you just worry about getting well. You hear me?" "All right, all right. I'll do that if you tell me what really made you leave the ranch and move into town. Was it because of what I did?" "No. It wasn't because of you." She brushed a stray tendril of hair out of her face. "I just figured it was time I moved into town." "That didn't answer my question." She grinned at him. "Well, that's all the answer you're going to get." "Okay. I get the point." He put his hand to his brow. She glanced at him. "Are you all right?" "My head hurts." He groaned as he rubbed his forehead. "Do you want to lie down?" "Yeah, I think so." She pulled the team to a halt. "I'll call Blake to help you." "No don't bother him. I can climb into the back." Even though his hand trembled and he appeared unsteady, he made his way to the back and settled himself on the pillows. She snapped the reins, and the mules surged 215

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forward. The quick stop had gone so smoothly that neither Blake nor Shorty noticed the wagon had stopped. Several hours later Jack asked her to stop so he could take care of his personal needs. As he lurched off into the woods, Blake rode up. His expression was hard and cold. "Why'd you stop? Where's my father?" She nodded in the direction Jack had gone. "He had to," her face burned, "you know...." "Oh, that." He took his hat off and with the back of his hand wiped the perspiration from his forehead. "How do you think he's doing?" "Not very good. He's so weak I fear that ... he won't, you know..." She couldn't bring herself to finish her sentence. A mask settled over Blake's face. It became like stone. "Maybe I'd best go check on him." "There are some things I prefer to do myself, son," Jack said with a grin as he appeared and hobbled toward the wagon. Blake returned his grin. "Okay." He turned to her. "I thought we'd make camp a little early tonight. I sent Shorty on ahead to set up camp." "Good idea," she said. "I'm a mite tired." "Thanks, you two, but I know when I'm being babied." Jack clasped Blake on the shoulder. "Well, let's go. Shorty should have coffee for us." When they arrived at the camp, Shorty unloaded supplies from the wagon, and she prepared the meal. She fried bacon and potatoes and warmed a can of beans. To her relief, Jack ate most of his meal, then retired to the wagon. Shorty 216

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grabbed his bedroll and placed it near the fire. In a few minutes, she heard his snores. She and Blake were left alone. The night closed in around them, and she felt the intimacy of the moment. He took his hat off and laid it on the ground beside him. His jaw, dark from the day's growth of beard, gave him a sinister look. His shoulders slumped with apparent defeat. Her heart went out to him. Like her, he'd already suffered great losses in his life. How much could one bear? She knew he wasn't ready to hear her news. Last month she'd missed her monthly flux. Having thought she was barren for so many years, she'd been stunned that she could be with child. So Peter had been the one unable to father a child. She'd told no one—not even Martha. To have a child growing within her was a dream come true. The saddest part was that he didn't want her—nor their child. She patted her stomach. Then, realizing what she was doing, she jerked her hand back and glanced at him to see if he'd noticed. Thank God, he hadn't. And she'd not yet decided if she'd even tell him. But her decision would have to be made soon for in a few months her body would reveal her secret. As if he knew she was thinking about him, he looked at her. The circle of light suddenly seemed smaller—tighter. She leaned forward and grabbed the coffee pot and refilled her cup. Hearing footsteps, she glanced up to see him approaching her. He held out his cup. "Any more?" She nodded and poured the remaining coffee into his cup. He sat down across from her, and she looked away. Neither 217

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one spoke. Overhead, an owl hooted, then with a swish of his wings, disappeared. Finally, he spoke. "Listen, what I said earlier, I shouldn't have said that." She didn't look at him. "You're right. You shouldn't have said it." "I'm sorry. I guess it kind of spooked me that he talked about ... dying." She remained silent. "We need to talk about—" She glanced up at him. "We have nothing to talk about." "Yes, we do. About that day at the river—" She waved a hand in dismissal. "Just pretend it didn't happen. That's what I do." "We need to talk about what happened," he repeated, his voice harsh. "No." She jumped to her feet. "I don't want to talk about anything." He grabbed her arm. "Why did you run off?" "Because ... because I realized it was a mistake." "A mistake?" His voice quavered, and she stared at him. Perhaps he did care ... a little? But it was too late. "I'm going to bed." He released her. "Well, if you don't want to talk about that, at least hear me out about Amanda." She raised her eyebrows. "Amanda? What about her?" "I want you to stay away from her." "I don't think you have to worry about that. She doesn't like me, and I don't like her." 218

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"It's for your own good. I think she's up to no good." "Well, I can't find a job." She couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice. "She's seen to that. What else can she do?" He wagged his finger at her. "She threatened both of us. So watch yourself." "I'm not afraid of her," Samantha retorted and lifted her chin. "You'd better be." "And since when should I listen to anything you say? I'm going to bed." With a final glare at him, she flounced off to her bedroll under the wagon. After crawling under the blanket, she braved a glance at him. He'd returned to his seat by the fire, staring into the flickering flames. He looked so forlorn that she was tempted to try to make peace with him. But, she reminded herself, he didn't care for her, so why should she care how he felt? But, God help her, she did care. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter 14 Samantha rolled over in her bedroll seeking a comfortable position on the hard, rocky ground. Opening her eyes, she saw night still lingered. Only a thin line of gray hovering over the mountains proclaimed dawn had yet to break. Even the critters of the night were still silent. She shrugged her blanket aside, the chilly air hitting her like a punch to the stomach. As she crawled from beneath the wagon and pushed herself to her feet, her body cried out in protest. She rolled her shoulders, then stretched her arms over her head, coaxing the bunched muscles to relax. When finally she could move without grimacing, she tiptoed to the back of the wagon to check on Jack. She'd not heard him during the night so maybe he'd slept well. Lifting the flap, she peered inside. To her relief, she saw him sleeping peacefully. But maybe too peacefully. Leaning forward, she watched for the rise and fall of his chest. There. His chest rose slightly, weakly, but still he breathed. "Thank you, God." As she pulled the blanket over his chest, she saw the rash had spread more. Repositioning the flap, she headed into the woods to take care of her personal needs. Morning sickness had plagued her for some time now, and she didn't want to alert Blake or Shorty of her condition. As she returned to camp, she saw Blake piling wood on the still warm ashes of the campfire. He glanced at her, his brows knotting together, but he said 220

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nothing. Rising, he turned away, giving her nothing to study except the broad expanse of his back. Her thoughts took the inevitable journey back to that day at the red rock canyon. The sweet loving—and the pain of rejection. She swiped her hands across her eyes, stopping the tears before they could get a hold on her. Ignoring him, she returned to the wagon and found her valise, being very careful not to awaken Jack. He needed all the rest he could get. The early morning air was clean and pure. The warm sunshine spilled over her, chasing the night's chill away. Finding her brush, she brushed her hair and watched the sun rise. And wondered what the day would bring. **** As Blake fed the fire, he watched her. The woman who consumed his every waking thought—and his dreams. There was something about a woman brushing her hair that was so intimate, so sensual, so compelling that he couldn't tear his gaze away. Just being near her again reminded him of his loss. And his loneliness. The emptiness of his life. For without her, he wasn't a whole man. So why couldn't he tell her that? With his thumb and forefinger, he squeezed the bridge of his nose, restless over the direction his thoughts were taking. Against his will, his senses took over, awareness of every curve and dip of her body flooding over him. 221

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He forced those thoughts to a far corner of his mind. He had to concentrate on the problem at hand—getting his father to Denver—alive. Nothing else mattered. He couldn't allow anything else to matter. After putting the coffee over the fire to brew, he walked over to her. "Is he still asleep?" "Yes. He's so weak he needs to rest as long as he can." "That's true," he massaged the tight muscles in his neck, "but I think the sooner we get him to the doctor, the better his chances are. Right now, I don't think the odds are in his favor." She covered her mouth with her hand, and he could see tears in her eyes. Why couldn't she love him the way she loved Jack? "I'll get breakfast going immediately," she said, her voice trembling, "then I'll wake him up." "Good. I'll rouse Shorty, and we'll take care of the animals." He walked over to where the old man lay sleeping and gently kicked his boot. "Get up, old timer." With a grunt, Shorty opened his eyes. "What is it? Is it Jack? Is he okay?" "He's still resting. We need to feed and water the horses and hitch them to the wagon. We've got to push a little harder today." As Shorty started to protest, he held up his hand. "I know, but it can't be helped." Shorty slowly rose to his feet, then rubbed his back. "I ain't used to sleeping on this hard ground no more." "Me neither," Samantha said with a smile. 222

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"Well, let's get to it." Blake led the way toward the animals. "There's a small stream a few hundred feet ahead. We can water them there." Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Samantha making her way to the wagon. Soon, the trees hid her from his view. After watering the horses, he returned to camp while Shorty wandered off for a few minutes alone. To his surprise, he saw her sitting on a log by the campfire sipping a cup of coffee. His father was nowhere around. "Where's Pa?" "He wouldn't get up. He said he didn't want anything to eat. I tried to tease him, cajole him, but nothing I said made any difference." She jumped to her feet. "Oh, Blake, I'm so worried about him." His mouth tightened into a thin line. A heavy weight settled in his chest, and he took a deep breath. If he lost his father too, there'd be no reason for living. "Yeah, me too." "He asked for some water, but that's all he wanted." "Well, he's going to eat today, one way or the other, if I have to spoon-feed him." He fisted his hand and slammed it into his other hand. "Maybe if I make a broth or soup tonight, he'll eat some of that." He nodded. "Sounds good." "You want something to eat?" She waved toward the camp fire. "I can fix you something—" "I've sort of lost my appetite. I'll just have a cup of coffee." 223

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"You need to eat too," she said as she poured him a cup of the steaming liquid, and he took a big gulp. "Ouch. Burned my tongue." She chuckled, and he grinned in return. "Better watch what I'm doing." "Good idea. Here comes Shorty." She waved at him. "Shorty, you want something to eat?" "Nah. Coffee's fine." After polishing off the coffee, he sent Shorty for water while he broke camp. Shorty doused the fire and loaded the wagon. Blake helped Samantha up into the wagon. She glanced over her shoulder. Jack must have smiled at her because she grinned and gave him a thumb's up. But the look she sent him told the real story. He stepped up into the saddle and led the way. Shorty rode behind the wagon. The first few hours went fairly smoothly. Then they hit a snag. The road, that wasn't really a road, was blocked by a felled tree. A big tree. He motioned for Samantha to stop the wagon. Dismounting, he unfastened his rope and looped it under the main trunk. Remounting, he squeezed his knees, and the horse backed up. The animal labored to find footing. But the tree didn't budge. He called Shorty who looped his lasso around the tree. The horses pitted their strength against the tree's dead weight, and it moved. A few feet. Over and over, he and Shorty fought the tree. They were losing valuable time. But there was no way for the wagon to go around. After what seemed like hours, the road was clear. He motioned for Samantha to proceed. 224

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Somewhere, in the distance, a coyote howled, a long moaning wail that echoed off the mountains. Nearly, an owl hooted. They plodded on, up and down ravines, around huge rock formations, detouring where necessary. Once when he called a halt to check the wagon, he saw Samantha looking down at her hands, a look of pain on her face. He marched over to stare up at her. "What's wrong?" "What?" She buried her hands in the folds of her skirt. "Nothing's wrong. I'm fine." "You're lying." He jumped up on the wagon and grabbed her hands. Covered by blisters, her hands were a bloody mess. "Dammit, Samantha, why didn't you say something?" "I was going to. Later. When we stopped. I didn't want to slow us down. We're already behind schedule." "Listen, I can't have two sick people on my hands." He looked over his shoulder and motioned Shorty over. "Take over the wagon for a while, will you?" "Sure, boss." Shorty rode closer to the wagon. When he saw Samantha's hands, he whistled. "Miss Samantha, those hands look bad." "I'll be fine, and I can drive the wagon." Blake shook his head. "Not until after we doctor up your hands. We need the medical kit." "I'll get it." Shorty dismounted and disappeared around the wagon, returning in a few moments carrying a wooden box. He jumped to the ground and took the box. "Climb down. Shorty, you go on while I take care of her hands. If you two are up to it, we'll skip the noon meal and push on. Maybe 225

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stop for a few minutes and see if we can get Jack to eat something." "Okay with me," Shorty said as he helped her down from the wagon. "I've been hungry many times before, and it's yet to kill me." "There's some jerky," she said, "in the basket and some biscuits. They're rather hard I'm afraid." "Thanks." Shorty climbed up into the wagon seat and grabbed the reins. As she had done, he glanced into the back of the wagon. His leathery face crinkled up even more. He slapped the reins over the team, and the wagon lurched forward. He faced Samantha. "Come over here and sit on this log while I doctor you up." She obeyed, plopping down on a hollow log. "You must be exhausted—you're not arguing with me." "You're right. I'm too tired to argue." He knelt beside her and took her hands in his. After cleansing the bloody area, he applied a soothing salve, then wrapped bandages around them. When he didn't immediately release her hands, she raised her head and met his gaze. A curious expression flitted across her face, and he tried to decipher it. Her eyes were misty, her lips soft. "Thank you." "You're welcome." He rose to his feet and held his hand out to her. She grasped it, and he pulled her to her feet. But he jerked her too abruptly, and she fell forward. Into his arms. Slammed up against his chest. To his surprise, she didn't pull away. 226

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But she wouldn't meet his gaze. With his finger, he tilted her chin back, forcing her to face him. "Sammie, Sammie, what are we to do?" She didn't pretend to misunderstand him. "Nothing. It's over between us." "You don't really believe that, do you?" "Yes." "Then why didn't you move away?" "Because ... I just wanted ... to touch you ... one more time." A ray of hope surged to life in his heart. "Listen, when this is all over, maybe we can talk, work things out." "I don't know," she tried to pull away, "that was just a moment of weakness on my part. I don't know...." He held her fast. "Just say maybe." She hesitated. "Okay ... maybe." "Good." He released her. "I guess we'd best catch up to the wagon." He stepped away and walked over to the horses. Grabbing the reins, he led the animals over to where she stood, then handed her the reins to Shorty's mount. She looped the reins over the horse's head, then grasped the saddle horn and pulled herself into the saddle. Straightening her skirt, she looked at him and nodded. "I'm ready." With a nod, he swung himself up into the saddle and led the way. ****

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"We'll make camp here," Blake said as he dismounted. "There's good water here." Samantha glanced around the glade. A trickle of water cascaded down the rocks, forming a pool of crystal clear water where the stream narrowed. Pines, tall, almost bare, trudged down to the water's edge. She climbed down from the wagon seat and forced her tired body to respond to her brain's orders. Every muscle in her body ached, and her hands burned. The men had insisted she rest, saying they'd prepare the evening meal. She'd not argued. A bed of pine needles at the base of a huge pine beckoned to her. She eased her tired body to a seated position, then leaned back against the rough bark. When the meal was ready, she'd wake Jack. Shorty had reported that Jack had been awake most of the afternoon because of the bumpy ride, but now he slept. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to relax, her thoughts drifting, as always, to Blake. And her earlier moment of weakness. Would she never be able to make a clean break and get him out of her mind— forever? Probably not. She'd just have to learn to live without him. She felt herself slipping away, her exhaustion forcing her into a fitful sleep. A gentle shake returned her to the moment. Blake's voice pushed its way into her mind. "Wake up. Time to eat." She sat up and rubbed her eyes. "How long was I asleep?" "Not long." But the lengthening shadows told her the truth. She stood up and brushed the pine needles off her skirt. "I'll wake Jack." 228

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At the wagon, she pulled the back flap aside, wondering what condition she'd find Jack. From his bed of blankets, he smiled back at her. "Hi, beautiful." "Hello yourself." She exhaled in relief, but her relief was short-lived. "The spots are darker." "I know, and they've spread." Quickly, she schooled her face to conceal her concern. "I hope you're hungry." He groaned. "Not really." "Well, a word of warning. If you don't eat, Blake is going to spoon feed you." "Then I guess I'll have to eat a little bit." "Good idea." She forced a grin to her lips. "Can you get up? You want me to call Blake?" "I can make it." As he sat up, a grimace tugged the corners of his mouth down. He tossed the blankets aside and scooted slowly toward the back of the wagon. Her heart broke. The once hale and hearty Jack McCarthy could hardly move. She backed up so he could exit the wagon. As he landed on the ground, he staggered and grasped the back of the wagon to steady himself. She reached out to help him. "I'm okay, honey. Guess I'm weaker than I thought." "Let's get you seated. Lean on me." He put his arm around her shoulder, and she slowly led him toward the campfire. "So, Pa, how are you?" Blake stood and handed his father a plate of stew. 229

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"I've seen better days, son, but I'll make it. I'm too ornery to croak now. You should know that." "Well, all that rash," Blake pointed at Jack's arms and hands, "it's got me worried. I've never seen anything like that." He helped his father sit on the log by the fire. "It's like me—unique." Blake quirked his eyebrows while Shorty laughed loudly. "Miss Samantha, here's your dinner." "Thanks, Shorty." She took the plate he offered her and took several bites of the stew. "Mmmm, this is good." She looked at Jack and pointed at his plate. "Eat." "Yes, ma'am." Jack grabbed his spoon and took a bite, then another. "It is good." "Well, you eat up," Shorty said, then fixed a plate for Blake, then himself. But after a few more bites, Jack put his plate down. "Sorry, but if I eat any more, I'll be losing it." "Well, at least you ate a little bit," Blake said. "That's something. You want some coffee to wash it down or some water?" "Water. I can't seem to get enough water." Blake fetched his canteen and poured his father a cup of water. Jack drank every drop. "Thanks, son. I think I'll mosey over there in those bushes for a few minutes. Don't you all be talking about me behind my back. My hearing is still pretty good." She jumped to her feet. "You sure you'll be all right?" "Yeah." Jack stood up and slowly walked toward the trees. "I'll holler if I need someone." 230

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Blake motioned for Shorty to follow his father, and she glanced at him. His face was unmasked, his emotions clearly visible, something that didn't happen often. When he saw her watching him, he grunted then disappeared in the opposite direction. Even though her appetite had disappeared, she forced herself to eat all of her meal. She had to keep her strength up—for Jack's sake. In case he needed her. It seemed like a long time before Jack reappeared. Noticing that Blake was gone, he quirked an eyebrow at her. "Where's Blake?" She nodded her head in the other direction. "He's worried about you. We all are. He really loves you." "I know. He's a good son. A stubborn, mule-headed sonof-a-gun, but still a good son." She smiled in agreement. "You look like you're going to fall. You want to get back in the wagon?" "Yeah." He tottered toward the back of the wagon. She followed him and helped him inside, then covered him with blankets. "Are you warm enough?" "Yeah. I'm fine. Thanks, Sammie." With a smile, she lowered the flap and returned to the campfire. Shorty appeared and sat down beside her. He grabbed a twig and chewed on it. "Shorty, you okay?" At his nod, she continued, "I know you're worried about Jack. How long have you been with him?" "Ever since they rode into town—Jack, Blake and Irish. I was the first ranch hand they hired. Jack's always treated me 231

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right." He picked up his plate, took a few bites then put it on the ground. "Think I'll take a walk." "You go ahead. I'll clean up." She gathered the dishes and walked down to the stream. After washing them, she sat them aside. She took her handkerchief and dipped it in the cold water, then washed her face and hands. While she really wanted to jump in the water and take a bath, night had fallen and she didn't want to go downstream—alone. She heard a noise and whirled. Blake knelt at the campfire. He poured himself another cup of coffee. His unreadable expression was back in place. Grabbing the dishes, she stood up and ambled over to the fire, then stored them in a box. "Guess I'll call it a day." He nodded. "Good idea. We'll be pulling out early." When he said nothing further, she placed her bedroll under the wagon and crawled into its welcoming warmth. She cradled her head in her hands and turned on her side. And watched him. He stood and tossed the rest of his coffee on the ground. He walked over to his saddle bag and pulled out a package wrapped in cloth. She tried not to notice the way his pants molded to his thighs, the ripple of muscle in his back and arms, but she failed miserably. As she watched, he took out a mirror and placed it on a tree limb. With long strides, he marched down to the stream. Bending over, he scooped up a pail of water. Heat flooded over her. She threw her blanket off and wiped her forehead. He took out his razor and ran the blade down his cheek. 232

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Just watching this mundane act lit a fire deep inside her. And she remembered sitting with her mother and watching her father shave, long ago, when all was right with the world. Her mother's face had lit up, and she'd hugged Samantha to her breast. Suddenly, he turned and caught her looking at him. Embarrassed, she turned over and faced the forest. Closing her eyes, she waited for sleep to come. To her surprise, she slipped into that hazy realm between sleep and consciousness. Samantha opened her eyes, instantly awake. Something had jerked her from her slumber, and she tried to determine what had awakened her. Low moans met her ears. Jack. Scrambling from her bedroll, she hurriedly found a lantern and lit it, then rushed to the back of the wagon. Opening the flap, she peered inside and saw Jack thrashing in the bed. Holding the lantern aloft, she climbed into the wagon and crawled over beside him. She felt his forehead. It was hot. Blake appeared, his eyes wide. "What's wrong?" "He's got a fever. Can you get me a basin of water? "Yeah." While he was gone, she looked for a cloth to bathe Jack's forehead. She found one just as Blake returned with the water. He sat it beside her. She wet the cloth and applied it to Jack's forehead. In seconds, the cloth too was hot. After rinsing the cloth, she bathed his forehead again. Gradually, the moans subsided. Blake crawled up beside her. His mouth was twisted with anguish. For the next two hours, they took turns bathing 233

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Jack's forehead. Finally, the fever broke. With a prayer of thanks, she collapsed against Blake. He wrapped a blanket around their shoulders and they fell into an exhausted sleep. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter 15 Two days later, Shorty drove the wagon through the crowded streets of Denver. Samantha stared at the bustling crowd, the stores, their windows full of merchandise, the lavish hotels, and, of course, the saloons. "I didn't realize Denver was such a big city. It goes on for miles and miles." "It's grown since I've been here last," Shorty said. Blake rode alongside the wagon. His dark good looks caught more than one lady's eye. Once, after nodding at a particularly attractive woman, he glanced up at Samantha, and she pretended she hadn't seen the exchange. A low groan from behind her reminded her why they were in Denver. She peeked over her shoulder at Jack. Somehow, he'd endured the journey. But just barely. She flicked a worried look at Shorty. "Shorty, pull up," Blake called out as he halted his horse in front of a small house and dismounted. "Whoa, team." "Wait here." "Is this the doctor's office?" she asked. Blake nodded, made his way up to the door, knocked, then disappeared inside. He was only gone five minutes, but it seemed like a lifetime. "What did he say?" She clutched her hand to her chest. Blake mounted, and her heart seemed to stop. "Isn't he even going to see Jack?" 235

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"No. He said there's a new sawbones in town who can probably help Jack more than he can." Blake pointed down the street. "Got an office on Cimarron Street." "Oh, thank God," she murmured as they followed Blake down the street. In a few minutes, he dismounted in front of a small house with a long, rectangular building next to it and entered without knocking. The sign said Palmer Clinic. Shorty pulled the wagon to a halt, then jumped down and came around to help her down. She walked to the back of the wagon, pulled the canvas back and peered inside. Jack didn't stir. "Hang on, Jack. Please." Her answer was another moan. Blake came out of the clinic and ran to the wagon. "Shorty, help me get him inside." He pointed to the adjoining building. "That's the clinic. The doc said to take him there." The two men gently lifted Jack and eased his frail body from the wagon. Jack was so light they carried him with ease. She rushed ahead and opened the door. The smell of ether assaulted her nostrils. Beds lined one side, some with patients, some empty, while a young white-capped woman with long dark hair hurried to meet them. "Put him in exam room one," she said, her voice heavy with a Spanish accent. She opened the curtain revealing a small room with a bed. "Doctor Palmer is washing up. He'll be here in a moment." Blake and Shorty lowered Jack onto the bed. Doctor Palmer appeared, drying his hands. He was an older man, bespectacled, and with gray hair at the temples. He looked very competent, and a ray of hope blossomed in her chest. 236

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"Everyone out," Doctor Palmer ordered. "Teresa, please get my bag." "Si, Señor Doctor." "Maybe I should stay," she said softly, "I can help—" The doctor shook his head. "All three of you look like you're going to collapse at any minute. I don't need any more patients. Got more than I can handle right now. Go get some rest and come back in a couple of hours." "Vamanos," Nurse Teresa said with a smile. She escorted them to the door and closed it behind them. She looked at Blake, then at Shorty. "The doctor seems ... to know what he's doing." Blake nodded. "Let's get a hotel room and a bite to eat, then we'll come back and check on Jack." "You two can do that," Shorty announced, "but not me. I want a drink." "Okay," Blake said. "Go ahead. We'll get a room at the hotel. I've stayed there before. It's clean." With a nod, Shorty made a beeline for the nearest saloon. She turned to Blake. "If you want to join him, I can go on—" "No, I'll get you settled." He steered her toward the hotel lobby. Upon entering, her mouth gaped open. The hotel was very lavishly furnished. A crystal chandelier hung in the main lobby, while plushy-upholstered chairs were clustered around a massive carpet. A rich satin tapestry lined one wall. "Blake, are you sure we should stay here? It looks very expensive." 237

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"It is, but it's the nearest hotel to the clinic." He steered her toward the reception desk. "Yessir? A suite for you and your wife?" Blake ignored the remark. He took his hat off and knocked it against his leg. He ran his fingers through his hair, then put his hat back on. Total exhaustion was evident in that simple gesture. "We need three rooms." He pulled several bills from his pocket and tossed them on the desk. "Will that cover it?" The clerk's eyes widened. "Yessir, very nicely, sir. And how many days will you be staying with us?" "I don't know yet." "Any luggage?" "Yeah," Blake answered. "I'll have it brought in later." He turned to her. "You want a bath?" The desk clerk's gaze roamed over her, probably wondering about her and Blake, especially since Blake had ignored the reference to "wife." But it'd been a long, hard trek to Denver and she desperately wanted a bath. Let the man think what he wanted. He would anyway. "Yes, very much. Thank you." He handed over a few extra bills to the clerk. "Can you take care of that?" The clerk smiled as he tucked the bills in his vest pocket. "Oh, yes." He turned to her. "Will a half hour be sufficient?" "Yes, thank you." "Good. Here's your keys, sir." He handed three keys to Blake who, in turn, gave one to her. "Top of the steps, then to your left, sir." 238

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"Thanks." He took her elbow and led her to the stairs. "You go on ahead and get some rest. I'm going to have that drink with Shorty." She nodded. "Okay." The ornate clock on the hallway table chimed once, twice, three times. "I'll pick you up at five if that's enough time." "That's fine." She turned and started up the steps. "Oh, Samantha?" She turned and looked down at him. "Yes?" "You want me to ask around about where to find ... your sister? I thought you might want to see her while you're here." "That would be wonderful. I'd love to see her and David." "Okay. What's David's last name?" "Greer. David Greer." "I'll find them." Clamping his hat back on, Blake stalked out the front door. She could see his weariness in the slump of his shoulders. Her heart softened toward him. Offering to locate her family had touched her. Although she had planned to see them, his offer had surprised her. Lifting the hem of her skirt, she proceeded to her room. The bath would be heavenly. **** Blake pushed open the saloon doors. Even though it was afternoon, the saloon teemed with patrons. Miners, ranchers, men in business suits and a few mean-looking characters lined the bar. Music blared from the piano in the corner. 239

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Glimpsing Shorty at the bar, he started toward him. Shorty said something to the bartender who sat a bottle and another glass in front of him. One of the saloon girls, a pretty young thing, approached Blake, but he shook his head. Shorty grabbed the bottle and filled the glass, then held it out to Blake. "To Jack." He clinked his glass against Shorty's. "To Jack." Both men downed their whiskies in one swallow. Blake refilled the glasses, then slapped the old man on the back. "And here's to you, Shorty. To a good friend." Again, both men gulped the liquor down. "You get Miss Samantha settled in at that hotel?" At his nod, Shorty continued. "Mighty fine woman." He blinked in surprise. Shorty didn't talk much, and for him, his remark was tantamount to a speech. "Yeah. Got you a room too." "Huh? Not me. I ain't used to staying in a fancified place like that. I intend to sleep in the wagon and keep an eye on things." "It's up to you." "Well, that's what I'm gonna do, and that's all I gotta say about that." "Suit yourself." He glanced around the saloon. A man sporting a badge on his chest stood at the end of the bar. And since lawmen usually made it their business to know everyone in town, Blake decided to ask him about David and Jocelyn. "Sure, I know the Greers. Nice family." 240

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"I'd like to get in touch with them and let Mrs. Greer know her sister is in town." "Sure thing. I'll bet Smitty here," he pounded the shoulder of a small man standing beside him, "would be glad to take word out there. Say for the price of a beer?" "Sure would," the man said. "Here's enough for two beers." Blake flipped a coin into the air, and Smitty snatched it like a frog catching an insect, then headed out the door. "We're at the hotel," Blake called after him. A few minutes later, they left the saloon and returned to the wagon. After grabbing their luggage, Blake headed for the hotel while Shorty returned to the saloon. Anxious to tell Samantha he'd sent word to Jocelyn, he stopped at her room and rapped on the door. Silence greeted him. Strange, he thought. Maybe she fell asleep. He knocked again. A low sound met his ears. It sounded like a moan. "Samantha, is that you? Are you all right?" When there was no reply, a wave of panic seized him. Had something happened to her? Sitting the bags down, he pulled his gun and tried the door knob. Locked. He put his shoulder to the door and pushed. Nothing. He doubled his efforts. The door suddenly opened, and he stumbled inside. A very frightened maid blinked owlishly at him from behind thick glasses. She backed up. "I'm not going to hurt you. Where is—?" The maid pointed to a side door. "Madame is in there." She rushed past him and out the door. 241

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He walked over to the door, then peered inside. Only to find himself face to face with Samantha. A very wet Samantha who stared at him from a bath tub. Soapy bubbles barely hid her bare skin. "What are you doing, Blake? Get out of here." He backed up a few steps. "I'm sorry. I thought you were ... hurt ... or in trouble. I thought I heard you moan." "It must have been the maid. Did you even knock?" She crouched lower in the tub. "Of course." As he holstered his gun, he could hardly tear his gaze from the wet, satiny temptress in the tub. Moisture dewed her skin. Damp tendrils of hair clung to her bare shoulders. His body followed his thoughts and sprang to life. And she noticed. She turned her face to the opposite wall. "Well, since you're okay, I'll be going now." He grinned at her. "Unless you want me to stay. I need a bath too." "Get out of here at once." But instead of listening to his brain, he listened to his body. He walked toward her. "No, Blake, don't. You have to leave." "Not yet." He knelt beside the tub. "You never told me why you ran away that day, and I want to know." He reached out and ran a finger down her cheek, then down the slim column of her neck. But when he ventured lower, she grabbed his hand. "Don't do this. This is not the time nor the place." "Tell me why you left. I want an answer." "Don't play stupid, Blake." 242

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"I'm not playing stupid." His gaze moved over her, taking in every inch of her delicious body. "Well, if you don't know, there's no need to tell you." "You can't tell me you didn't like it." He slid his hand down her soapy body until he cupped her breast and with the pad of his thumb kneaded the swollen tip. Her gaze softened. She put her hand over his for a long moment, her eyes all soft and misty, and she leaned toward him. He put his hand behind her head and pulled her to him. His lips devoured hers, and she met him eagerly. Her response spurred him on, and he deepened his kiss. Tell her, you idiot, tell her how much you care for her. But the words wouldn't come. He rocked back on his heels and stared at her. Why couldn't he say the words? She shook her head as if just realizing what had happened. "No, no. I can't do this." "You're right. This isn't the time or the place, but it isn't over. We will continue this later." "No, we won't. Now get out of here." With a harsh laugh, he stalked over to the door, then remembered what he'd come to tell her. He didn't dare turn around; he didn't trust himself. One more look at her all wet and wild would push him over the edge of sanity. He spoke over his shoulder. "Listen, I just came to tell you I found out where your sister lived and I sent a message to her." She didn't speak for several long moments. "That's wonderful. Thank you." "You're welcome. I'll be back at five." In the hallway, he picked up her valise and sat it inside the door. He closed the 243

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door, then crossed the hall to his room. He muttered a curse under his breath. Why couldn't he get her out of his mind? He should be thinking about his father—not her. His body ruled his thoughts. Since that day at the red rock canyon when they'd made love, he'd not been with another woman. In fact, since he'd first met her, he'd not been with another woman. Not even Amanda. No other woman interested him. His body ached with his need. After taking his boots off, he lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. While he was tired, his mind would not let him rest. After about half an hour, he gave up. He rose and sauntered over to the window. He stared down at the clinic where his father lay sick. Maybe dying. And all he was thinking was about his body's needs. Disgusted with himself, he put his boots back on, then grabbed his saddlebags and headed downstairs to the bath house. **** Samantha sank down into the tub. Hearing the door shut, she looked where Blake had stood a few seconds before. She'd seen desire in his eyes and had felt an answering quiver in her body. And she'd succumbed to it. When it came to him, she was weak, weak, weak.... How she loved him. How she wanted to lose herself in his embrace and revel in his sweet loving. But it wasn't to be. While she knew he wanted her, she knew it was only lust. She sighed deeply and finished her bath. To her surprise, she saw her valise at the door. He must 244

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have brought it inside. Sometimes, he did the exact opposite of what she expected. Her thoughts drifted to Annie. She sorely missed her daughter but knew the child was in good hands. Martha would take excellent care of her—and spoil her. After resting for about an hour, she dressed in her white blouse and dark blue skirt which was still somewhat wrinkled. She considered going downstairs to get them pressed but decided there wasn't enough time. She brushed her hair back and tied it with a ribbon at the nape of her neck. As she checked her appearance in the mirror, she decided that, while she didn't look her best, she looked presentable. At exactly five o'clock, he knocked on her door, making her wonder if he'd been standing in the hallway waiting for the exact moment. And what would he say? Would he mock her for her earlier moment of weakness? She opened the door and saw him dressed in clean pants and shirt, his hair damp and slicked back. "Are you ready?" "Yes—and no." He seemed to understand her cryptic remark. "Yeah, me too." She sighed in silent relief when he didn't mention what had happened earlier. Together, they descended the stairs, then out the hotel and to the clinic. Shorty waited for them at the clinic door. From the smell on his breath, he'd had several more than one drink. The nurse greeted them and showed them to the doctor's office. Jack was not in sight, and her heartbeat raced. Had 245

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Jack—? She took a deep breath. Beside her, she heard Blake do the same. As they entered the doctor's private office, he rose from his desk. He wore a somber expression. "Come in and have a seat." Once they were seated, he continued. "I won't lie to you or give you false hope. Mr. McCarthy is in critical condition. He's very frail and weak. But I might, and I stress might, be able to help him. I've seen cases like this rash on some of the men in the mining camps. Some of the miners call it black measles. They seemed to respond to a regimen of antibiotics, lots of rest and lots of fluid. So, just in case this is contagious, which I don't think it is, I've put your father in a private room and started the treatment." "Can we see him?" she asked. The doctor shook his head. "I've given him something to make him rest. He won't even know you're there. Come back in the morning." Blake stood up and extended his hand. "All right and thanks, Doc, for everything." The two men shook hands. "Doctor Palmer, can we just ... look in on him?" Samantha persisted. "I won't disturb him. I promise." "Of course, you can," the physician answered. "Teresa, show them to Mr. McCarthy's room. "Yes, Doctor. This way, please." They followed the nurse down the hall to Jack's room. Blake opened the door, and they both peered into the room. Jack was resting quietly on one of the beds. He appeared to be asleep. 246

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"Well, at least, he's resting," she said softly. "He needs all the rest he can get." "Yeah," Blake answered. They left the clinic and walked over to the hotel. Shorty took his leave and disappeared back into the saloon. "Blake, should he ... don't you think Shorty's had enough to drink?" "Yeah, but I'm not going to be the one to tell him so, and that's all I gotta say about that." She laughed as he repeated Shorty's favorite phrase. As they entered the hotel, he steered her into the restaurant. It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse, but at that moment, her stomach rumbled loudly. Even Blake heard it. He grinned at her. "Excuse me," she said, her face burning. "Sounds like you're as hungry as I am. I could eat a horse." He pointed at a table by the window. "Let's sit over there." "We shouldn't—" "Shouldn't what? Not eat? Don't worry. I won't ravish you in front of all these people." She stopped abruptly. "What a horrible thing to say." "Yeah, it was. Sorry. I seem to be saying all the wrong things." He pulled her toward the table, then pulled out the chair for her to sit down. He took his seat just as the waiter appeared. "What would you like?" "Just coffee," she answered. He glanced up at the waiter. "The lady will have a steak, medium rare, with potatoes and beans and lots of butter and bread. And I'll have the same thing." 247

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"But I'm not that hungry—" "Look, the last few days have been hard on all of us. You have to keep up your strength. I can't take Annie's mother home to her sick. So let's call a truce, shall we? Maybe you could stop hating me for just a little while." Hate? No, I don't hate you, I love you, and I can't stop loving you. And I hate myself for that. "All right. A truce." "After we eat, would you like to see some of the sights of Denver?" She nodded. "Yes. After all, Denver will probably be my future home." "You've decided? For sure?" His clipped words caught her attention. She shook her head. "Not definitely, but I'm thinking about it. Maybe I could even open a restaurant here. My cooking skills have improved greatly, and Jocelyn and David have asked me to come live with them." He was silent, and she sneaked a peek at him. He stared out the window, his face in profile. So strong, so solid. Did he care? A little? Ask me to stay, Blake. Tell me that you care. But he remained silent, and another piece of her heart died. He seemed to pull himself out of his reverie, then looked at her. "A restaurant, huh? That's a good idea. You'd just have to be careful and not burn it down. Like you did the cookhouse." "Oh, my. You're not going to let me forget that day, are you?" "Nope. It was kind of funny." 248

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"Hah. If I remember right, you threatened to fire me." "An idle threat." He drummed his fingers on the table. "Listen, I've heard rumors that you're going to marry John Coulter. Is that true?" "It really isn't any of your business. John asked me to marry him, but I told him no. I don't love him." And I can't marry anyone else with your child growing in my belly. "John's a good man. He'd take real good care of you." "I know, but I won't ... I can't ... it wouldn't be fair to him." Do you dislike me so much that you'd push me off on someone else? Or is guilt eating at your innards, and you want me out of your sight? "What about Irish? He's crazy about you." "Same answer. I don't love him. It wouldn't be fair to him." He nodded and she could almost swear she saw ... relief? ... in his eyes. Or was she just imagining it? "And if you haven't noticed, Blake McCarthy, I can take care of myself." Their dinner came, but when she stared down at the greasy steak, her stomach revolted. "You all right? You look green around the gills." "I'm fine." She took a bite of the potatoes and forced it down. "I guess I'm more tired than I thought." She cut a piece of the meat and stuck it in her mouth, praying that it would stay down. Somehow, it did. The first jolt of nausea passed, and she finished her meal. After dinner, he showed her around Denver. She decided she liked Denver, this jewel of a city high atop the mountain. This would be a good place to raise Annie—and the child 249

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growing within her. But it would never be home without Blake. **** The next morning a loud pounding on the door jerked Samantha awake. Afraid that it was Blake with bad news about Jack, she jumped out of bed and quickly shrugged into her wrapper. She hurried to the door and threw it open. A cry of joy escaped her lips as she stared at her sister. "Jocelyn, I'm so glad to see you." She grabbed her sister's hand and pulled her into the room. "Where's David?" "We ran into your Mr. McCarthy down in the lobby—" "He's not my Mr. McCarthy," she retorted as she closed the door. "Really?" Jocelyn lifted an eyebrow. "Any way, we ran into Mr. McCarthy in the lobby, and he invited David to breakfast. Said he figured you and me would have a lot to talk about." She twirled a blond ringlet around her finger. "I thought that was mighty nice of him, don't you?" Knowing her sister was fishing for information, Samantha nodded, trying not to rise to the bait but failing. "Yes. It was very nice of him. I'm sure he's interrogating David right now to make sure my story is true." "You've turned into a real skeptic, Sammie." She stuck her tongue out at her sister. Jocelyn laughed, then did the same. "Anyhow, he told me his father was ill, and that's why you're here in Denver."

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"Yes. We met with the doctor last evening. The doctor seemed to know what was wrong with Jack and thinks he can help him. I pray that's true." "That's wonderful news, but how come you came with them?" Jocelyn chewed on her bottom lip, a habit Samantha remembered well. "Because Jack wanted me to come," she wagged her finger at her sister, "and that's the only reason. So don't be reading something into this that isn't there. You hear me?" "Why, Sammie, I don't know what you mean." Jocelyn sauntered over to the bed and perched on the edge. A wave of nausea hit Samantha like she'd been shot. This wasn't the first time morning sickness had attacked her, but why now? In front of Jocelyn? It had happened on the trail, but she'd been able to hide it from Blake and Shorty. Knowing she had only a few moments before its full wrath settled on her, she mumbled "excuse me" and darted to the side door. "What's wrong? Where are you going?" "I'll be right back." She shut the door behind her and scurried to the slop jar. Thank God, Blake had gotten her a room with an adjoining bath. When at last the sickness was gone, she washed her mouth out and made her way back to the bedroom, reluctant to face her sister. "Are you sick?" "Yeah, I think I'm coming down with the flu, or something. I've had a fever and a cough." She hated lying but right now she didn't want her secret revealed—to anyone—until she decided what she was going to do. 251

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Jocelyn rose from the bed and ran to her. She felt Samantha's forehead. "You feel cool right now." She pulled Samantha over to the bed, and they sat down side by side. "Sammie, I think I know you better than anyone, and I know something is wrong. So tell me the truth." Tears gathered in her eyes, and she blinked them back. She could not cry in front of her baby sister. She'd always been the strong one. Jumping to her feet, she walked over to the window and stared out. Besides, she was too ashamed to tell the truth. "Ohmigod," Jocelyn said from behind her, "Sammie, are you ... do you have ... morning sickness? Are you pregnant?" Slowly, she turned to face her sister. The tears she'd tried to hold back burst forth. "Yes, I'm going to have a baby." "But I thought you couldn't—" "So did I." Jocelyn ran to her and hugged her. "Sammie, please don't cry. It's wonderful. So it was Peter? Not you?" "Yes." "Aren't you happy about it? You've always wanted a child." "Yes, I'm happy," she blubbered, and a new river of tears streamed down her face. "Well, you certainly don't look happy." Jocelyn pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to her. She took the handkerchief and wiped her eyes. "Is it ... Blake's baby?" She nodded. "So what does he think about it?" "He doesn't know. I haven't told him." 252

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"What? And why not?" "Because I told him I was ... okay, that nothing had come of our ... union. So if I tell him I'm carrying his child, he'll think it just another trick of mine to make him marry me, and I'll get his ranch. Like he has from the very beginning." "But, Sammie, he has a right to know." "He has no rights." She stood and paced the floor. "He didn't want me, and I'm sure he doesn't want this child." "So you'll just let him think it is someone else's child?" She firmed her lips. "Yes. He had no trouble thinking the worst of me about Annie so he'll have no problem believing this." "Sammie, it's not right, and you know it." "No, I don't." Jocelyn sat silently for a few moments, and she glanced at her. Jocelyn met her gaze. "David and I want a child so bad. I was afraid ... I was barren too, like maybe it ran in the family or something." "Oh, sweetie, it'll happen for you. You and David will probably have five or six." "I hope so. We want at least three. Now tell me about my niece. How is Annie?" [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter 16 Samantha stood at the foot of the hospital bed and smiled at the man lying there. Jack looked like a different person. He was alert, his eyes sparkled, and she thought he looked like he'd even gained a few pounds. And his smile said he felt good. "You look absolutely wonderful." He sat up in bed. "And I feel great. I'm ready to go home." "Oh, no, you don't," Blake said as he stepped up beside her. "You're not going anywhere. Not till the doc says so. You're not out of the woods just yet." "But son—" "No buts. The doctor says he wants you to stay here for at least another week so he can keep an eye on you, and so that's exactly what you're going to do." Jack groaned loudly and rolled his eyes. "Another week? That's an awful long time." The tiny Mexican nurse standing beside the bed stepped up and fluffed the pillows. "But it will not be so bad, huh, Señor Jack?" He grinned at her, then smiled sheepishly at Blake and Samantha. "No, it won't be too bad, Teresa." Blake laughed. "Well, I can see you're your old self again." "Yeah, we were so worried about you," she added. "It was touch and go for the first several days, and I was so afraid we were going to lose you. Thankfully, the treatment was effective." 254

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"Told you I was too ornery to let this thing whupp me." "Well, we head for home tomorrow, Dad. Samantha needs to get back to Annie. I'm leaving Shorty here so he can bring you home—when the doctor releases you—and not before. So don't waste your time trying to finagle him into taking you home early. You hear?" "Okay." Blake walked around the bed and extended his hand. Jack grasped it. And though they didn't speak, she could see the depth of emotion in their eyes. Jack motioned her to his side. Blake stepped aside, then marched over to the doorway. She leaned over and kissed Jack on the cheek. "Thank you for all you've done for me, Samantha." "You're welcome." "Give him another chance," Jack whispered. "He'll do right by you." Her heart seemed to stop. What did he mean by that? How much did he know? Had Blake kissed and told? She felt her face flush. Words escaped her. "Just think about it. If you can forgive me, you can forgive him." But I can't. I gave him my love, and he turned his back on me. "We can talk about this later, Jack." "Okay, but just say you'll think about it." Anxious to not upset him, she nodded. "All right, all right. I'm not promising anything, but I'll think about it." "That's all I ask." He lay back on the pillows. Nurse Teresa immediately rushed to his side and took his pulse. 255

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"Well, since you're in such good hands, I'll say goodbye for now." She left the room as Nurse Teresa continued to fuss over her patient. In the hallway, she saw Blake and Shorty huddled together. When Shorty saw her, he tipped his hat to her, then disappeared down the corridor. Blake turned to her, his face a mask of anger. "What was going on in there?" "What are you talking about?" "Don't play coy with me. What was all the whispering about? Did Jack ask you again to marry him?" A bitter laugh escaped her lips. Again, his thoughts were centered on his precious ranch. Couldn't he see through his anger to know she wouldn't do anything to harm him in any way? "Don't worry. I don't intend to marry Jack. Even if he was serious, which he wasn't. I don't want your ranch. I never have, and I never will." His expression said he didn't believe her. And now she knew for sure she could not tell him about the baby. He would only think their lovemaking had been a trap. "So you say." "Yes, that's what I say. And now I'm going to my room. When do we leave tomorrow?" "At sunup. I'm leaving the wagon with Shorty so he can bring Jack home so you can ride Shorty's horse. We'll make it quicker that way." "That's fine with me. The sooner I get away from you, the better it will be." Whirling, she marched down the hall, her heels clicking loudly on the tile floor. 256

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"For me too," she heard him yell. She didn't turn around; she didn't want to see the regret on his face. Upon arriving at her room, she slammed the door behind her. She kicked off her shoes and then threw her reticule across the room. She sat in the chair beside the window and gnawed on her fingernails. Maybe she should take the stagecoach back to Colorado City, and stay as far away from Blake as she could. But that would take most of her money. She had no choice but to go with him. That night she ordered her supper sent to her room. She didn't want to see Blake, or be around him—or even think about him. But she found that impossible. She couldn't get him out of her mind. As she ate, a feeling of loneliness washed over her. She missed Annie. Always before when she felt despair, she would hold Annie close and feel the baby's gentle heartbeat, and her spirits would lift. She sent up a prayer of thanks to God for giving Annie to her. Jocelyn and David came by to say goodbye. "Your room is ready whenever you want to come," David said. "We'd love to have you and Annie live with us. So just let us know, and we'll come get you." She kissed his cheek. "Thank you. You're the best thing that ever happened to Jocelyn." He blushed. "That's what I keep telling her." Jocelyn hit him on the arm. "You mean I'm the best thing that ever happened to you." "Yes, you are," he agreed and kissed her on the forehead. Their love beamed from their faces and touched her deeply. Although happy for them, a pang of jealousy attacked 257

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her like a hungry wolf. She wanted what they shared. She wanted someone to care for her like David cared for Jocelyn. She wanted Blake to look at her with the same love and devotion that she saw in David's eyes for her sister, but it could never be. When it was time for them to leave, Jocelyn sent David on ahead. "Sammie, listen, Blake told us that he and you are returning to Colorado City by horseback. Please be careful. You know, you could lose ... the baby. Maybe you should wait—" "I'll be fine, sis. Please don't worry about me." "Promise me, if anything ... anything ... at all happens, you'll stop." "Very well. I promise." "Maybe you should tell—" "No." "Sammie—" "No. My mind is made up. I'm not going to tell him. When I get back, I'll send word to you and let you know I'm all right. Okay?" With a sigh of resignation, Jocelyn nodded. "All right. I can see that your mind is made up. I just want you to know I love you." "And I love you, honey. Now go find your husband." "All right. I already miss you, Sammie." "And I'll miss you. Goodbye." As she closed the door, she smiled to herself. She was blessed with a wonderful sister. After donning her nightgown, she turned off the lamp, then crawled under the blanket. Even though the hour was late 258

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and she had to rise early, she could not sleep, her mind dwelling on everything Jocelyn had said. And her warning. And she questioned herself. The threat of a miscarriage was real. She'd seen it happen before. Was she being fair to her unborn child to put it at risk? Was she putting her stubborn pride above the safety of her child? Could she be that selfish? For over an hour, she pondered her dilemma until her head ached. Knowing that dawn would come soon, she forced her troublesome thoughts to a corner of her mind and fell into a restless sleep. When she awoke, the sun had yet to rise. She rose and sat in the chair by the window. She was young and healthy and would be very careful. If Blake pushed her too hard, she'd simply refuse. She rose and packed her valise which would stay in the wagon until Shorty returned to the ranch. She dressed in a split riding skirt Jocelyn had loaned her, then folded another set of clothes to pack in the saddle bags, along with her brush. She grabbed her coat, thankful Blake had made her bring it. When the knock on her door sounded, she was ready. Opening the door, she saw Shorty—not Blake. Her surprise must have shown on her face because the old man shrugged his shoulders and doffed his hat, then answered her unspoken question. "I don't know where he is right now. He told me to fetch you." Fetch? You fetch a dog, not a person. "Well, I'm ready." She followed Shorty down the stairs, across the lobby, out the 259

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door, and across the street to where their mounts waited, along with a pack horse. After stuffing her extra clothes in the saddlebags, she tied her coat to the bedroll. "Sure wish I was going with you," Shorty said, a frown on his lips. "I ain't very good at this here waiting." She laughed. "Me neither. Maybe the doctor will release Jack sooner than a week." "Maybe. Sure hope so." She caught sight of a tall figure striding toward them. The set of his shoulders told her he was in a foul mood. She raised an eyebrow in question. "He's got a burr under his saddle this morning," Shorty said with a shrug of his shoulders. "You might want to walk softly." "Thanks for the advice, but I'm tired of catering to his whims. He might want to walk softly around me today." Grabbing the saddle horn, she put her foot in the stirrup and swung her leg over the horse's rump and plopped into the saddle. She'd ridden since she was a child so this trip shouldn't be a problem. "Shorty," Blake said in a harsh voice as he neared them, "did you pack us some grub?" "Sure did, boss." Shorty nodded at the pack horse. "Fill the canteens?" "Sure did, boss." "Good." Blake untied the reins from the rail. Grabbing the saddle horn, he swung himself into the saddle. "You sure you don't want me to take Miz Samantha back to Colorado City and you can stay here with your pa?" 260

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"I'm sure. I need to get back to the ranch." And then it dawned on her. Shorty could have taken her back. He was a loyal, trusted employee. She would have been safe with him. And Blake could have stayed with his father. This bit about needing to get back to the ranch was rubbish. Irish could run the ranch as good as Blake. Maybe even better. So why? Why would Blake insist on escorting her home? What was he up to? Why would he want to be with her any longer than was necessary? After all, he'd already said he'd be glad to be shed of her. Unless ... maybe he intended to finish what he'd started when she'd been in the bath tub. Well, that wasn't going to happen. Blake leaned over and extended his hand to Shorty. The older man grasped it, and the two men shook hands. "Thanks for all your help. When you get back to the ranch, I'll make it worth your while." Shorty's mouth tightened into a thin line. "Didn't do it for money. Did it for Jack. And that's all I gotta say about that." He tipped his hat to her. "Goodbye, Miz Samantha. You take care, you hear?" Without another glance at Blake, he turned and walked away from them. "Dammit," Blake swore. "What the hell is wrong with him?" She locked gazes with him. "Whether you believe it or not, some people can't be bought." Without waiting for his response, she led the way down the dusty street. **** 261

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Blake halted his horse in a shady glen, then glanced up at the sun. "It's about noon, so we'll stop here to eat. There's a small stream nearby so we can water the horses. You can rest for a while." Glancing at Samantha, he saw what he thought was relief flit across her face. When she saw him watching her, she stiffened. "I'm not tired at all, so if you want to go on—" He almost laughed aloud. Fatigue was written all over her, from the tight lines around her mouth to the tired droop of her shoulders. But he had to hand it to her—she hadn't uttered one word of complaint. He swung his leg over the saddle horn and slid to the ground. "Well, I'm tired," he lied. He led his mount over to a patch of brown grass and hobbled the animal there, all the while pretending not to watch her. She dismounted as he had. But, to his amusement, she slid completely to the ground—with a loud thump. A laugh caught in his throat, choking him. Quickly turning his head, he turned the laugh into a cough. When he looked back, she had scrambled to her feet. When he saw her stumble off into the woods hunched over in pain, her hand to the small of her back, another round of laughter burst forth. He heard her yell something unintelligible as she disappeared into the trees. He probably should be thankful he couldn't make out her words. He hobbled the horses. The animals most likely wouldn't stray, but he couldn't take any chances. It got awful cold this high up in the mountains. And since they didn't have the wagon, he'd taken a different route home. A rougher route, 262

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but a quicker one. He knew she wanted to get home to her daughter. And away from him. She'd made that crystal clear. After gathering some dried branches, he made a fire, then fetched water and put coffee on to brew. And still she had not returned. Where the hell was she? Just as he was about to go in search of her, she walked out of the trees. Her hair was damp, slicked back from her face. But even disheveled as she was, he thought her the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. But, he reminded himself, she was also cunning and scheming. She didn't want him—she wanted his ranch. When she saw the coffee brewing, she met his gaze. "Sorry. I didn't mean to take so long." Even though he wanted to shake her for worrying him, he merely shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, okay, I hadn't really noticed." "It's just that the water was so refreshing—" "It's all right." He pointed to the grub bag. "Let's see what Shorty packed for us." "Okay." She hurried toward the bag, then picked it up. Suddenly, she whirled to face him. "I saw a deer, a mother deer and her baby, at the river's edge. They were so beautiful." Her outburst surprised him. "Have you never seen a deer before? There's a lot of them up here." "Yeah." She handed the bag to him. "It's just that they were so beautiful, so graceful, and the mother was so protective of her fawn." 263

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Like you're protective of Annie? "They're beautiful creatures." Opening the grub bag, he peered inside. "Looks like we got beef jerky, and more beef jerky. Shorty ain't too imaginative, is he?" "Guess not." He handed a piece of jerky and an apple to her. "I'll try to bag some game tonight when we make camp." "As long as it's not a deer." He chuckled and pulled two cups out of the bag. "Okay. Maybe a squirrel or a rabbit." She nodded. "Hand me the cups, and I'll pour the coffee." As he handed the cups to her, their hands met. Shock vibrated through his body. It was as if he'd been burned by her touch. Surprised at his reaction, he jerked his hand back. Her lips quivered. Dammit, it seemed like he was always hurting her. She bit down hard on her bottom lip, then turned and walked to the fire. She knelt and poured coffee into the cups. Rising, she returned to his side and handed the cup to him, all the while avoiding any contact with him, and avoiding his gaze. Then she sauntered over to a pine tree. The provocative sway of her hips tantalized him. He licked his lips. Easing herself to the ground, she leaned back against the rough bark and closed her eyes. The dark eyelashes fanned against her skin, the wide generous mouth that had brought him so much pleasure, the swell of her breast. Why can't I tell her that I care for her? Why can't I tell her that, despite all her scheming and conniving, I've grown to—love?—her? He answered his own question. Because I don't want to be hurt again. The two people he'd loved most in his whole life had 264

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died, and that empty hole where his heart used to be could never be filled again. Or could it? He sat on a log near the fire and rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension. With his knuckles, he kneaded the bunched muscles. He'd hardly slept at all the last two weeks, and the lack of sleep not only affected his judgment, but his mood. Samantha was so still that he thought she'd drifted off to sleep. In her stillness, she looked young and innocent, but he knew that was just a façade. A lamb in wolf's clothing. Fifteen minutes passed and still she didn't move. After about half an hour, he roused himself. He pushed himself to his feet. His body groaned in protest. And if he who spent most every day in the saddle felt the pain, she must be in worse shape. Walking over to where she sat, he nudged her boot with his toe. Immediately, she opened her eyes. So she'd only pretended to be asleep. Why? So as not to talk to him? "Time to ride. Night comes early up here, and I want to have camp set up before nightfall." She nodded and sat up. He held out his hand, but she ignored it. She climbed to her feet and then brushed her hands off on her riding skirt. "What's wrong? What have I done now?" "Nothing." She walked past him and stopped by the fire. Picking up the coffee pot, she emptied it over the glowing embers. 265

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He grabbed her arm. "If you don't want to talk to me, just say the word. You don't have to pretend to be asleep." He released her, then walked past her to the horses. After untying the ropes, he led them back to the campfire. She stopped him. "Wait a minute. I do have something to say to you. I just want you to know how much I resented what you said back at the clinic. I would never take advantage of Jack like that, nor did I teach Annie to call you daddy, and I've had it up to here," she waved her hand across her throat, "with your accusations." "You're right. I was out of line. I'm sorry." "Well, you should be." He stared at her. "God, you're beautiful when you're angry." She stopped packing the cups in the grub bag and stared at him. "I don't understand you. You insult me, then you compliment me. I never know what to expect from you." "And neither do I." He kicked dirt over the glowing embers until they were out. He pointed at the darkening sky. "No time to finish our talk." "We're not going to finish that talk." "We'll see." After one last inspection of the camp, he mounted his horse and looked behind him. She put her foot in the stirrup and pulled herself upward. A grimace of pain twisted her mouth, and she clutched her stomach as she slid into the saddle. "You all right?" She nodded. "You sure?" 266

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Another nod. But even after her assurances, he couldn't rid himself of the feeling that she wasn't telling the truth. But that didn't surprise him. She'd never been completely truthful with him. With a shrug of his shoulders, he turned his mount toward a narrow gap in the mountains that led downward. While steep and treacherous, it would save several hours ride. He angled in the saddle to look at her. "We'll go as fast as we can because there's a storm's moving in. We'll have rain by nightfall. So don't veer off the trail." "What trail?" He chuckled. "I'll admit it ain't much of a trail, so you need to stay close behind me." Her face, already pale, blanched even whiter. "I understand." He led the way, giving his horse loose rein, yet at the same time maintaining control. Giant boulders lined the barely discernible path which dipped downward like a tumbling waterfall. **** As Samantha followed Blake up and down the beautiful, yet treacherous, mountain path, her heart rose in her throat. One misstep of her mount could send her plunging to her death. And Annie would be an orphan again. Her hands tightened on the reins, and her horse skittered on the narrow trail. A flood of rocks cascaded over the edge, skipping noisily on the rocks below. She gasped in alarm. 267

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He must have heard the commotion because he reined in his horse and looked back at her. "Give him his head. Let him pick his way." She nodded and relaxed her grip on the reins. As the afternoon wore on, huge clouds rose in the sky. The wind blustered and whipped around them. Her horse acted as nervous and tense as she felt. He became harder to control. Every gust of wind spooked him even more. Thunder rumbled across the far peaks, coming closer and closer. Jagged streaks of lightning cut through the darkening sky. "Hang on," she heard him yell. "Once the storm actually breaks, the horses will calm down. Just talk to him and keep a strong hand on the reins, and you'll be okay. Don't be afraid." "I'm not afraid," she yelled back, "I'm terrified. How far to the cave?" "Maybe half an hour." When they finally reached the cave, relief washed over her. While the mouth of the cave loomed dark, it looked inviting. A place to get out of the cold wind. She dismounted and pulled her mount toward the safety of the cave, but he stopped her. "Hey, wait up." She halted. He walked up beside her and handed his reins to her. "I need to make sure we're not the only ones seeking shelter in there." "What do you mean?" "I don't relish sharing it with a bear or a mountain lion. Do you?" 268

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Her mouth gaped open. "I hadn't thought of that." He drew his rifle out of the boot on his saddle. "Blake, be careful." "Why? Would you miss me?" His question stunned her. And confused her. "Well, I don't..." Then she regained her composure. "Of course, I'd miss you. If you weren't here, I wouldn't know how to get down this mountain. I'd probably die up here. I don't relish that thought." His expression clouded. That must not have been the answer he wanted. For a moment, she regretted her flippant remark. Then she reminded herself that he'd used her and tossed her aside. Why should she care if she hurt his feelings? He disappeared into the cave. The minutes crawled by as she waited. The sky darkened even more, and it felt more like night than afternoon. Strong gusts of wind whipped the tree branches into a frenzy. The horses skittered uneasily and fought to free themselves from the reins. If he didn't return soon, she wouldn't be able to control the frightened animals much longer. Another gust of wind brought rain with it, stinging her eyes with its sharp bite. In moments, the storm's full wrath would descend on her like an avenging angel. Oh, Blake, where are you? He stepped out of the cave just as a flash of lightning lit the sky. Thunder followed in its wake, rolling around the mountainside like a runaway freight train. The horses reared, and she rocked back on her heels, bracing herself to control the maddened animals. The reins slipped in her hands, and 269

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she fought to keep hold of them. Her hands burned. The pack horse pulled free and with a scream of fear dashed into the forest. It took all her strength to hold the other two horses. Just when she thought she couldn't hold them any longer, strong hands covered hers. "I've got them. Go on inside." She forced a rising wave of hysteria back down her throat and darted for the cave. As she entered the warm darkness, the storm arrived in full force. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter 17 As Samantha entered the cave, she kept a wary eye out for any critters, just in case Blake had missed any. When nothing scurried out of the shadows to attack her, she exhaled. Hearing noises at the entrance, she turned and saw him leading the horses inside. He handed the reins to her. "Stay here. I'm going to see if I can find the pack horse." "What? No, no, Blake, you can't—" "We need the supplies. I won't be gone long." She grabbed his arm. "Blake, please don't leave me." He moved her hands from his arm. "You'll be all right. You're just spooked right now, but we need those supplies." "No, we don't. You can always ... like you said ... shoot a squirrel or a rabbit." "I can't do that at night. You're being unreasonable. And I don't know about you, but I'm hungry." He lightly touched her cheek, then vaulted onto his horse's back and rode out into the angry night. She stomped her foot—damn stupid man. He was going to get himself lost or killed—and then where would she be? She chided herself for her selfish thoughts. Needing something to do to keep her fear at bay, she unsaddled the horse and rubbed him down with dry leaves. The night shadows invaded the cave. She needed a fire. Searching the saddlebag, she found several matches wrapped in oil cloth. Good ole' Shorty. Gathering dry leaves and twigs, she struck a match and with trembling hands held 271

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it to the leaves. It sputtered and died out. She gritted her teeth and tried again, then again. On the fourth try, the leaves caught, and flames sputtered to life. She blew gently and added several twigs. The flickering light sent eerie shadows dancing on the walls. Claps of thunder bounced around the confines of the cave. Finding her rifle, she placed it within reach. Smugly satisfied that she'd gotten the fire started, she shrugged into her coat, then sat back on her haunches and waited. And waited. And still he didn't return. Outside the storm raged on, reminding her that if he didn't return, she would probably die on this mountain. She'd not really believed that when she'd said it earlier, but now it seemed like a real possibility. And her unborn child would die with her. Rising, she slowly walked to the entrance. Where was he? Was he hurt? Dead? Had he plunged over a cliff to his death? Or had he abandoned her? No, she couldn't believe that. Even though he didn't love her, he was basically a decent man. Tears threatened, and she blinked them back. She had to be strong. A gust of wind dumped cold rain on her, and she retreated inside. Being damp, the cold air chilled her, and she shivered. He'll be back any second now, she told herself. A tightening in her stomach alerted her that her cramps had returned. Worry for her unborn child joined with fear for Blake's safety made her sick to her stomach. She ran to a far 272

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corner and lost what little bit of lunch she'd eaten. She wiped her mouth, then kicked dirt over the mess. After returning to the mouth of the cave, a noise outside sent her scurrying for her rifle. She grabbed it and pointed it toward the entrance. Hopefully, it was Blake and not a mountain lion or a bear seeking shelter from the vicious storm. It was him. His shirt was plastered to his body, revealing the taut muscles of his chest. His pants too were wet, clinging to his thighs like a second skin. Water dripped from the brim of his hat. Taking his hat off, he tossed it to the ground and ran his fingers through his hair. "Dammit, Blake, I was afraid you'd gotten hurt—," she scolded, then saw the fatigue on his face. "You're freezing. Come sit by the fire." She put several more branches on the flames. "I'll rub your horse down." "Thanks." He unsaddled the animal, then handed the reins to her. She led his mount to the back of the cave, then wiped the animal down as she had Shorty's horse. And while she did it, she watched him. He stood and pulled his wet shirt over his head. His torso glistened in the firelight. Her fingers itched to stroke the bulging muscles. Heat emanated from her very core. Bending over, he pulled a dry shirt from his saddle bag and shrugged into it. He sat by the fire and pulled his boots off. He must have felt her watching him because he glanced over at her. Their gazes locked. "I couldn't find the pack horse. He's probably 273

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half way down the mountain by now. Guess we'll have to tighten our belts tonight. Sorry." She sat on a small boulder opposite him. "It's not your fault. It's mine. I'm the one who let him get away." "No. It's my fault. I knew he was ready to bolt. You couldn't hold all three." He stretched his arms over his head. "How much wood in here? It's gonna get damned cold up here tonight." "There's a stack over against the wall. Courtesy of the last visitor I guess." She nodded toward the far side of the cave. He rose and inspected the wood supply. "It ain't much. Probably won't last the night." He walked over to the saddle bags and retrieved their blankets, then handed one to her. She unrolled it and placed it by the fire. He did the same. He built up the fire, then banked it. With a yawn, he stretched out by the fire and closed his eyes. His manliness had her staring at the long, lean length of him. A flush crept up her neck, and she licked her suddenly dry lips. Why did she have to fall head-over-heels in love with Blake McCarthy? Why not John Coulter? Or Irish? She looked away. Suddenly, a cramp knotted her stomach, and she bit her lip to keep her cry of pain silent. She looked at her belly, and put hand there, wondering if her unborn child was all right. Glancing back at him, she saw him staring at her. "Why don't you try to get some rest?" She nodded. Wrapping the coat tightly around her, she lay down on the blanket. The ground was hard, and she wriggled, trying to find a comfortable position, but there was none to be 274

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found. Finally, with a sigh of exasperation, she rolled onto her side and faced the fire. To her surprise, she felt her eyelids droop. Some time later, the chattering of her teeth woke her. The fire had died out, and the cave was cold. Deadly cold. She rubbed her hands, trying to bring blood back to her stiff fingers. A glance toward Blake's bedroll told her he was not there. She rose on one elbow and saw him, gathering an armful of twigs and branches. Returning to the fire, he knelt on the ground and slowly fed the fire. She saw he'd donned a woolen shirt. "Did I wake you?" She shook her head. "Well, that's the last of the firewood," he said. "Are you all right?" A gust of cold wind blew into the cave, and she shivered uncontrollably. "I'm ... okay." He gave a wry laugh. "No, you're not. You're as cold as I am. The rain has turned to sleet." "What are we going to do?" She couldn't keep the strain out of her voice. "Well, I have an idea, but you may not like it." "Oh, and what is your idea? I'll bet I can guess." "Well, if we lay together, and share body warmth, then we'd have an extra blanket too. That should help us stay warmer." He raised an eyebrow at her. "What do you think?" "I think I'd have won my bet. But since I can't stop shivering, I guess we should do that but—" 275

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"I won't try anything. I promise. Besides, I'm cold too." He snatched up his blanket, then lay down beside her. "Take off your coat, and we'll put it over us too." She did as he said, trembling violently as the cold air hit her. He put the coat over them, then pulled the blankets up around them. He snuggled down beside her, wrapping his arm around her. And she had to admit she felt immediately warmer. She could feel his breath on her neck. Through their thick bundle of clothing, she could only feel his solid bulk behind her. A feeling of well-being swept over her. She was safe in his arms. When she again opened her eyes, gentle rays of sunlight streamed into the cave. Thank God, the storm had spent its fury. She stretched in her warm cocoon. "Be still, for God's sake. You're letting the cold air in." Blake's voice reminded her that they'd shared the same bed last night. Her face warmed. Even though it felt right to be there in his arms, she tried to separate herself from him. "Samantha, be still. I promised you I wouldn't try anything. And I've kept my word, haven't I? So unless you want me to....?" She felt his lips brush her neck. "Do you?" She bit down hard on her tongue to keep from saying yes. "I most certainly do not." A cramp curled in her stomach, and her body jerked. "What's the matter?" "Nothing," she lied. "Are you sure? I've seen you double over a couple of time like you're in pain or something." 276

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"It's nothing. I'm just hungry. That's all." "Oh, now, make me feel guilty. I knew I should have looked longer for that pack horse." "Sorry. That wasn't my intention." She felt a finger poke her in the ribs. Being ticklish, she squirmed and suppressed a giggle. "Stop that." He did it again. "Blake McCarthy, you behave yourself." "Do I gotta?" "Yes, you gotta," she mimicked him. She raised herself up on one elbow, then retreated quickly back into the warmth of the blankets. "It's still freezing cold in this cave." "Told you so." The intimacy they shared sent her pulse racing. A flush crept up her body, from her toes to her head. She glanced over her shoulder and saw his eyes had darkened from sky blue to smoldering blue. The intensity of his gaze held her spellbound. She took a deep breath, trying to break free of his spell. "We need to go. I need to get home to Annie." "Yeah. She's a great kid." Surprised by his remark, she lay flat on her back and locked gazes with him. "I didn't think you even knew she was around." "I'm not as cold and heartless as you think I am." "You don't know what I think." "Are you sure?" He leaned closer to her. She nodded.

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He reached out and skimmed a finger over her lips. "But I do know. Right now you're thinking about ... before ... in the canyon." It was on the tip of her tongue to deny his words, but she didn't. "Yes, I was. I admit it." "So was I." "You confuse me, Blake McCarthy. Sometimes your words and actions are quite at odds." "As are yours, dear Samantha." "I guess neither one of us really knows exactly what we want." She pushed her hair away from her face. "Oh, I know what I want. I want you. And now." She studied his face, searching for answers that she knew weren't there. "I think you desire me, but I don't think you want me, Samantha Adams, the person." The catch in her voice was evident. He wrapped a tress of her hair around his finger. "I do desire you. When we made love, it was ... unforgettable, but, since we're plain speaking, I don't know if I'm ready for anything ... more." "At least you're trying to be honest. I appreciate that." "I loved my wife very much. After she died, I swore, well, let's just say a part of me died too. I'm not sure I have anything else to give or that I'm capable of loving anyone else." Her heart went out to him, and she reached up and stroked his cheek. "I understand how you feel. When I lost Peter, I sort of dried up inside, but then I got Annie. She showed me I had a lot of love left to give." 278

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"Maybe if my son had lived—" His jaw seemed to harden to granite right in front of her. His eyes faded from blazing blue to icy blue. "I'm sorry." He nodded, then leaned closer to her. He was going to kiss her. She should say no, but nothing mattered except the glow of love that warmed her from head to toe. She closed her eyes and lifted her mouth to his. His hand buried itself in her hair as he pulled her against him. She felt the pressure of his arousal. An answering need built deep within her. She strained against him, loving the feel of him, his scent, his strength, everything about him. His tongue flicked lightly over her mouth, and her lips softened in anticipation. A moan rose in her throat, a primal cry of need. But when he didn't deepen his kiss, she opened her eyes. His gaze still held hunger, but a question also lingered there. It asked her if she were sure she wanted to walk down this path where ecstasy and heartache dwelt, hand in hand. His unspoken question was his way of saying that now was the time to say no. Not trusting her voice, she reached out and grabbed his shirt and pulled him toward her. His mouth closed on hers, tentatively, a soft featherlike taste. As if they had a mind of their own, her lips parted. She wanted this man, needed this man, loved this man. And if she couldn't have him, she'd have her memories. And his child. And that would have to be enough. **** 279

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Blake was treading on dangerous ground. He'd promised himself that he'd never again let his body rule his brain, yet here he was—consumed with desire and need. A need that no one but Samantha could assuage, a hunger he could no longer deny. The morning sun streaming in the cave washed over her face, wrapping her in a soft glow. He stared down at her, his gaze roving over her delicate features which belied a feminine softness with strength as great as any man. Strength of character, strength of her convictions and strength of her beliefs. Her lips parted, inviting him to partake of her. Again, he flicked his tongue over her lips. Her eyelids fluttered shut, the lashes dark against her creamy skin. He kissed her again, plunging his tongue into the sweet recesses of her mouth. She shuddered beneath him. Her tongue fenced with his and sent his need spiraling. His hand slipped down her back, then cupped her buttocks and drew her next to his throbbing member. He wanted her to feel his need. Her breath left her in a shuddering sigh as she strained against him. He trailed soft feathery kisses down the slim column of her neck, feasting on her heated skin. Cupping the rounded fullness of her breast, he kneaded the taut bud until she writhed beneath him. Slowly, he unbuttoned her shirt, pushing the soft fabric aside and revealing her breast to him. He took its peak in his mouth and tugged gently on it. A gasp burst forth from her lips, and she cried out his name. "Blake, oh my God, please...." 280

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"Please what? Do you want me to stop, Samantha?" "Oh, no, no, no." "If you want me to—" "I don't want you to stop." In answer, he leaned forward and again laved the coral tip of her breast. Slowly, he undid the remaining buttons on her shirt, loving the satiny feel of her skin. He tugged the fabric free of her skirt and somehow she shrugged out of it. Then she did the same, ridding him of his shirt. He pulled her next to him, loving the feel of her soft curves against his hard chest. Such different textures. He stroked her back, exploring, touching every inch of her. His need rose, but he tamped it down. He didn't want to hurry this. His hand traveled up her thigh as he pushed her skirt higher. He felt her tremble beneath his touch, and she pressed against him. He found the waistband of her skirt and eased it over her hips, leaving her clad only in her bloomers. She lifted herself, and he slipped the undergarment off. His breath caught in his throat as he feasted on the sight before him. She was so perfect, and she fit his body like a glove. Her fingers splayed over his chest. Then she reached up, her arms encircling his neck. He kissed her, and his need boiled up inside him. He moved away and quickly shed his pants, then returned to her side. His hand slid down her hips to touch her in her most private place. She opened to him, as a flower greets the sun. His fingers slipped inside her, and her breath left her in a rush. He kneaded her passion bud until she moaned aloud. Suddenly, she cried out, arching upward as she reached the pinnacle of passion. 281

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When she opened her passion-glazed eyes to him, he moved on top of her. His body throbbed with his urgent need. As he claimed her mouth, he slid between her thighs and drove deep inside her to her welcoming dampness. She twisted demandingly beneath him. With each thrust, she rose to meet him with a hunger as great as his. He could feel the heat of her tighten around him. Together they climbed the path to sweet bliss. When he felt the trembling tension in her break loose, he heard her call his name. His body arched as he joined her, and he found his release. The fire inside him exploded into a million shooting stars. He braced himself to keep his full weight off of her. He slid his arm under her shoulder and drew her into the curve of his arm. He smoothed the hair back from her face, then drew the blanket tighter around them. "Are you warm enough?" She nodded. "Warm all over." "We're good together," he murmured against her hair. "Mmmm," she teased the hair on his chest, "that we are." He trailed his finger down her cheek and thought about saying the words. Could he tell her that he loved her? That, despite all her schemes to get his ranch, he'd fallen headover-heels for her. Yes, yes, he could. "Samantha, listen—" She rolled away from him. "You don't have to say anything, Blake. This was by mutual consent. I didn't do anything I didn't want to do." "Wait, come back. I want to talk to you. I've got something important to tell you." "No. It's time for us to leave. I want to get home to Annie." She stood up and hurriedly dressed. 282

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"Samantha, listen to me. Don't run away again. Wait—" She shook her head, then dashed over to the horses. Her back was to him. He searched for his pants, grabbed them and put them on. Damn fool woman. She grabbed the saddle and jerked it off the ground. Then she screamed. Dropping the saddle, she doubled over and clutched her stomach, then fell to the ground. He jumped to his feet and raced over to her prone body. Kneeling down, he pulled her into his lap. He leaned over, and when he saw she was breathing, he cried out in relief. But what was wrong with her? Then he saw the blood. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter 18 Through the haze of pain, Samantha fought her way back to consciousness. But sharp stabs of worry sent her retreating to the safety of her warm cocoon. Something was wrong, but she couldn't remember what. She dreaded to awaken. She heard someone calling her name, but she refused to answer. He called her name again, the voice soft and coaxing. The voice was familiar. Her eyelids fluttered open. Blake sat on the edge of her bed, his hat in hand, and a look of apprehension on his face. "What are you doing here?" She sat up and looked around the room. She didn't recognize anything in the room. "Where am I?" "Don't you remember?" She kneaded her temples where pain beat like a drum, keeping her recollection at bay. "No. I don't remember. What happened?" "We were in the cave ... and ... then you collapsed, and I brought you here—" "I collapsed?" He nodded. Again, she scanned around the room. The room was sterile white, and acrid smells assaulted her. "Where is here?" "Doc Peabody's." Doc Peabody? The cave? A shard of memory cut through the fog that surrounded her. The storm, the wind, the rain ... and Blake. Her eyes widened as she remembered their lovemaking—and the incredible beauty of it. 284

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"You're remembering, aren't you?" She nodded. "Yes. Some. I remember.... "She felt her cheeks flush, and she lowered her gaze. "You don't remember what happened after that?" She shook her head. "You passed out, so I brought you here. There was blood.... You scared me half to death." She slumped back on the pillows, desperately trying to remember ... everything. And then it struck her like a bolt of lightning. The pain ... the pain ... the blood. The baby. Her baby. She clutched her stomach. Did her babe still dwell there in safety? Did it still live? She blinked back tears and stared at Blake. Did he know? Did he care? He jumped to his feet. "What's the matter? Are you all right? Should I call the doctor?" "Yes, please." He marched over to the door and jerked it open. She heard his footsteps recede down the hall. In a few moments, he returned with the doctor and Mrs. Johnson, his nurse. After shooing Blake out of the room, the doctor turned to her. "Are you having more pain?" "Yes. Doctor, is the ... is my...?" "I think your baby is fine." Relief washed over her like a river after spring thaw. Tears of joy ran down her cheeks. "Thank you. I was so afraid." "It's a miracle, Mrs. Adams. You really should not have been so foolish as to put your child at risk like that, and yourself too." 285

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More tears. More guilt. She could only nod. And cry. Jocelyn had warned her. Why had she not listened? Because she'd been selfish, thinking only of herself and her foolish pride. Doctor Peabody examined her again. "You're doing fine. Mrs. Johnson is going to give you some medicine to make you sleep. That's what you need now. Rest, and lots of it." Mrs. Johnson handed her two pills and a glass of water. "Take these, honey. They'll help you rest." "Thank you." She took a deep breath, then gulped down the medicine. Her hands shook so bad she spilled some of the water. "I'll be back to check on you in a little while." The doctor smiled at her. "Don't you worry about anything." He moved over to the small desk in the corner and wrote in a notebook. Mrs. Johnson straightened the linens on her bed, smiled at her, then left the room. "Doctor..." Samantha's eyelids grew heavy, and she felt herself fading ... fading. "Doctor, don't, don't tell.... "Words failed her. She tried again. "Don't tell...." The doctor came to stand beside the bed. "Go to sleep, Mrs. Adams." He walked over to the door, opened it and disappeared into the hallway. No, wait. Come back. I have to tell you ... please, don't tell Blake about ... the baby. And then darkness overcame her. ****

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As Doctor Peabody entered the waiting room, Blake jumped to his feet. "How is she?" The doctor walked over to a cabinet, opened the door and pulled out a bottle of liquor. He poured two glasses of the amber liquid, then handed one to him. "She's going to be fine." He tried to hide his relief by gulping down his whiskey. He'd not yet recovered from the strain of his father's illness, and near death, and now the fear of losing Samantha had almost paralyzed him. Not trusting his voice, he sat down and ran his fingers through his hair. "But it was a close call." Doctor Peabody sat opposite him. "She should never have made that trip in her condition." In her condition? He stared at the physician. "What are you talking about, Doc? What condition?" The doctor's bushy gray eyebrows shot up. "You mean you don't know?" "Know what?" The doctor took another drink of whiskey before he answered. "Mrs. Adams is with child." "What?" The news hit him like a physical blow. "She's pregnant?" "Yes." The old man fixed an icy stare on him. "Is it your child?" Was it his child? Why hadn't she told him? "I don't know. I guess it could be. She never said anything." Worry knotted his eyebrows. "The baby? Is it okay?" Doctor Peabody nodded. "I can't be certain, but I think so." 287

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He jumped to his feet. "I need to talk to her, doc. I need to know for sure if the baby is mine." "Well, you can't see her now. I gave her something to make her sleep. Right now, she needs rest and lots of it. That's the best medicine for her right now." He nodded. It was probably a good thing he couldn't see her right now, because he wanted answers and pronto. If it were his child, she should have told him. He had a right to know. But what if the child wasn't his? Was it John Coulter's? Had he been right about her all along? He'd just begun to trust her. And now this.... With a nod to the doctor, he grabbed his hat and jammed it on his head. "I'll be back later. Oh, and doc, keep this under your hat, will you?" The doctor nodded, and he stalked out of the room. He marched down the hallway to the front door and out into the bright sunlight, then headed down the street to the saloon. He needed a drink—badly. He knocked the swinging doors open and entered the saloon. He crossed the floor and sidled up to the bar. "George, let me have a drink. In fact, give me the whole damned bottle." With a raised eyebrow, George handed him a glass, then a bottle. Blake pulled money from his pocket and placed it on the bar. Grabbing the bottle, he walked over to a table in the corner. With the toe of his boot, he pulled the chair out and plopped into the seat. Taking his hat off, he tossed it on the table. Grasping the cork between his teeth, he jerked it from the bottle's neck, then spat it on the table. He poured some 288

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whiskey into the glass and gulped it down. It burned all the way down. And then he remembered something. It hit him so hard that the liquor spewed out of his mouth. He wiped his chin with the sleeve of his shirt, then glanced around the room to see if anyone had witnessed his humiliating behavior. She'd lied to him. Again. From the first moment he'd met her, she'd woven a web of lies and deceit. And now the biggest lie of all. She'd said she was okay, but yet she carried a child. His child? Varying emotions warred within his chest, tearing him apart. He tamped his anger down and tried to think rationally. If, and it was a big if, the child were his, he wanted it. While he'd never forget the son he'd lost, it surprised him how much he desperately wanted this child. Samantha could go on to Denver and live with Jocelyn, or wherever she wanted to, but his child would stay here—with him. His hands fairly itched to grasp her around her beautiful neck and throttle her. How could she do this to him? How could she not have told him? A wave of guilt attacked him. Had his lovemaking somehow precipitated her distress? But if it had, it was her fault. She should have told him. But even that fact did little to assuage his guilt. He pushed the bottle away and stood up. He needed something to eat, and a steak sounded real good. And after that, he would see her—and get the truth. An hour later, his patience worn thin, he marched back to the doctor's office. Pausing at the front door of the doctor's 289

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office, he drew a steadying breath. He knew the doctor wouldn't let him see her if he thought Blake would upset his patient. The door opened, and Mrs. Johnson peered out. "Is she awake?" "Yeah, but the doctor said you gotta promise me you won't upset her?" He bit back the angry retort. He was upset—didn't his feelings matter? "I just want to ask her one question." "Okay. You can come in. Follow me." He followed the nurse's rotund figure down the hallway. She stopped in front of a door and nodded. He eased the door open. A very pale Samantha lay in bed, her eyes closed, her eyelashes startling dark against her fair skin. She looked so very fragile. The doctor had said she'd be fine, but she didn't look fine. For a moment, he almost relented, considering waiting until tomorrow. But at that moment, she opened her eyes and looked at him. Their gazes locked. "I've been expecting you," she said softly. "Yeah? Then you know what I'm here for." Another nod. He walked over and stood by the bed. "Is it my child?" "Yes." "Do you swear that it's mine?" She nodded. "Why should I believe you? You lied to me." "I said I was fine. That's all I said." Her lips tightened into a hard line. "Believe me, I was as surprised as you are. Probably more so." 290

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"You're lying. You thought that if you got pregnant with my child, I'd have to marry you." With his knuckle, he pushed his hat back. "You're wrong." She pushed herself up on her elbows. "That's not what I thought at all." A lone tear rolled down her cheek, and she swiped at it with the back of her hand. "I've always thought I was barren. Peter and I could never have any children. I thought ... it was me. I was ... stunned when I discovered I was pregnant." "You can stop the tears. I'm sure you can turn them on and off whenever you want." She didn't respond, just slumped back on the pillows. "When were you going to tell me?" "I wasn't." He leaned over the bed and stared at her. "What?" "I wasn't going to tell you. You made it perfectly clear what you thought about me. I didn't need to hear it again." "So what were you going to do? Marry John Coulter and let him or some other fool think the child is his?" She clenched her fist. "You bastard. I didn't plan to marry anyone. I was going to go live with Jocelyn and ... no one would ever know. And that's still what I'm going to do, so you can sleep soundly at night knowing your ranch is safe from this horrible person I am." "You're not going anywhere." "Oh? And who's going to stop me?" Her chin tilted stubbornly upward. "I am. If that's truly my child you carry, I want it. You can go anywhere you want after the baby is born—to Denver, or 291

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hell. I don't care. But the baby stays with me." He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her, daring her to defy him. She gasped. "You're crazy, Blake McCarthy. If you think I'm going to let you take this baby from me, you're out of your mind." He laughed harshly. "I may be crazy, but I will get the baby. That's a promise." "You mean a threat?" "Whatever you want to call it." With a final glare at her, he stalked out of the room and slammed the door behind him. **** Samantha picked up her cup and threw it at the door. The cup thudded against the door, the water splashing everywhere, leaving a wet trail down the wood. "I hate you, Blake McCarthy, I hate you." Turning on her side, she squeezed her eyes shut. What if he—could he—could he legally take her child? Would a court of law award custody to him because he was wealthy and better able to take care of the babe? Well, it didn't matter because if that happened, she'd take Annie and the baby and they'd disappear. After all, it was a mighty big country. She could hide and he'd never find her. Somewhat comforted, she dosed off to sleep. And she dreamed. Of a tawny lioness roaming the forest in search of her cub, only to find it surrounded by a pack of wild hyenas. The lioness attacked the jackals, clawing and biting the hungry animals, trying to protect her young. But the hyenas were too many. They charged the lioness, jumping on her 292

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back and ripping and tearing her flesh with their strong jaws. Finally, they brought her down. And she cried, for in her dream she was the mother protecting her offspring. Would she too fall prey to a jackal? When she awakened, sunlight streamed across the bed. She stretched, feeling refreshed and rested. She caressed her swollen stomach. "I'm sorry, my child, I put you through such danger. From now on, you may rest easy for I shall take very good care of you." She laughed at her silliness, but she meant it. She would not allow anything, or anybody, to endanger her unborn babe. A knock on the door sounded, then Mrs. Johnson walked in carrying a tray. "Good morning, Mrs. Adams. I've brought you some breakfast. I hope you're hungry." "I don't think—" "Doctor's orders. You have to eat to keep up your strength. You know you're eating for two now." Remembering her earlier promise to her unborn child, she smiled and nodded. "You're right of course." "We have a poached egg, toast and a glass of milk." The nurse sat the tray down on the bedside table and handed her a napkin. "I'll be back in a few minutes to take the tray." "Okay. Thank you." Although she wasn't really hungry, she forced the food down. Like Mrs. Johnson said, she was eating for two. In a few minutes, Mrs. Johnson returned for the tray. When she saw Samantha had eaten her breakfast, she smiled victoriously. "Good girl. You ate it all." She smiled at the kindly nurse. 293

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"I have some good news for you. You have visitors if you're up to it." She grimaced. She wasn't up to facing Blake again. Not yet any way. "Is it ... Blake?" "No. It's Martha Williams and your little girl." "Oh, that's wonderful. Please let them in." "I figured you'd say that. They're right outside." The nurse walked over to the door and opened it. There stood Martha, Annie in her arms. When Annie saw her, a smile lit the little girl's face. "Momma, momma." Martha put her down, and the toddler raced toward the bed. As she leaned over to pick her up, Mrs. Johnson stopped her. "Oh, no, you don't. No lifting for a couple of weeks." The nurse scooped Annie up and sat her on the bed, then with a smile she left the room. With tears brimming in her eyes, Samantha hugged Annie. "Hello, my precious. I have missed you so much." "Momma, momma." Annie crawled up beside her and nestled against her shoulder. "Hello, Martha. Thanks so much for taking care of Annie." Her smile faded. "How did you know I was here?" "Blake paid me a visit." "He did? He told you ... everything?" She held her breath waiting for Martha's reaction. Martha was her dearest friend, and she didn't want the older woman to think badly of her. "Yes." Samantha hung her head. "Why didn't you tell me? I thought we were friends." 294

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She glanced up and saw nothing but caring and concern in Martha's eyes. "I wanted to tell you, but I was afraid you'd think badly of me, and I didn't want to lose your friendship." "Oh, honey, do you think I've forgotten what it's like to be in love?" "In love? I'm not in love—" "You're in love with Blake McCarthy. Don't try to deny it. So now you're gonna have his baby." Martha's brow knotted. "But he said he wants the baby and that I should encourage you ... not to try to leave town because he'll hunt you down. I've never seen a man so angry." "Well, I won't let him take my baby." She clenched her hands into fists. "He'll have to kill me first." "What will you do?" "When I get better, I'll take Annie, and we'll go somewhere. Somewhere where he can't find us." "Well, Mr. Williams and I will help you any way we can, but now, we need to get you home and let you rest. I've got a wagon outside." Fifteen minutes later, Samantha left the doctor's office with strict orders to stay in bed for the next three days and then do very little for the week after that. And she was to see the doctor again in a month. The short ride back to Martha's house left her exhausted. The curious stares of the town folk did little to help her feelings. Especially the venomous stare of one Amanda Jefferson. She glanced at Martha. "Why is everyone staring at me? They don't know, do they?" 295

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Martha shrugged her thin shoulders. "They all saw Blake ride in here with you unconscious in his arms like the devil was a'chasing him. About the baby, I don't know." She firmed her lips. "Well, it doesn't matter. In a few weeks, Annie and I will be gone." **** Three days later, Samantha climbed out of bed and donned a day gown. The last three days had crept by, and only fear for her baby had kept her confined to her bed. She brushed her hair, leaving it loose. She left her room and strolled through the quiet house. Martha and Annie must be at the dress shop. She wandered out the back door into Martha's small garden. The sunshine beamed down on her, and she lifted her face in welcome to the warm rays. Espying a small bench, she sat down, feeling alive for the first time in almost a week. Martha and Annie found her there an hour later. "There you are. You mustn't overdo it." Annie crawled up into her lap. "Momma, momma." "Hello, my darling." Martha sat down beside her. "I just wanted to let you know. Amanda Jefferson just came to the shop. I'm afraid your secret is out." A wave of nausea and despair swept over her. "Oh, no, but how? Blake? Surely he wouldn't—" "No. It wasn't Blake. It seems Amanda got it out of Mrs. Johnson—for a price." Martha's ample bosom heaved angrily. 296

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"I'm going to have a talk with Mrs. Johnson, and then I'm gonna tell the doctor what she did. It ain't right." "Oh, Martha, please don't. I know Mrs. Johnson has five children and her husband went prospecting and never came home. I wouldn't want her to lose her job." She glanced down at her stomach. "It was bound to come out sooner or later." "Well, you can bet everyone knows by now—Amanda will see to that. She's a mean and vicious woman." "Yes. She really hates me." "She lost Blake to you, and she's so used to having what she wants that it makes her crazy to lose." "She might have lost Blake, but it wasn't to me. He doesn't love me. He just used me, and I let him. But I will not let him take my child." "Well, I'm afraid I've got another piece of bad news. Mr. Williams saw Blake coming out of that attorney Steinberg's office." "Ohmigod, oh, Martha, what should I do?" She jumped to her feet. "I have to leave. I have to run away. I have to go now." Martha grabbed her arm. "Don't be foolish. You can't do that. If you do, this time you might really lose the baby." "But ... what if—?" "Honey, even if he gets the Court's permission, nobody can take the baby until it's born. So you have a few months to make plans." She slumped back onto the bench. "You're right, of course. I have to make plans. Maybe I should get a lawyer." Martha nodded. "Might be a good idea." 297

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"But I can't pay him." "Me and Mr. Williams will help." "No, you've done enough already. When I can, I'll just leave. I can't go to Jocelyn's because that's the first place he'll look, so I'll have to go somewhere else. Maybe California." Martha patted her hand. "Stop worrying, honey. It ain't good for you. When it's time, we'll find a place for you to go." She hugged the older woman. "Martha, you're such a good friend. I don't know what I'd have done without you." "Well, I feel like you're the daughter I never had, and Annie is like my granddaughter. I'll do anything to help you. But first, before we do anything, you've got to get stronger." "I will. In fact, I already feel better." "Good. I've made some vegetable soup for you. Let's go eat." [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter 19 The next day, Samantha relaxed in the garden and watched Annie play at her feet. Martha appeared and announced a male caller. "Is it Blake? I don't want to see him." "No, it's John Coulter." She jumped to her feet. "Oh, Martha, I don't want to see him either, but I guess I owe him that much. He's a kind and decent man. I've made such a mess of my life." "What's done is done, honey. All you need to think about is taking care of yourself, Annie and your unborn baby. I think John will understand that." "I hope so." She smoothed her skirt down. "Well, putting it off won't make it any easier." "Go ahead. I'll watch Annie." She made her way to the parlor. As she opened the door, he stood. She smiled uncertainly at him, unsure as to how he would treat her. "Hello, John." "Samantha. How are you?" "I'm fine, thank you. Won't you have a seat?" He lowered himself into the chair. He twirled his hat in his hands and stared at the floor for several long minutes before he raised his head. "There's rumors going around town, and I wanted to talk to you face to face." "I appreciate that, John." "Is it true? Are you pregnant?" 299

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She drew a deep, steadying breath. "Yes, John, it's true. I'm so very sorry." "Is it ... Blake's child?" She hesitated, then nodded. She was tired of lying. "Did he force—?" "Oh, no, no, no. I never meant for it to happen. It just did. I was going to leave town before anyone found out. I never thought I was a coward, but I guess I am." "Did it happen while you ... were seeing me?" She blinked back tears. "No. It happened before I left the ranch. I didn't know ... I just realized.... "She let her words trail away. The hurt was too deep to share. "I see." "I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you, John. Had I known I was ... with child, I would not have ... Please believe me." She leaned over and touched his hand. "I believe you. I wanted to hear it from you, and I did." He rose to his feet. "So what are your plans now?" "I'll be leaving Colorado City ... soon." "Not if Blake has his way." The hair on her neck stood upright. "What do you mean?" "There's talk all around town that he wants the baby. He's gonna petition the court." Stars swirled before her eyes, and she fought to clear her vision. "Well, he's going to be disappointed, because this is my child, and it stays with me." John nodded, a slight smile on his face. "I figured you'd say that. I wish you the best of luck." "Thank you, John." 300

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With a rueful smile, he left the parlor, and in a moment, she heard the front door shut. She sighed deeply. Hearing footsteps, she glanced up to see Martha entering the room, a letter in her hand. "This was delivered when John was here," Martha handed the letter to Samantha, "by a McCarthy ranch hand." The letter seemed to burn her hand, and she dropped it. Martha scooped it up. "Aren't you going to open it?" "But what if it's a court ... paper?" "Well, we won't know until we open it." "You open it. I can't. You read it." Martha nodded and tore the envelope open, then pulled out a sheet of paper. She read it to herself, then glanced at her. "It's from Jack McCarthy." "From Jack? I didn't know he was back." "I didn't either. Anyway, it's an invitation to come to the ranch to discuss ... the delicate issues that have arisen." She looked up and grinned at Samantha. "Yes, that's really how he phrased it. Delicate issues. And if he doesn't hear from you to the contrary by Saturday, he will assume that you will be there, and he will send Shorty to pick you up." She wrung her hands. "He's going to side with Blake. I just know it. They're going to try to take my baby from me. And they have so much money they can buy any judge in the whole territory. What am I going to do?" "First off, I think you should go hear what they have to say." "But I can't face Blake—" 301

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"Don't say that. Yes, you can. You have to see Jack and find out what they're planning. After all, you stood by Jack when he needed you. Maybe now he'll stand by you when you need him." "I don't think so. After all, he lost his grandson, and now he has a chance to get another grandchild. He'll side with Blake." "We won't know until you go see him." She took a deep breath. "Yes, I guess you're right. Maybe Jack will be more reasonable than Blake. But, somehow, I doubt it." **** When Sunday came, Samantha dressed with care. Martha had made her a new dress to accommodate her expanding waist line, a sprigged muslin with green and white flowers. The bodice gathered above her swollen stomach. And she'd also made a scarf of the same material to go around the crown of her hat. As she stood at the window watching for Shorty, she tried to figure out what they would say so she could retaliate. Blake would insist on taking the child, saying he could provide the child with a nice home, an education, and a future, while she didn't even have a home of her own. And she had to admit that was true. Jack was more difficult to figure out. She thought he was her friend, but would he side with his son? After all, he'd lost his only grandchild. A headache throbbed in her temples. This waiting had her nerves on end. When she saw Shorty stop the wagon in front 302

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of the house, she was almost relieved. She met him at the door. "Hello, Shorty. It's good to see you." He tipped his hat. "Mornin', Miz Adams." With a sense of dread, she climbed into the buckboard. All night long she'd dreamed of the lioness and her cubs and their horrible demise. Did the same fate await her at the McCarthy ranch? "Miz Adams..." Shorty fidgeted on the seat, his normally impassive face scrunched up. "Yes?" Was he going to censure her too? "I try not to mess in other people's affairs," he grinned wryly at her, "but I just want you to know I don't hold with taking a babe from its momma. And that's all I gotta say about that." "Thank you, and believe me, I'll fight to my last breath to make sure that doesn't happen." Another rare smile. "I believe you, ma'am." They rode in silence the rest of the way. And again, she marveled at the beauty of the area and the McCarthy ranch. The mountains stood as a silent, majestic sentry over the valley. The trees had shed their greenery and now glowed in vibrant shades of red and gold, heralding the coming of winter. She'd have to make her plans soon before the snows came and the roads became impassable. The ranch house came into view and a shiver of apprehension slid down her spine. She knew she could show no fear or hesitation for, like in her dream, the hyenas would bring her down. 303

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Irish met the wagon and helped her down. "Hello, Samantha, 'tis good to see you. You're looking as lovely as ever." "Hello, Irish. I was afraid you'd ... not ... be speaking to me." "And why not? You're still my friend, aren't you?" She nodded. "I like to think so." "Good." He took her elbow and led her toward the porch. "Don't let them bulldog you." "Can't you come in with me?" "Nope, 'tis family business, and I'm not invited. But you'll be fine. I'll see you later." He sauntered away as Jack appeared in the doorway. To her surprise, the elder McCarthy wore a big smile. "Samantha, how good to see you. Come in, come in." She walked up the steps and into the foyer. "Hello, Jack. I'm glad to see you're doing well." "I feel great. Better than I've felt in a long time." "When did you get back?" "A few days ago. I was such a pain in the doctor's arse, er, excuse my language, that he released me early. So here I am. Didn't know I had a grandchild on the way until I got here. That was good news, but I admit I was surprised. I hope we can work something out." She met his gaze and saw true concern and understanding there. Thank God, he appeared to be on her side. "I hope so too, but somehow I doubt it. Blake's mind is pretty well made up." 304

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"Yeah, well, my son does tend to be on the stubborn side— as you well know." He patted her arm. "Why do you want to help me, Jack?" "A baby should be with its mother. And as long as I can see my grandchild, I'm fine with that." "I'd never keep the child from you, but if Blake has the court's permission.... "Her words trailed off, but she was sure he knew what she meant—she'd run if she had no other choice. He nodded. "I understand. Well, let's go brave the lion in his den." Ironic that he would talk of lions. Fragments of her dreams flashed in her mind's eye, and she shuddered. When she walked into the living room, Blake rose to his feet. He was as handsome as ever but she saw lines around his eyes, lines that she hadn't noticed before. "Hello, Samantha." She nodded at him. "Hello, Blake." She tried to speak as emotionless as he did. "Before we go any further, I want you to know this is my father's idea—not mine." "I figured as much." His response was a raised eyebrow. "Sit down, you two," Jack said in a conciliatory tone. "Let's be civilized about this." "It's a waste of time, Dad." Blake strolled over to the fireplace and leaned against it. "I agree," she added as she perched on the edge of the chair. "There's really nothing to discuss." 305

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"That's right." Blake crossed his arms over his chest. "The child is mine, and it stays with me." She jumped to her feet. "Over my dead body." He stepped forward, but she held her ground. "If that's the way you want it—" "This isn't getting us anywhere," Jack interjected. "Look, a child needs two parents, a mother and a father. I propose—" "What? Dad, you're crazy. She lied to me. From the very beginning. She even lied and told me she wasn't with child." "I didn't lie. I said I was fine. And I am. Don't put words in my mouth." Fighting for composure, she took her seat. "I didn't think I could conceive a child. Peter and I wanted a child, but we never could have one so I thought it was my fault." "Be that as it may," Jack said, "the welfare of this child comes first. Do you both agree on that?" They nodded. "At least you agree on something. Now hear me out. I propose that you two get married—" "What?" Blake yelled. "What?" Samantha echoed. "Just listen, you two. Yelling will get us nowhere. I'm not saying you have to love each other, or even like each other— of course it's apparent you're attracted to each other or we wouldn't be having this conversation—but I propose you two get married. You don't have to live together. This ranch is big enough you don't even have to see each other..." "But—" she held up her hand. "Wait, wait. Let me finish." 306

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"Don't you see, Dad, that's what this is all about? She planned all this from the very start. She wasn't worried about paying off her father's debt, and we played right into her hands by hiring her. She thought if she got pregnant with my child, I'd feel obligated to marry her. She saw a chance to get her greedy paws on our ranch, and she took it." "That's a lie, Blake McCarthy. I did what I thought was right by coming here to pay off my father's debt. I don't want your ranch. And what happened between us ... well, it just happened. A moment of weakness. I ... I thought—" "You thought what?" Blake demanded. "I thought you ... cared for me ... maybe a little ... because I—" Irish bolted into the room, cutting off her admission of love. "Samantha, Blake—" "What is it, Irish?" Blake's voice was full of agitation. "It'd better be damned good." "John Coulter just rode in," Irish glanced at her, and a premonition of doom hit her. "He said Annie's missing." "Oh my God, my baby," she exclaimed as she jumped to her feet. Her knees threatened to buckle under her, and she swayed. She fought to stay conscious. "What? When?" "Disappeared from Martha's house. Martha said Annie was playing in the kitchen and somebody knocked on the door. When she went to answer the door, no one was there. When she came back, Annie was gone." Samantha pressed the heel of her hand to the valley between her breasts. She'd felt danger all around her, but she 307

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hadn't realized it would jeopardize Annie. "How ... long ... ago?" "Two, maybe three hours," Irish answered. "First, Martha looked for her, then went to the Sheriff." Blake stalked over to the hat rack and grabbed his hat and put it on. Then he grabbed his gun belt and buckled it around his waist. "We'll find her, Samantha. I promise." His voice was reassuring, and for a moment, she could almost believe him. She wanted to believe him. She had to believe him. "Irish and I are riding for town. Dad, you and Samantha come in the wagon, and bring Duke with you. We'll take some of the boys with us. Come on, Irish." As the men hurried out the door, she locked gazes with Jack. When he saw her staring at him, he changed his worried expression to one of reassurance. "Now, now, Sammie. She just wandered off. We will find her." "But how did she get out of the house? She's only a baby. She can't reach the latch." "Maybe it wasn't shut securely." From outside they heard Shorty shout the wagon was ready. As they hurried out onto the porch, she saw a dozen mounted men. Tears of gratitude pooled in her eyes. Jack climbed up in the wagon as Shorty helped Samantha up into her seat. "Shorty, you stay here in case—" "Nope. Gonna help find Annie, and that's all I gotta say about that." He whistled at the dog and Duke jumped up into the wagon. He mounted his horse and led the way out of the yard. Her heart warmed at the old man's response. Annie had 308

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stolen his heart. The ride back to town seemed interminable. The dust choked her, causing nausea to rise in her throat. The jolting of the wagon sent waves of pain coursing over her. She sent up a quick prayer that she wasn't again endangering her unborn child. Jack pushed the team hard and by the time they arrived in town, the horses' coats were lathered. Martha came running to meet them. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. I was only gone a moment. I don't know how she got out." Tears streamed down her lined face. "Oh, Martha, please don't cry. I don't blame you. We'll find her. We just ... have to. Poor tyke, she's probably so scared." Jack patted her shoulder. "We'll find her. Duke will find her. That old hound dog can track anything. Martha, where's Blake?" "He's out back. Said for you to bring the dog and a piece of Annie's clothing for the dog to smell." "All right. I'm going—" "And I'm coming with you," Samantha said. "Maybe if she hears my voice..." "No, you stay here with Martha. In your condition—" "No. I'm going with you. I have to be there." Jack hesitated, then nodded. "I understand." He turned to Martha. "What was Annie wearing?" "A blue dress." He turned to his men. "Let's go." ****

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Blake knelt beside Duke and held the baby's dress to the dog's nose. The dog sniffed the material. "Attaboy, Duke, find Annie. Find Annie, boy." The animal put his nose to the ground and sniffed every inch of the yard. But he didn't pick up any scent outside the immediate yard. Blake exchanged an uneasy glance with Irish. "This isn't good. It looks like she didn't just wander off. If she'd left this yard, Duke would know it." "Yeah, I got a bad feeling about this too," Irish said. "Me hair is standing on end." "We'd best check the area out," Blake said as he stood. "Just in case. I'll take Duke and go east and circle around. You head west. Fire two shots in the air if you find her or some sign of her. Jack and the boys will be here soon, and we'll cover every inch." "It's mighty rough terrain for a small child. If she's out there alone..." Irish made the sign of the cross. "May the saints protect her." "Aye," Blake added. He took his hat off and looked skyward. "Take care of her, God. She's so helpless, so little..." His voice broke, and he couldn't finish his prayer. Irish clasped him on the back. Two hours passed, and still no Annie. Blake and Irish met up with Samantha, Jack and the ranch hands to further divide the search area. Samantha looked ready to collapse at any moment. His heart went out to her. He'd threatened to take her unborn child, and now she might lose her daughter. At that moment, he knew he couldn't do that to her. 310

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He loved her, and he loved Annie. And he had to tell her. While the men strategized, she'd taken a seat on a small boulder and had buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook with sobs. He walked over and knelt before her and took her hands. She raised her tear-streaked face to him. She must have seen his feelings on his face for she collapsed against him. "Oh, Blake, where is she? Where's my baby? What has happened to her?" Her sobs tore at his heart, and he pulled her into his arms. "We'll find her. Don't give up hope." "But how could she have gotten so far? She's so little." "I don't know." "In a few hours, it'll be dark, and she's so little and helpless. The weather will be so cold." "I know, honey. I know. Jack said some of the townspeople have joined the search so if she's out there, we'll find her." "What do you mean 'if she's out there'?" "Duke can't pick up any scent of her leaving Martha's yard, and that's highly unusual. I've never known him to miss something like that." Her eyebrows shot up. "You know, I wondered how Annie could have gotten out of the house. Martha always keeps the doors locked." Her eyes widened. "Then that means ... someone took her?" "I don't know, but I think so." "But who? Why?" "I don't know. Maybe I'm wrong...." 311

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She swiped at the tears on her face. He took out his handkerchief and gently wiped her face clean. "But I swear to you we'll find her. And I know this is probably not the right time, but about this baby," he placed his hand on her stomach, "I'd never take it from you. I was just hurt—and angry. I thought you'd tricked me, but I don't believe that any more." Her hands tightened around him. "Oh, Blake, I didn't know. I truly thought I couldn't have any children." He brushed her hair back from her face. "It feels so right to have you in my arms." Only one thing now marred his path to happiness. The missing baby. He had to find her. He pulled Samantha to her feet. "You go back to the house and stay with Martha." "No." "Yes. Do you want to lose this baby?" "No. Of course not." "Then do as I say. I don't want to have to worry about you too. We'll search all night if we have to. We won't rest until we find her. That's a promise." [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter 20 Samantha stood at the kitchen window and watched the sun rise over the mountains. While bright sunlight invaded the valley, darkness invaded her heart and soul. All night long the men had searched for Annie, coming in at intervals for hot coffee. At first, their faces were hopeful, but, as the night faded, their expressions had turned somber. Defeated. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she swiped at them with the sleeve of her dress. Oh, God, how could you let something happen to my innocent little girl? She's never done anything wrong in her short life. Punish me—not her. She glanced over her shoulder at Martha who slept at the table, her shoulders hunched over, her hands cushioning her head. Poor Martha. She blamed herself for Annie's disappearance, but she didn't feel that way because she knew Martha loved Annie as much as she did. The door opened, and Blake, Jack, Irish and Shorty filed into the room. Their faces told her they'd not found her baby. Her legs buckled under her, and she clutched at the nearest chair for support. Blake darted toward her and caught her before she hit the floor. "Take her to the sofa," she heard Martha say before blessed unconsciousness closed around her. When she awoke, her head pounded. She wrinkled her forehead, trying to push the pain aside. When she opened her eyes, she saw Blake seated beside her. He placed a cold 313

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compress on her forehead. He smiled at her. "Hey there, how do you feel?" "My head aches." "You scared me half to death. Don't do that again." "I'll try not to." She clutched his arm. "Any word?" His expression clouded, and he shook his head. "No, but we haven't given up. The men are still searching." She closed her eyes. The thought of Annie all alone out in the wilderness, exposed to the cold and ... wild ... animals, made her physically ill. She tried to sit up, but he wouldn't let her. "Oh, no, you don't. You've been up all night. You need to rest." "But everyone else, the men, they've been up all night too." "Yeah, but they're not pregnant." He raised an eyebrow at her. Despite her worry, she laughed. "You've got me there. I'm afraid I can't argue that point." Martha walked into the room. She carried a glass of water. "Here you go. The doc sent over something to make you sleep." She handed a paper containing a white powder to her. "Take it." "But I don't want—" "Samantha," Blake interrupted, "please. I can function a whole lot better if I don't have to worry about you too." For the first time, she saw the worry and exhaustion on his face. His slumped shoulders told her he feared the worst—as she did. But he tried to hide his feelings behind a forced 314

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smile. She reached out and stroked the deep lines around his mouth. "All right. I'll take it." She took the glass of water and quickly swallowed the bitter-tasting powder. "Good." He rose to his feet. "We're going to make another sweep of the immediate area, then branch out from there. You get some rest, and I'll see you in a few hours." She nodded. "Okay, and please tell ... everyone ... how much I appreciate ... what they're doing." "They know, Samantha. We all know." **** The sleeping draught must have been strong because Samantha was asleep almost before Blake left the room. At the back door, he met his father and Irish coming in for a rest. They sat down at the kitchen table while Martha made a fresh pot of coffee and then scrambled eggs and fried bacon. After they ate, Blake leaned back in his chair and tiredly rubbed his jaw. "You know, I'm not so sure that little Annie is out there." Jack's eyebrows quirked up in surprise. "Not out there? What the hell do you mean by that?" "Irish and I have been talking. She couldn't have gotten very far. We've combed every inch of ground for a good two miles, and neither Duke, nor any of the other dogs, can find her scent." "But if she fell into a ravine or—" "The dogs could still find her," he reminded his father. Jack nodded. "You're right. So where else would she be?" 315

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"I've been thinking about what Martha said. I think it's strange that right before Annie disappeared, someone knocks on her door, then when she goes to answer it, there's no one there." "I'll admit that is strange." Jack stroked his jaw. "But what does it mean? Someone playing a mean trick?" "Maybe something worse." Jack snapped to attention. "You thinking someone kidnapped Annie? But who would do something like that?" "Must be someone who hates Blake or Samantha really bad." Irish's blue eyes widened. "Do you think—?" "Yeah," Blake answered with a nod. "Amanda Jefferson." Jack pushed his chair back from the table. "That's ridiculous. I'll grant you she's spoiled and selfish—but to do this? I think you're wrong. Dead wrong." "I don't know," Irish spoke up. "Remember that old saying—hell hath no fury like a woman scorned." "And," Blake interjected, "Amanda has made threats against me and Samantha." "But to harm a child—" Jack shook his head. "I can't believe even Amanda would stoop that low." "We don't know that Annie's been harmed. Maybe it's just to scare Samantha. Maybe someone wants her to leave town." Blake stood up and straightened his tired shoulders. "I think it's worth at least a visit to the Jefferson house." Irish jumped to his feet. "Sure and begorra I think so too, and I'm coming with you." "Me too," Jack chimed in as he grabbed his hat. "I think you're wrong, but you ain't leaving me behind." 316

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Fifteen minutes later, the three men dismounted in front of the Jefferson house. As they walked up to the door, Blake felt like someone was watching them. He glanced up and caught a glimpse of blond hair and a pale face before the curtain dropped into place. He couldn't be sure it was Amanda, but no one else in the household had blond hair. He rapped sharply on the door. In a few moments, the door opened to reveal a liveried butler. The only family in town who had a uniformed servant staff. "We'd like to see Miss Jefferson please." "I'm sorry, sir, but Miss Jefferson is not here." Blake raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Where is she?" "I don't know, sir." The cold, clipped words irritated Blake, and he clenched his fists. The man moved to block the door. "What about Mr. Jefferson?" "He's not receiving visitors, sir." "The hell he ain't." Blake pushed by the man. "He's going to see me." "And me," Jack said. "And me," Irish added. The butler held up his hands and backed away. "Please don't hurt me." "Take me to Jefferson," Blake ordered. "Yes sir. This way, sir." The butler led the way through the parlor, down a hallway to a massive double door. When the butler went to knock on the door, Blake pushed him aside. "I'll announce myself." Blake grabbed the door handle and jerked the door open, then marched inside. Jack and Irish flanked him on each side. 317

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Benjamin Jefferson rose from his chair behind a large desk. "What's the meaning of this?" "I tried to stop them, Mr. Jefferson, but—" Jefferson held up his hand. "That will be all for now, Charles. You're dismissed." "Yes sir." With a sour glare at them, the butler turned and left, shutting the door behind him. Benjamin sat down, then pointed to two chairs by the desk. "Have a seat and tell me what this is all about." Blake ignored the invitation. "You've heard little Annie Adams is missing?" "Well, yes, poor little thing, but what does that have to do with me?" "We can't find hide nor hair of her. We think someone snatched her from Martha Williams' house," Jack added. "That's too bad. But, again, what does that have to do with me?" Blake took a moment to carefully select his words. After all, the man was Amanda's father. "I'd like to talk to Amanda." Benjamin scowled at him. "Why?" "Is she here?" Benjamin pulled a gun from his desk drawer and leveled it at Blake. "You'll not see Amanda until you answer my question." "Then she's here?" "Yes." "Your man said she wasn't here." 318

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"Amanda said she wasn't feeling well and went to bed. That's why. After all, this is our home." "Look, Benjamin, I think Amanda may have something to do with Annie's disappearance." Blake waited for the man's reaction. Jefferson's eyes widened. "Why, that's preposterous. How dare you come into my home and make such an accusation against my daughter." "She made threats against Samantha," Blake said. "And someone knocked on Mrs. Williams' front door, then when Martha went to answer it, no one was there. When she returned to the kitchen, Annie was gone." "Well, that couldn't have been Amanda. She was at home all day yesterday, and she's been at home all day today." "Well, I'd like to ask her myself," Blake said. "No." Benjamin brandished the gun at them. "Now, the three of you, get out of my house." Blake wanted nothing more than to knock the gun out of Jefferson's hands and find Amanda and wring the truth out of her, but he hesitated. If Benjamin's gun went off, someone could be hurt. He couldn't take the chance. "All right. You win for now, but I'll be back with the sheriff." "And he'll get the same treatment." "Let's go." Blake walked toward the door, Jack and Irish on his heels. As he left the house, he glanced up and thought he saw the curtain flutter at the upstairs window. "She's as guilty as sin," he muttered. "And Benjamin knows it too. That's why he won't let us talk to her." 319

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They mounted their horses and rode slowly down the street. Once out of sight, Blake reined in his mount. "Dad, you and Irish head back to the Williams' house and see if they've found Annie and check on Samantha for me." "What are you going to do?" Jack demanded. "I'm going to watch the Jefferson's house." "Good idea," Jack said. "If Benjamin thinks she's guilty, and I think he does, he might try to get her out of town so nobody can find her." "Aye, he was acting a bit strange," Irish added. "I'll stay with you, boss man. Just in case you need a hand—or a witness." "He's right, son, no telling what, or who, you're liable to run into." As his father left, Blake and Irish circled around behind the Jeffersons' house. Finding a vantage point from where they could watch the house, the two men settled in to wait. An hour passed. Then he saw a dark figure leave the house and dart into the barn. In a few moments, he saw the Jeffersons' buggy drive out of the yard. Blake and Irish mounted and followed the buggy through the darkening night. Whoever was driving the buggy was in a hurry, and they had to rush to keep the wagon in sight. "We've got to get closer and see who's driving that buggy," Irish yelled. "Right. But don't spook her, otherwise we might lose our only chance to find Annie." He spurred his horse forward. 320

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Irish followed him and soon they closed on the wagon. The woman driver had blond hair. Amanda. "I'll be hogtied," Irish said. "Looks like we were right." "Yep. That's her. Wait 'til I get a hold of her. She's going to regret ever knowing me." They followed Amanda through the countryside into the foothills. "This is weird," Blake shouted to Irish, "even for Amanda. She never liked the darkness." "I'd say the lass must be pretty desperate to venture so far out here—alone." "Yeah." He reined in his horse. Beside him, Irish slowed. Then he saw a faint light twinkling in the distance like a beacon. "Irish, there," he said as he pointed in that direction. "A light." "Aye. I see it." They crested a small rise. Below them was a farmhouse with a light in the window. And Amanda's buggy in front. As they watched, the door opened to reveal a man and a woman in silhouette. Then a third person appeared in the circle of light. He'd recognize that person anywhere. Amanda. "We've got to get closer," he said in a low voice, "to hear what they're saying." "Aye." After tying their horses' reins to a limb of a nearby tree, the two men worked their way down the slope to a ravine that cut near the house. As both were experienced hunters, they made no noise, and their approach went unnoticed. 321

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They circled the house coming up in the back of the dilapidated farm house. Only one animal munched hay in the corral, a broken-down nag. Whoever lived here was dirt poor. As they neared the window, he pulled his gun. Irish did the same, then dropped to his knees and crawled under the window. Once he was in position, Blake nodded, and slowly they peered around the window and into the dimly-lit room. His gaze locked on Amanda who stood in the middle of the room yelling at a young man and young woman whose faces wore a mask of fear. The woman clutched at the man's sleeve. Amanda's lovely face was twisted in anger. But, to his joy and relief, he saw Annie on a pile of blankets in the corner. Alive. She appeared unharmed. Her small face was streaked with tears, and she sobbed loudly. He glanced at Irish and saw that his foreman had also spotted the child. He exchanged a wide grin with his friend. He pointed toward the porch, and the two men tiptoed up the rickety steps which creaked loudly. In alarm, he halted. But the yelling inside continued. He grinned to himself. With Amanda's caterwauling, he could drive a herd of cows onto the porch and no one would hear. With a nod at Irish, he jerked the door open and charged into the room, his gun pointed at the three people standing there. "Don't move. Get your hands up and keep them there." The young couple did as he ordered, but Amanda stood there, her mouth agape, her eyes wild. She took a hesitant step toward him. "Stay where you are, Amanda." 322

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"But, Blake, darling, this is not what it looks like." "Oh? Then what is it? You kidnapped Annie. Pure and simple." "No. I just—" "Shut up." He pointed his gun at the young man. "Are you the one who done it?" His eyes wide, the man nodded. "She said she just wanted to pull a joke on someone. But when we heard the uproar, we got scared and told her we were going to the law." "That's not true," Amanda protested. "Yes, it is," the woman said. "She paid us a hundred dollars. We just didn't have nothing to eat so we done what she said. We knew it were wrong. But we didn't hurt the little girl none. I swear it. I liked having the babe around." "Blake, darling, you must listen to me." "How could I believe anything you say? We followed you here. If you didn't arrange this, how did you know where to come? And you threatened Samantha in front of witnesses." "But I didn't mean it, you know that. I was just angry and spouting off at the mouth. You know how I am." "Well, you went too far, and this time your daddy's money can't bail you out of this predicament." Irish walked over to the pallet in the corner, picked up Annie then patted her on the back. She recognized him and buried her face in his chest. Her sobs subsided. "Rish, rish." "Annie's okay, Blake." "All right. Let's go." Amanda's eyes opened wider, her mouth thinned into a hard line. "Where are we going?" 323

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"To see the sheriff." She ran to him and clutched at his sleeve. "Oh, Blake, no. We can work this out. After all, no one got hurt." "How can you say that? Samantha has been worried sick about her daughter. Martha Williams blames herself for Annie's disappearance. Jack, Irish and I, and most of the townspeople have scoured the countryside. People searched all through the night for Annie." "But please listen. I didn't mean no harm. Really I didn't. I was just so jealous I lost my head. When I heard Samantha was carrying your child, I, I, I just couldn't stand it. I'm sorry, so sorry." She sobbed, burying her face in her hands. He hardened his heart. "Cut the tears, Amanda. It's too late. Let's go." He turned to Irish. "You take Amanda and these two to town to the Sheriff. I'll take Annie to her mother." "Aye." He took the baby from Irish. The feel of the small girl in his arms sent a flood of warmth through his body, and he realized he loved this child as much as he loved her mother. Annie had captured his heart like her mother had. Irish pointed toward the door. The young woman grabbed her shawl and wrapped it around her thin shoulders. Blake felt a pang of pity for the young man and his wife. While they'd done wrong, they'd not hurt Annie. They'd acted out of desperation. Maybe he could ask Samantha not to press charges, and maybe he could use another hand at the ranch. But Amanda was another matter. 324

Samantha's Sacrifice by Sandi Hampton

As Irish headed toward town with his charges, he climbed into the saddle with Annie in his arms. He kept the horse's pace to a walk so as not to jolt the baby. At first she cried and gnawed on her fingers. Poor tyke must be hungry. Soon she fell asleep, sucking on her fingers. Dawn arrived at the Williams' house at the same time he did. Samantha must have been watching for him because the moment he rode into the yard, she burst out of the door and dashed toward him. He stopped his horse and swung one leg over the saddle, then slid to the ground. As she ran up, he held her daughter out to her. "She's okay, Samantha. She's fine." She took the baby from his arms. The movement woke the child. When she saw her mother, Annie smiled. "Momma, momma." She cuddled the child to her breast. "Oh, Annie, I love you so. Thank God, you're safe. Where did you find her?" "It's a long story, honey. I'll tell you on the way home." "Home? Where is home? I have no home." "Come home with me," he lowered his voice. "First, I have something important to say to you." "Why are you whispering, Blake?" "Listen, Samantha—" "No. If you've got something to say to me, say it in front of everyone here." He saw her chin tilt up, a sure sign she wasn't going to back down. He glanced at everyone—Jack, Martha and the others. His father raised an eyebrow, while Martha tapped her foot. 325

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"Not here, Samantha." "Yes, in front of everyone. That's the only way." "All right, all right. You win. There's so much I want to say to you. First, I'm sorry I ... treated you so badly. I'm sorry I ... didn't believe you ... all those times. I was wrong, and I'm sorry. I was afraid to love you because I feared I might lose you too." He grinned at her. "You know, that first day you drove up to the ranch and said you were there to marry me, my heart knew you were the one, and I should've married you on the spot. It sure would've been a lot easier on the both of us." "I thought you were the most handsome man I'd ever seen," she said, her voice soft and caressing. "Well, after you left the ranch, I realized life without you wouldn't be worth living. I love you, Samantha. Will you marry me?" Her answer was a brilliant smile. "Yes, Blake, I'll marry you." The onlookers cheered loudly. Jack slapped him on the shoulder. "Way to go, son." "About time you came to your senses," Martha added as a smile creased her face. "Now give her a big kiss." He grinned at her. "Sounds like a good idea." He turned to Samantha. She handed Annie to Jack, then walked over to him—and into his arms. "I love you," she said as she put her arms around his neck. Then Blake said the words he thought he'd never say again. "And I love you." [Back to Table of Contents] 326

Samantha's Sacrifice by Sandi Hampton

A word about the author... A lifetime resident of Florida, Sandi resides in central Florida with her husband Howard. They have two children and four grandchildren. In her spare time, Sandi enjoys the beach, boating and SCUBA diving. After a career as a legal assistant, Sandi now writes full time. She has always loved westerns, and her novels focus on the romantic "Old West." [Back to Table of Contents]

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