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Once an Outlaw
by
Theresa Michaels

His deep, slightly rough voice ruffled her nerve ends.  A little imp's
voice whispered, You are willing, aren't you, Jessie?  Almost eager?

Yes.  Oh, Lord, yes.

But it wasn't right.  Not yet... Theresa Michaels is a former New
Yorker who resides in South Florida with her husband and daughter rathe
last of eight children---and three 'rescued' cats.  When not writing,
she enjoys travelling, adding to her collection of Victorian perfume
bottles and searching for the elf to master her computer.

Recent titles by the same author:

ONCE A MAVERICK

GIFTS OF LOVE

A CORNER OF HEAVEN

ONCE AN

OUTLAW

Theresa Michaels

MILLS BOON'

To special friends who keep the faith: Donita, Harriet, Kris, Maudeen
and Shelly

DID YOU PURCHASE THIS BOOK WITHOUT A COVER?

If you did, you should be aware it is stolen property as it was
reported unsold and destroyed by a retailer.  Neither the author nor
the publisher has received any payment for this book.

All the characters in this book have no existence outside the
imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone
bearing the same name or names.  They are not even distantly inspired
by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents
are pure Invention.

"All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in
part in any form.  This edition is published by arrangement with
Harlequin Enterprises H B.V. The text of this publication or any part
thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,
storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the
written permission of the publisher.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of
trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated
without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or
cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar
condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent
purchaser.

MILLS & BOON and MILLS & BOON with the Rose Device are registered
trademarks of the publisher.

First published in Great B.tain 1997

Harlequin Mills & Boon Limited,

Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 ISR

TheresaDiBenedetto 1995

ISBN 0 263 80127 6

Set in Times Roman 10 on 12 pt.

04-9705-76660 C

Printed and bound in Great Britain by BPC Paperbacks Limited,
Aylesbury

Chapter One

Furious.  Frustrated.  Failure.  These about summed up Logan Kincaid's
thoughts and feelings.

It was ironic that he was helping to rob the payroll destined for the
workers at the Silver Belt Mine.  Ironic, because the mine numbered
among his family's holdings in the Arizona Territory.

Sweat trickled down beneath his hat.  The blast of the relentless sun
turned the small arroyo into a furnace.  He hadn't bothered to mask his
face with his bandanna.  Logan had been cursed with thick, fast-growing
facial hair that required daily shaving.  Every two days or so these
past months; he'd scrape it clean with his blade.  Right now the
stubble itched.

Known as Lucky, to the outlaws seizing the payroll for the fourth time
in as many weeks, Logan suddenly felt a tingling sensation creep up his
spine.  Unlike his younger brother, Tyrel, Logan didn't always sense
the trouble coming his way.

A sweeping gaze up the narrow arroyo revealed scrub brush and rocks.
Not a hint of life moved beyond the men grouped around the wagon.

With a jerk of his reins, Logan kept his restive horse in place.  He
watched as Tallyman--former slave, buffalo soldier, army deserter
turned outlaw--used his massive gloved hands to shove the payroll money
into two sets of saddlebags.  Buckling them closed, Tally-man tossed
one set to Monte Wheeler, the man who gave the orders, and the other he
secured on his own horse.

The five men hired to guard the payroll were ringed by the other three
outlaws.  They had been stripped of their boots, guns and hats.  Logan
kept a sharp eye on Billy Jack Mulero, a true mixed breed of Mexican,
Apache and white blood.  His bloodshot eyes and fitful moves were signs
that he had been chewing mescal buttons again.

Blackleg, on Billy Jack's right, caught Logan looking and high-signed
him to watch the breed.  No one had been killed in the four robberies
in as many weeks.  For some reason the outlaws wanted no murders.  But
no one stopped Billy Jack from taunting the five men.

Logan shut out thoughts of many descriptive ways to let a man die
slowly.  It had taken nearly six months to infiltrate this gang.  He
was furious that he had come no closer to discovering who was behind
the robberies and cattle-rustling plaguing the Kincaid holdings.

Frustration ate at him.  It wasn't a matter of losing silver ore, money
and cattle It was his pride that suffered from his failure to uncover
their enemy.

Zach Romal's gravelly voice joined Billy Jack's.  Feeling himself
watched, Logan didn't dare look away from the youngest of the guards,
visibly shaken by the two men's threats.  He couldn't ignore the keen
edge to the taunts and kept waiting for Monte to signal them to move
out.

Each of the previous robberies had gone off without a hitch.  Despite a
varied and erratic schedule of both the payroll and ore.  shipments,
the gang he rode with had known the exact dates and times.  Their
accuracy could only come from someone with knowledge of every move
Conner Kincaid had planned.  Someone damn close to Conner, if Logan was
any judge of the way his older brother thought.

He hated the moments when he felt a reluctant admiration for whoever
was behind these perfectly executed holdups.

He had a bullet earmarked for the man.  Smelling the fear from the five
men huddled together as Zach uncoiled his whip, Logan thought about.
putting a bullet to his hide.  But if he made a move to protect these
innocent men, he would blow his cover.

He had to do something.  His back was twitching 'and it was more than
annoyance with the sweat that rolled down his spine.

"Hey, Monte, round up these cayuses.  I'm parched--"

"Who the hell you callin' a cayuse?"  Billy Jack demanded.

"You, boy," Logan answered, grinning, as his fingers tightened on the
leather.  A cayuse was a wild horse, native bred, nondescript,-runty,
ill-mannered and unreliable.  That about described Billy Jack Mulero
and Zach Romal except for one added attribute--they were
unpredictable.

Zach threw back his head and laughed, coiling his whip in quick,
economical moves.  "Lucky is right.  We waste time."

Monte stared at the man he knew as Lucky.  "Something bothering you?"
"Damn right.  I've got trouble crawling up my back like a two-bit frail
sister on Monday night."  Since most saloons that had soiled doves
plying their trade in rooms upstairs or out back hardly had business on
weekdays, Monte caught his meaning.  "We got what we come for, didn't
we?"  Logan was pushing him now, but he couldn't help it.  His back
felt as if someone had it in their rifle sight and was already
squeezing the trigger.

In a sudden move, one of the guards made a dive for the wagon boot.
Tallyman shot him before the man could grab hold of the rifle stashed
beneath the seat.

Seeing his body draped over the wagon freed the others from the fear
that had gripped them.  With snarling rage the four of them lunged for
Billy Jack.  He was the one closest to them.  All hell broke loose.
Before Monte could shout an order to ride out, another of the guards
went down.  Logan was across from Blackleg, who was shooting wildly as
his horse reared.

Fire slammed like a rattlesnake without warning.  Fire that burned its
way into Logan's shoulder.  He tried to stop his forward momentum.  The
sandy bottom of the arroyo blurred.  He caught the buckskin's mane with
one hand, jerking the gelding around.  He thought he heard a
high-pitched scream before he dug his spurs into the horse's sides,
sending him at a dead run down the narrow arroyo.

"Do ya think he's dead, Kenny?"

"I dunno.  Those men took his boots an' guns.  Iffen he's dead he ain't
got no use for 'em."

"They took his horse, too."

"Yeah."  There was a world of regret in thirteen-year-old Kenny
Styles's voice.  "Thing is, we can't just let him stay there.
Buzzards'll come.  Com'on,

Marty.  We'll bury him just like we did our folks."  "I'm scared.  Real
scared, Kenny."

"I told you, dead folks can't hurt you.  And no more cryin'.  Now, give
me your hand."  It wasn't easy for Kenny to take care of seven-year-old
Marty.  Not when he'd been the youngest of his family.  But all they
had now was each other.  He'd never admit that holding hands forced him
to put aside his own fear.

Climbing out of the rocks where they had hidden as soon as they'd heard
the approach of horses, Kenny held tight to his rifle and Marty.  They
had been on their own for four months.

Down on the flat, they stood side by side and stared at the body of the
man the other men had dumped and stripped before they rode away.

"He's awful big, Kenny.  We'll be diggin' and dig-gin' all night to get
him buried."

Pressing the butt of his rifle into the earth, Kenny looked around.
"Dirt's soft enough.  Won't take that long.  We can dig around him and
underneath.  That way we won't have to move him."  "Kenny?"  "Yeah?"

"He's awful mean lookin'."  The towheaded little boy took a step closer
and squatted with his hands gripping his knees.  "Do dead people
bleed?"

"How should I know?"  Already wielding the rifle butt as a shovel,
Kenny kept his eyes on the shallow depression taking shape.

"You figure he's got money?"

"Don't know.  Don't care.  We ain't got use for it.  Ain't nuthin' to
buy 'round here.  Stop gawkin' an' get to helpin' me, Marty."

"I was just asking.  You sure are jumpity.  An' we do so got a place to
use money."  Straightening, then turning to face Kenny, the boy sucked
noisily on his lower lip.  "We can use it for the widow woman."

"Trade her fair for ever thing we've taken, boy.  Left her a mess of
fish last week when I took that chicken you were cravin'."  Without
looking up, he added, "Now stop jawin' an' get to helpin' me."

Marty ran back toward the rocks and returned minutes later with a small
flat stab of stone.  He eyed the prone body and the deepening
depression that Kenny steadily lengthened.  The only way for him to dig
was to get down on his knees.  And that would bring him close to the
body.  Real close.  Too close.  He could feel his stomach churn.  But
he didn't want to be sick.  Last time Kenny got mad at him for messing
on his clothes.

"You ain't gonna get sick again?"

Marty exhaled noisily, blinking all the while.  "How come you always
know?"

With a sigh Kenny stopped.  He braced both hands over the upright rifle
barrel and leveled, on the boy, dark brown eyes too weary for a child.
"You get all pasty an' sweaty, boy.  I can see you shakin' in your
boots from here.  I ain't scared.  You wanna be like me, don't you?"
Marty's nod brought one of his own.  "That's right.  You settle your in
nard an' get to work."

Kenny started whistling and once more went back to digging.  He had
neared the man's feet.  Anxious to get done and away, he swung the butt
faster and faster.  He nearly jumped out of his clothes when the foot
moved.  His heart pounded, and sweat popped out all over his body.  It
took him long moments before he realized he must have hit the foot with
the rifle.

Throwing his head back, he gulped air, warning himself that he had to
be the strong one.  He couldn't give in to the urge to run.  It was at
times like this that he most resented having Marty to take care of.  If
he was alone, he could take off and pretend he'd never seen another
dead body.

But he wasn't alone.  He wasn't going to run off and leave Marty
alone.

"Ken-Kenny?"

"Now what?"  Scowling, he shot a look at the younger boy Many,
ashen-faced, pointed a shaking finger at the man.

"You're lookin' dumbstruck as a turkey in a thunderstorm."  Marty
started shaking his head back and forth, faster and faster, his finger
shaking the same way, so that Kenny was reminded of a schoolteacher
scolding him for a naughty prank.  But little Marty wasn't any teacher.
He hadn't played a prank on anyone for far too long.  Surviving was all
he had time for these days.

Reluctantly, Kenny followed Marty's finger down to the body.  His dark
brown eyes widened.  Without thought he started backing away.  "Holy
cow!  Get back, Marty.  Get away from him!  He's still alive!"

Frozen where he stood, Marty couldn't move.

"W-whatwwhata we g-gonna d-do!"  "Jeez.  Oh, jeez, I don't know."
"W-we can't l-let him d-die."

The plea in Marty's voice cut through Kenny's fear.  "Son of a gun!"
he muttered.  He didn't know nothing about the kind of wound that bled
from the man's shoulder.  He'd need a doctor.  He'd need care and
medicine.  He'd need... The widow woman!  He squeezed his eyes shut,
trying to think of the best thing to do.  He didn't want to stay here
alone while Marty went to fetch her.  He couldn't leave Marty here
while he went for the widow woman, either.  Damn!

"K-Kenny?  K-Kenny.  I th-think he's groaning "If he's wakin' up,
stands to mason he's hurtin'."  But even as he answered Marty, Kenny
shouldered the rifle in reflex.  Aiming it at the man, he squinted down
the long barrel.  His hands were wet.  He could feel sweat plastering
his shoulder-length hair to his damp shirt.  Jeez, but he was scared.

"You listen up, boy.  There's only one thing to do.  We got to take him
to the widow woman.  Can't leave him here alone, 'cause he might die.
So you run back to the wagon an' get me Ma's quilt."

"S-supposin' she don't want him?"

"Only a wet-behind-the-ears runt like you would ask something' so dumb.
She's a woman, ain't she?  Pa always said that all a woman wants is
some man to take care of her.  You heard that man what's come by tryin'
to coze up to her.  Said she'd been without a man nigh onto a year now.
Jus' listen to me.  She'll be so happy to have him she'll forget all
'bout us stealin' from her."

He met Marty's big-eyed look.  "Go on with you.  Time's a-wastin'.  An'
bring PeeWee back with you."

Jessie Winslow knew it was a waste of time to open the cash box.  Money
would not have magically appeared since the last time she had looked.
But she opened the small metal tin anyway.

The hot afternoon sun slanted across the smooth, scrubbed wood of the
pine table.  She ignored the reddened state of her hands as she set
aside the list she had made of bare essentials needed if she was to
survive the summer and keep the small ranch.

From the box she lifted out her marriage certificate, the deed to the
ranch that Harry had insisted be made over to her as a wedding gift,
and an empty worn velvet bag.  Her mother's silver chat elaine with its
thimble holder, scissors, needle case and pincushion hanging from
chains attached' to the silver scroll pin had gone the way of
everything of value.  The velvet bag was all she had left.  Her
brother, Greg, would be furious with her if he knew she had sold the
chat elaine and the two horses he had given her.

She glanced around the two-room cabin.  The spool-turned rocker was the
only furnishing she had brought with her from the hamlet of
Kripplebush.  Not that she missed the New York countryside.  She hadn't
had a home them, only a companion's place on her aunt's sufferance.
There had been no reason to stay--not that she was encouraged to by her
cousin-once her aunt had passed on.  Greg and his wife, Livia, had
welcomed her to their home, newly set up in the north territory. Jessie
had no one but herself to blame that she felt uncomfortable sharing
another woman's home and family.  Livia would have been happy for her
to continue on with them, but Jessie had hungered for a home of her
own.

Her mind drifted off along that tangent for a while longer.  Memories
of Greg's arguments against Harry, her own stubbornness.  She had
believed that Harry wanted the same things she did.  Hindsight had
proved her wrong.  He had been fixated on finding gold in the
Superstition Mountains.  He'd had no interest in building the ranch. No
matter how she pleaded with him not to go off and leave her alone, he'd
cajole and promise that it was the last time, that he was sure that big
strike was waiting for him.

Perhaps he had found a gold strike.  Jessie would never know.  His
horse had carded his fever-ridden body home, where he'd died without
ever realizing she was there.

Angry, she shook herself free of her musings and returned to the
problem at hand.

She was a thirty-year-old widow who owned a broken-down excuSe for a
ranch without a penny to her name.  She had sold everything of value
with the exception of Harry's shotgun.

And her wedding ring.

Sunlight glinted on the pinkish gold band as she lifted her left hand.
The ring was thin and worn, having belonged to Harry's mother for
almost forty years.

Jessie stared at the ring, thinking of her happiness the day Harry had
placed it on her finger as they said their vows.  She had never once
taken it off.  But this was the first time she admitted to herself that
she wore it as much to protect herself as from sentiment.

Each Sunday after church services that she never attended, David
Trainor, a widower and the only person from Apache Junction who did not
believe that she had killed Harry, would come to call on her.  They sat
on the wood plank bench in front of the cabin, David on one end, she on
the other, sipping lemonade she made from the lemons that David brought
with him.  He never came inside.  As if she didn't have the most
isolated ranch in the area, as if she didn't already have more gossip
than anyone else whispered about.

She couldn't fault David, but his insistence on what was proper and
what was not irked her at times.  As long as she wore her ring, he did
no more than hint of his interest in courting her.  He timed his visits
to last an hour and no more, checking his pocket watch from the moment
he arrived to the moment he sat up on his wagon's seat to leave.  His
last visit had ended with his reminder that her year of mourning would
be up at the end of the month.

She had no doubt that David would ask her to marry him.  Marry him
immediately.  He was a sweet, thoughtful man, but she didn't love him.
He had a family grown from his first wife, two children from the second
and she had no wish to be the third Mrs.  Trainor.

In her discouraged state she couldn't deny marrying David would help
still the wagging tongues that gossiped she had killed Harry in order
to keep for herself the gold mine he had supposedly found.

She only wished that Harry had discovered gold.  A lot of gold.  The
small poke filled with tiny nuggets she had discovered hidden in his
bedroll had paid for his burying costs and given rise to the
whispers.

If she wasn't in such a desperate situation, she believed she would
have smiled just thinking about the speculation in Silas Beeson's eyes
every time she took courage in hand to go into his mercantile to trade
her eggs.  He kept expecting her to purchase additional foodstuffs with
gold.

This time she wouldn't disappoint him.  With a silent prayer asking the
Lord for forgiveness, she worked her wedding band from her finger.
Clutching it tightly, she closed her eyes.

If she was going to sell it, she should use the money to buy passage
back to her brother.  The best solution to her problem of trying to
keep the ranch going.

But Jessie found she had a deep well of stubbornness.  She wasn't ready
to give up all she had to claim as her own.

The Lord would provide.  The thought forced her eyes open.  "He already
has," she whispered, thinking of the small gifts she had been finding.
True, she had also lost some items or a chicken or two, and more than a
few eggs.  But her unseen and unknown benefactor had provided her with
fresh fish, rabbit, even venison.

The stubborn spirit that had gotten her into this brine barrel revived.
Somehow she'd find a way.

Deeply engrossed in thought, Jessie jumped when she realized someone or
something was thumping on the far outside wall of the cabin.

With the thought of her benefactor's gifts in mind, she wasn't unduly
alarmed as she rose and went to the door.  Bolting it had become habit
after she'd found a rattlesnake warming itself on the hearth rug.  She
lifted the heavy bolt and set it aside.

Jessie caught herself pausing with her hand on the latch.  Shaking off
the momentary warning pang, opened the door.

"Oh, my Lord!"  The words were a whisper of sound.  She sucked in a
sharp, frightened breath.  She pressed one hand to her chest.
Instinctively her startled gaze searched the clearing in front of the
cabin before coming to rest on the bundle on her doorstep.

If this was her benefactor's idea of a gift, Jessie didn't want it.

The very last thing she needed in her life was a man.  A wounded man,
at that!

From his vantage point on top of the shed

Kenny nodded with satisfaction.  He slid backward and dropped to the
ground.

"Tole you, Marty.  She's so taken aback, the widow woman's cryin' with
joy.  Now she's got herself a man."  '

Chapter Two

Logan didn't want to open his eyes.  Opening his eyes, moving, any
acknowledgment that he was awake would swing wide the door to pain.
More pain than the dull, throbbing ache pulsing through his body.  '
Waking up would act as a whetstone honing an edge to pain until it was
knife keen.

But there were scents that drew him.  Faint, almost elusive.  He
thought he could smell sunshine and clean, soft linen.  Damn foolish
thought, but he was a man who liked his comforts and he'd been too long
without them.

Tempted to discover if he was dreaming, he opened:: his eyes and closed
them immediately.  He'd been right about the pain.  He waited until the
edge was off, opened his eyes cautiously this time.  No unwise ii
moves, he warned him selL that razor edge is just waiting for you.

The little he could see alerted him that he know where the hell he was.
The last time he be red his eyes being open, a blazing ball of had
blinded him.

Instinct that he was safe, at least for now, eased flare of panic.  He
was in a clean bed, with a soft pillow beneath his drumming head.

He sure wasn't in heaven, or he wouldn't be hurting.  Couldn't be in
hell.  Santo swore the devil would hold a fiesta for him when he
arrived there.  So he concluded he was alive.  Alive with someone
caring for him.  Who?

It was a question Logan needed answered.  He knew he wasn't with the
gang.  Monte was the only one who knew what clean meant.

This much thought built the throbbing aches in his body and sent him
close to the edge where he couldn't control the pain.

He forced himself to be calm, closing his eyes, and willed the tension
to leave his body as he lay perfectly still.  Struggling for answers
wasn't going to do him a bit of good.  Rest would help him.  A simple
order for him to follow.

Despite his effort, his thoughts returned to the moment he'd been shot.
At his side, his hand curled tightly as if still gripping the reins and
the thick, coarse mane of his gelding for a flat-out run.  Behind a
gauzy mind curtain, the blur of passing land and voices wavered out of
reach.

Logan did remember a blow to the skull that set off a whorl of bursting
colors before his eyes.  And he felt again that stomach-dropping
sensation of falling.  He'd blacked out.

And that blackness beguiled him again.

He fought it off.  He couldn't afford to rest easy, despite the pain,
despite an instinctive need to heal his beaten body.  He had to find
out where he was, and who played Good Samaritan.

The feather tick cushioning his body bespoke soft at ness.  Anything
soft brought instant association with anything female.

He should be so lucky.  He denied it.  He wanted to keep on denying it.
After all, how could a woman move him?

He tried to gauge the size of the cabin.  Wide-beam rafters laced the
ceiling.  Nothing strange, nothing at all unusual.  Didn't tell him a
damn thing.  He'd have to move his head to see more.  His body and will
clashed over the pain that would cause.

He wrinkled his nose, sniffing the air.  Sure smelled like chicken
soup.  Enticed, he had no choice.  Eyes slowly opened, and he eased his
head to the side.  A burst of loud pounding came from inside his
skull.

Logan blinked, looked, then blinked again.  He wished for the strength
to lift his hand to rub his eyes.  A futile thought.  Moving his head
had cost him, in spades.

A blur of sunshine caught his attention.  But it was.  the damnedest
sun he'd ever seen.  Sunshine didn't rise from the floor in the
craziest bell-shaped curves.  Sun-shine--sure as he lay helpless as a
pea on a hot skillet---didn't sway to and fro.

He was as parched as a dried-up mud hole and couldn't call out.  The
totally helpless feeling brought a rapid anger.  Marshaling his
formidable will, started to sit up.  An unwise move.  The drum in his
head was banging away and its resounding lanced through him to take up
residence in his shoulder.  The room dipped and swirled.  With one foot
he felt the bareness of the other.  At least someone had taken off his
boots before putting him to bed.  Why that mattered, he didn't know.

He moaned and laid his head back on the pillow.

"Thank the Lord!  You're awake!"

Sunshine had a voice.  Sunshine moved toward him.  Maybe he had died
and gone to heaven and this was an angel of mercy coming to his side.

Her next words disabused him of that foolish notion.  "Quick, before
you pass out again, tell me wh you are and where you belong.  I'll ride
into town and get a telegram off so someone can come and get you."

Hell, he'd never expected to be welcomed to the pearly gates, but he
sure hadn't figured on getting thrown out if he ever made it up that
far.  Some angel this was turning out to be.

"Lo---" He stopped himself, fighting against the waves of pain.  He
couldn't tell her who he was: He couldn't trust anyone.  There wasn't a
speck of moisture in his mouth.  Dragging his hand up, he didn't stifle
the moans, but motioned toward his mouth.  He had to close his eyes
against the bobbing of her head.  "Thirsty?  Of course you are, Stay
right there."

If he'd had the strength, Logan would have cussed her.  As if he could
move... What the hell had he gotten himself into this time?  It had all
the earmarks of a vinegar crock and he the one being pickled.

She was back before he formed more thoughts.  He forgave her his
uncharitable thought the moment cool water touched his dry lips.  He
swallowed every drop greedily then fell back against the pillow with a
deep sigh.

"Better?"  Jessie asked.  "Can you talk now?"  Logan decided his
charity had been misplaced.  She wasn't an angel but a harpy.  He kept
his eyes closed.  But he couldn't rid his mind of the image that she
was all sunshine.  It was the hair.  Parted in the middle, pulled back
from her face, there was just enough to show him the tawny color of a
mountain lion's coat.  Her bright yellow gown put sunshine in his head.
The effort to think expended his strength, and left him hurting and
exhausted.  If he ignored her long enough maybe she'd go away.

"Don't drift off again," Jessie warned in a disgruntled voice.  Her
sweeping gaze over his long, supine body brought back her first thought
about him.  He was built like a whip, long, lean, tough and lethal.

"Surely you can manage to tell me your name?  Or where you're from?
What happened to you?"  Thoroughly vexed when he didn't respond, she
chewed her bottom lip.

She had to stop herself from reaching out to brush the damn curling
strands of his dark brown, almost black hair away from his forehead.
She'd done her share of petting and touching while she cleaned his
wound.  And she'd spent a good deal of time studying the fierce line of
his nose and jaw, trying to determine why she found him attractive when
those roughly cut features suggested a harsh, ruthless nature.

"It wasn't much of a guess on my part to figure out that you'd been
shot and robbed."  She watched him for any betraying signs.  "Thing is,
I've had time to wonder if you were being robbed or doing the robbing."
She nearly pounced at the flicker of his eyelids.

"I see," she drawled in a honey-thick voice, "that I've finally gained
your attention."

The man made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a groan.  A response
for sure, but not the one she had hoped for.

"You've been in my bed all night," she offered helpfully.  "Don't you
want to know who I am?"  Her softly voiced questions elicited another
flicker of his lids.  "I won't hurt you.  Don't be concerned that
you're in any danger."

Watching him as closely as she was, Jessie saw his fingers relax.
Mentally she backed off from questioning him further.  She'd been harsh
to push him now.

But she couldn't escape the need to have him gone.  "Would you like
some chicken soup?  It's almost ready."

Logan, to his mortification, suddenly discovered he had another, more
pressing need to attend.  One of his bleary eyes opened, squinting as
he focused on the woman, Neither an angel nor a harpy, he'd decided in
the past few minutes.

But how was he to convey his need to her?  He just couldn't ask.  He
couldn't get up and he sure as hell' Something wrong!  Oh, dear.  Is
the pain worse?  I only had my headache powder to give you.  Would you
like another?  Are you thirsty again?"

No response but that one bloodshot eye staring up at her.  She nibbled
her lip, deep in thought.

"We must figure out a way for you to communicate with me, since you
can't speak.  Or won't," she added, shooting him a suspicious,
narrow-eyed glare,

"If you can open and close that eye, we'll use that.  Open is yes and
closed means no.  Think you can manage?"

Logan didn't close his eye.  His head was clearing, at least to where
the pounding receded to a dull ache, but his shoulder didn't bear
thinking about.  His Good Samaritan was rather tall for a woman, Her
features were rather plain taken one by one.  The apron she wore helped
define her lush figure.  She didn't appear to be a woman who needed
headache powders ... but what did he know?

And if she persisted in asking these ridiculous questions about his
head hurting, or the pillow being too hard, by the time she got farther
down his body she wouldn't have to ask what was wrong.

"You got a pot?"

The rusty growl startled Jessie.  She was in.  the act of leaning
closer, and straightened with a militant gleam in her eye.

"So, you can talk.  Well, to answer you, of course

I've got a pot.  I said I was cooking, didn't IT'

"An empty one."

"An empty one," she repeated.  Her gaze flew down to the crease of his
thighs.  She swallowed.  "An empty one," she repeated again, diving
beneath the bed and coming up with the chamber pot.  "One empty pot."

And she fled.

"Come back here!"  As a demand, Logan knew it lacked something.  A
little force, a whole lot of loud.

She was a harpy, bent on torturing him.  How the hell was he going to
use the damn pot without help?

Jessie ran all the way to the corral.  Embarrassed didn't begin to
cover what she felt.  Guilt wormed its way into her thoughts.  She
shouldn't have run off like a sixteen-year-old virgin who didn't know
that a wounded man would use a chamber pot.  He'd himself.  Lord!  :

Hinging one arm on the pole fence of the corral,

Jessie buried her face in the crook of her elbow.  She was not a cruel
woman.  She truly wasn't.  But now that the first flush of
embarrassment was passing, she admitted she'd been wrong to leave him
alone.  If she had any backbone she'd march right back into her cabin
and face her unwanted boarder.  She should apologize, and while she was
at it, think of some reason beyond impropriety that had sent her
fleeing like a ninny.

Feeling a nudge against her arm, Jessie reached out with her free hand.
"Oh, Adorabelle, I've made a muddle of this."

The swaybacked mare's thick lips and velvet-soft muzzle pressed against
her arm.

"I know you're not concerned.  But I am.  I'm the one who has to go
back inside and face him."  A gentle nip of teeth forced Jessie to look
up.  Stroking the mare's white-blazed face, she shook her head.  "I'm
sorry, darling, there's no sugar left."

The decrepit old mare greeted this news with a snort, her ears flicking
back and forth.  Jessie smiled.  Her horse almost appeared to be
waiting for confirmation of what was said.

"We are in poor straits, Adorabelle."  A glance behind her reminded
Jessie that a decent amount of time had passed.  Sooner or later, she
had to go back inside the cabin.

After wiping her hands on her apron, Jessie patted the mare once more,
then executed a sharp turn on her heels.

"This is my cabin.  I have nothing to apologize for.  He is here on my
sufferance.  And I am an independent woman who no longer accounts to
anyone for my behavior."

She repeated her reminders all the way inside.  Finding her unwanted
houseguest facedown on the floor next to her bed sent a sharp pang of
guilt through her.

Jessie ran to his side and dropped to the floor.  Smoothing his hair
away from his face, she pleaded with him to speak to her.

He was clammy to her touch and white about the mouth.  Guilt pangs
drove deeper.  "Forgive me.  Please forgive me.  I'm going to help you
back to bed," she murmured, heartsick that her embarrassment had caused
him additional pain.

She was almost afraid to touch the bandage she had made for his
shoulder.  The only other place for her hand was his bare skin.  Jessie
had avoided looking at the dark, curling hair on his chest earlier. But
she couldn't avoid looking and touching him now.

"Be brave," she muttered, unsure if she meant it for him or herself.

Logan gave a brief thought to pretending that he'd blacked out again.
But her contrite tone, combined with the gentle stroking of her hand
and the fact that he'd attempted to struggle back to bed alone, forced
his eyes open.

"I'm alive.  It was touch and go"

"Mister!"  Jessie snatched her hand away from him.

He ignored her even as he realized how she had taken his words.  "I
survived."

"I may not."

Logan peered up at the tart-as-green-berries pursed lips.  Now he
understood.

"You're one of those."

"One of what?"  she demanded.

"Ain't had much truck with men."

"If you are implying that, I'm a dour spinster, mister, you're wrong.
I'm a missus.  See?"  Jessie stuck her left hand in his face.  "That
ring is a symbol that a man found me worthy of marriage, mister.  And
since you find yourself in the position of being dependent upon my good
graces, best be careful of what you say to me."

"Right, ma'am.  Your husband ... eris he around?"

"No, That should be obvious.  And having this conversation on the floor
is ridiculous.  Up you go."

For all that she spoke with a tart tongue, her hands were very gentle
as she slid one of his arms over her shoulder, and wrapped her own arm
around his narrow waist.

Logan managed to grunt his way to his knees.  She seemed to understand
what the effort cost him, for she made no move to push him.

He breathed deeply, gathering up the last reserves of his strength.
Once again, without speaking, she appeared to know that he was ready
for the final move.

Jessie's hands slid on his sweat-damp skin.  His chest labored with
every breath he drew and her own was none too steady.  She braced her
legs to make the last move to get him into bed.  He was heavy despite
his whipcord-lean appearance.

She realized that she was still leaning over him, and slowly
straightened.  Arching her back, she rubbed e small of her back,
feeling the pull of muscles.

"We made it."

Logan, feeling like a fish that had been tossed from a stream and
flopped about without oxygen for too long, merely moved one finger.  It
was all he was capable of doing at the moment.

Shoving the loose tendrils of hair that had come free from her coil,
Jessie realized the damp spots beneath her arms showed.  Mortified,
although she didn't understand why since his eyes were closed, she
locked her arms down at her sides to hide the dampness.

Her position was awkward as she leaned over and studied his bandaged
shoulder.  "Thank goodness you didn't cause it to bleed again. Though,"
she mused, more to herself, "I put enough pine tar -"

"Pine tar?  You put pine tar on me?"  Logan's teeth came together with
a snap.  "Lady," he went on without opening his eyes, "I'm not some
damn tree you're getting ready to graft.  I'm a damn man."  Jeez was
she blind?

"You sure are a damn man," she muttered.  "I can see perfectly well
that you're an ornery male who wouldn't know what was good for you if
it sat up and bit you on the ... the ... well, somewhere!  Not only are
you male, but you're wounded I hate to remind you, but you're rather
quick to jump to conclusions for a man who is dependent upon me for
care.  It's obvious to me, as a woman, that you, being a damn man your
words, not mine--wouldn't know the many uses for pine tar from green
apples."

Oh, Lord!  Button up, Logan.  She has a testy tone in that vinegary
mouth.  Pine tar, for Pete's sake?  Where the hell had she come from?
Likely he was on the road to dying with her supposed care of his
wound.

Nodding to herself as she straightened, Jessie was satisfied that he
was going to heed her reprimand, and so continued to explain what she:
had done to his wound.

"After I dragged your quilt-wrapped body from my doorstep--"

"What?"  Logan's eyes snapped open.  Despite his helpless state, he
managed to target her face with all the pent-up anger and frustration
inside him.

"I ... said," she repeated.  slowly and testily, "that... I dragged ...
your quilt-wrapped body re

"I heard that part, lady."  Damn!  Confusion held sway over his
thoughts.  He remembered the blow to his head.  Remembered waking dazed
to that blazing sun overhead, but he was as sure as the Lord made this
woman to vex man that no one had wrapped him in a quilt.

That was an act of kindness.  Kindness was not a word familiar to the
outlaws he'd ridden with.  Just witness the way they'd dumped him once
he was wounded.

Or had that been the only reason that they'd gotten rid of him?  The
ache in his head intensified with the sudden forced concentration of
his thoughts.

Had they somehow discovered his real name?

No.  He dismissed it If they knew who he was, they would have killed
him, not just left him for dead.

Tapping her high-buttoned shoe with impatience, Jessie said, "Do I take
your silence as a wish for me to continue?"

"Yeah.  Go ahead, lady, and tell me."

Jessie couldn't help it.  She glanced heavenward and rolled her eyes.
Not the most gracious person she had ever come across.  Instantly she
chided herself for the uncharitable thought.  Putting herself in his
place, she knew how anxious she would be.  With a heartfelt sigh she
strove to make allowances for his display of temper due to his wounds
and the poor man's obvious confusion as to how he had arrived on her
doorstep.

As if he had read her thoughts, Logan asked, "Did your husband find
me?"

"No."  As an answer it left something to be desired.  Jessie studied
the rough, beamed ceiling, the chinked, logged walls, even the
wide-planked floor.  She stared blankly at the nicks and scratches in
the bureau.  She avoided the mirror.

In those few minutes she discovered that her guest had a great deal of
Patience.  He waited.  True, he was watching her the whole time, but he
didn't say a word.

She warned herself to answer him carefully.  Pointing out her wedding
ring had been an act of protection and, she admitted, feminine pique.
Her vanity, the little she had, had taken enough woundings in years
past.  She knew how plain she was, how her ripe figure did not meet
fashion's dictates.  She'd heard as much and more from the few men who
deemed her suitable to court when she had lived with her aunt.  Harry,
bless his departed soul, had never once made a disparaging remark about
her looks.

Her chin lifted.  Her mouth firmed with the reminder that she didn't
have to tolerate anything from this man.

"So," Logan said when her gaze returned to his, "you're the one who
found me, lady?"

"My name is Mrs.  Winslow.  And I already said that I found you on my
doorstep."

"Little early for Christmas."

"I don't consider you a gift, mister."

Jessie fought the temptation to explain at length about her unknown and
unseen benefactor.  Although her wounded, unwanted houseguest carded no
gun, he was a stranger who had revealed a tendency toward a surly
nature.  Like a man who was used to giving orders.  The stray thought
distracted her.

Logan, still watching her, became fascinated with the way she nibbled
her lower lip.  First she licked the spot, then drew it between small,
even teeth.  He had just realized that she tended to do this a lot.  A
nervous habit that gave a little away about Mrs.  Winslow.  She wasn't
as calm as she appeared.  Her remark about him not being considered a
gift rankled.  Since he was in no position to argue, he was forced to
wait patiently until he had her focused attention once more.

Jessie glared at him.  Her unknown benefactor had been goodness itself
until yesterday.  She wasn't in a mood to extend forgiveness to whoever
it was.  Any more of this man's scowls and she might never be ready to
forgive.

Sensing he was fast losing ground with her, Logan strove for a. hopeful
expression.  He had a feeling that if he pushed too much, Mrs.  Winslow
might toss him back outside.

"So, uh, ma'am--"

"Yes?"

"Tell me what your husband thinks of you taking me in?"

Jessie's gaze turned thoughtful.  She didn't trust his grin.  She
couldn't lie to him.  She hated lies and the people who told them.
Harry had been an accomplished liar.  Always promising her it was the
last time he'd spend money to buy some phony map.  Promising it was the
last time he'd go prospecting for gold.  That he'd always be around to
take care of her.  Ha!  So much for men and their lies!

"We'll have to wait to find out what my husband thinks."  A long wait.
Longer than either of us will

Uncomfortable with his omissions of who he was and that she had nothing
to fear from him, Logan nonetheless couldn't abide someone lying to his
face.

"Oh, lady, you're good, but not good enough.  So we're gonna wait to
find out what your husband thinks?  There ain't been a man around here
in a long time."

If his head hadn't hurt so much Logan would have laughed.  Her mouth
dropped open to a soundless O. Gotcha, lady!

Chapter Three

Jessie rolled over for the third time.  Double thick quilts cushioned
her body from the hard floor where she made her bed.  She still fumed
over her inept handling of her guest.  She spoke only when necessary,
although treating him to a silent study lacked a certain flair.  She
had refused to admit the truth.  Not that it seemed to matter to him.

The man intimidated her.

A ridiculous thought when she considered that he was helpless and
Wounded, but it was nonetheless true.  She didn't like feeling
intimidated.  All her life she had been dominated by strong-willed
people.  Now that she was free, or had been until he showed up, she had
believed that no one could do that to her again.

Resentment flared that he had proved her wrong.  He had told her his
name was Logan.

Right after he thanked her for the soup, her em.e and giving him her
bed,

He had even sounded sincere.

No softening, Jessie.

I am not softening, she argued with herself, I am simply making an
observation.  He has a very nice smile, too.  If there had been any
softening going on, the smile had accomplished it.  His harsh features
appeared a great deal softer, almost handsome.  Certainly attractive...
You're softening, Jessie, the little nag warned.

Go to sleep and then maybe I can, too.  With that said, she rolled over
once again.

How was a man supposed to get any sleep with her twisting and turning
and thumping about on the floor?  Those weren't the only reasons Logan
lay awake, but they were the ones he concentrated on.  Anything to
distract himself from the pain in his shoulder.

His prissy Samaritan claimed there was no bullet lodged there.  Said
the wound had bled profusely.  Even showed him his bloodstained shirt,
which she'd then washed and mended.  She hadn't had much more to say to
him after he'd caught her in her lie.

He didn't understand why he was still thinking about her.  He had more
pressing matters that demanded his attention.

There was something about the way her gaze met his, something about the
way she lifted her rounded chin when she challenged him.

She didn't lack spirit.

Spirit was a good thing to have ... in a horse.  His women he liked
accommodating.  And she was on the plump side.  There again, he usually
liked a woman the way he liked his steaks, on the lean side and a
little raw.  She had an easterner's bite on her words.  Rawness might
shock her.  Didn't appear to have a dependent bone in her lush body.

Quit thinking about her body.

Guess I'm on the mend.

Well, remember that her tongue would spur any man who called himself
one to move on.

Is that what had happened to Mr.  Winslow?

If there had been a Mr.  Winslow.

He could still envision her mouth falling open.  A rather nice mouth,
he recalled.  Wide and generous, the type given to easy laughter.

Dumb, fanciful thought!

From what he had seen of her cabin, it hadn't taken much to determine
that a man hadn't been around if ever - in a long time.  The pegs on
the wall revealed a woman's trappings--shawl, gown and a floppy felt
hat. There was a small wooden chest beneath the window, carved with
pretty birds and flowers.  A woman's possession, for sure.

He hadn't spotted a razor strop hanging on the wall.  No, he decided,
there wasn't a man living here with her.

Logan lifted his hand and rubbed his bearded face.

He felt stronger after two bowls of her chicken soup.  "Mr.  Logan?"

Her voice flowed out of the dark and startled him.  "Told you, it's
just Logan."

"Logan, then.  If you can't sleep, I could mix one of my headache
powders for you."

"Didn't realize I was making so much noise that I woke you."

"Oh, you didn't.  I haven't been asleep.  I've been thinking."

Logan didn't like the sound of that.

Jessie ignored his silence and continued.  "You never said what you
were doing in these parts.  You never mentioned how you were shot.
Don't you think you owe me some answers?"

"I'm not real sure where it is I am exactly."  Keep calm and do a
little thinking of your own.  Preferably fast.

"Outside of Apache Junction," she offered helpfully.

A ways north of the mine.  Logan blocked out the sound of her voice. He
couldn't remember the outlaws ever heading this far north before. Were
they going to a new hideout?  Or finally meeting with the man behind
the robberies?  Damn!  That he should lie here helpless as a babe when
these were the answers he sought.

Even deep in his own thoughts, Logan became in-Stanfiy aware that
tension rolled across the cabin.  Since Mrs.  Winslow was the only
Other occupant, he figured that it came from her.

"What's wrong?"  he whispered, wishing he had his gun.

"Didn't you hear it?"

"What?"

"The noises coming from outside.  I bet it's the henhouse again."

He could barely make out her shadow, up and moving.  Sounds of shells
being rammed home alerted him to her intent.

"You're going out there?"

"I don't see anyone else around here willing to protect my property.  I
need those laying hens."

"But--" She had the door unbolted and herself on the other side of it
before he struggled to sit up.  "Damn!  And double damn!"

Cursing relieved some tension.  Every move.  proved a struggle for him.
He couldn't stop thinking about who might be out there.  There was no
time to waste.

He wouldn't put it past Monte Wheeler to come back or send someone back
to make sure he was dead.  And she was out there alone.

His bare foot slammed into a bench near the door.  Swearing up a silent
storm, he shoved the bench out of his way just as a blast rocked the
night.

"Damn that woman!  She,s likely to get herself killed!"

Head pounding, shoulder throbbing and his foot sending shooting pains
up his leg, Logan scrambled to yank the door open.

Jessie flung herself inside.

They hit the floor in a tangled heap.  Logan lost his breath for a few
moments, then his renewed cursing melded with her mutterings.

The second she attempted to untangle herself he bellowed with pain. The
hot shotgun barrel pressed against the bare skin of his arm.

"Oh, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean..."-' Jessie tossed the gun across the
floor, where it landed with a clatter.

"Here, let me, ah, let me.  Her voice trailed away.

With a great deal of gulping, Jessie took stock of the exact position
of each body part that belonged to her, and where its counterpart--his
bodily counter part--met hers.

Her bare feet inched along the inside of his legs.

Her knees were cradled between his spread thighs.

Their position had gone beyond impropriety to inde cent.  Her nose
pressed against his chest.  Hot, damp skin wet her nightgown.

"Lord," she muttered, "this is as sticky as divinity fudge."

That's one way of putting it, lady.

Jessie strained to make sense of his noises.  She wasn't sure where to
brace herself so she could get off him.  His grumbling held a desperate
note.  Maybe she was hurting him.

A year of handling all the chores and repairs on her own had
strengthened her muscles.  Jessie blessed that strength as she spread
her hands on either side of his shoulders and managed to lift herself a
bit.

"Th-thank God.  You ... were smothering me."  Well, it was all fine and
dandy for him.  But now she could feel herself pressing from the waist
down against his body.

"Look, lady, you need to move?"

"I know!  I'll go to the right and you move to the left.  Ready?"

"Yeah."

Jessie inched her upper body to the right, And froze.  Something very
warm touched her breast through her nightgown.  It was too soft to be
his nose, although she felt his breath real close by.  That left his
mouth dampening the cotton, heating the skin beneath.

"Tart berries," Logan muttered under his breath.  "What?"

"Start moving, I said."

"Yes.  I am.  Right now."  She flung herself to the side and lay on her
back.  It had been his mouth, and she forced herself not to reach up
and touch the place he had kissed.  Kissed?  You're imagining things.

Oh, no, I'm not.  She eyed his sprawled figure next to her in the dark.
Tart berries, indeed!

"What were you shooting at?"

"The henhouse."  Had he really kissed... "That doesn't make any sense,"
Logan prompted.  He knew he shouldn't have taken advantage--no, that
wasn't right.  He didn't take advantage.  Her nipple was just there.
But she'd known.  He still heard that funny sound she'd made. Startled,
almost.  As if she couldn't believe he'd done that.

Should she say something?  Jessie shook her head.  She couldn't.  She
simply could not say a word.

"Are you all right?  You didn't get hurt rushing out there, did you?"

"No."  That much was true.  Jessie had been so mad that she'd hardly
felt the stones beneath her bare feet.  A strangely warm feeling
unfurled inside at the thought that he had cared to ask.  She didn't
remember anyone but her brother or his wife expressing concern about
her.

Somehow, she wasn't surprised when he enfolded her hand in his.  She
was calmer now, her thinking clear.  She knew she should be the one to
make a move to get up.  His silent comfort, his being someone to share
with after being alone for so long, filled a need she wasn't aware of
having until this moment.

Logan fought a silent bat He with himself.  His body demanded rest, his
mind insisted that he try questioning her.  The need to know ruled
him.

"This ever happen before?"

"A few times.  It started a few months ago."  There was something else
she should be remembering, but couldn't seem to focus on what it was.

Tension seeped out of Logan.  It wasn't Monte, or any of the others,
come back for him.  He wished he had the strength to move.  The floor
was hard and he was hurting.  The door remained open.  And he couldn't
forget the lush weight of her pressed against him.

Lured by the dark intimacy, Jessie whispered a confession.  "The other
times I wasn't frightened, but tonight I could swear that something
growled at me.  That never happened before."

"Growled?"  Logan struggled to angle his head to the side so he could
see her.  Worry was evident in her voice.  "You mean the way a dog
growls?"

"I couldn't be sure.  It all happened so fast.  When I hear the hens
squawk I usually go outside and shoot the gun in the air.  It seems to
chase off whoever or whatever is out there.  The hens get upset.  That
means no eggs tomorrow.  I just hope I won't find another of the hens
gone."

"If you're still worded, I'll take a look outside."  Logan knew his
offer was ridiculous.  If he couldn't move from the floor, he'd be in
no condition to go roaming around outside.

Jessie was having the same thoughts.  Wisely she held her tongue. There
was no sense pointing out the obvious to him.

"I think the best place for you is in bed.  Whatever disturbed the hens
is gone, or you'd hear my rooster."

"You know, I don't feel comfortable with the idea of you sleeping on
the floor.  You take the bed and I'll bunk down--"

"You can't.  I mean, I won't let you risk catching a chill.  In your
weakened state that could bring on.  a fever."

Jessie freed her hand from his.  She scrambled to her feet and hoped
his night vision wasn't good.  It was silly to worry now, but her
nightgown was worn from washing.  She felt exposed standing while he
lay there, but she couldn't avoid offering him a hand to get up.

Logan eyed her extended hand.  He wanted to refuse her help.  He had
thought she was softening a little toward him, but her last words were
lightly coated with tartness again.  And it went against his grain to
need a woman to help him stand.  But refusing would only spite
himself.

He drew a deep breath and braced himself for the pain.  Catching hold
of her hand, he lunged upward.

Jessie caught him as he stood swaying, wrapping her arms around his
narrow waist.  She took the weight of the arm he slung over her
shoulders.  She could almost feel his resistance to leaning on her as
she led him toward the bed.

Despite the cool night air, his body was warm.  She hadn't thought much
about touching his bare skin before, but noticed the play of muscles
beneath her palms.  He was lean and hard.  She felt the dampness of her
palms slide over his waist and belly as he moved to lower himself to
the bed.  Her heart was pounding and she knew better than to fool
herself that it was helping him that caused it.  Harry had always been
covered up, either with a shin or his nightshirt.  She couldn't
remember him ever encouraging her to touch his body.

Instinct warned that Logan would not only encourage a woman to touch
him, he'd like and expect it.

Jessie, don't go off on a tangent and start getting ideas about him.
He's a moving-on kind of marc He'll be ready to go in a few days.  Keep
that in mind.

She backed away from the bed and barred the door before finding her way
to her own bed.

Logan heard the rustling of the quilts as she settled down to sleep.
"You're a brave woman, Mrs.  Win-slow.  Guess I got lucky after all."

The last made no sense to her, so she ignored it.  "Good night, Logan.
And it's Jessie.  Somehow Mrs.  Winslow sounds too formal now."

"Jessie, then."  Logan found himself smiling.  Jessie.  The name suited
her.  A foolish notion to have when he had to grit his teeth as the
throbbing in his arm renewed 'itself.

He had to keep in mind that his job wasn't finished.  She had trembled
as she held him.  The thought surfaced and stayed.

This is crazy, he told himself.  He felt the subtle changes in his
body, the sexual tightening that a desirable, available woman often
brought him.  He had no right to feel like this.  As if to reinforce
his conclusion, he broke out in a stomach-churning cold sweat.  The
moment of sexual awareness that Jessie had caused disappeared.

Wouldn't have done him a lick of good to let things progress on their
natural course.  He was weak as a newly hatched chick, helpless as a
freshly dropped calf, and she'd helped him to bed.  If he'd started
anything, Jessie would have had to help him all the way.

Tantalizing as the thought was, Logan couldn't avoid figuring what he
was going to do once he'd recovered and could travel.

He had an added score to settle with Monte and the others for stealing
his horse, his gun and rifle, and his belt buckle.  He was right
partial to his horse and weapons.  A man broke those to the feel of his
own hand.

A stay-around kind of man had the pleasure of knowing his woman was
partial to the touch of his hand.

Logan frowned in the dark.  Where had that stray thought come from?
Surely he wasn't still thinking about Jessie?

He couldn't be.  He wouldn't allow thoughts of her to interfere.

An attempt to shift position ended in frustration.  He hated sleeping
on his back.  His brothers teased him that his belly-down position,
arms and legs flung to the four corners, made him look like a splayed
frog that hogged the bed.  But that teasing had happened in the days
before little brother Ty had had a bellyful of Conner's orders and had
lit out for parts unknown.

It was a major source of friction between him and Conner.  His older
brother had never indulged in the horseplay with him and Ty, never got
rip-roaring drank on Saturday night.  But Conner was steady as a rock.
And Conner held people to their promises.

He would be going crazy if Logan didn't get in touch with him soon.
Conner wasn't going to be happy to learn that he'd got himself shot and
lost his gear.

He could still hear Conner's warning the day he had left the ranch. Get
what you're going after, but don't get killed.

Well, he hadn't gotten himself killed, thanks to Jessie Winslow.  But
he sure as hell hadn't got what he'd been after.

One more mess-up for Conner to shake his head over.  But only if he
went home with his tail between his legs.

He'd find a way.  Somehow, he would.

"What happened, Kenny?  You said she'd be so happy having a man. Didn't
YOU?  How come she shot at you?  How come, huh?"

"Jeez, you an' your questions.  Don't you ever stop with 'em?"  Kenny,
more frightened than he cared to admit to Marty, nursed his swollen
thumb.  He'd figured that widow woman would be so busy taking care of
the wounded man that he could steal some eggs or a hen.  She'd scared
the dickens out of him when she'd come out and let that big shotgun of
hers go off.  He'd slammed the henhouse door on his thumb, dropped the
two eggs he had managed to find and got pecked on the cheek by the
rooster.

It appeared that she got madder than one of her hens when it got wet.

Climbing into the wagon that was their home, Kenny knew he wasn't going
to tell Marty about the man he'd seen nosing around the widow's shed.
No sense in both of them worrying.  And he didn't want more questions
that he couldn't answer.

Could be, he thought as he blew out the lantern and stretched out on
his bed, that they had brought the widow woman more than a man.  They
might have given her a passel of trouble.

Chapter Four

Logan Jessie decided two days later, led a charmed life.  And a
dangerous one, she reminded herself as she recalled the smaller, old
scars on his body.  He hadn't regained anywhere near the full use of
his arm, but his' wound was healing at a rapid pace.  After she had
cleaned and bandaged it this morning she had told him she wouldn't use
any more of the pine tar salve.

Thankful that there had been no more attempts to steal her hens or
their eggs, Jessie scattered feed to them.  She couldn't stop thinking
how little she had learned about Logan beyond a few personal likes and
dislikes.

He wasn't a fussy eater.  He was polite, always offering some
compliment about a meal, or her gentle touch.  Sincere compliments,
too.  Someone had taken time to teach him manners.  He took his coffee
black with lots of sugar, and when she informed him there wasn't any,
he apologized for asking.

He was a man used to doing things for himself.  Accepting her help for
the simplest tasks bothered him.  His total lack of expecting her to
wait on him forced her to see Logan in another light.  Her brother was
the only other man like this that she knew.

Jessie threw another handful of seed to the hens, checked to make sure
the gate was securely latched and headed back to the shed.

Admonishing herself not to be so curious about Logan didn't do a bit of
good.

Setting the feed bucket down, she eyed the few bales of hay left for
Adorabelle.  She couldn't put off going to town to sell her ring.  Just
as she couldn't put off riding out to see her small herd of cattle.
Taking the halter down from its peg, Jessie went back outside to the
coral.

A quick look showed that the cabin door was open, but there was no sign
of Logan.  She had made a spur-of-the-moment decision last night and
hauled out the trunk of Harry's possessions she had stored away.  Logan
now had a few shirts and pants to wear, ill fitting unfortunately,
since Harry was shorter and heavier.  But Logan had a pair of boots to
wear.  Harry was buried in all new clothing.  Upon reflection she
wondered if it had been a foolish, empty gesture to use all his gold on
a burial.

The one item in the trunk that she hadn't been able to bring her seif
to give Logan was Harry's gun.  Something held her back.

Adorabelle, bless her, stood placidly awaiting Jessie's attention.

Logan called her.

"Water's boiling."

"Be right there," she answered.  How could she forget that she had
promised to shave him?  Once she had hidden the gun in the shed and
dragged the trunk out side, Logan had pounced on the strop and razor
lying on top of the folded clothes.

Walking back to the cabin, Jessie added cleanliness to the list she
mentally kept about him.

She spared him a glance where he sat at the table, the basin, strop,
towel and razor laid out neatly in front of him.

"It's real kind of you to take the time to do this for me, Jessie.  I
tried to strop the razor but that's a two-handed job."

"I don't mind.  If I did, I wouldn't have offered."  Please, Lord,
guide my hand.  Don't let him know I've never shaved a man before
now.

The whistling kettle warned that she had no time left to dither about
it.  Logan didn't hide his anticipation as she poured the boiling water
into the basin.

One look at Jessie's trembling mouth as she began to strop the razor,
and' Logan promptly forgot about his shave.

The more time he spent with Jessie, the fess control he had over his
response to her.  Even something as simple as watching her graceful
moves around the table was enough to distract him from whatever he was
thinking or doing.

The reaction was unaccountable.  She didn't flirt with him.  Logan
wondered if she even knew how to.  But he'd caught her sneaking looks
at him, and more than once he was surprised to see a sensual curiosity
in her gaze.

When she gave him the trunk belonging to her deceased husband he no
longer questioned that she'd been married.  But the longer he was
around her, the more it bewildered him that she revealed a certain
discomfort with their enforced intimacy.  It didn't make sense.  Just
some tantalizing, vague feeling that he had about her.

He thought of his parents, and of Santo and Sofia, who had come with
his mother when she married.  There were always whispers and looks
Shared between husband and wife, hinting of secrets shared.  Not that
he expected Jessie to share secrets or special looks with him.  But she
didn't seem to know how to respond to simple compliments about her
cooking or the little things that she did to make him comfortable.

Since he'd never courted a woman, and wasn't about to begin, Logan knew
he should keep his own curiosity under wraps.  A week or so and he'd be
ready to leave.

Jessie, he had learned, wasn't a woman to bed and then walk away
from.

Besides, she'd let drop enough hints that she wasn't in the market for
another husband or a man in her life.

If the need to get on with what he'd set out to do hadn't been
pressing, Logan would have taken up that challenge and seen where it
led.

He looked up to find her staring down at him, the towel held in her
hands.  "Are you ready, or have you changed your mind?"  "Ready."
Surely he was mistaken that he heard a wishful note in her voice that
he had indeed changed his mind.  "You're sure you know how to shave a
man, Jessie?"

"Sure.  You just lather up some soap and cut real carefully."

As she wet his heavy beard stubble and began to work the soap into it,
Logan closed his eyes.  He didn't like thinking about how many times
Jessie must have done this for her husband.  The thought was so
strange.

Why the hell should he care?  It would be different if she was his
woman .... Jessie gazed down at.  Logan's closed eyes and knew her
touch pleased him.  There was a hint of a frown that disappeared as she
worked the soap into the beard.  Standing behind him, she tried to
avoid pressing her breasts against the back of his head, but she
quickly saw the position as awkward.

"You won't move or anything, will you?"  she asked, reaching for the
razor.  Please, Lord, keep my hand nice and steady.

Squinting up at her, Logan shook his head.

"That's good.  Real good.  Just close your eyes and leave it all to
me."

Mentally, Jessie reviewed the moves she had seen her brother and Harry
make when shaving.  Scrape up the throat and down the cheek was all she
could remember.  Releasing a deep breath, she set to work.

Using a light touch, she began on his left side, her motions neat, only
a slight betraying tremble giving away how nervous she was.  She had
never thought of all the small intimacies that a woman shared with a
man who lived with her.  Not that she thought of Logan as exactly
living with her, but it seemed that way.

She lifted his chin and began on his throat with light, even strokes.
Rinsing the blade and wiping it on the towel as she went along, Jessie
became more confident.  True to his word, Logan hadn't moved.  All she
had to ignore was the warmth of his breath on her hands, and the brush
of his had against her breasts.

"I need you to turn a little so I can shave your upper lip.  That is,
if you don't want that mustache."

"No, it goes, too."  But Logan opened his eyes to see her frowning.
"What's wrong?"

"You're not sitting right.  Maybe if you faced me."

Jessie backed up as he swung his legs over the bench and faced her.
"Better?"

She nodded, but it was anything but better.  She would have to stand
between his legs to shave that small spot.  Well, if he didn't see
anything wrong with it, she wouldn't, either.

The moment she stepped up close, Logan raised his hands to her hips.

"Whatever are you doing?"

"Just keeping you steady, Jessie.  That razor's so sharp I wouldn't
know that you cut my throat until I saw the blood drop."

"I didn't cut you!"

"No.  But I aim to keep it that way."

"If you were so worried, Logan, that I would slice your throat," she
said testily, "then why did you agree to have me shave you in the first
place?"

""Cause my beard itched and I couldn't do it for myself."

"Then let me finish."  Jessie took hold of his chin with one hand to
steady herself.  Without asking, Logan rolled his upper lip over his
teeth to make it easier for her.  Her breaths reflected the tension
that built inside her as she scraped away at the small area.  When
done, she wiped it clean with the towel.

His mouth was firm and sensual, The thought startled Jessie.  She
wasn't a woman given to inspecting men's mouths.  There were tiny lines
fanning from the corners of his as if Logan smiled and laughed a great
deal.

"Miss a spot?"

"What?"  Her gaze clashed with his.  She would have jumped back, but he
held her firmly in place.

"You're staring so hard at my mouth I thought you'd missed a spot."

"No.  No, I wasn't."  But she didn't attempt to move:

And Logan found himself drawn to her eyes, as if he could probe their
depths to find all her secrets.

Jessie closed them.  "I think you'd better let me o."

"And if I didn't want to?"

"You don't mean that."

"We've been living together for almost a week re "Four days.  It's just
four days, Logan."

"Right.  Close enough.  Aren't you the least bit curious about kissing
me?"  x

Jessie went still.  How could he know the curiosity kept her awake at
night?  Lie, Jessie.  Lie like crazy.

She was so quiet that Logan thought about letting her go.  If she had
asked, he was ready to tell her that the curiosity drove him crazy. But
Jessie wasn't asking.  Jessie was tense and, he thought, a little
afraid of him.

"I wouldn't hurt you, Jessie.  I've never hurt a woman."

His deep, slightly rough voice raffled her nerve ends.  Her hands slid
down, one touching his unbandaged shoulder, the other falling to her
side.  Why didn't he just take a kiss if that's what he wanted?  Why
did he have to ask?  Because asking makes you a willing party, a little
imp's voice whispered.

And you are willing, aren't you, Jessie?  Almost eager?

Yes.  Oh, Lord, yes.  But it wasn't right.  "Jessie?"

She didn't answer him.  Didn't want to.  Keeping her eyes closed was a
coward's why of dealing with him.  An unsettling warmth unfurled inside
her.  The same warmth she'd begun feeling since he'd come into her
life.  His skin felt warm beneath her hand and she just knew that his
lips would be warm and maybe gentle if she let him kiss her.

"Jessie, listen to me."  Logan wished she would open her eyes.  His
mother always said they were the windows to a person's soul.  But he
didn't push her.  "Tell me if I'm wrong.  I didn't get the feeling that
you're still in mourning for your husband.  I'm not asking you to tell
me about him and your marriage.  But I think I've got the right to know
if you still care deeply for him."

Jessie couldn't hide any longer.  Gazing down into his dark blue eyes
that held untold secrets, she summoned her courage.

"Why do you want to know?  You,re not courting me.  You're not asking
me to marry you.  All you wanted was a kiss.  That doesn't give you any
rights at all."  This time when she moved, he let her go.  "I have
cattle to check."  .

Grabbing the.  floppy felt hat from the peg near the door, Jessie
paused.  Without looking back at him, she said, ,"I,m not mourning
Harry."

Wrapped in a silent blistering for his clumsy handling of her, Logan
took a few moments before he understood.  When he did, Jessie was
gone.

He could have gone after her.  But his instincts warned that Jessie
needed time alone.  It was little enough to give her after the way she
had taken care of him.

Logan didn't want to start questioning himself about why he'd been
tempted to kiss her.  Trouble was, he was bored with having nothing to
do.  Glancing around the cabin, he knew that wasn't true.  There was
enough work to keep a man busy through to winter around the whole
place.

Taking stock of her poorly supplied pantry confirmed what he suspected.
Jessie was in dire straits.  And he was helpless as teats on a boar to
aid her.  Having him to feed had depleted what little food she had.  It
added to the score he had to settle with the men who had left him to
die.

From the high branches of an aged cottonwood tree, Kenny and Marty
watched Jessie fide out at a walk on her old mare.

When she was far enough away that she couldn't hear them, Kenny
signaled Marty to climb down.  "Now, you stay here and keep watch."

"But the man is still at her place, Kenny.  He could shoot at you, the
same as she did."

"You saw same as me.  He ain't walkin' around.  I know I'll get us a
hen this time.  Hang on to PeeWee and wait for me."  Kenny started to
walk off, then turned.  "If she comes back, you whistle like I taught
you, okay?"

"Okay."

For all the brave words, Kenny still approached the henhouse with
caution.  There hadn't been any rain in weeks and his boots kicked up
tiny puffs of dust as he darted from tree to tree, and when they
disappeared, he crawled from bush to rock.  His gaze split between the
henhouse and the cabin.  But he didn't see anyone moving around.

Still, he waited.  Something didn't feel right to him.

He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and crept
closer to the pen.  From his pocket he took out a few of the worms he
dug for fishing and began tossing them to the rooster.

Black-and-green feathers gleaming under the hot sun, the big bird
attacked the worms and Kenny slipped around back of the small wooden
house.  There was a board he had worked loose that the widow woman had
not discovered.  It was just big enough for him to squeeze through and
get inside.

He had just gotten busy digging the loosely piled dirt away from the
bottom when he heard a noise.  It sounded like rock hitting rock.  Just
his luck that Marty had forgotten how to whistle.

Kenny slowly turned around, then froze.  A horseman was stopped not ten
feet from him.  With the sun behind the man, Kenny couldn't see his
face.  But he was one of the biggest men he'd come across.  "You, boy,
your folks around?"

Kenny swallowed a few times.  His throat and mouth were so dry he
couldn't manage to spit dust.  "Something wrong with you, boy?"

Kenny shook his head.  He prayed that the man in the cabin wouldn't be
able to see him.  If he didn't answer, this stranger would go to the
cabin and be sure to say something about him.  Then someone would come
and take him and Marty away.  He had to risk it.  Kenny stepped out of
the shadows cast by the henhouse.

"Folks ain't here now.  They, er, went to town.  You want to water your
horse or something, mister?"  "Just want a little information."

Wiping his damp palms on his grubby pants, Kenny wondered again why
Marty hadn't warned him.  He offered a lopsided smile and took another
step closer.  "I'll sure try to help if I can."  "I'm looking for a
man, boy."

Kenny pressed his knees together.  They were shaking so badly he swore
he'd fall in another minute.  "My pain"

"Don't think so.  This man's name is Lucky.  Last I saw of him he was
near dead, but he ain't where I left him."

"Oh, Jeez!"

"You seen him, boy?"  x

Kenny shook his head.  He eyed the way the big man controlled the moves
of his horse, then stared at the whip coiled around the saddle horn and
knew he should run like the devil was chasing him.  God, help me out
here and I'll never steal from the widow woman again!

"Ain't seen no strangers around here, mister.  And my ma don't like me
talking to strangers.  I got chores to do."

Zach Romal touched his heels to.  his horse and moved it closer to the
boy.  "You wouldn't lie to me?"

"Ain't got no reason to, mister.  You said he was near dead.  Maybe the
buzzards got him or a mountain cat.  Could be," he added with a shrug
of his thin shoulders, "that he made it down to the Junction."

Kenny kept looking up at the deeply shadowed face.  He was too scared
to do anything else.  But he was going to whup Marty's butt good for
not warning him.

Without another word Zach turned his horse and left.

Kenny fought the urge to run.  He didn't think his legs would let him
run far.  And he was panting as if he'd already run hard.  He didn't
know how long he stood there with the sun beating down on him.  He
didn't know what made him turn around.

But he sure understood in a hurry what his pa meant by saying a man
could get caught between a rock and a hard place.

Just beyond the gate to the hen yard stood the man whose life he and
Marty had saved.  The man the stranger was asking about.

Chapter Five

Who the hell are you, boy?"

Not again.  Remembering too well the whippings his ma had given for
lying, Kenny started to back away.  Despite his ma being dead, he
believed that he'd be punished for all the lies he'd told so far.  He
wasn't going to make it worse for himself by telling more.

"Answer me," Logan demanded.  "You the one that's been stealing
Jessie's chickens and eggs?"

"Ain't stole them.  Traded her fair.  Ask her.  You go ask the widow
woman if I didn't."

"We both know that she isn't here, boy.  I heard what you said to the
rider.  Mighty obliged.  You the one who found me and brought me up to
Jessie?"  Even as Logan asked, he studied the slight body and knew it
was impossible.

"Maybe."  Kenny turned and ran.

"Wait!  Don't run off, boy.  I won't hurt you."  Logan stumbled, but
went after him.  He was still reeling from the shock of looking out the
cabin's window to see Zach there.  Why the devil had he come back?

Kenny glanced over his shoulder.  Despite the man's faltering walk, he
was coming after him.  He ran faster,

his gaze pinned on the big cottonwood tree where he'd left Many.
Damn!

Where was he?

"Many, we gotta run.  Where are you?"  he asked in a furious whisper.

"Up h-here."

"Jeez!"  Kenny leapt for the lower branch and quickly climbed into the
concealing boughs.  "Why didn't you whistle to me?  I almost got
caught."

"Th-the man on the h-horse.  He w-was one of th-them.  S-scared me."

"Okay.  Okay.  Just be quiet.  Real quiet."

Kenny peered between the smaller limbs and saw that the man had paused.
He tried holding his breath, afraid that he was breathing hard enough
to be heard.

Logan paused near a small rise and scanned the scrub brush, rocks and a
few ancient cottonwoods that offered plenty of concealment to a boy. He
didn't want to frighten the child.  Harry's boots fit a mite on the
tight side, and he was still weak, so the best he'd managed was a slow
walk.

Not fast enough to catch the boy.  He looked like a half-wild critter,
all bag dark eyes and long hair.  Wild or not, the skinny kid was
sharp.

"If you're listening, boy, I'm beholden to you for saving my life.  You
got trouble, you come see me.  I'll be obliged if you come tell me if
that man comes nosing around again."

Logan waited, but not even a breeze stirred in answer.  Just as well if
he headed back to the cabin.  He felt as if he'd been wrestling steers
all day.  And he'd thought he was almost ready to move on.  Like it or
not, he was stuck here.

Halfway back, Logan stopped cold.  Jessie rode out and Zach showed up.
He was crazy to think ... but there had been talk about a place in the
mountains, a safe place, isolated, too, where no questions were asked
of the men who hid out there.

Jessie involved with outlaws?  If he had the strength he would laugh.
If his life wasn't on the line ... if Zach hadn't suddenly shown up.
What could he be looking for?  Unless Jessie had lied to him when she'd
said that he'd been stripped of all but his clothes?  Or that boy?  He
could have stolen the horse, rifle and gun.  And that silver buckle.
Damned if he didn't regret the loss of that buckle.  He'd had one made
specially for Ty's birthday, liked it so much that he'd gone back and
gotten one for Conner and himself.

With a rough shake of his head, Logan continued walking back to the
cabin.  That blow to his head had given him more than headaches, it had
affected his thinking.  How could he worry about a lost belt buckle?

Because an object keeps you from thinking about Jessie and her possible
involvement.

Jessie puzzled over the reinforced brush fence at the end of the small
valley where she kept her cattle.

For the past few months she hadn't been frightened by the missing eggs
or hens, or the blankets stolen from her wash line.  She had
appreciated the gifts of food left in their place, and accepted the
unasked-for trade.

But seeing the newer brush tightly interwoven with the older, dried
fence made her question if her benefactor had discovered the valley.
The thought sent a chill of foreboding through her.  Why?

The large, heavy-bodied cattle with their short, curved horns had been
inbred with the Texas longhorns.  Harry had started the herd, and lost
interest when he realized how long he would have to wait for his
profit.  Jessie didn't mind waiting.  She found pleasure in watching
the calves fatten on the lush grasses in this blind valley.  A stream
ran through it year-round, and she had thought them safe with the brush
fence she had erected.

Knowing that someone had stumbled upon her small herd left her feeling
violated.  As if her dream could be snatched away at a whim.  Someone
else's whim.

She recounted the cattle again to make sure that none were missing.
Eggs she could lose, hens, too, but not her dream of having a thriving
herd to build her ranch.  Perhaps she, stubbornly clung to the idea
that she could do this on her own, but she had to try.  If she didn't,
she would have to admit defeat, sell out and go back to living with
Greg and Livia.  Not that they wouldn't welcome her, but Jessie knew
she wasn't ready to give up yet.

First she would have to stop being so trusting.  Just look at the way
she had taken Logan in and let him get away without answering her
questions of where he had come from or what he'd been doing to get
shot.

It didn't take the brains of one of her hens to figure that one out for
herself I People got shot all the time.  There wasn't much law in the
territory.  The last time David had come calling, he had left a
four-month-old copy of the Arizona Star.  Bank bold ups train robberies
in the north, raiding Apaches, cattle rustling, news item after news
item reported the violence in the land.

She had no one but herself to blame for shying away from pushing Logan
for answers.  The admission came hard, but Jessie made it now.  She was
afraid of what he would tell her.

She didn't want Logan to matter, she certainly didn't want to care
about him, but she had been' alone so long that it would be a lie to
say there weren't any feelings stirring for him.

A dam foolish notion, but a real one.  Did Logan think she was
gullible?

Maybe she was .... And maybe her unknown benefactor had done more than
secure the brush fence.  Maybe by trying to protect her cattle someone
got shot.  Someone like Logan.

But if that was true, she argued with herself, then why had Logan been
brought to her?

"Why?"  she whispered, glancing around at the craggy, sloped walls of
the valley.  "Who are you?  Where do you hide?  And why, oh, why did
you pick me?"

The marc's nicker drew Jessie's gaze to her.  "I might as well ask you
the questions.  I'll get the same nothing for answers."

Heading back through the boot, high grass to where she had left
Adorabelle tied, Jessie remembered some of the stories that Harry had
told her-of the men he occasionally met on his prospecting trips.

Sometimes he would share a camp tire with one, at other times merely
nod in passing.  Names, Harry had said, if exchanged at all, told
little about a man or his past.

Like Logan.  If Logan was really his name.

But not all men wandered the Superstitions in a search for gold like
Harry.  Some men ran from a tragedy, the law or to simply ease an
inborn wanderlust.

Just as all men were not bred to violent acts.  One of the attractions
that Harry had had for her was his gentle nature.  Her brother was a
hard but fair man,

unashamed to reveal a tender side.

And Logan... No, she must not allow herself to be distracted by the
secret feelings that Logan effortlessly encouraged to surface.  Or was
that part of his game?

Jessie took the brush fence in a rush, snagging her hem and tearing it
free, She hurried to untie the mare and swung herself into the
saddle.

Putting thoughts of Logan aside, she spurred Ador-abe lie toward home.
Whoever watched her, or whatever it was he did, may have shot at Logan
to warn him.  The bullet could have ricocheted and hit him.  Jessie
knew all about ricocheting bullets.  She had almost hit her horse one
night, which was why she now aimed the shotgun in the air.

The closer she got to home, the greater her suspicions grew that what
she had figured out about Logan's wound was all too possibly true.  She
worked herself up to confront him as she dismounted near the corral.
She had started to loosen the cinch when Logan came to the door of the
cabin.

Jessie paused and looked at him.  A clean-shaven face should have
softened the fierce line of his nose and jaw.  Should have, but didn't.
If anything, with his narrow-eyed gaze pinned on her and the way he
hung back in the doorway so that the late-afternoon sun and shadow
played equally over him, Logan appeared dan-gem us

And Jessie weighed his appearance and her suspicions carefully. Perhaps
confrontation wasn't the path she would take after all.

"Mighty sorry-lookin' excuse for a horse."

"Adorabelle gets me where I need to go.  I don't see you with better. I
see you with nothing at all."

It had been the wrong thing to say to her.  Now she had her back up and
that vinegar-mouth primed and aimed at him.  He hated having to watch
her yank the saddle off that swaybacked mare and sling it over the pole
fence.  It just went against the grain to stand there useless.

"I managed to put on beans," he said by why of a peace offering,
thinking of how difficult it had been to perform each task with the use
of only one hand.

Jessie, stripping off her worn leather riding gloves with jerky moves,
wasn't interested in food.

"I'm glad you found something useful to do."  "Well, hell!"  It wasn't
just her mouth then, the edge of her voice said Jessie had loaded a
verbal shotgun and was gunning for big game ... Logan size.

"Don't curse."  She turned her attention back to the mare, scratching
her behind the ears before she removed the halter.  Adorabelle had such
a placid nature that she remained as she was, waiting for what came
next.

Jessie went into the shed and came out carrying a curry brush.  Tossing
her floppy felt hat on top of the pole, she found herself drawn to look
at Logan again.

He had taken off Harry's toe-pinching boots and stood barefoot, dressed
in too-short black twill pants held up by a tightly belted strip of
leather.  The old bib-front chambray shirt, reduced to the faded color
of smoke, should have added no appeal to a woman's eye.  But despite
the ill-fitting clothes, she felt a prickle of sensual awareness for
Logan as a man.

Adorabelle's nudge served to draw her back to the chore at hand.  She
swung open the pole gate of the corral and, without urging, the mare
stepped inside.  Jessie followed her.  "Don't mind him none,
sweetheart," she stated loudly as she began brushing.  "He wouldn't
know what to do with a kind-natured lady like you."

"Well, double hell!"  Logan deliberately raised his voice.  "What's got
into you, lady?"  Even with the distance separating them, he felt the
impact of Jessie's golden brown eyes glaring at him.  But he was mad
now.  "Don't tell me that someone stole your damn cow?"

"No one stole my cows.  No thanks to you."  When a man has had enough,
he's had enough.  With complete disregard for his bare feet, Logan
stomped across the yard and stopped just outside the corral.

"What the devil was that supposed to mean?"  "I'd say if the shoe fits,
wear it, but you don't have any shoes, or boots, of your own.  You
don't have anything that could prove who you are,.  what you are or how
you came to be here."

The attack was so unexpected that Logan couldn't answer her.  He ran
his hand through his hair.  What had happened to her while she'd been
gone?  She ducked beneath the mare's neck and began brushing again.  He
could see the way she nibbled her lower lip.  So, she'd blown up at
him, but she wasn't at all sure of herself I

"Jessie, why are you suddenly angry with me?"

"I did a lot of thinking while I was gone.  I didn't wrap you in a
quilt--"

"Are we back to that again?"

"Yes."  She stood and looked at him.  The mare swished her tail, and
when Jessie paid no attention,

walked off to the water trough.  "It's important for me to know who
brought you to me.  I have a right to know how you got shot."

There was a wealth of demand in her voice, and a wealth of confusion in
her eyes.  And she had asked him for the one thing he couldn't tell her
the truth about himself.  All the earlier suspicions surfaced, even
though he had dismissed the idea of Jessie being involved with any
outlaws.  They'd pay for a safe place, and pay dearly.  Jessie had an
abundance of questions, but he'd bet his gear--if he had any--that she
didn't have money.

"Have I hurt you, Jessie?"

"No."  There wasn't any hesitation.  Logan had awakened feelings, but
they were hers to deal with.  He wasn't even aware of the temptation he
presented to her.  And Jessie vowed to keep it that way.

"No," she repeated.  You haven't hurt me.  But you ask me to take you
on blind faith.  I'm having a difficult time doing that.  See," she
said with a shrug, walking toward the gate, "I'm being honest.  Try it.
I promise the ground won't shake and the sky won't fall."

He closed his eyes briefly against the plea he saw in hers.  She said
she'd done a lot of thinking, and she'd come up with the worst
conclusions about him.  With the added problem of Zach nosing around,
Logan didn't want to put her in any danger.  And, he admitted to
himself, he had to protect himself, too.  Zach's appearance also cut
off his thought of leaving immediately.  Jessie wasn't about to give
him a gun and her horse, sorry critter that she was.  Jeez, who the
hell named a swayback Adorabelle?

The fierce, frowning look of concentration on Logan's face alarmed
Jessie.  She started toward him and stopped.  If she softened, gave him
one more excuse not to tell her the truth, she would have only herself
to blame if she got hurt.

"Logan?"

His eyes targeted her with a bleak expression.  "Do you want me to
leave?"

"Do you have somewhere to go?"  she countered.

"Another dead-end question, Jessie.  Either you let me stay awhile
longer or I'll leave."

She chewed her bottom lip, tearing off a piece of skin.  "You are
making me responsible for your well-being."  Coming out of the gate and
latching it, Jessie picked up her hat and her gloves.  She knew he was
waiting for her to finish.  There seemed to be no other choice.  As she
entered the cooler shadowed shed to replace the brush, Jessie made up
her mind.

"Let's go taste these beans you cooked."

Logan turned to follow her, but at a slower pace.  He eyed the
loose-fitting faded blue shirt she wore and his gaze traveled over the
sway of her rounded hips.  "Why, Jessie?"

She stopped but didn't turn around.  "Does it matter?  I made a
decision.  Until you give me reason to change my mind, you can stay."

When she started into the cabin, Logan saw the rip near the hem of her
tobacco-colored skirt.  While the shirt was worn and thin looking, the
skirt was of a heavier fabric, Where had Jessie been that she'd ripped
the cloth?

Once more Jessie paused.  She felt his heated gaze on her and fought
the need to turn around.  "Are you coming?"

"I really want to know why you're letting me stay despite whatever
suspicions are churning in your mind.  And how did you rip your
skirt?"

"Caught it on the brush fence.  I wasn't meeting anyone, Logan.  Not
that you have the right to ask."

"No, I don't have any fights, Jessie.  But I still want an answer."

"I spent a lot of time worrying about your wound.  Be foolish to throw
it all away by chasing you off now."  You'll go soon enough.  Jessie
folded her gloves into her hat and put it up on its peg.  Smoothing
back her hair, she turned.

"You set the table!"

"Usual when you're gonna eat."

"Of course."  But it meant more to her.  And he'd found flowers.  She
reached out to touch the petals of a wild buttercup.  How could she
have suspected him of trying to steal her cattle?

"I don't want you to think--" Logan began.

"No one ever - I'm sorry.  Please, finish what you were about to
say."

Logan kept his distance not that he wanted to.  The slanting sun from
the window caught in Jessie's hair, shading the coil at the back of her
neck with gold.  She appeared fragile, leaning over the taller spikes
of pale blue flowers.  He had been tempted by the thought of kissing
her, but now temptation turned to desire.

She glanced at him, slowly straightening.  "Logan?"

"Yeah.  I just saw them and thought you'd like some.  I didn't mean
anything by it.  Woman like you should have pretty things around
her."

Her smile was radiant.  "Thank you," she whispered.  "No one ever
picked flowers for me before.

These are larkspurs?"  she asked, once more touching the taller spikes
in the canning jar.

"Mouse tails," he corrected, then grinned.  Logan heaved an inner sigh
of relief that Jessie had put aside her quest for answers that he
couldn't give her.  "Mouse tails, Logan?"

"Why not?  Names are no more than what a body sees.  A man finds water,
he looks around to find a way to mark the place.  A jagged rock that's
sprinkled with mica sparkles in the sunlight.  Next thing you know,
he's passing along word that there's water at Sparkling Rock or Silver
Rock, or some such name."

"I never thought of it that way.  But mouse tails," she said, then
laughed when he shook his head.

"I truly don't know why they're called that.  Santo---"

"Santo?"

"Someone I know.  He taught me how to find wild greens that are safe to
eat."  Frowning, he tugged his earlobe.  "Don't you know?  Didn't
anyone teach you--"

"I was born and raised in New York, Logan.  After my aunt died I came
out here to live with my brother, then married Harry.  Livia had just
given birth, so there wasn't time for her to Show me much, There were
three other children to take care of."

"And Harry?  Didn't he show you--"

"Harry, I'm afraid, was more interested in what the rocks held than in
what grew near them."

"I'm sorry, Jessie.  Look over on the cupboard.  You've got a whole
garden on the other side of the well.  Hog onions, Indian lettuce and
red maids.  The maids are a mite salty, but taste good.  If I have
time... Lord," he said with a rough shake of his head, "that's all I do
have.  I'll scout around and see if I can find some seeds to make you
desert tea."

"I'm not sure I like the sound of that.  But you be careful.  The area
behind the well is rocky.  Until that shoulder heals you shouldn't
climb over there, you could hurt yourself.  And no food is worth
that."

Her concern touched him.  True, he'd rather have Jessie physically do a
little touching, but a man took what he could get.  Rubbing the back of
his neck, Logan decided he would tell her the truth.

"I wasn't exactly looking for food, Jessie.  We had a visitor while you
were gone."  "A visitor?  Here?"  "That's what I said.  I--"

"But who?"  Truly puzzled, Jessie frowned.  No one ever came to visit
her... unless it was... "David?  David was here?"

"David?  Who the devil is he?"

Chapter Six

"David Trainor is a widower who has been calling on me.  Usually he
confines his visits to Sunday afternoons."  One of the hardest things
for Jessie was to turn around and face Logan.  She lifted her chin and
leveled a direct look at him.  "David is the only one in Apache
Junction who doesn't believe that I killed my husband."

She gripped the overhanging edge of the cupboard, refusing to look away
from him.  It was somewhat startling to find Logan's expression
incredulous.

"No way you killed him or anyone, Jessie."  "What?  How can you say
that?  You don't know what happened or why anyone would make the
accusation."

"Are you trying to convince me that you did kill him?  It won't work.
You haven't got that killer instinct."

"How would you know, Logan?"  Jessie fairly bristled.  Her tone had
been resentful, which she realized was ridiculous.  But she didn't like
his assumption that he knew her so well.

"I just know.  Jessie, I've got your back up saying that, but now I
don't know why.  If you could kill, why the hell did you--"

"Don't curse."

"Like I was saying, why did you take me in?  Why do you shoot in the
air when someone or some animal steals your eggs?  If you did kill
anyone, it would be sheer accident.  Even then I wouldn't believe you
did--"

"That's enough.  You've made your point.  Logan, I do thank you.  You
can't know the gift you've given me with your belief."

Logan eyed the distance between them.  As a measure of space it wasn't
all that much.  But if he gave in to the desire to go to her and take
her into his arms, it would be a step from which there'd be no retreat.
If he kept his distance from her until he left, there would be few
regrets.  If he... Cutting off his thoughts, Logan moved.

Jessie watched him skirt the table and come toward her.  In some dim
corner of her mind she knew if he touched her, he would kiss her.  She
wanted him to kiss her.  She had been dreaming of it, tempted and
taunted by turns.  And at this moment she needed to be held.  He stood
before her, his dark hair tumbling over his forehead, and she fought
the urge to reach up and touch it.  Needs swept through her, combining
with a desire that allowed no pretense.  She felt compelled to lift her
face to his.

"Jessie."  Logan touched her cheek with a gentle stroke that she turned
to follow: His thumb brushed across her bottom lip.  That poor abused
lip she constantly bit.  "You should let someone have care of this," he
murmured, brushing her lips again, "who won't hurt it so."

"I don't--"

"Hush.  You do."  His lips touched lightly on her hair, skimmed across
her temple, then Logan covered her mouth with his.  He expected to
taste sweet softness, not the sharp tang of passion.

He knew he shouldn't give in to the desire to taste her lips once more,
but his resolve faltered.  Jessie felt perfect in his arms, those wide
eyes gazing up at him, watching, and filling with unnamed needs.  But
learning the shape and temper of her kiss forced him to hold back a
hunger that flared to life.

Jessie liked kissing.  She had been kissed by three men and all left
her wanting something more.  But none had brought their whole body into
play.  She gave herself easily into Logan's care, enjoying the tease of
his mouth brushing against hers.  She liked the gentle touch of his
callused hand cupping her cheek and the way the warmth of his body
sheltered hers.

And then she lost herself in his kiss, her own lips as feverish as his,
discovering that she could follow his seductive, coaxing moves as the
shifting pressure of his mouth set her on a path of longing.

There was untold pleasure for her in the caressing ply of his hand
sliding down from her shoulder to the curve of her waist.  Their lips
parted for a moment that they could draw breath, then he slid his hand
around to the small of her back, urging her closer to his aroused
body.

Jessie's arm was caged by the embrace, but she raised the other to hold
the' back of his head as she fed dreamily on the rich taste of the
passion building between them.

A faint warning attempted to make itself heard, but she refused to
listen.  All her curiosity was being slaked, and, at the same time,
newer temptations beckoned her to explore the desire that encompassed
her.

Logan eased his mouth from hers.  He tasted longings in her lips that
he couldn't give her, wouldn't.  He'd tell her no lies and Jessie
kissed like a woman looking for promises.

Logan pulled back a little to gaze down at her face.  Her light-tipped
lashes, fluttering like skittish butterflies afraid to settle, made
shadowed crescents on her cheeks.  Reaching up, he used one finger to
trace the slightly reddened shape of her generous mouth, more aroused
than he could say when she parted her lips and kissed his finger.

A tremor passed over her body, one that he 'felt as if it were his own.
Caution whispered a warning to him that he should move away from her,
now, while he still could.  But need was stronger.  He angled his head
to take her mouth once more.

Jessie understood how dangerous Logan could be to her.  He touched a
depth of passion inside her that made her feel threatened by its
powerful force.  But she had been alone for so long that she couldn't
find the needed strength to pull away.

But when she felt the heated tip of his tongue seek to part her lips,
she twisted her head away.  "No.  Don't kiss me... like that."  She
tucked her cheek against his chest, wondering why all the gentle things
had to end so quickly for a man.

"Jessie?  Jessie, tell me what I did wrong?"

Tell him?  She wished she could burrow right through him and escape.
How could she tell him?  How could any woman discuss such a thing with
a man?

"This was a mistake, Logan."  But when she tried to slip by him, he
blocked her way.

"Maybe it was, but it sure answered a lot of questions."  Logan braced
one hand on the edge of the cupboard and, although it hurt him to put
pressure on his wounded shoulder, he did the same on the other side to
cage her in front of him.

She wouldn't look up at him, and he didn't push her to.  "How long were
you married, Jessie?"

"A year."  She didn't hesitate to answer him.  At least he wasn't
trying to kiss her again.

"And you said Harry's been dead nearly as long?"  "Yes, but--"

"And there hasn't been anyone else, has there, Jessie?  David hasn't...
I mean--"

Her head snapped up and slammed into his jaw.

"Ouch!  Damn it, Jessie!  I only asked you a damn---"

"Don't curse, Logan.  I keep telling you that, but you don't listen
very well."

"Answer my question, sunshine.  I promise I'll listen very well to your
answer.  There hasn't been--"

"I heard you the first time.  No," she stated, feeling heat rise in her
cheeks, "there hasn't been anyone else.  Not that I see what business
it is of yours."

He kissed the tip of her nose.  "Thank you for telling me, Jessie.  I
just wanted to be sure"

"Of what?"

"Woman, you have the damn--" The militant gleam in her eyes made him
heave a sigh.  "All right, you have the darnedest habit of interrupting
me when I'm trying to talk to you.  Please let me finish?"

She almost blurted out no, afraid of what he was going to tell her.
She'd guessed Logan's age to be close to thirty, and from the first
sensed that he'd had more than one woman losing her heart over him.  He
was no stranger to sharing a home with a woman, either.  And she didn't
think she wanted to be told that she lacked whatever it was that men
looked for in a woman.

But Logan watched her with those dark eyes still shimmering with need.
And she'd have to be carved from wood, like Miss Millicent's fashion
doll, not to feel that he was still aroused.

"All I want to tell you, Jessie, is that when it comes to experience
I'm probably your grandfather.  I didn't mean to let things go so
far."

Was he sorry that he'd kissed her?  Remember you are an independent
woman, a little imp's voice whispered.  Are you going to let him imply
that you don't know how to kiss?  She searched his features, wishing
the little nagging voice was wrong, hoping to find some sign that he
didn't find her lacking.

Logan turned away before she had an answer.  Lifting her hand to her
lips, Jessie knew it was for the best.  No sense in starting something
with a man who had traveling on his mind.  But the taste of him
lingered on her mouth and she wondered if it was already too late.

He stood by the doorway, his good arm braced above him, staring
outside.  She gazed at the lean, hard body, feeling again its press
against her own, and she was tempted to call him.  Jessie bit her lip,
It was just as she had told him--a mistake.  One worth forgetting.

Looking away from him, her gaze lit on the stove and the pot of beans
that he had cooked.  Bacon and biscuits would have been nice to add,
but the flour was gone and she didn't remember when she'd used the last
of the bacon.

If Logan was well enough to go walking around, She could leave him and
make her trip to town.  It was time to sell her ring.  If she knew more
about the right time to sell cattle... She cast a speculative look over
her shoulder at Logan.  He might know.  But how to find out without
revealing her dire straits?  She knew he didn't have any money.  When
she'd found him, she had searched his pockets for clues about him and
hadn't found any.

Searching... Rubbing her forehead, Jessie tried to remember what he had
said about searching for some one.  The visitor!

"Logan?"

"Yeah?"  He didn't turn around to her.  He didn't like making mistakes,
and kissing Jessie had been a major one.

"You said someone came to visit?"

"That's right."

"But I don't have any neighbors.  I told you what people think about
me.  So, who came to call?"  "Wasn't exactly a social call, Jessie."

She ignored how distracted he sounded.  Setting aside the wooden spoon
she'd been stirring the beans with, Jessie turned around.

"Who was it?"

"I think I found your egg thief."

"My egg thief," she repeated.  Oh, dear, my silent protector likely
came around to check on him.

"You're real sure," he said, making an abrupt turn and coming back into
the cabin, "that you have no one living close by?"

"I told you so.  I've had time this past year to ride Adorabelle over
the land within a few hours' fide.  The only thing I found was a
deserted shack back in the mountains."

"No signs that someone was living in the shack?"  Jessie planted her
hands on her ample hips and blew heavenward.  "Logan, it was months ago
that I was up there.  For all I know there's a renegade band of Apache
camped up there now.  What's more; I don't care who's up there.  I've
had no reason to go back.  I

don't even think the shack is on my land."

"I just wanted to make sure--"

"The heck with making sure!  You talk about me having a habit of
interrupting--take a look at your own annoying habit of secrets and
dragging things out till a body's ready to give up the ghost awaitin'
on yOU."

"Now, Jessie, there's no need to get all fired---"

"Just tell me!  Now," she demanded, rounding the table and going toward
him.

"I'm not trying to keep it secret.  I'm really puzzled about this.  The
thief's a boy, Jessie.  No more than chest high."  He had the
satisfaction of watching her stop short, surprise bright in her eyes.

"A boy?  But that can't be."

"Hard to figure how old he is.  Never had much truck with young'uns."

Shaking her head, Jessie backed up and pulled out the bench.  She sat
down abruptly.  "A boy," she repeated, unable to believe it.  "How
could a child survive alone?"

"Who said he's 'alone?"

She looked up at him.  "What are you saying?  That someone taught a
child to steal?  Well," she quickly amended, "not exactly steal, more
of an unasked-for trading arrangement.  I've always found fresh-caught
fish or a skinned rabbit, even a haunch of venison when one of the hens
or eggs go missing."

"Didn't you ever think to find out who was doing it?"

"Don't take that tone with me like I did something stupid.  Of course I
wondered.  No real harm was done.  If you are asking if I set a trap,
obviously not.  If I had, I wouldn't be sitting here, with you ready to
strip my hide over this."

"Jeez, Jessie, that's a hell of a thing to say!  Take my word for it, I
don't need you putting images in my mind."

For a few moments she stared blankly at him, then color tinted her
cheeks.  She squeezed her eyes shut, lowered her head and released a
moaning sound.

"Leave it to a man," she mumbled, "to twist an innocent remark."

"You're right.  It would be innocent if minutes ago you weren't running
like hot honey all over me."

"Running like hot honey .... ," Jessie raised her head.

"Why, you overblown tommy noddy!"

"My name's Logan!"

"Is it?"  She eyed him with every ounce of suspicion that she harbored
about him.

"Sure as hell is.  Has been from the day I was horn."

"Stop cursing in my home."  Since she felt at a decided disadvantage
sitting Jessie rose, but she didn't trust herself to go near him.
Grabbing hold of her skirt with both hands, she squeezed tight, wishing
it was his thick head she held.

"Jessie--"

"No.  I'm not finished.  I'm mighty happy to know that you were born.
"Course, you can't prove that, can you?  But I was beginning to think
you dropped from the sky and landed on your head.  It's the only way to
explain," she added with an overabundance of sugar drawling in her
voice, "why you're so puffed up over a kiss."

"It was more than a kiss and--"

"And I was not," she interrupted, "repeat, not running like hot honey
all over you.  That blow on your head must have done something to your
memory.  You kissed me, mister."

"Ain't likely to forget it."  Mentally, Logan took a few steps back. In
seconds he understood where the flare of temper had come from.  He'd
left Jessie wanting more.  Hell, he wanted more.  Trouble was, he knew
what would happen if he let himself get tangled up with range calico
that was likely as innocent as that dumb remark that had started all
this fuss.

And if he was being honest with himself, he was feeling a little puffed
up that--regardless of what Jessie said--she'd run warm and sweet in
his arms, just like honey.

But if he said two words about how easily they could get rid of the
frustrating tension, Jessie'd be dodging him like a mossback.  Lord
knew he'd done his share of trying to catch old longhorns that were
skilled in hiding from a rope.

"Jessie,

"Enough said.  Your beans are burning."

Chapter Seven

A w wood shanty stood beside a newly erected pole fence in which six
horses were standing.  Inside the low-ceilinged room, the air was hot
and laden with the odors of bacon grease, sweat and horse manure.

Dusky shadows mixed with the glow from a single lantern that lit the
room where four men sat around a rickety table on kegs and crates.

Monte Wheeler held a match to the smoke he had built from his makings
and hunched forward.  "If you didn't find Lucky breathin', an' you
didn't find his bones picked clean, Zach, then where the hell is he?"

"I told you twice now, ain't hide or hair of him around.  All I saw was
that kid.  He didn't know nuthin' 'bout a stranger.  Didn'tfigure it
smart to keep pushin'."

"You don't get paid to think."

"Shut up, Billy Jack.  Don't see you findin' him.  If you hadn't had a
hankerin' for his fancy gear, we wouldn't be worryin' where in the hell
he is."  Zach sent a scowl the half-breed's way.

"Who stopped me from finishin' the hombre?"

Billy Jack's fingers curled over the edge of the table as if he was
more than ready to spring at Zach.

From across the room, Tallyman threw his knife.  The blade quivered in
the center of the table, adding another scar to its already cracked
surface.

"What'd ya do that for?"  Zach demanded.

"I'm tired of listening to you two.  You ain't been cooped up here for
five days.  Still can't understand why Monte only sent you to look for
him."

"Then ask me."  Monte blew smoke toward the ceiling.  "Boss didn't like
us leaving him where his body could be found.  Boss wasn't happy that
two guards got killed and we lost a man.  If we lost him.  He doesn't
like loose ends.  Till I know what happened to him, Lucky's a loose
end.  My back gets ridden with spurs, you can bet I'm setting my row
els on someone else's back."

"You shoulda let us all go search," Tallyman insisted.

"Nope.  One man asking around won't raise a fuss when folks gets to
talking.  An' look at the lot of you.  You'd scare the pants often some
poor sod buster

"Ain't got no sod busters 'round here.  Ain't nuthin' but lizards,
snakes an' rock."  Blackleg poured the last of the coffee into' his tin
cup and strolled back over to the table.  "Maybe the "Pache got him.
Buzzards could've cleaned his bones in five days.  Man's bones could be
scattered from here to the border by now."

Monte listened to them argue, blaming himself for not making sure that
Lucky was dead, and then burying him.  Old Charlie had sure poured
damning down on his head.  He'd tried to warn him that after all this
time odds were he wouldn't find him.  If the boss didn't insist that
they keep their distance from him, Monte knew it wouldn't have taken
him two days to ride to meet him, then two days back.  he just never
figured that Zach wouldn't find the body, or what was left of it.
Damn!

"You sum that kid didn't follow you, Zach?"  Monte asked,

"Couldn't.  Weren't no horses around.  Wild little thing, too.  Kinda
reminded me of when I was a kid."  His gap-toothed grin didn't find any
answering ones on the faces of the men staring at him.  "You want I
should go back them, Monte?  Ain't another homestead around."

Monte didn't answer him immediately.  He gazed up at the ceiling.
Taking another deep drag of his cigarette, he blew smoke rings while he
thought over his problem.

The boss wanted him to hit the Kincaids harder.  Despite the repeated
losses of money, silver and cattle, they weren't ready to knuckle under
and sell out.  With old Charlie setting his sights on a governor's seat
when Arizona became a state, Monte knew he'd have work for years to
come.  Thing was, he knew he couldn't afford to make mistakes.  What
old Charlie wanted cost money, lots of it.  The land he'd been buying,
or stealing, if Monte knew his boss, was only the start.  The cattle
herd made him respectable to the other landowners.  But old Charlie
never let on why the Kin-ca ids had been made the main target of his
vendetta.

The boss always played his hand close to the vest.  Monte knew he'd
hired other men to do other jobs for him around the territory.  He knew
better than to ask questions.  He had always followed orders and made
sure his jobs had no loose ends.  But that didn't let him escape from
the way old Charlie had been proddy as a lo coed steer over him letting
the men dump Lucky's body.

He could're kept his mouth shut.  It was the damn divvy that had caused
the problem.  He'd stupidly pointed out that he needed only five shams
this time, not six, and the boss had bellowed like a newly made
steer.

Lowering his gaze and searching the faces of the men who watched him,
Monte knew they'd likely think he was loco for being honest about the
shams.  But he knew the boss and they didn't.  Old Charlie had ways of
finding out when a man lied to him.  Man told him the job was done, it
had better be so, or the boss'd hire someone else to clean up the mess
and shoot the liar.  Monte was fond of his skin and he aimed to keep
breathing in it.

"Monte?"  Zach prodded.

"Yeah, I heard you.  I'm still thinking."

"Think too damn much, if you ask me," Billy Jack asked.

"He's been coiled and spittin' like a caged rattler while you were
gone," Tallyman observed.

"Can't blame him none.  My sham's burning a hole in my pocket."  As if
to prove it, Blackleg slapped his hip.  "Can just taste me some
whiskey.  You can't keep a man workin' dry, Monte."

Billy Jack throw his cup at a rat scurrying across the floor.  "Soon,
amigo.  We go very soon."

"You threatening me, boy?  We go when I say so.  Anybody gonna argue
that?"

"Ain't no one arguing, Monte," Tallyman assured him.  "But Billy Jack
an' Blackleg got a point.  We can't spend our shams in this hole. We've
been on the prod for nearly a month.  Come to think on it, we ain't
seen whiskey or a female since the night Lucky joined us.  Just can't
see what harm'll come if we go down to the Junction for a night."

"Ain't had nuthin' but scanty fare to fill our bellies for weeks now.
Who the hell's gonna know?"

"I'd know," Monte answered.  But he knew when he had pushed them as far
as he could, and with an abrupt nod he gave his consent.

"You're all right.  And may he at the Junction we'll pick up some word
about Lucky.  Sack out, and come first light we'll fide."

Scraping the burned beans from the bottom of the cast-iron pot, Jessie
vowed that come first light she would go to Apache Junction.  The
supplies were needed, but that was just an excuse, even if a truthful
one.  She needed time away from Logan.

It had come as a shock to her to find out that she had a temper.  Part
of it came from the feeling that things were moving too fast between
them.  She couldn't believe the way she had sassed him, yelling and
shouting right back in his face.  Added to that shock was the fact that
she was pleased with herself.  She had held her own with Logan, even to
having the last word.

She was getting the hang of this independent role.  She could say what
she wanted, do what she wanted, and no one could hold her
accountable.

True, with her morals and values firmly in place, she wouldn't think of
doing anything wrong.  The only unpleasant result was Logan taking
himself off in a brooding sulk.

Jessie paused in her scrubbing and thought about that.  She was in fine
fettle.  Logan wasn't going to be allowed to spoil that.

Working on one last stubborn spot, Jessie was glad when the last bit of
burned crust came free from the bottom of the pot.  She pumped clean
water into the kettle and rinsed it a few times.  Once she dried the
pot with a linen cloth, she placed it on the still-warm stove..
Scooping out a bit of bacon grease from the crock, she put it in the
kettle, waited a few minutes, then wiped the pot again.  Livia had
taught her to do this to prevent rusting.

With her hands at the small of her back, she arched and stretched to
get rid of the ache in her back.  Harry had always promised he would
raise the level of the dry sink for her, but had never gotten around to
doing the job.

A glance at the open doorway revealed a pool of light spilling from
the.  lantern that Logan had taken outside.  He'd been sitting on the
bench since their silent supper had ended.  She hadn't been aware that
she had listened to his low-voiced swearing and mumbling, but now that
it had stopped, Jessie wondered what he was doing out there.

As if thinking about him suddenly Conjured him up, Logan appeared in
the doorway.  He held the lantern in one hand, with a pair of pants
tossed over his arm.

Jessie would have looked a little like a startled deer but for the way
her hands slid forward to rest on her hips, giving her a disgruntled
appearance.  He glanced down to make sure he hadn't dragged any dirt
inside with him.

"You wash away all that sass along with the leavings from supper?"  As
the first words he had spoken to her since their heated argument,
Jessie thought they lacked a certain something--like apology.

"And if I didn't?"  she asked with challenge flaring in her eyes.

Coming forward to set the lantern on the table, Logan thought of
several ways to rid Jessie of that sassy tongue.  Since all of them
involved putting his hands on her again, he kept quiet.  Honesty
demanded that he admit he liked the way she stood up to him.  He'd
always had a liking for a woman who could hold her own.  With his own
mother an example of a female with a formidable strength of will, Logan
had no trouble with Jessie exhibiting the same.

Jessie's unfortunate curiosity got the better of her.

"What were you doing with your pants?"  "Digging for gold."
"Pardon?"

"I said I was digging for gold."  Logan tossed his pants onto the
table.  With them fell a kitchen knife.

"I heard what you said.  I didn't understand how you dug for gold in
those," she Said, waving one hand at the pants.  Stepping closer to the
table, Jessie bent over to examine the pants.  "You've torn off the
buttons and the ... the..."  Unable to finish saying that the placket
of material where the buttons were sewn to close his pants was now
ripped out, she stared at him.

"I suppose you.  intend to share the joke with me.  Or did you intend
for me to mend these?  I can't see where you'd be digging for gold: uh
well, there."

Grinning at the way she fumbled over the words, Logan held up a fist.
He liked Jessie with a tint of pink in her cheeks and that endearing
bright-eyed look as she waited for him to finish revealing what he'd
done.

He opened his.  hand and the contents plunked down on the table.  "Five
bone buttons, five double eagles."

She rapidly looked from his face to the table.  She knew she could
trust what she saw for herself, but she reached down and picked up one
of the twenty-dollar gold pieces.

"It's real," he assured her.

"And very clever," she returned, wondering what he intended to do.  She
replaced the coin near the others on the table.  Her gaze lingered on
the play of the light over the bright gold coins and the softer pink
gold of her wedding ring.

Before she could move, Logan covered her hand with his.  "Are you angry
that I didn't tell you about the money?"

"Why would I be angry?"  A small tug failed to release her hand.  She
leveled a direct gaze at him.  "It's your money, Logan.  You do as you
wish with it."  Once again Jessie tried to free her hand.  He exerted a
light pressure to keep her in place.  She had the oddest desire to
smooth the errant lock of hair from his forehead, but such a move would
lead to trouble.  "Truth is, I forgot about the money."

"As I said, it was quite clever.  I don't believe I've ever heard of
anyone hiding gold in ... in cloth that way."

"Good thing, too."

Jessie yanked her hand out from under his.  "I am not a thief.  I admit
I searched your clothes for a clue to who you were.  I can assure you
that had I found anything in your pockets, which I might add were
nearly ripped off before I mended them, you would have found the
contents the minute you were awake."

"Don't take on so, Jessie.  I didn't mean that you'd steal from me.  I
was thinking about everything else of mine being stolen, so it was best
that I didn't have this money hidden in my belt."

"Oh."

"Yeah," he agreed, then grinned.  "Oh."

"It's a great deal of money," she murmured, wishing the suspicions
about him wouldn't come rushing back.  But she might as well have
wished away the night for all the good it did to stop thoughts of where
he had gotten a hundred dollars.  Money he obviously didn't need if he
could sew it up and forget about it.

Logan watched her face.  He could feel her withdrawing from him, but he
didn't understand why.  She lifted her lashes and glanced at him.  A
fine tension coiled through his body as he gazed into her tawny eyes.
For a moment there was fear within them.  Fear that he would stay, or
fear that he would go?  She looked away before he decided.

"You're afraid of me again."

Jessie felt trapped by the intent look in his eyes.  He wasn't asking,
but she answered him anyway.  "This," she said, pointing to the money,
"raises more questions about you.  I don't know anyone who can afford
to hide a hundred dollars away so that they could just forget about
it."

"You're a mighty suspicious woman, Jessie."  "Wouldn't you be in my
shoes?"

To her surprise, Logan straightened and appeared to give her question
serious thought.

"I don't know," he said after a few moments.  He studied the light
playing over her up swept hair, making it appear varying shades of
spices.  He wanted to take the pins from the thick coil and see her
hair loose.

Shaking his head to rid himself of the distraction she presented, Logan
finished.

"I can't picture what it's like to be in your shoes, Jessie.  I can
sure imagine how attracted I am to you, but I can't imagine being you.
I always figured a man's and woman's ways of thinking about things were
at odds with each other.  Women tend to complicate matters and a man's
real straightforward in his thoughts."

Jessie felt the increased racing of her pulse.  She knew she shouldn't
push this, but couldn't seem to help herself:

"Are yoU?"  "Am I what?"  "Attracted to me?"

The moment the words were said, Jessie clamped her hand over her mouth.
Mortified that she had been so bold, she started to back away from
him.

What was wrong with her?

Logan caught hold of her wrist in a gentle grip, stopping her flight.
"Jessie," he said solemnly, his lips twitching, "if you're still
asking, I'm sorry.  Guess I'll have to rectify that fault at the
earliest opportunity."

He drew her hand from her mouth and brought it up to his own.

"Don't," she whispered, knowing the condition of her work-roughened
hands.

He met her protest with a brief shake of his head and turned her hand
palm side up, then lightly kissed it.  Still holding her gaze with his,
he bit the fleshy pad below her thumb.

"And now," he murmured, drawing her closer, "seems like a mighty fine
opportunity."

A shiver ran through her, then another when he repeated the small bite.
She searched his hooded eyes, her gaze lowering to the flush man fling
the golden darkness of his face.  She stood so close to him now that
their breaths mingled.  A part of her reveled in his open desire for
her, a part remained worried that he slipped so easily past her
guard.

"You are the devil's own temptation, Logan."  The breathless Way she
spoke deepened his smile.  "The only one I'm interested in tempting is
you."  Still holding her hand, he rubbed it against his cheek.  "Be
honest with me, Jessie.  Am I succeeding?"

She glanced away a moment, then faced him.  "Far too well, but I
suspect you know that."  She pressed her fingers to his cheek.  Regret
filled her eyes as well as her voice as she disengaged her hand from
his and let it fall to her side.  "You already explained that I

don't have your experience.  I--"

"Jessie--"

"No, please.  Let me finish."  She stepped back a bit, needing the
distance.  "I've been very bold with you.  I've said things to you I've
never spoken to another man.  Honesty is called for, Logan.  I'm very
tempted to give in to these feelings you cause inside me.  Tempted, but
I remind myself that it would be foolish.

"The money you suddenly remembered," she said, looking at the coins on
the table.  "It's your means to leave here."

"Jessie, I didn't mean to hurt you in any way."

A bittersweet smile creased her lips as she slanted a look at him.  "I
believe you.  But that doesn't change the way I feel."

Logan watched her looking at the money.  The thought that formed had to
be voiced.  "Jessie, you didn't think I meant to pay you like some
nickle-a-ride daughter of joy?"

"No!  The thought never crossed my mind."  She spoke with such
conviction he had no choice but to believe her.

"I didn't want any misunderstanding: I do intend for you to have part
of the money.  No, wait," he demanded when she rounded on him.  "I need
a horse, boots and a gun.  I can't go into town and buy them for
myself.  You need to do that for me.  Whatever is left is yours."

As much as she had dreaded hearing the announcement of his intent to
leave, Jessie knew it was for the best.  But she wasn't about to do it
his way.

"Logan, I trust you to bring Adorabelle back to me despite what you
think about her.  Take her and buy your gear tomorrow--"

"I can't ride your horse into town, Jessie.  Think for a minute.  Your
reputation will be in shreds if folks learn you've had a man staying
with you.  For your own protection, you do the buying."

She had the strangest feeling that while he spoke the truth there was a
lie buried within the words.  And he had forgotten what she had told
him about her reputation.

"If I take your money it will raise questions about where I got it.
Buying a horse wouldn't be a problem.  I'll just look for one that
won't remind you of Ador-abe lie But buying a gun, oh, Logan," she said
with a laugh, "what I know about guns would fill a teacup.  And
boots--what reason would I have to buy men's boots if I'm protecting my
reputation?  End of the matter.  You'll have to go yourself."

Have to go.  Saying the words brought home the fact that by this time
tomorrow night he would be gone.  The need to be off by herself so he
would never know how painful it was for her to turn away from him and
the chance to discover passion in his arms grew powerful.  Jessie knew
she had to get away from him now.

Logan gripped her upper arm and stopped her.  "I can't go."

"Can't go?  "she repeated, slowly raising her head to look at him.

It pained him to crush the hope he saw flaring in her eyes.  "To town,
Jessie.  There are... Damn, I didn't want to get into this with you."

"Tell me.  I know there's more to it."

"You're a woman made for sharing with a man, Jessie.  I had forgotten
how soft a woman could be and--"

"I'm not soft.  I'm strong.  So just tell me why."  "There are men
looking for me."  "The men who shot you?"

"Yeah, those men.  I can't let you get tangled in the mess I'm in.
That's why I need to pull out fast."  "You think they know you're here
with me?"  Another omission to expose Logan rubbed the back of his neck
with his injured arm, needing the pain's distraction from the cold knot
forming inside him for hurting her.

"The kid wasn't the only one around.  A man caught him.  A man asking
questions about me.  I don't know why the boy lied to him.  Said his
folks weren't here and he'd seen no strangers around."  His gaze was
bleak as he searched her face for understanding.  "What if he'd found
you alone?  I don't want to think about it, but I do.  I can't risk
having something happen to you, Jessie."

"You're so sure--"

"Hell, yes, I'm sure.  They'd rape and kill you and never give you a
second thought."

She reached up and covered his hand still gripping her arm.  "You're
not like that.  I don't understand why you'd be in the company of such
men."

"Don't ask.  I can't, no, I won't tell you.  The less you know the
safer you'll be.  I'm a danger to you.  Now will you agree to go to
town and buy what I need?"

"All right.  I don't have a choice."  She glanced away.  "I'll do
whatever I can to help you.  I can't seem to do anything else."

She tugged her arm and after a few seconds Logan let her go: He found
the act of releasing her difficult.  He wanted to sweep her up into his
arms, despite the dull ache in his shoulder, and not let her go until
the sun rose.  He'd asked her about temptation, but wondered why Jessie
didn't see how tempting she was.  If he had time... But he didn't.
Unless he found a way to get the man behind the stealing, he never
would.  Who had reason to want revenge against his family?

And when he left, who was going to protect Jessie?

Chapter Eight

Logan woke late to find a gun and holster beside him in the bed and no
sign of Jessie in the cabin.  The day was overcast, as gloomy with the
threat of rain as he'd seen, and suited his mood.

Once more he'd lost the argument with Jessie about sleeping in her bed.
She had reminded him that it might be a long time before he slept in
one again.  Regret that he couldn't tell her the truth added to his
dark mood.

He examined the gun, an old Remington army pistol, with its plain
handgrip and well-oiled barrel.  This, too, must have belonged to
Harry.

He wondered what Harry would have made of all this.  Logan was living
in his cabin, sleeping in his bed, wore his clothes and boots, and now
had his gun.  The only thing he hadn't done was sleep with Harry's
wife.

His mood changed from dark to foul in a moment.  He rose from the bed
and found his mended shirt and newly repaired pants folded on the table
next to a box of cartridges.  The money was gone.  Raking back his
hair, he knew it was a waste of time to go outside to look for Jessie,
but he did it anyway.

The corral was as empty as the cabin.  He couldn't blame her for
wanting to get rid of him as quickly as possible.

But there was something he intended to do for her before he left there.
Returning inside, he eyed the departed Harry's narrow-toed boots as if
they were filled with scorpions.  The way they pinched his toes, they
might as well have been home to the stinging critters.  As he struggled
to pull them on, he cheered himself with the thought that the pinch of
the boots didn't have any venom.

Fire streaked out from the wound in his shoulder.  Logan ignored it.
When a man lived with a brother like Conner, who could roust you from
bed after a night of drinking left you feeling as if the entire Apache
nation had set up camp and played their war drums in your head, you had
to learn to work through any pain.

Outside he doused himself with water from the bucket, shaking it off
like a hound after a rain, grabbed one of Harry's shirts and headed
out.  He was going to find that boy.

A fine dust rose from Adorabelle's hooves.  Jessie believed she had
swallowed every particle.  Early as it was, she felt the humidity of
the summer's oppressive heat.  As the horse plodded up the street,
Jessie wiped the sweat from her forehead.  She'd forgotten how much
cooler her cabin high in the mountains was, compared to town.  With her
felt hat pulled low, Jessie didn't look at the clustered,
weather-beaten shacks lining the street.

She stopped outside Beeson's, dismounted and tied Adorabelle's reins to
the hitching rail.  A few months ago the sign above the old trading
post had been painted over with Silas's last name in large red letters
that covered the faded words Trade Goods, Livery and Saloon.  Silas had
never announced that he served as undertaker, too.

Sliding her canvas sacks from the saddle horn, she admonished herself
to overcome her reluctance to go inside.  The upturned keg where Silas
usually sat in the morning was empty.  Only a customer would make him
leave his place.

The door stood open, and she stepped up to the wooden sidewalk, then to
the doorway.  Even if the sun had been shining, it couldn't help dispel
the darkness of the interior.  Two walls were lined with shelves,
crowded and cobWebbed with unwanted goods.  Silas had told her that
most of the items had been taken in trade by the previous owner.

Peering inside, Jessie, overcome by the smells, wrinkled her nose.  The
odors of brine, oil and leather were rank.  Like Silas himself.  He
never cleaned, and reasoned that sooner or later someone would buy his
stock if for no other reason than his was the only store within a day's
ride.  Crates and barrels were stacked in a haphazard manner wherever
there was room, and, working her way to the counter, Jessie feared one
of the piles would topple.

Jessie didn't know the man purchasing a tin of tobacco, She waited
until he walked away from the counter before she approached Silas.
Balding, squint-eyed, sober as a hanging judge and miserly, Silas
brought with his attention a feeling of revulsion.  His pasty skin and
yellowed teeth turned the smile he offered into a leer.

"Miz Winslow, ain't seen you in a time.  Bet you're runnin' low on
supplieS."

"Good morning to you, Silas."  Determined to remain cheerful, Jessie
forced a smile to her lips.  "I do need supplies.  Here is my list.  I
would also like to buy a horse."

"Well, now, a horse, you said?"

"That's right.  Do you have any?"

"I might.  Ain't gonna take no trade.  Hard cash only.  Or gold?  You
got gold, Miz Winslow?"  "I can pay for whatever I buy, Silas."  "That
so?"

Jessie knew he Wouldn't fill her order or show her the horses unless he
was assured that she did have money.  Stripping off one of her leather
riding gloves, she reached for the small sack tied to her belt and
tugged it open far enough to allow two fingers to slide inside and
remove one coin.  Holding the twenty-dollar gold piece in front of the
man, Jessie gritted her teeth for the time he took to study it.

Impatient now, she asked, "Satisfied, Silas?"

His gaze went from the coin she held to the small sack.  "You got more.
Horses don't come cheap."

"From you, I wouldn't expect anything cheap.  But tell me how much
you're charging for a horse these days?"

Stroking his pointed chin, he took his time answering her.  Jessie
resisted the urge to tap her foot, just as she resisted the urge to
look away from the greedy, speculative gaze in his eyes.

"Twenty dollars for a horse, ten for a saddle."  Now it was her turn to
mull over what he named.  It was a pity that Logan had never bothered
to tell her how much to spend.  Well, she had tried to tell him.

"You still interested, Miz Winslow?"

"I might be.  But the price seems steep.  Now, if you were including a
bridle, canteen and saddlebags, Silas, I would be inclined to think we
struck a fair bargain.  Providing," she added, sliding the coin back
into the sack, "that the horse isn't as old as I am."

"Miz Winslow, you wound me sayin' such a thing.  I wouldn't try to
cheat you.  That stock is young an' sound.  Was thinkin' of keepin' one
for myself.  But I can't see my way to agreein'.  Now, if you was
offerin' forty--"

"No.  I can't pay that much."

"Thirty-five dollars an' not a penny less."

Jessie eyed the bony hand he held out, palm up and waiting for the
money.  "I want to see the horse first."

"Sure thing.  Help yourself.  There's two out back in the corral.  You
go on, an' I'll jus' fill your order.  When you're ready, you comon
in."

He waved her toward the narrow pathway between goods that led to the
rear door.  Jessie shook her head.  Silas had attempted to corner her
once, and only the appearance of his Indian woman had sent him
scurrying back to the counter.  Jessie chose to go out the front and
walk around to the corral.

Heavy as the air was, Jessie took a deep, cleansing breath the moment
she was outside.  Sweat pooled between her breasts and rolled down her
back.  She plucked up the shirt and camisole that were stuck to her
skin.  Untying the reins, she led Adorabelle around to the back.

There was a film of dust on the water in the horse trough.  Jessie
labored with the squeaking pump until a thin stream of water overflowed
the wooden sides of the trough.  Leaving her horse to drink, she walked
closer to the corral.  Two horses stood beneath a slanted roof.  It was
the only form of shelter the animals had.

"At least Silas wasn't lying about the horses," she muttered.  "They're
not as old as me."  Shooting a look over her shoulder at her horse, she
added, "No offense, girl.  But you're near a grandma to those two."

The sound of her voice brought a white-and-black paint trotting over to
the pole fence.  Large irregular black patches mixed with smaller ones
of brown across the back and rump of the horse.  The horse's clear
eyes' and friendly manner piqued Jessie's interest.  But she had to
remember that the horse was for Logan, not herself.

The other horse, brown with black tail and mane, stood quietly watching
her from the shelter.  Jessie had the funny feeling that she was being
studied in return.

Even as she patted the paint's muzzle, Jessie kept her gaze on the'
brown horse.  The longer she looked, the more certain she became that
that was the one to buy for Logan.  She knew there was more to buying a
horse.  She should be examining their teeth to make sure that her eyes
and Silas's claims weren't lying about the horses' ages.

She reminded herself that she didn't have more places to go, not if
Logan was to leave today.  She had the foolish thought that the brown
horse's quiet manner was a clue to the animal being stable.  Jessie
laughed to rid herself of the strange thoughts.  For all she knew, the
brown's quietness might mean the animal was ill.

The paint was showy, and very determined to have Jessie stop ignoring
her.  She tossed her head and bared her teeth.  Jessie withdrew her
hand.

"That does it.  I'm afraid you're likely to nip my sweetheart on her
rump.  Your friend over there is a lady all the way."

At least, she thought they were both mares.  Just as she turned away
the air was filled with yells and whoops.  Jessie ran a little way and
saw the flash of horses go by.  There was only one place they'd be
going, and that was into a saloon attached to the store.  It was too
early for decent men to be in town drinking.  Forewarned, she chose to
use the rear door this time.  She wouldn't have to see or be seen by
anyone inside.

Before she stepped into the shadowed store, Jessie removed three of the
double eagles from her sack.  No doubt Silas had heard the jingle of
coins when she had taken the one out to prove that she could pay him,
but she didn't want him to know exactly how much she had after paying
for the horse, gear and supplies.  She knew the man too well.  Silas
would raise his prices the next time she came in, and Jessie had no
intention of keeping any of Logan's money.  Most of the supplies that
she had ordered were items that she would split with Logan, at his
insistence---coffee, flour, beans, bacon and a piece of sugar loaf.
Jessie had taken it upon herself to add the last, remembering that he
had a sweet tooth.

Still, Jessie found herself hesitating by the door.  Part of her was in
a hurry to get back and spend whatever time was left with Logan.  The
other half--the foolish, lonely woman she'd been trying to hide--wished
to delay his leaving.

No matter how many times she had told herself, as the long hours of the
night passed in restless tossing, that she didn't want Logan, she had
come to the conclusion that she was lying to herself.

And to him.

She regretted those moments when he had held her, teasing and tempting
by turn, and she had refused him.  Regretted, but not enough to
overcome a lifelong belief that it was wrong to sleep with a man
without the blessing of marriage.  Logan had traveling on his mind, not
settling down.

What she couldn't understand was why this decision plagued her.  Never
before had it been difficult to make a moral choice, the right one for
herself, and have the matter ended.

But you've never met a man like Logan before.  Shouts and howls of male
laughter from inside the saloon snapped her from her thoughts.  A
shiver of distaste raced through her and she had to force herself to go
inside.

Silas wasn't at the counter.  His Indian woman was.  "You pay.  Go
quick."

Her voice, like her dark eyes, held no emotion.  Jessie, despite her
discomfort, carefully checked to see that her list had been filled. She
loaded foodstuffs into the large canvas sack she'd left on the counter.
A glance showed that Silas had circled the total due on the bottom of
her list.

Always unsure of how much the woman understood, Jessie pointed to the
amount and revealed the three twenty-dollar gold pieces on her palm. "I
will need change.  Please tell Silas that I want the brown horse. He
promised me a saddle, bridle and saddlebags, too."

Another loud burst of laughter made Jessie glance over her shoulder,
then back at the woman.  If she had been a cat her tall would have been
twitching nervously.  She wished she knew the woman's name, but she had
asked her once and received no answer.  Silas told her all he ever
called her was woman.

"And.  tell Silas that I'm in a hurry, please."  Jessie shoved the
canteen into the sack.  For a few moments more the woman stood there,
dark eyes staring at her.  The woman's skin was the color of desert
mallow, deep, rich and warmly hued against the greased blackness of her
long, braided hair.  Looped around her ear were pretty colored beads,
and in the open V of her red shirt Jessie saw a large, bright blue
stone set in silver hanging from a strand of smaller beads.  When the
woman finally moved, her broad hips sent the yellow-and-red-striped
skirt swaying as she went to fetch Silas from the saloon.

Sliding the wrapped coffee beans into her sack, Jessie felt the bulky
shape of the sugar cone, but she suddenly realized that Logan would
need a coffeepot.  Harry's old battered one counted among the items
that had disappeared from the shed.  She wasn't going to think about
that' boy now.  Once Logan was gone, she'd have time enough to find
him.

Leaving the counter, Jessie paused, then slowly walked down the aisle
looking at the crowded shelves.  As she drew nearer to the arched
opening that led to the saloon, she was appalled to hear the coarse
remarks directed at Silas's woman.  She found herself waiting to hear
Silas silence those men.  Moments passed, but she didn't hear his voice
raised in protest.  How could he let them argue about who would bed her
first?

She knew Silas wouldn't appreciate her interference.  If anything, he'd
be likely to yell at her.  She spotted the coffeepot and brushed aside
a small cob web to take it from the shelf, still bothered by what she
was hearing.

Just as her hand closed over the enamel handle, she grew aware of the
silence.  At the same time a creeping sensation shivered up her spine.
The air she breathed was filled with the foul odor of an unwashed body.
She knew the smell from all the times Harry had come home from one of
his long treks into the mountains.

Every womanly instinct came alive in alarm and urged her to run. Jessie
felt her insides turn to mush.  Mush that seeped right through her
legs.  She trembled where she stood and swore to herself that her boots
were all that kept her standing.  The next breath she drew added the
reek of whiskey to the overpowering smell.

A hand touched her shoulder.  She hunched over, trying to make herself
smaller, wishing she had more courage, and the strength to move away.

"Ain't gonna hurt you none, little lady.  Jus' wanna have Some fun.
Turn so's I can see what I got for myself."

The man had a gravelly voice, slightly slurred.  Jessie thought of all
that bold sass she had when faced with Logan.  She could use a little
of it now.  But Logan had never truly made her afraid of him.  This
man, briefly touching her shoulder again, did.

Cowering would only make him take a firm hold of her.  She would do
almost anything to avoid that.  Jessie turned around.

Eyes the color of sage and as lifeless met her gaze.  The corner of the
man's mouth lifted in a lopsided smile.

Jessie shivered and pressed back against the shelves.  When he shoved a
ragged army hat back on his head,

he revealed a narrow scar that ran from his hairline down across his
eyebrow.  His face was rough with a thick growth of dark whiskers that
added to his unsavory appearance.  He was taller than Logan, broad
through the chest and shoulders, and filled her immediate vision.

"Silas?"  Jessie called.  "He's busy, little lady."  Jessie couldn't
respond.  "Zach?  Where'd ya go?"

Jessie tried to peer over his shoulder to see who spoke, but her legs
were shaking so badly she couldn't stand on tiptoe.

"Look what I found us, Billy Jack."

"No.  You haven't found anything, mister.  Step aside."  Jessie
attempted to infuse the words with force, but her mouth was so dry they
came out a whisper.

The front door was only a few feet away.  Jessie glanced from the door
to the man and saw that the second one had rested his chin on his
friend's shoulder and was grinning at her.

"Ai, caramba, a woman worth having."

Heat stole into Jessie's cheeks, not a blush of temper but one of
shame.  No man had ever looked at her with lust shining in his eyes.
She tried to inch her way past them.

Zach moved to block her, leaving the other man swaying on his feet.

"Ah, Zach, you're a true amigo to share such bounty with me.  I drink
to you."  Billy Jack lifted the bottle he held and drank deeply.

Jessie's eyes grew wide and round as he swallowed what appeared to her
to be an enormous amount of liquor until the whiskey ran down his chin.
A backhanded swipe sent drops flying.

Nausea churned in her stomach.  The swarthy skin of his neck was ringed
with dirt, like the ragged edges of the nails on his blunt fingers.

Where was Silas?  Surely he was aware of what these men were doing? She
wished she could believe they only meant to taunt her, but there was
that look in the second man's dark eyes, the one called Billy Jack,
that twisted her belly into a cold knot of fear.

With one in front of her and the other man at her side, Jessie didn't
know which one to watch.  Zach reached out to touch her again and she
batted his hand away, only to have her hat snatched by Billy Jack.

"Never have I seen such hair.  Take it down for me, senorita.  Take it
down now."

Jessie lunged for the hat.  Too late she understood the gleam of
laughter in Billy Jack's eyes.  Taking her hat was a ploy that brought
her out of the corner where she had the shelves at her back.

Billy Jack dared her to try for the hat with a look from his bloodshot
eyes.  Jessie couldn't meet his gaze.  Her fear increased the more she
looked at his face.  Lowering her gaze beyond the fancy worked-silver
conch as on his open vest, she saw that he wore a tarnished silver belt
buckle.  His taunt to come and get her hat distracted her.

Laughing, Billy Jack sidestepped another attempt to grab the hat.  He
held it high and out of her reach.  "Ah, such a brave senorita."
Making a mocking bow, he added, "I salute your bravery!"  Once more he
raised the bottle to his lips, but his eyes never left her.

Jessie sensed more than felt Zach slip behind her.  She realized that
she still clutched the coffeepot and acted without thinking.  She swung
it backward in a wide arc.  Zach's grunt added courage to her depleted
store.

She kicked back and knew by his bellow that her boot heel had found its
mark.  Zach grabbed her hair, yanking her head back, and Jessie
screamed.  The coffeepot fell from her hand and landed with a solid
thunk on the floor.  Her second scream died before she gave it voice.
Billy Jack loomed close, so near that she squeezed her eyes shut and
held her breath as the fumes of liquor and his foul breath flowed over
her face.

"Open your eyes, sego rita We will drink a little an' my friend, he
will play music for us.  You will dance for me, no?"

Jessie set her lips, gritting her teeth behind them.  Tears burned
behind her closed lids, but she fought not to cry.  Pain lanced her
scalp from Zach's grip on her hair, and fear had turned her bone marrow
to water.

Billy Jack caught hold 'of her chin.  "Open your eyes."  When she
didn't obey him, he put the bottle to her lips, tilting it so the
liquor ran over her mouth.

Jessie felt his thumb pressing the corner of her mouth, forcing her
lower lip open.  She tried struggling, but stopped the moment she felt
their bodies press even tighter against hers.  Their laughter Changed,
turning darker, more threatening.  The bite of whiskey made her eyes
water and she gagged when it trickled into her mouth.  She managed to
twist her head to the side, taking the bottle from her lips.  The jerky
motion sent liquor spraying over her before Billy Jack yanked the
bottle upright.

Whether he staggered or suddenly lost his balance,

Jessie felt the press of Billy Jack's body ease away, and in an
unexpected move she brought up her hand and slammed the bottle from
his.

The air turned blue with his swearing.  Zach slung his arm around her,
locking her arms to her sides, his grip beneath her breasts so tight
her rib cage felt bruised.  Her hair came loose, but couldn't shield
her from the sound of Zach's heavy breathing filling her ear.  Inwardly
she cringed to feel Billy Jack's fingers toying with the top button of
her shin.  Jessie's eyes flew open.  It was worse to imagine those
dirty fingers touching her skin.

Two buttons went flying with a quick, hard pull, and only Zach's arm
stopped Billy Jack from ripping more from her shirt.

She was dizzy and faint with the fumes of liquor rising from the floor,
her clothes and their breath.

"Blackleg!"  Billy Jack yelled.  "Play for us.  The lovely sego rita
has agreed to dance for me."  Touching a handful of her hair, he jerked
his head toward the arched opening where the sounds of a harmonica
filled the air.  "Vamos, amigo.  I grow tired of this playing."  He
spun on his boot heel and disappeared into the saloon.

Jessie dreaded going in there.  She no longer hoped that Silas would do
something to stop them.  If only someone would come into the store. The
pressure from Zach's arm eased and for a moment hope flared that he was
going to let her go.  In the next moment she felt his open hand cup her
breast.  Her cry was cut off.  Zach slid his other hand into her hair,
twisting her head to the side, and kissed her.

Shuddering with revulsion, Jessie kept her lips sealed against the
pressure of his tongue seeking entrance.  Bile burned her throat.  She
tried to get her arm free, her fingers curling into claws, ready to
defend the second she had the chance.  Abruptly, Zach let her go but
shoved her toward the opening.  Jessie caught hold of the rough brick
edge to keep her balance.  The few moments' respite showed her the
other three men sprawled in chairs around one table.  Behind the bar,
no more than roughly cut planks set on overturned barrels, stood a
watchful Silas.

The man playing the harmonica changed to a lively tune.  The Indian
woman, sitting on another's lap, never once turned to look at her.
Jessie felt the nudge that Zach gave her, but she couldn't make herself
take a step.

"If you let them get away with this, Silas, I'll rouse every
law-abiding person in town to run you out."

"If you're still alive to talk," Zach whispered from behind her.

Billy Jack started for her.  A man kicked his chair back and rose.  The
stub of a cigar hung from his mouth.  Jessie didn't know why her gaze
fastened on him, but it did.  He moved quickly to intercept Billy Jack,
speaking to him in what she thought was Spanish, and when talking
didn't work, he sent him staggering toward the bar with a hard shove.
Then he turned on Zach.

"Get the hell in here.  Alone."  Monte didn't worry that Zach wouldn't
obey, so he didn't bother to look at him.

The music stopped.  Jessie kept staring at the man with the cigar.

Monte avoided the woman's eyes.  He didn't spare more than a glance at
the way she clutched her shirt together.  Shaking his head, he knew he
had no choice.

He didn't want to kill her, and he knew it would come to that to keep
her quiet.  Having questions raised, or some do-gooder out hunting
them, would have the boss tearing strips out of his hide.  On the other
hand, denying Billy Jack what he wanted could be worse than stepping
into a nest of riled rattlers.

Taking the cigar out of his mouth, Monte made up his mind.  He walked
over to her.  "Ma'am, I'm real sorry this happened.  My boys got
carried away havin' a little fun."

"Boys," Jessie hissed.  Free of the fear that had gripped her, she lit
into him.  "They're not boys.

They're animals.  They belong locked up and--" "Now you're just a mite
upset--"

"I'm not a mite upset, mister.  I'm furious.  Those men attacked me."
'

"Now, now, Miz Winslow," Silas said, hurrying toward her.  "Don't carry
on so.  You ain't been hurt none."  '

Jessie looked at the Indian woman, thinking that she saw resignation in
her dark eyes, but then the woman looked away.  She focused on Silas."
"You wouldn't know what hurts a woman, you miserable excuse for a
man."

"Now, you hold on.  you ain't got no cause to talk to me like that.
Mr. Wheeler here stopped them before any harm was done."

Trembling, Jessie refused to back down.  She wasn't going to let Silas
or this man get away so easily.  "No harm was done?  I beg to differ.
My shirt's ripped.  I smell like a brewery.  I've been mauled and
spoken to in language that shamed me and you think no harm's been done.
Let me tell you something, Silas, folks around here won't take kindly
to hearing that I was attacked in your store."

Monte stepped closer and grabbed her upper arm with a sharp biting grip
that forced her hand to release the torn edges of her shirt.  Giving
her a little shake, he spoke softly.  "You listen and listen good.
You're gonna get paid for your clothes, an' whatever the hell else you
came in here to buy, then you're gonna leave and keep your mouth shut
or I'll turn Billy Jack loose on you.  Understand?"

Before Jessie could form an answer, a man called out for Silas.  Jessie
sagged against the wall.  It was David.

"Over here," Silas called out, shooting her a spiteful smile.

Jessie had wished for a rescue.  She ignored Monte pressing closer and
taking hold of her other arm as she turned to look at David.  His
normally pleasant features wore a horrified expression as he took in
her disheveled state.  She knew before he spoke that there would be no
help coming from him.  And who could blame David?  He wasn't a match
for these men.  He didn't even wear a gun.

"Jessie?  What's going on here?  What are you doing with these men?"
Clutching a split ax handle, he came closer.  "My God, you've been
drinking!"

"This your husband?"  Monte asked.

Jessie barely shook her head.  She felt so ashamed when David burst out
in loud denial.  And she wouldn't worry over making the decision about
marrying him now.  David likely wouldn't have her to wife.

"Mister," Monte said, holding Jessie tight in warning, "you got
business with Silas, then tend to it an' leave the little lady to me
an' my friends."

"But, Jessiem"

"Come along, David," Silas urged, taking hold of his arm.

For a few moments more, Jessie held David's gaze and her silence.  She
didn't want to see him hurt, and these men would do that.  But it
pained her that, while he appeared confused, he demanded nothing more
by way of explanation.  Could he truly think so little of her that he
believed she was willingly in the company of men like this?  If it had
been Logan coming through that door, Jessie had no doubt what his
reaction would have been.  Logan would not have bothered to ask her
questions.  He wouldn't believe what surface appearances revealed.
Monte would be flat on his back, while the others---Oh, stop it.  she
admonished herself.  Wishing and hoping isn't getting you out of
this.

She hung her head as Monte stepped back but didn't release her, Silas
hurried to usher David to the other side of the store.

"You didn't answer me, lady."

"I just want to get out of here."

"Not good enough," Monte stated.  "I want your word you ain't gonna
make any trouble.  Although," he said, glancing at the floor where he
picked out gold coins and a coffeepot, "if that fella's what you got
around here calling themselves men, I ain't got much to worry about."

She didn't bother to answer.  Any threats she made would be empty
ones.

"If you're smart, lady, you won't get folks riled over a little fun.
They've been hard up for liquor and a pretty woman.  Can't blame them
none."

The tone of his voice warned Jessie she faced a new threat.  Much as it
galled her to beg, she did so.

"Please, mister, all I want to do is collect what I came for and get
out.  Just keep those men away from me."

She heard approaching footsteps and looked to see David.  Whatever
conclusion he'd come to, whatever Silas had told him, he didn't
hesitate, but left the store without looking at her.

It was only then that Monte stepped away from her to allow her passage
to the store.  "Silas, you give the woman whatever she wants an' I'll
settle up with you."

Jessie held tight to the counter.  She couldn't stop shaking.  The
music started up again and she blocked out the sound and Silas's
insistence that she was a fool not to take the man's offer.  Staring
straight ahead, but unable to focus, Jessie found herself thinking that
the man called Billy Jack wore a large tarnished silver belt buckle,
but the initial L was engraved over a coil of rope.  The initial could
be the man's last name, but it could be Logan's buckle.  Logan said men
were looking for him, These had to be the same ones.  They had shot
him, robbed him and left him for dead.  They had attacked her.

And there was no law to call upon.

With a rough shake of her head, she set aside her thoughts.  She had to
get out of there and quickly.  But Silas was right.  She was being a
fool to refuse to let them pay for everything.

"You've made your point and convinced me, Silas.  I need a coffeepot, a
rope and--" she paused, scanning the shelves behind him "--that hat.  I
want the black one, too."

"You already got a hat, Miz--"

"[ want a new one."

Taking it down, he said, "It's too big for you."

Jessie snatched it from his hand.  "I'll take it anyway.  Two new
shirts, and a red bandanna."  Pursing her lips while Silas scurried to
get them for her, she tried to keep calm.  If she didn't think about
what had happened, she wouldn't be sick.

When Silas returned and set the shirts with the folded bandanna on top
of her sack, Jessie leaned closer.  "And I want two bottles of
whiskey."  "Whiskey?  You want--"

"For medicinal purposes, Silas."  Holding her hand out, Jessie had no
need to fake the trembling.

The hat was too large for her--it covered her brows--but Jessie left it
on.  Carrying the two bottles, she followed Silas out of the store and
waited for him to saddle the brown horse.  She kept promising herself
that she wouldn't cry.  And she vowed to find a way not to tell Logan
what had happened.

Silas led the horse to where she stood.  "You know this ain't happened
before.  You musta done something to get that man all het up about
you."

Eyeing him as if he was an ant she'd enjoy stepping on, Jessie set
aside her feelings to latch on to what he said about those men.

"They've come here before?"

"A time or two.  Womenfolk don't come in the store when they see their
horses out front.  Smart women, that is.  Decent ones that ain't
looking to hook onto a man any way they can."

"Smart women, Silas?  Or women that know their men haven't got any
backbone?"

"Ain't gonna jaw with you over this.  You want I should thank Mr.
Wheeler for you?"

"Tell him to go to hell.  And tell him there are plenty of woodsheds
around here if he wants to teach his boys some manners."

Stepping up into the saddle, Jessie knew that Silas wouldn't repeat a
word that she said.  Taking hold of the spare horse's reins, she rode
out.

She managed to keep her brave front almost halfway home.  She couldn't
stand the way her skin felt as if things were Crawling over it.  She
pulled rein and slid from Adorabelle's back.  The nausea rose and
Jessie fell to her knees.  She remained there until the heaving
stopped.

How was she going to face Logan."?

Taking the top from her canteen, she rinsed her mouth.  She slid the
strap over the saddle horn and looked down at herself.  Her shirt gaped
open.  Dirt smudges showed on her white camisole.  She couldn't stand
having the whiskey-soaked clothes on for one more moment.  Grabbing one
of the new shirts, she cast a hurried look around.  A lizard watched
from the top of a small pile of boulders.  Stripping off her shirt and
camisole, Jessie bundled them and shoved them into a crevice of the
rock.  The new shirt was a coarse weave but it didn't smell.

Tucking the tails into her skirt, she eyed the top of the whiskey
bottle poking out from her saddlebag.

"Medicinal purposes, hell," she muttered, taking hold of the bottle.
Someone had told her that men got a false sense of courage from
whiskey.  Jessie didn't care what kind of courage it was.  She needed
something to help her face Logan and lie to him.

Chapter Nine

Logan used the simple law of survival to locate the boy.  Every living
creature depended upon three things.  Water, food and shelter from
predators.

It was midmorning before he found the trickle of a stream and followed
its course back to where it widened.  Churned-up dried mud drew him to
bunker down and study the spot.  The soft sounds of water rushing over
the rocky streambed soothed him.  He let himself be distracted by
thoughts of Jessie.  If old Santo, more father than guardian of all
that bore the Kincaid name, could meet Jessie, he would say she was a
lot of woman.  Logan would agree, It went beyond her lush body to a
strong will and stubborn mind.  He wished there was time to explore the
feelings stirring for her.

He wasn't a man given to wishing for what he couldn't have.  Bringing
his thoughts back to the problem at hand, he studied the ground.  More
than one set of bare feet had churned the mud.  Rising, he scanned the
bank with its low-growing brush.  A few yellow-and-black dog-face
butterflies hovered over the scattered wildflowers.  Two hawks circled
above, and he heard the incredible rapid whir of a hummingbird's wings
but couldn't spot the tiny bird.

There were plenty of places that would offer concealment.  Logan began
to quarter the area, looking for clues.  Upstream he found a deeper
pool, a place where the grasses had been crushed often and a small pile
of flat smooth stones such as a boy might collect for skimming the
water.  He knew he wasn't mistaken about the last.  He and his brothers
had often held contests to see who could send a stone skipping the
farthest.

Ty, the youngest, was an impatient cuss, he not much better, but Conner
would have them hopping from one foot to the other waiting for him to
select the perfect stone, the right spot to stand, even wetting one
finger and holding it up to test the wind before he'd finally make his
throw.  Conner usually won, too.

As he worked his way back from the stream, Logan thought of how sure
Jessie was that no one had staked a claim on land near her.  When he
caught the smell of frying fish, Logan knew Jessie was wrong but he was
on the right path.

Concealed in a thicket, he carefully parted the brush and nearly gave
away his hiding place.  Two wagons--prairie schooners, for they were
smaller than the larger and cumbersome Conestogas---canvas tops intact
but wagon tongue empty of oxen or the draft horses needed to pull the
sixteen-foot-long wagon, rested beneath a half circle of cottonwoods.
In the center a small fire burned, and Logan saw two trout frying in
the black pan.  His mouth watered.  It had been a long time since he'd
fished and fried his catch.  Too long.

The campsite wasn't new.  Deadfall was piled high, an ax protruded from
a stump, signs of the clearing being enlarged showed in dried clump
grasses that had been pulled from the earth.  Two rocking chairs sat
off to one side.  Between two trees a line was strung with a few pieces
of clothing hanging over the rope.

What Logan didn't see was the boy, or anyone else moving around.  Those
fish sure smelled ready to come off the fire.  Anyone leaving them to
burn had to do so for a good reason.  He knew before he heard the snap
of a twig behind him that he'd been caught.  "Come up slow and easy,
mister."

Poked with a rifle barrel, Logan didn't have any choice.  "I didn't
come looking to hurt you.  I just wanted--"

"Makes no never mind.  You toss that gun aside.  An' jus' remember that
I'm watchin'."

"Boy, when a man comes friendly-like to your camp you don't hold a gun
on him."

"Didn't see no sign of you being friendly, mister.  You're creepin'
'round back here, watchin' us."

"Us?"  So there was someone else taking care of the boy.

"That's what I said.  An' I'm still waitin' on you."  Logan tossed the
gun aside.  He could have gotten the drop on the boy, but he wanted to
prove he meant no harm.

"Now what?"

"Now you mosey into camp.  An' remember I'm right behind you."  Kenny
swiped at the sweat dripping into his eyes.  It was a good thing the
man didn't turn, or he'd see how scared he was.  Marty was hiding, and
not likely to come out.

Standing in the clearing, Logan glanced around.  The delicious smell of
the frying fish made his belly rumble.  "Your fish are gonna burn if
you don't turn them, boy.  And since I've done what you asked, why
don't you tell me your name?"

"What's yours?"

"Logan.  You can't think I'd hurt you after you saved my life?"

"Can't be too careful, mister.  "Sides, I seen the men you were with. I
wouldn't trust one of 'em if fen I was paid to."

"I ain't asking you to trust anyone but me.  And Miz Winslow.  Jessie,
that's her name, Jessie Winslow,

is the widow you've been,..er ... trading with."  "What'd ya come
lookin' for?"

"You and whoever you're with.  I need to leave Jessie, and I'd feel a
mite better if you'd keep an eye on her.  You say you saw those men
that left me for dead.  Then you can understand why I'd be worried
about her being down there alone without a man to watch over her."?

"I ain't no man."

"Maybe not in size or years, boy, but I'd be proud to call you a
friend.  It was a mighty fine thing you did, taking care of me and
getting me up to Jessie's place."  '

"Yeah, well, jus' so's you know.  We were buryin' you when you started
moaning.  Like to scared me spit-less, too."

"You were burying me!"  Logan exclaimed.  By almighty heaven, he'd had
a closer brush with death than he had known.  Buried?  Lord!

"That's what I said.  Couldn't leave you for buzzard bait.  Ain't
fittin' for folks to be a meal for 'em."

"Then I'll double my thanks.  I'd still like to know your name.  Can't
thank you properly unless I do.  You can't be running from the law?"

"Like you, mister?  Naw.  We ain't running from anyone.  Guess I can
tell you.  It's Kenny."

"Pleased to meet you, Kenny.  Now that we've exchanged names, do you
think I could sit down?  It was a trek from the cabin and I'm mighty
thirsty.  Standing here and smelling that fish is making my innards
grumble something fierce.  Will your daddy mind if I join you?"

"My pa's dead."

"Sorry, boy.  Mine is, too."  The question had been a wild shot, but
Logan had no idea why he told the boy about his father.

"Guess it'd be all right for you to sit over there against that big
cottonwood.  I can keep an eye on you."

"Trusting young' un Logan muttered beneath his breath as he settled
himself on the ground.  He hadn't lied about his belly rumbling from
the delicious smell of the fish, but he had a feeling that the wiry boy
holding the shotgun on him wasn't going to be won over easily.  He'd
never met such a distrusting kid.  But it was that very trait that made
Kenny perfect to look after Jessie.  Not that he didn't think Jessie
wasn't smart enough to take care of herself.  She was.  She had been
doing fine until he'd come along.  But he couldn't forget seeing Zach
nosing around.  There was no question that he couldn't stay, so Kenny
was his next choice.  If he could convince the boy and whoever was with
him to do it.

"I'm not going anywhere, Kenny.  You can put that shotgun away.  Maybe
you should fetch your maT'

"She's dead, too.  I ain't got no folks, no family but for my
cousin."

"Then you got more than Jessie.  She's alone but for that swayback mare
of hers and her chickens."  Once more Logan looked around, trying to
find some clue if the cousin was near, was male or female.

Kenny saw that the edges of the fish were browned and ready to come
off.  He grabbed a rag and took hold of the frying pan's long handle,
sliding it from the grate over the fire to a flat slab.  His own mouth
was watering to taste the fish he and Marty had caught.  Marty wouldn't
come out unless he called him and told him it was safe.  This Logan
didn't talk down to him, and there was something about the man's eyes,
the way he looked right at a person when he talked, like he didn't have
anything to hide.  His ma sure set store by a person doing that.

Logan sat very still, sensing that Kenny was studying him and making up
his mind if he would trust him or not.  It made Logan lean toward
thinking that the other half of the "we" Kenny had mentioned was a
female.  That only sent his curiosity flaring.  Why would they be
living here?

"You know, Kenny, you really are a very brave boy.  Not many would have
gone through the trouble you did for me.  I'd like..."  Logan said,
lifting his hip to get into his pocket, then remembered that he had
given all his: money to Jessie: "Damn!  Listen, when Jessie gets back,
I'll have a little something to thank you with.  But I promise you,
Kenny, I'll reward you for what you did."

"Don't want nuthin'.  I got all I need right here," Logan stared at the
boy.  His wheat-colored hair hung to his shoulders, there was a rip on
one shirt-sleeve and his pants had been clumsily patched.  His brown
eyes, dark and shadowed too deeply for a boy his age, never left Logan.
He was, to Logan's mind,

as patient as a peach ripening.  Most disconcerting to have that direct
gaze focused on you, making him feel as exposed as a chicken in a
stewpot.

"Do I get to meet your ... er ... cousin, was it?"  "Yeah.  My cousin.
Don't know if the feeling's the same.  Figure you're a right sort of
man judging by things my ma tol' me.  Marty!"  he yelled.  "Corn'on
out.  He ain't gonna hurt us."

"Thank you, Kenny," Logan said with every bit of sincerity he could
muster.

"You're welcome, mister.  Corn'on, Many.  Bring PeeWee with you."

"PeeWee?"  Logan turned at a sound from the far wagon where a smaller
boy was climbing down.  Wrapped around his neck was a long thick fur.
When he turned, blue eyes dancing with inquisitiveness, Logan smiled.

"So this is your cousin?"  The import of that hit him.  Logan looked at
Kenny, then the younger boy.  These two ... that thin-limbed little boy
and Kenny... "Lord, I was figuring you were talking about a man-size
cousin, boy."

"Me and Many get by jus' fine.  I take good care of him.  And we got
PeeWee."

"Ah, yes, PeeWee.  Just what

"Show him" Marty.  Go on, get closer and let him see."  To Logan he
said, "If you're real gentle you can pet him."

Logan judged the smaller Marty to be about five or six.  Like Kenny,
the boy was fair skinned, but his hair, while as long, was straight
corn-silk blond.  He almost looked too pretty to be a boy, but Logan
wisely kept his thoughts to himself.  Kenny still had that shotgun
within easy reach.

"It's all right, Many.  You can come closer to me.  I promised Kenny I
didn't come here to him either one of you.  And I'd sure like to get a
better look at PeeWee."

Many tilted his head to the side and rubbed his chin against the soft
caramel-furred animal.  Logan saw the inquisitive nose twitch, and he
smiled, for it reminded him of the boy who held him.

"PeeWee's a ferret," Kenny informed Logan.  "He can climb trees and run
so fast he's a blur goin' by.  We got a muzzle for him to help us hunt
rabbit.  PeeWee goes down into their burrows an' drives the rabbits
out.  Long as we keep him clean and warm, he's happy to stay with
us."

Logan reached out and stroked lightly over the ferret's back.  He was
almost three feet long, with a black mask and black feet and resembled
a small weasel.  "Bet he likes to fish and hunt mice."

"An' s-squirrels, too," Many added.

"Don't mind Marty's stutterin'.  He does that when he's real excited or
'fraid of something."

The longer Logan spent with Kenny, the more he was coming to admire the
boy.

"I'm g-glad you're all b-better, uhm" Marty broke off and glanced at
Kenny.  "What's his name?"

"My name is Logan, Marty.  And I offer you the same thanks I gave Kenny
for saving my life."

Digging one toe into the ground, Marty swayed back and forth.  "Shucks,
couldn't do nuthin' else.  It shore was a sight to see the widow woman
so happy when she found you that she vas cryin'."

The last was said so fast that Logan found it hard to make out what he
said.  Jessie so happy that she was crying?  Not likely.  Not the
Jessie he knew.  She had probably cried out of frustration for finding
him in her doorway.  But they had gone on long enough about him.  It
was time that he got some answers.

"You'd best go put PeeWee back in his cage 'fore we eat.  He had his
share, Many, so don't be lookin' at me like that."

To Logan's surprise, Many obeyed him.  And his fear grew that the boys
were well and truly on their own.

"Kenny, I think you should tell me what happened to your folks."

"Tol' you, they's dead."

"But when did they die?  You and Marty didn't haul those wagons here by
yourselves."

Kenny hunkered by the frying pan and carefully divvied up the fish into
three tin plates.  He heard Logan repeat his question.  Finished with
the preparation,

he rose and brought a plate to Logan.

"All we got is water to drink,"

"That'll be fine."  Logan hated pushing the boy, but time was short and
he refused to leave without the answers and the promises he had come
for.  "How long have you and Many been here?"

"I don't reckon the days so good.  Maybe three or four months.  Know we
set out in March, 'cause Pa was all bet up 'bout that Hayes fella
getting' elected."  Many picked up a plate with two hands and carefully
carried it to Kenny.

"Can I sit with you?"

"Be my pleasure to have your company.  Both of you," Logan added.  He
poked through the flaky fish and picked out some bones, then, following
his young host's lead, ate with his fingers.

"Where'd you set out from, Kenny?"

"You sure do ask a lot of questions.  Guess there ain't harm in sayin'.
We're from Kansas.  Ain't that right, MaRRy?"

The boy was ravenously attacking his fish, and barely nodded.

"Maybe it's painful for you to tell me, but I'd like to know how the
two of you ended up here alone.  Don't you have kinfolk back home?  I
could send a telegram to them so they could come and get you."

It was only because he was watching them so closely that Logan noticed
Marty paused in shoveling fish into his mouth, and Kenny shot him a
narrow-eyed look.

"MaRRy and me ain't got no kinfolk back home.  Jus' him and me.  Ain't
no one gonna separate us."

"Whoa, Kenny.  I'm not looking to do any such thing.  No need to get
surly with me, either.  I'm asking 'cause I want to help."

"We ain't asked for any."

"Boy, I can tell you haven't had anyone put a muzzle on your mouth for
some time.  I'm here.  I'm gonna help, and in return, so it's fair,
you'll help me."  He glanced at MaRRy and saw the boy blinking rapidly,
sucking noisily on his bottom lip.  "I shouldn't have yelled."

"That's right.  You shouldn't."  Finished, Kenny rose and went by
Marty.  He placed his hand on the little boy's shoulder.  "MaRRy here
gets real upset with yelling.  So don't do it again or you'll have to
leave."

"Best watch out the "Pache don't get hold of you, Kenny.  They'll make
a warrior out of you."

"Already had a run-in with 'em when they stole our stock.  Took the
oxen teams, three horses, our milk cow, chickens and pigs.  They ain't
been back, though.

Guess they don't figure same as you."  He walked over near the wagon,
then carried a bucket and dipper to Logan, who helped himself to a
drink of water.  Next he took the bucket over to Marty and made sure he
drank before he took a dipper for himself.

All Logan could think at that moment was how much Kenny reminded him of
his older brother, Conner.  Conner the Caretaker was what he and Tyrel
had called him behind his back, and never in kindly terms.  But seeing
Kenny care for the younger boy, cousin or not--Logan had not made up
his mind if he believed that--made him understand something that both
Sofia and Santo often said about Conner.  He'd been a man before he
ever had a chance to be a boy.  The elderly couple had come with his
mother upon her marriage to claim the land grant that had belonged to
her family in this new territory.  They had helped hold the Kincaid
family together when his father died.  Logan knew he'd been rich with
more than the family wealth; it was the family itself, including those
like Santo and Sofia, that gave him more than these two boys had.

And there rose within him a craving to be home, to be surrounded by
people he trusted, by those he loved.  But he wasn't going anywhere
without having finished what he started out today to do.

"You finished, Logan?"

He started, so deep were his thoughts, and found Kenny standing in
front of him.  "Sure, boy.  I'm done.  Best I've tasted in a long
time."

Kenny nodded, but before he turned away, Logan caught the hint of a
smile on his thin lips.  He went to MaRRy, scraped the plates and
reminded him it was his turn to wash the dishes, then bury the remains
of the fish.

"And dig the hole deep this time, Marty.  We don't want animals nosin'
around camp again."

The moment Marty headed off in the direction of the stream, Kenny came
to sit alongside Logan.  "I been doin' some thinkin'.  Iffen you ain't
stayin', who's gonna take care of the widow woman?  Marty an' me sorta
figured that you an' her -"

"Hold up, Kenny.  Let's get finished with you and then we'll discuss
Jessie.  You are going to tell me what happened here, aren't you?"

"Ain't no reason not to.  Couldn't say much in front of Marty.  He
still gets real bad dreams.  Sometimes he cries."

"Then he's mighty lucky to have you."  But who holds you when the bad
dreams come, boy?  The question was not one he'd ask.

"We come up on this place an' Pa figured it was a good spot for us to
stay for a few days.  He was thinkin' 'bout il ling on a piece since
they passed a ... aa ... some kind of act."

"The Desert Land Act.  It brought lots of settlers out to the territory
to file a twenty-five-cent-an-acre claim on six hundred and forty
acres.  What no one tells folks is that the Apache have hunted this
land for longer than white men have lived in this country an' they
ain't about to give it oyer without a fight."

"Pa didn't know that.  Marty's pa knew less.  We were here maybe three
or four days when Pa found color up in a blind canyon a ways back. They
all went lookin' for gold.  Marty an' me took PeeWee downstream. This
storm come up.  Ain't seen nuthin' like it.  We got real scared an' hid
under a rock shelf.  That rain an' thunder jus' kept comin'. The sky
got all black then lit up jus' like back home when they got
fireworks."

Shaking his head, Kenny repeated, "Ain't seen nuthin' like it.  We
stayed hid for hours.  I dunno.  Sudden as it come it was gone, but it
was real dark by then.  No one come callin' us so we stayed where we
was till mornin'."

Logan gave in to the impulse and took hold of Kenny's hand.  "You don't
need to say more.  Your folks were caught in that blind canyon when the
water rose, and they couldn't get out."

Kenny left his hand within Logan's larger and stronger one.  He looked
away.  "Weren't easy to bury 'em."  He sniffed and wiped the back of
his hand back and forth under his nose, grateful that Logan didn't say
anything about his sniffling.

A few minutes later Logan murmured, "A man who can't feel sorrow when
he loses those he loves ain't much of a man to my way of thinking.
Nothing at all to be ashamed of.  I wasn't much older than you when my
pa died.  I was lucky to still have my mother, folks so close they
could have been family.  There we were, my brothers and me, all
sneaking off to grieve on our own, crying, too.  Till one time we come
upon Santo--he was real close to my pa--and there he was brushing down
Pa's horse, talkin' and cryin' over how much he missed him.

"Learned a lesson that day from a man I respected.  We all did, come to
think about it.  Santo wasn't any less of a man in our eyes for having
such deep feelings and not being afraid to show them.  But I'll bet
it's a hard thing to do when you're trying to be strong for someone
else.  Someone little, who needs so much."

""Tain't fair," Kenny mumbled, enticed to confide his feelings by the
soft, understanding way that Logan spoke.

"Life ain't fair, son.  A hard lesson to learn and one that stays with
a man.  But my problem and your troubles could have a way of working
themselves out together.  All I need is your word that you'll try."

Kenny pulled his hand free of Logan's.  He turned to look at him, then,
still holding Logan's gaze, yelled, "Marty, stop hangin' back!  You
come sit an' hear this.  Ain't doin' no decidin' without you."

"Aw, Kenny, how'd you know I was them?  I was trying so hard to do like
you said and be real quiet and all.  How'd you know?"

"I jus' got this sense, that's all, Marty.  You'll get it, too.  Soon
as you get bigger.  Com'on an' sit."

Logan turned his head to hide his smile.  He would bet that Kenny had
finely honed senses.  The boy was going to be a hell of a man when he
was full grown.  Logan wasn't a man to waste time cursing what fate set
before him, but he made an exception this time.  Here he was, with
Jessie, a woman made for a man to share with, and these two boys in
need of a home, and he couldn't make promises to any of them.

"So," Kenny said, slinging an arm around Marty's bony shoulders, "tell
us what you got in mind."  "Kenny, you promised you'd ask him first."

"Ask me what?"  Logan glanced from Marty to Kenny.  "Speak up.  If I
can answer you, I will."

Marty, squirming around, started elbowing Kenny in the ribs.  "Do it.
Go on, Ask."

Kenny spoke, but he wouldn't look at Logan.  "Those men that left you
for dead, they're outlaws, ain't they?  An' I figured if they are, that
makes you one of 'em."

"Are you asking me or telling me, Kenny?"

"A little of both, I guess.  I sorta trust you, but I gotta know.  On
account of Marty.  I'm big enough to take care of myself but he's
little.  I can't let him get hurt none."

Logan wished some of the men he knew could lay things open as well as
this young boy.  Hard times and a land he sometimes believed was
belched up from hell could do a job of aging that no amount of years
made up for.  But the boy's question left him in a quandary."  If he
lied, he risked Kenny knowing and deciding not to help him.  But to
tell him the truth risked the boy if Monte or any of the others got
hold of him.

"What's the matter, Logan?  Got you between a rock an' a hard place?"

"Don't you just know it.  I'll tell you what I can and hope that you'll
trust me.  If that's good enough, say it now."

"An' if it ain't?"

"Then I'll be mighty disappointed and be on my way."

"Marty, you want we should listen to him?"

Drawing his lower lip into his mouth, Marty started sucking.  Rocking
back and forth, he finally nodded.  "So talk to us."

Logan put his simple but mutually beneficial proposition to them.
Kenny, with the instincts of a wary animal and the natural
inquisitiveness of a boy being included in grown-up plans, questioned
Logan at every turn.  When he was finished speaking, Logan didn't say a
word when Kenny hauled Marty to his feet and walked off a little way
with him to talk things over.

And talk is what Kenny did.  He listened, too, to Marty's questions,
farfetched as some were, never getting angry, just answering until
Marty seemed to be reassured.

Watching them, Logan found his liking and respect for Kenny and his
pity for little Marty turned to a desire to take them home to the
Rocking K. His mother would be in her glory to have young boys around
the house again.  Maybe with them to distract her, she'd stop haunting
him and his brother--for Ty hadn't been back long enough these past few
years for her to catch hold of him--about getting married and giving
her grandchildren before she was too old to enjoy them.

Shaking his head with regret, Logan knew it was impossible now.  He'd
be riding hard with no time to watch or worry over two boys.  He still
had a promise to keep to Conner.  And a score to settle with Monte and
the others.

He looked up to find the boys holding hands as they came toward him.

"We decided.  But we can't come with you now.  My ma taught me proper
that to go callin' means we got to wear Sunday-go-to-meeting
clothes."

Logan opened his mouth to protest that it wasn't necessary, but Kenny
had such a look of pride about him that he agreed.

"I'll look for you near supper."  He rose, then stood a moment
scratching the back of his neck.  "You wouldn't mind if I borrowed your
part of the stream to take a bath, would you?"

"Not me."  Marty stuck his bottom lip out in a pout.

"Not you.  Do I make you take baths?  But I bet you'd like to go
swimmin' again?"

"That's fun, Kenny."

"Only did it once," Kenny explained to Logan.  "I

had to keep watch an' I worried 'cause he don't swim so good."

"Tell you what.  I'll keep first watch and you two go swimming, then
I'll take a bath.  Jessie, Lord love her, will be grateful to us for
the consideration."

Chapter Ten

The thick band of clouds still hovered as Logan approached the cabin
cautiously.  He scanned the immediate area, puzzled when he spotted the
two saddled horses loose in the corral.

Jessie was back and she'd found him a horse.  His gut gave a
something's-wrong twist and he started running.  Jessie would never
leave the horses unattended unless she was sick ... or hurt.

"Jessie!"  He rounded the corner of the cabin in a skid, saw no sign of
her and headed for the door.  When he grabbed the iron latch and it
didn't give way, fear seeped into his voice.

"Jessie!"  he yelled again, pounding on the bolted door.  "Jessie, open
the door!"  Logan tried to be calm.  He pressed his ear to the door,
but heard no answer.

Inside the cabin, Jessie hid in the corner near the cupboard, ignoring
Logan's shouted demands that she open the door to him.

All the way home she'd wanted a bath, but her need had grown so strong
to feel clean again that she'd impatiently settled for a basin of hot
water.  The cabin was filled with shadows--she hadn't bothered to light
a lamp--and the gloom suited her dark mood.

Stripped to the waist, she had scrubbed her skin until she realized it
was useless.  She'd never feel clean again.  Eyes open or closed, she
couldn't wipe away the image of leering eyes in a merciless face
looming over her.  No matter how hard she rubbed her skin, the crawling
sensation of being touched by those dirty hands remained on her
flesh.

Telling herself that she had not been hurt made no difference.  She was
ashamed.  There wasn't enough hot water or talking that could take away
the feeling.

Not even the copious amounts of whiskey she forced herself to drink,
until her stomach heaved in rebellion, stopped her from reliving the
terrible scene of helplessness.

And she cried for the unseen but wrenching robbery those men had
committed---they had stolen her belief that she could live here alone
and protect herself.  She refused to think about David at all.

But Logan, whose voice now coaxed through the door, was not David.
Logan wasn't a man to run from trouble.

The thought settled in her mind as unshakable truth.  Logan wouldn't
run, even if the trouble wasn't his.

"Jess, please, just answer me," Logan pleaded.  His hand closed over
the butt of his gun, the gun Jessie had given him, and the one he was
about to use if he had to.  He was getting desperate to break the wall
of silence from the cabin.  The bolted door proved she was inside.

But didn't prove that she was alone.

The thought erupted from his mind and sent him staggering back away
from the door.

What if Zach had come back?  What if he had been waiting inside?
Jessie, sweet, trusting Jessie at the mercy of him .... Stupid, blind
fool!  He called himself that and worse.  He'd never thought to search
the area beyond the cabin.  The blow to his head had done damage.  He'd
lost his edge, to be so careless and put Jessie in danger.

If Zach or one of the others was inside, he couldn't retreat.  They'd
only hurt Jessie if they couldn't find him.  If they hadn't done that
already ... if that wasn't the reason she didn't answer him.  Too many
ifs .... And his going off half-cocked with worry over Jessie handed
anyone inside the cabin with her one hell of a weapon.

He hadn't known how deep his feelings were for her until this moment.
He'd do anything to.  keep her safe.  Logan didn't put any qua lifters
on that.  Whatever it took, whatever it cost, he was willing to pay the
price.

A rock and a hard place .... His mind went blank.  He'd been in tough
situations, made lightning-swift decisions, but now all he could think
about was Jessie, not what he should do.

The silence, the utter absolute silence from the cabin sent him back to
pounding on the door.  He resumed calling out to her, knowing he
couldn't let his voice.  or his actions give away what he suspected.

Hearing Logan's fist drumming on the door again, Jessie covered her
ears, but she couldn't shut out the sound of his pleading demand that
she answer him.  She knew she couldn't hide forever, not from him and
certainly not from herself.

Dragging her hands down, she bit her bottom lip, not noticing that she
tasted blood.  Wide and blank, her eyes targeted the door.  With a
shaking hand she reached out for an old wool shirt that had belonged to
her brother.

She needed the shirt's warmth as much as she needed its comfort.

"A minute.  Just a minute more," she pleaded, then repeated it like a
litany as she hurried to button up the shirt.  A trembling seized her.
She took hold of the basin and water sloshed over the edges, dripping
down the front of her dark brown skirt.  Tears burned her eyes and she
blinked them back.  How could she have any tears left?

You are strong, Jessie.  You survived a sham of a marriage.  You made a
new life for yourself.  You can face Logan and lie.

The basin fell into the dry sink with a clatter.  She stared at the
mess she'd made, clinging to the edge of the wood frame.

"Jessie!  If you don't open this door I'll tear it apart!"

Roused by the fury in Logan's voice, she answered him, "I'm coming!"
Anger for his presence when all she wanted to do was hide fueled her
rapid move to the door.  Anger that built to rage lent her strength to
throw off the bolt and fling the door open.

For a moment there was a glint of ruthlessness so savage in his eyes
that it caused a shiver to run through her and forced her rage to
retreat.

Just as she physically retreated a few steps into the cabin.  Then she
saw the drawn gun he held.

Like those of a hunter who'd run his quarry to ground, his instincts
flared toward the chase when she backed away from him.  A small voice
of reason ordered him to take a moment before he spoke, before he dared
move inside with Jessie.

The surge of need to have him hold her staggered Jessie.  And it
frightened her that she had come to depend upon him, anyone, so much.
Fear couldn't make the need go away.

Logan holstered the gun, knowing without needing to look or ask that
Jessie was alone.  But his eyes met hers and within those wide golden
brown eyes were the shattered dreams of a child and the needs of a
woman.  The tightening in his gut was unexpected--raw and purely
sexual.  His mind was wiped clean.  He fought against the power,
releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"What the hell happened?"

Her head moved slowly from side to side, the shaking becoming faster as
she once again backed away from him.

"Don't, Jessie," he snapped, frustration lighting the fuse on an
already short temper.  The silence that followed was thick with
tension.

His gaze took in the spill of her hair on one side, the overlarge man's
shirt, the wide damp spot on her skirt.  His gut twisted to see her
lower lip swollen where she had bitten it, and the faint mark at the
corner of her mouth.  His gaze moved beyond her to the bottle of
whiskey on the table.  It appeared almost empty.

Suddenly he felt as if he were walking around quicksand.  He lifted his
hand toward her, waiting agonizing seconds while she stared at him,
then his out thrust hand, before she turned away.

"Jessie?"

"Did you ever think I'd like some privacy after having you underfoot
for almost a week?"

Her voice was hoarse as if she'd been yelling ... or crying.  Logan
couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong.  Annoyed that
he couldn't figure out what it was, he raked his hand through his
still-damp hair, never taking his eyes from her back.

Push her.  The thought came quickly, but Logan was slow to obey it. "If
you wanted me gone, Jessie, all you had to do was say so."

"I guess I just did."

"The hell you say!"  He went after her, catching her shoulder and
spinning her around to face him.  "I asked you a question an' don't put
me off.  You wouldn't leave that swayback nag you're so fond of
saddled.  You wouldn't have taken so long to answer me or open the door
if it was just a matter of privacy."

She twisted out from under his hold, but the table halted her retreat.
Her eyes searched the cabin, looking for escape.  This was a Logan she
had not seen.  The faint dark stubble on his face reinforced the
relentless gaze that pinned her in place.  Without realizing what she
was doing, Jessie raised her hands before her.

"Stop it!  Put your hands down, Jessie.  I'm not gonna hit you.  I'm
not going to hurt you.  I've never raised my hand to a woman in my life
and I won't start now no matter how much you push me."  He stepped
closer, bracing his hands on the table's edge, caging her hips between
them, just as his body caged her against the table itself.  "And you
are pushing me, lady."

"I wanted to wash.  I couldn't very well do that with you here."

"And the whiskey?  What was that for?  Some new scent I've never heard
of."

With her head lowered, he could barely hear her mumbled reply.

"I don't owe you anything.  It's none of your business.  You've got
your horse.  There's supplies in the sack tied to my horse, Take it all
and go."

"I can't hear you.  And I want to see you face-to-face when you say it,
Jessie."

He didn't know what made him look around.  She said she wanted a bath,
but all he saw was the basin tossed in the dry sink.  A washcloth hung
over the edge, dripping water on the floor.  And nowhere he looked was
the shin she'd been wearing when she left for town.  Alarm shot through
him.

Logan kept one hand on the table, the other he slid beneath her chin to
gently urge her to look at him.

Using every ounce of his control, he spoke softly.  "I know that
something happened.  I'd sell my soul to see you smile fight now,
pretty lady.  I'd sell everything I own if you'd trust me enough to
tell me what's wrong.  And don't close your eyes against me, Jess.
Trouble shared is trouble halved."

She searched his features, settling on his mouth, fighting the panic
taking hold of her.  He wouldn't like being compared to her deceased
aunt's little dog, but fight now Logan reminded her of Ulysses--named
for the general and previous president.  Like his namesake, the dog
would not be deterred when he went after what he wanted.  A trait that
Logan shared.

Trouble shared is trouble halved.  The words re-played in her mind. But
she would double his trouble, not halve it, if she told him the
truth.

"Jess, I'm a real patient man--"

"Who asked you to be?  It wasn't me.  I haven't asked you for
anything."

"No?"

Confused by the challenge in his voice, she looked up at him.  Two
seconds later Logan took her by the arm and marched her to stand in
front of the bureau.  The mirror hanging above was not of the best
quality.  Wavy ripples played in the reflections of their bodies.

"Take a good look at yourself, Jessie.  Go on, look.  Then see what
I've been seeing.  Especially your eyes.  They're asking all kinds of
things from me.  Trouble is, I'm not sure you know what you want."

Logan was caught by the way she closed her eyes as if the image was
painful to her.  His grip on her upper arms pulled the shin taut over
her breasts.  One of the spaces between the horn buttons gaped open.
His gaze targeted that bit of bare flesh.  He ached to touch her with
the intimacy of a lover, but Jessie had denied him that place in her
life.  Yet there remained the desire to offer her some small comfort.
He thought about taking her head between his hands and covering her
incredibly sad face with kisses.  He couldn't do it.  He wouldn't stop
with soft, gentle kisses.  If he ever kissed her again, he wouldn't
stop at all.

And he envied the man whose ring she still wore.  Jessie wouldn't be
erecting any barriers with him.  Logan found himself experiencing
jealousy.  A new emotion, one whose fangs sank deep.  He didn't want
Jessie turning to another man when he was gone.  He wanted to be the
one who filled her thoughts, and her body.

"Jessie, let me help you.  Let me make what's hurting you go away."

Her head drooped to the side as if she no longer had the strength to
hold it upright.  Two hairpins slipped to the floor and her loosened
burnished hair covered his hand.

Caught in the grip of emotions too tangled to name, Logan lifted his
hand from her arm and gathered her hair as he leaned forward to trail
kisses along the arch of her bare neck.

"Jess, oh, Jess," he whispered, "why can't you trust me?"  He took her
earlobe between his lips, gently scraping the sensitive flesh with his
teeth.  The faint trembling of her body acted as a caress to his.
"Logan?  Hold me.  Please just hold me?"

She twisted around, locking her arms around his waist.  Her mouth
blindly sought his.  It was an act of desperation to silence him, it
was a need to replace one memory with another.  A memory that wouldn't
hurt.  She knew she would be safe with Logan.  She had to be.  Jessie
leaned into him, feeling the captivating heat of his body that warmed
her own chilled flesh.  The pressure of his lips against her mouth was
deep and persuasive and undeniably enticing.  When his thumb touched
the corner of her lips, she didn't understand at first what he wanted.
The gentle ply of his tongue skimming the seam of her mouth urged a
response, and she moaned softly.  Her hands grabbed his shirt, and she
braced herself for the invasion of his tongue.

But Logan was subtle.  He didn't want to frighten her.  There was no
storming of the faintly whiskey-scented delicate skin, but a careful,
coaxing foray that left her shivering.

It was only as he slowly filled her mouth, tasting her intimately, that
Jessie realized what she had started.  This was how gentle and thorough
his ultimate possession would be of her.  If she allowed it... if she
wanted... She held on tighter, burrowing her body against his.  All the
masculine strength and heat that had been unsettling her for the past
days swamped her now.  His touch was, she thought, exactly as she had
dreamed it would be, rioting her senses, luring her deeper into
passion's web.

Jessie wasn't short or petite, but she felt so frail to Logan beneath
his hands.  He stroked her arms, her back, puzzled over the chill of
her flesh beneath the wool shirt, wanting to dispel it.  When his
fingers brushed the underside of her breast, he felt a womanly fullness
that made him ache.  He couldn't stop himself from touching her.

He heard the catch in her breathing and thought she would push him
away.  To his pleasure and surprise, Jessie clenched her hands more
tightly around his shoulders.  Reluctantly he broke free of her mouth
and trailed questing, tormenting little kisses along the line of her
jaw and up to her earlobe.

He covered the unfettered fullness of her breast.  The kisses grew more
frantic.  The tips of her fingers bit into his shoulders.  He answered
the hungry little sound she made with a groan of yearning.

"Jessie," he whispered hoarsely.

God, this was good.  So damn good.  More than he had dreamed off He was
so hard, he had to bare his teeth against the pleasurable pain of it.
Sheneeded him.  Not the ghost of a dead man.  Not the suitor who hadn't
touched her.  It was real and it was honest.  And her quiet desperation
made him want to please her.

"Jess.  I want you so much.  My sweet, pretty lady ... tell me what
pleasures you."

"You.  You do, Logan."  Her soft murmur became a moan as she closed her
eyes against the feel of his delicate bite to her earlobe.  This is
what you wanted, she told herself.  And what he wanted, too.  He was
fully amused, rocking his hips against hers, and she could feel the
softening of her body to fit the harder contours of his.

But this was all happening too fast.  She knew so little about him. Yet
you'll trust him with your body when you can't trust him enough to tell
him what happened to you.

Jessie ignored the nagging little voice.  Never in her life had she
needed and wanted a man the way she wanted Logan.  Denying it would be
forever denying herself a chance to know what it meant to be swept by a
desire that burned inside her.

He kissed her lightly, feeling the coolness of her lips, but inside her
mouth was hot.  He rubbed his lips against hers, drinking the small,
hungry sounds she made.  Their tongues touched, and she moved against
him restlessly.  Her hands climbed the back of his neck, sliding into
his hair to grip his head.  Jessie became the aggressor and ignited a
powder keg of sensation.

Heat suffused his chest and spilled down into his belly and thighs. The
strong, primitive feelings that made his arousal almost painful
strengthened.  He touched her nipples and she tore her mouth from his
to utter a soft cry.

"Jesg, tell me you're not afraid of me."  His hands slid down her back,
forcing her gently against the length of him.  When his palms reached
her rounded buttocks he cupped her and lifted her up into the heat of
his thighs.

"No.  Yes.  I don't know."  The fear was buried be neath need and
desire.  A desire that was mutual.  She could feel the rigid shape of
him pushing against her.

He brought his hands around to stroke up her sides, cupping her breasts
and tugging gently on her nipples.  He whispered dark words, praise,
sounds of need as he felt the passion come to life in Jessie.  She
covered his throat with random kisses and tiny bites she instantly
soothed with her tongue.

Logan longed to feel her skin against his, to take her nipples into his
mouth, to bathe them with his tongue for a long time and feel them
flushed and hard, while she cried out his name.

"You can't be afraid of me when you can tell so easily how much want
you?"  His voice lowered to a husky groan as he pressed her tight
against him.  "Logan, please..."

"I want to.  I want to pleasure you like no one else has, or ever will
again."

There was a raw, primitive sound to his voice that should have alarmed
her.  It didn't.  Jessie felt her blood sizzling inside her body.  She
started to trail kisses over the hard line of his jaw, but he turned
her within the gentle cage of his arms until she stood with her back
against his chest.  Swaying slightly, she attempted to turn around
again.

Logan held her still.  "Stay, Jess.  Open your eyes.  I want you to see
us.  Together."

She lifted heavy-lidded eyes and watched them widen with shock.  She
didn't know the woman reflected in the mirror.  With her lips swollen,
parted, and her hair tumbling down to her waist, there appeared a
wanton, not the Jessie she knew.  She leaned back against Logan and saw
only half of his body showing behind hers.  He looked lean and spare, a
flush mantling his cheeks, like the heat that tinted her own.  His eyes
were hooded, watching her, his facial muscles tight, and she wanted to
reach back to touch the errant lock of dark hair that fell across his
forehead.  She didn't move.  She couldn't.  Her breathing grew shallow
as her body tensed with waiting.

There was a strength and male beauty about him that stirred-fear and
heightened her desire at once, but she never averted her eyes.

"Do you see yourself as I do?"  he whispered, opening the top button of
her shirt.  He slid his hand over her neck, stroking her, taking the
tension with him.

"Desire," she murmured, surprised that she said it aloud, surprised
that she saw what he asked.  There was a languid heaviness to her gaze,
a silent pleading invitation within the depths.  She wanted to close
her eyes against the sight, but the glitter in Logan's eyes stopped
her.  A delicious shiver began inside, turning her knees to jelly,
sending a flood of heat that rose tremoring through her thighs to
settle low in the pit of her stomach.

Jessie studied the woman in the mirror and knew, impossible as it
seemed, that she would be safe with Logan.  The very gentleness of his
touch allowed her to be vulnerable with him.

"What?"  he questioned with a slow, sensual smile spreading across his
lips.  "I can see you want to ask me something."  Softer then, "Ask
me."  His tongue rimmed the shape of her ear and his smile deepened
when a languid sigh drifted forth.  "Ask me, Jess.  Anything."

Chapter Eleven

She moistened her lips.  No words came.  She closed her eyes, thinking
it would somehow be easier to ask that he touch her again, that he ease
the ache that seemed to swell her breasts.  But all she thought of was
the feel of his hand stroking her throat.  She hadn't want to lose the
gentle, tender touches.

So she remained silent, wishing she could ask him not to stop the sweet
caress, but only to slide his hand lower.

Without ceasing the ply of his hand on her throat, Logan slid his other
hand around her waist and spanned the curve of her belly.  She arched
into this new touch, but he pressed her tight against him, slowly
rocking her to and fro, needing to ease his aching flesh as much as he
needed to heighten the passion that Jessie still guarded.

Jessie felt the whisper of his fingers moving up the front of her
clothes, and the cooler air against her skin warned that he had
unbuttoned her shirt.  The tease of his hand moving like a shadow over
the land sent a flood of sensations over her skin.  And Jessie was
tempted to allow herself one bold action.

She caught hold of his hands.

"Yes, Jessie, yes.  Show me," he murmured en-couragingly.

A dreamy smile tilted her mouth, for there had been a smile in his
voice.  The sense of being safe spread throughout her as she drew his
hands to cover her breasts.

She had wanted, but Jessie wasn't prepared for the wealth of desire
that streaked out from his rough, callused palms as they met her bare
flesh.

"Don't be afraid, Jess.  I won't hurt you.  I'd never hurt you."

An overpowering urge flooded her to see him... them.  Her lashes lifted
slowly and she stared at the sight of Logan's dark, tanned skin against
her paler flesh, His hands cupped the undersides of her breasts, and as
she watched, his thumbs circled her.  niPPles drawing them tight.  The
dark shin fell to the sides, but she didn't want its warmth now: A fine
mist flushed her skin and she grew embarrassed when he lowered his head
and nudged aside the shirt from her shoulder.

Kissing her, he whispered, "You taste like passion, Jessie.  But
there's so much more I want to taste from you."  He frowned at the
sudden tenseness of her body, "What's wrong?  What have I said?
Done?"

She turned her head away from him, unwilling to admit how much she
regretted an end to all the sweet, gentle touches.  She should have
known.  But Logan had lulled her, for he had let it go on so long and
hadn't seemed to mind.  She thought he-was enjoying' Jessie don't hide
from me like this."  He turned her with his arms, guiding her chin up,
coaxing until she opened her eyes again.  Now, what's all this?  If you
don't tell me what pleases you, or what doesn't, how can you find
pleasure?"

She searched for the lie, but all she found was concern in his gaze.
"Do you really want to know?  Harry never--' '

"I'm not Harry."  Logan bit off the words.  If the man had hurt her,
when he found Jessie the most responsive woman-- He broke off his
thoughts when she spoke."

"I can't tell you unless I do it in my own ay.  He grew angry with me
when I asked him to kiss me a little longer or to touch me gently. He'd
promise.  He even tried.  But then he'd get mad and tell me that most
women didn't get any pleasure, so I shouldn't stop him from having
his."  Pensive, she drew her lower lip between her teeth.

"No," Logan said softly, using one finger to free her lip.  "You've
abused it enough.  Bitten down real hard today.  I told you," he
murmured, bending his head to take her mouth with his, "let someone
have a care with these lips.  Someone who knows how to be gentle,
Jess," he whispered, brushing his mouth against hers.  "As gentle as
you want, as gentle as you need.

"And Harry was wrong.  That's a selfish man talking.  Oh, honey," he
said, caressing her back.  "I learned never to be a selfish man.  I
know what's gonna happen on my side, Jess.  Making you feel pleasure is
the challenge for me."

She snuggled her head against his shoulder, and Logan cradled her head
in one hand, keeping the long, sweeping strokes going over her spine
with the other.  "Now, I don't want you takin' that the wrong way.

For me, I like knowing that you're enjoying touching me as much as I
like touching you.  But if you don't tell me, then I won't know if the
touches are the ones you want, or even how."

What he didn't say, couldn't say, was Conner's role.  Pleasure a woman
the first time, and she'll invite you back to her bed.  Logan had never
faulted Conner's logic, and he never lacked for female company.
"Logan?"

"I'm listenin', Jess."

"What if a woman doesn't know?"

"Then she earns.  Like you're gonna learn with me.  You only need to
trust me.  Trust that I really want to give you pleasure, Jessie.  If
you can believe that, then you'll let me give you pleasure.  Anything I
do that you don't like, say so.  But, please, pretty lady--"

"Tell you if I do," she finished for him, and pulled back to look at
his face.  Cupping his chin, she planted a kiss on his jaw, and smiled.
"A kiss, then--"

His mouth closed over hers before she could say another word.  He
kissed her soundly, hungrily, rubbing his mouth against hers until her
lips parted.  His tongue slipped inside, and stayed until he had
thoroughly sampled her, until her breaths were as ragged as his, and
the pounding of his heart slamming against his chest reflected the
thundering noise filling his ears.  He pulled back and grinned at her
wet, rosy lips.  They both turned to stare at the door, realizing that
the pounding they heard was not from passion, but was real.

"They're here.  Jeez!  Not now."

Before Jessie could gather her wits and question him, Logan was
buttoning up her shin.  One finger flicked her chin.  "Hold that smile
and the rest of that kiss, lady.  We're not finished."

Fear set in the moment he left her.  All the terror she had held at bay
rushed back.  They're here.  Logan's words meant only one thing.  Those
men he'd been with had come looking for him.  With a sob, Jessie forced
herself across the room to grab hold of the shotgun as Logan opened the
door.

Kenny stood before the door, his brow beetled into a pronounced frown.
He was as spruced up as Marty, whom he held by the hand.  Slicked-back
hair, clean shirts and pants, boots spit-polished to a shine.  In his
other hand he held two rabbits.

"You sure you Want us here?"  he asked Logan.  "I invited you both,
didn't I?"

"Yeah.  But we saw you hangin' all over her like she was honey and you
the fly.  Marty, here," he said with a jerk toward the smaller boy,
"figures you'd have sticky fingers."

"Yeah.  Do you?  Huh?  Do you?"

"Jessie's got a right large bar of lye soap she ain't had a chance to
use yet.  You boys take my meaning?"

They nodded, but Logan had to resist the urge to turn and look at
Jessie.  She was making awful choking noises, and he swore beneath his
breath when he realized that he had completely forgotten to tell her
that they were coming.  He fixed a stern stare first on Kenny, then
Marty, wishing he could say something that would lessen her
embarrassment.  Damn Kenny for having a mouth that didn't know when to
quit.

Jessie, regaining control over herself, snatched the whiskey bottle off
the table and shoved it on the bottom shelf of the cupboard.  She
straightened and smoothed her shin, trying to muster some semblance of
calm before she went to the door.

Sniffing loudly, Kenny peered around Logan.  "Don't smell like much's
cookin'."  He held out the two rabbits.  "My ma always said ya can't go
visitin' folks without takin' 'em something to eat.  By the looks of
things, it's a good turn I did for all of us."

"What's that mean, Kenny?"  Many pressed closer to him as the widow
woman came to stand behind Logan.

"Means that when big folks got a game of slap an' tickle on their
minds, they ain't got room for thinkin' 'bout food, too."

"Jeez, boy, watch your mouth.  Jessie's a lady.  You owe her an
apology."

"Sorry, ma'am."  But he turned to Logan with one brow quirked, the grin
spreading on his thin lips and a knowing look in his eyes.  "What do
you folks call it?"

"Call what, Kenny?  What kind of game is it?  Can we play?"

"Jeez!"  Logan exploded.

"Jeez!"  Kenny yelled.

Both Logan and Kenny looked at each other and burst out laughing.  Many
shook his head much in the same manner as Jessie.

When the laughter died away, she came forward.  "Why didn't your mother
come with you?"

"Didn't ya tell her?"  Kenny shot Logan an accusing look.

"I didn't get around to talking to Jessie.  But I'll remedy that
situation right now."

"Well..."  Kenny heaved a long-suffering son of sigh.  "Seein' as how
you gave us an invite for supper an' none's cookin', Marty an' me'll
make it, You can walk out with him, ma'am, if fen that's all right with
you.  Might want to tend those horses."

Logan grabbed hold of Jessie's arm.  "Excellent idea."  He hustled her
outside and away from the cabin before he took that boy over his
knee.

Jessie's protests remained unspoken.  First the pace had her stumbling,
then the moment they reached the corral, Logan swung her into his
arms.

"So I was all over you like a fly to honey?"  "That's what that
impossible--"

"Yeah.  But he was right."  A quick, hard kiss settled the matter as
far as he was concerned.

Jessie hadn't begun.  The second he broke their kiss, she placed her
tinge nips over his mouth.  "Do you really think it's a good idea to
leave those two little boys in the cabin?  I can't believe you agreed
to let them cook for us.  They're likely to burn my house down."

"Kenny has more savvy in his one hand than many men I know.  Trust me,
Jess.  He'll have supper sittin' on the table by the time I'm done with
the horses."

He saw her glance at the animals, and the way she looked away. Quickly,
maybe too fast.  He'd not forgotten about his unanswered questions.
Wisely he decided to let them be for now.

Taking her by surprise, he lifted her up and swung her around so she
could sit on the top rail of the corral.  "Logan!  Your shoulder--"

"Won't ever get stronger unless I work it.  You sit."  A grin and the
still-warm glitter of desire in his eyes softened the order.  And as he
worked, stripping off the gear and supplies, he told her what he had
learned about the two sagebrush orphans.

"Why call them that, Logan?"

"Just a handle folks hung on little ones left without folks from an
Indian raid, sickness, accidents.  There's too much out here," he
explained, gesturing toward the mountains, then at the flat below the
cabin.  "Man can dica"

"Don't talk about it.  I don't want to remember that you were out
there, left to die."

"That's all over, Jessie."  Logan slung the saddle he removed from
Adorabelle over the top rail, then went back and stripped down the
brown horse Jessie had bought for him.

Jessie watched the fluid grace of his every move as he checked over the
horse, until she had to stop imagining his hands stroking her in the
same gentle manner.  She closed her eyes, gripping the rail on either
side of her hips.  Logan's words replayed in her mind.

She started when she felt his hands cover her own.  Opening her eyes,
she looked down at him.  "All done?"

"You picked a good horse, Jess."

She smiled.  The words were simple.  The praise behind them held a
great deal more meaning to her.  "I didn't have much of a choice.  The
other one Silas had was a showy paint.  There was something very
appealing about this one's stability."

"He'll get me where I need to go.".

Jessie didn't answer.  Thoughtful, she glanced over his head toward the
shed where the two horses munched the hay Logan had forked out for
them.  She wished she could recover as easily and as quickly as Logan
had appeared to from those passionate minutes they had shared before
the boys arrived.  Her body still ached, and a strange tension hummed
through her.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing.  I ... I was wondering what's to be done with those boys."

Logan had the grace to look away before he told her what he had in
mind.  "Ah, Jess, I sorta figured they could stay here with you."

"With me?"

He backed up a little and planted his hands on his hips in reaction to
her snippety tone.  "Don't get all het up before I explain."

"I'm listening.  But let me tell you this first.  I don't believe
either you or I will make this decision.  From one meeting with Kenny,
I know that boy has a mind of his own.  He won't take kindly to any
plans you made."

""I did talk to him."

"You did what!"  In her hurry to get down, Jessie's heel caught in her
skin hem.  Only Logan's quick move forward to catch her stopped her
from sprawling in the dirt.

With her hands braced on his shoulders, Jessie thanked him, suddenly
wary of his grin.  She squirmed, trying to get him to release her.
Logan's arms tightened around her hips.

"Damn you, Logan.  Put me down.  Your shoulder-"

"Huns like hews own fire,"" he finished for her.  "Then why--" Jessie
lost her breath.  His lips closed over the tip of one breast.  The
warmth of his mouth penetrated the wool cloth.  Heat and moisture and
the gentle abrasion of his teeth gave her a pleasure so intense that
she cried out.

"Stop.  You must stop.  The boys'll see."

Logan released her, unwilling to have her retreat again.  "Wait here.
I'll take the sack inside, then we'll go pick greens for supper."  At
the corral gate he turned.  "And then you won't worry about anyone
seeing us."

All through supper Jessie retained the flush she had obtained following
Logan's version of picking greens.  Kenny, she was grateful to see, had
lost his smirk after a warning look from Logan.

To her surprise, the rabbit tasted every bit as good as her own
cooking, and she was lavish with her praise to both boys.

Jessie couldn't help noticing how Marty directed all his questions to
Kenny, who showed a great deal of patience in repeating them to either
Logan or herself.

As the meal came to a close, Jessie grew very quiet.  Once or twice
Marty had stuttered, due to his excitement, Kenny explained.  She found
the trait endearing.  And for the first time in a long time, she
thought again of the family she had expected to be raising.  Without
conscious thought her hand folded over her belly.

She remembered her disappointment in the weeks following one of Harry's
trips home when she'd taken to her bed seized by cramps, aggravated by
the tears she'd shed.  The vividness of the memory shocked her.

When she looked up, the expression on Logan's face held her absolutely
still.  She saw the deep masculine curiosity and the restrained flicker
of desire that invaded his' compelling dark blue eyes.  Every instinct
she possessed came to life.  The result was a chaos of emotion and
mixed signals that left her feeling as if she would be easy prey for
him.

She wrenched her attention from him and focused on the boys.  "Kenny, I
would be pleased if you and

Marty want to stay with me.  We can work out a fair exchange, but more
importantly, I'd really enjoy the company.  I just want you both to
make the decision."  "Tell her, Kenny.  Tell her."

"I was getting' 'round to it, Marty.  The way we figure it best is to
sorta try it out.  You ain't got young'uns an' we ain't got no folks
tellin' us What to do.  Bound to set up a heap of trouble if we was to
jus' move in."

She couldn't help herself.  Her gaze strayed to Logan.  He was
desperately trying not to smile.  Well, he had warned her about how
bright Kenny was.  She was looking forward to the challenge.  What's
more, Jessie knew she needed these children.  They would fill the
lonely hours.  She knew Logan would leave come morning.  He had delayed
only because of his concern for her.

The warmth inside expanded, and Jessie lowered her head.  It would be
so easy to fall in love with Logan.  But how could she love a man who
had secrets he refused to share with her?  How could she trust him?
She'd been asking herself that question too many times today, and
always came up with the same answer.  On every level that mattered,
Logan had her complete trust.

"Ma'am'.  Ma'am," Kenny said a second time, louder, then repeated it
once more.  When Jessie looked up at him, he continued.  "We left water
heatin' for the dishes.  "Pologize that Marty an' me can't stay to
help.  But we got things to do back at our camp."

"Oh, you're not leaving.  I thought, that is, I hoped that you both
would stay the night.  We can ride up to your camp tomorrow."

Kenny shot a look at Logan, who was toying with his fork, an act that
required intense concentration, for he didn't look up or say a word.

"Don't seem like a good idea, ma'am.  Corn'on, Marty.  We head back."

"Please call me Jessie," she asked as they started for the door.

"Wait for me outside," Logan said, rising.  "I'll walk back--"

"Ain't a need re

"Kenny, the first thing a man learns is that when someone bigger and
older than him gives an order, obey it.  I'll be with you in a few
minutes."

The moment the door closed behind them, Jessie rounded on Logan. "There
was no need for you to be so sharp with him.  He's just a boy, for
heaven's sake."

"Keep thinking that way and he'll have you wrapped around his finger in
a day or so."

"What difference will it make to you?  You won't be around to see."
Jessie shoved back the table bench, but he moved so fast around to her
side that she didn't have the chance to stand up.  Settling for a
heated glare took the edge off her temper,

"Oh, Jess, don't do this.  If I could stay, I would How could you think
otherwise?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting for the courage she needed to push
him away.  Let me find the right words.  Please, Lord.  The right
ones.

Jessie suddenly remembered the two double eagles that were left from
the money he had given her.  She recalled the coins paid to Silas's
Indian woman.  Regret for the missing money disappeared with the memory
of what had followed.  When she arrived home she had taken off the
small deerskin bag ... where?  Her eyes lit on the cupboard shelf.

"Excuse me, I need to get up."

He stepped aside, and she rose stiffly.  He's leaving.  Just remember
that he's leaving.  No matter what you say, no matter what you do,
Logan is going out of your life.

She felt the heat of his stare following her every move.  Jessie
spilled the coins into the palm of her hand, then curled her fingers
over them.  Courage.

She turned, started to speak, shook her head and held out her hand,
palm side up.  "Your money."

"Myra" He broke off, looking from the money to her eyes.  Anger built
slowly, but it threatened his control.  "I don't understand, Jessie.  I
told you--" "

"This is what's left from buying your horse and supplies."  The lie
wasn't an easy one for her.  But the truth would reveal what she was
determined to keep from him.  "I'm taking your offer to share the
foodstuffs I bought.  But this belongs to you.  Take it."

"Don't do this."  His voice was flat, cold and hard.  "I need to," she
answered as coldly.

"I said I didn't want it.  The money is yours to keep, Jessie."

"Take it," she demanded again.  "Since you don't understand, I'll make
it plainer.  Take your money, Logan.  Take it because I don't want
anything left here that belonged to you."

She witnessed the battle he waged with his temper.  A trembling beset
her and the coins spilled from her hand and landed on the table.  For a
few terrible moments she thought he would come right over the table at
her.

Out of sheer desperation that he would lose his temper with her, Logan
fled the cabin.  The door slammed behind him.

And Jessie was once more alone.

But Logan would come back tonight.

That one inescapable fact kept returning as cleaned the dishes, to
tease and tug and cajole.

she

Chapter Twelve

Logan was so blinded by rage that at first he didn't see the boys
hiding near the corner.

"I told you to wait right here, didn't I?"

Kenny, shoving Marty behind him, stepped out.  "Since you was pinchin'
the starch out of her drawers, we got out of the way."

"Don't talk about Jessie like that," Logan snapped.  He rubbed the back
of his neck, willing himself to calm down.  What devil had taken hold
of her?  TOssing the money at him like it was dirty?  Hell, he didn't
steal it.  And if he had, he was only stealing it from himself.  A mess
of lies, fried up and served, and all he could do for now was eat it.

"You still-set on walkin' back with us?"

"Yeah.  We've got a few more things to talk about."  Logan scooped up
Marty and settled him on his shoulders, much to the little boy's
delight.  The shooting pain in his shoulder helped to take his mind off
Jessie.

Marty placed his hands on either side of Logan's face, yelling for
Kenny to see how tall he was, while Logan arranged the boy's feet
beneath his arms.  The laughter they shared had a silent, deeper
meaning for both Logan and Kenny when the boy nodded with approval
glowing in his eyes.

Logan reached out and drew Kenny beside him in a loose neck hold.
"Still have doubts?"  "Nope.  But I'm sure glad you ain't a mean mad."
"Pardon?"

"You come out like a bull snortin' an' ready to charge whatever moved,"
Kenny explained.  "That's mean mad."

"Yep," Marty agreed.  "So m-mean you'd hurt something."

"If I frightened you both, I'm sorry.  I learned a long time ago never
to hurt someone smaller than me unless my life was at stake.  Or they
were robbing my horse.  That would rile me plenty."

"If you was awake," Kenny reminded him.  "Like I said, I'm sure glad
you ain't thinkin' on it.  I'd need to protect Marty."

"From me?"  Logan stopped in his tracks.  He let Kenny squirm free.

All the laughter was gone from the boy's expression.  "Only if you was
hurtin' him, Logan.  I ain't got a gun, but I got ways to hurt a man
big as you,"

All Logan had to guide him was his own childhood, and all the times he
would challenge Conner or one of the hands so he could show off
something new he'd learned.  His voice was skeptical.  "Tell me."

"I'd kick your shin 'cause you're so tall an' I'm only chest-high."

Logan started walking.  "Yeah, you're little, all right.  Little like a
stick of dynamite is little."

Skipping alongside, Kenny smiled.  "Yep.  Kick a man in the shin an'
the pain's worse than bein' snake-bit."

Kenny had more to say as they walked back to their camp.  Jessie wasn't
ignored by the boy.  She was a subject that Kenny, in his forthright
manner, had no qualms broaching despite Logan's attempts to stop him.
Logan let him ramble on, till he expressed his final opinion that Logan
was making a mistake to leave a woman like her.

"She's got land an' a cabin.  Got a real nice little herd of cattle.
You ain't dead, so you know she can take care of you.  She's pretty,
too," he added, kicking dust.

Logan agreed.  But, he explained, a man sometimes didn't have a choice.
He had to do what he had to do.

Kenny snapped back.  "My pa usta say the same thing just before he
whopped me for not obeyin'.  Said it hurt him worse than me.  Don't see
how that stands to reason.  Folks sure got funny ways of lookin' at
things."

"Logan left it at that.

He parted from the boys with Kenny promising that he'd stick closer to
Jessie than a horseshoe to a hoof until Logan could send word.  He
didn't promise them he would return--he might not survive his next
encounter with Monte and his bunch but he'd make sure his brother knew
about Jessie and the boys.  Conner could be counted on to take care of
them.

Personal feelings aside, he could do no less for the boys and woman who
had saved his life.

He expected to find the cabin door bolted against him when he returned.
Not only was the door un-bolted, but Jessie had left a lantern burning
outside to guide him.  Wary of her uncertain temper, Logan took the
precaution of making sure she hadn't tossed a quilt outside.  He
wouldn't put it past Jessie to leave that as a message he was no longer
wanted here.

Jessie, lying quietly in the darkened cabin, listened to him moving
around outside.  After he had left her, she knew exactly what a piece
of cloth felt like after she had heated her iron on the stove and
applied it to the wet material.  There was hiss and steam, but not a
wrinkle remained to mar its surface.  The cloth was soft and malleable,
allowing the heavy flatiron to guide smoothly where she directed it.

Logan was exactly like that flat iron wielded by a heavy hand with a
deft touch.  She was scorched, but she had little fight left in her.

The door opened and she stilled.  He had shuttered the lantern so only
a tiny stream of light spilled from the glass.

"Jessie?  Are you awake?"

"No.  I'm sound asleep, dreaming, I'll have you know, of those two
little boys off goodness knows where, at the mercy--"

"All right, I got your point.  You're awake and full of vinegar."

"No.  I mean yes," she said very softly, "I'm awake, but the vinegar,
as you call it, is all gone."

"Stop worrying about the boys.  Kenny'll take better care of you an'
Marty than anyone I know."  Logan set the lantern on the table.  He'd
already figured out that Jessie had claimed her bed--the folded quilts
on the floor just confirmed it.

"It's too much of a burden for a boy to bear, Logan."

"Kenny's already shouldered man-size burdens.  He buried his folks and
Marty's.  Death has a way of turning a boy to a man overnight."

Jessie sat up, finding his shadowed form.  "You say that as if you had
been through the very same thing."  She was doing exactly what she had
sworn to herself she wouldn't--snatching up every scrap of information
about him that she could keep and remember.

"I know."  But Logan wasn't thinking so much about himself as he was
his brother Conner.  Like Kenny, Conner had been the eldest and, suited
or not,

had stepped into their father's boots when he died.  "Where will you
go?"

He looked over at her, barely able to make out more than her shape
sitting up with the blankets bunched up around her.

"Jessie, the less you know, the better it is."

The answer was no more than she had expected.  Hope she hadn't realized
that she harbored faded.  He wasn't going to make any last-minute
promises about coming back, if not for her, then for the boys.

She waited to hear him settling down on the quilts.  Logan didn't move.
The sense that he was waiting for her to say something more formed in
her mind.  The only subject Jessie felt safe talking about was the
boys.

"I'm not sure that I'm the right one to take care of those two, Logan.
I don't know anything about being a mother."

The underlying worry in her voice was all the excuse he needed to cross
the room to her.  He dropped down to his knees beside the bed, grabbing
hold of the sideboard to keep from gathering her into his arms.

"Jessie, I think they need a friend more than anything else.  Kenny,
like I said, claims they're cousins and that they have no kinfolk back
in Kansas.  You know I can't take them with me.  They like you.  Told
me so and, what's more, I believe they'll trust you."

Jessie's fingers curled over the edge of the blanket.  She wanted to
know why he couldn't trust her.  But wasn't going to ask.

"I'm sorry for the way I stormed out of here."  "You had reason,
Logan."

"Yeah, I guess."  Her tone was cool and dismissing.  He had no one but
himself to blame that Jessie wasn't the passionate woman who had been
so eager for his kisses this afternoon.

"You'd better get some sleep.  Morning will be here before you know it.
Good night, Logan."

"Jessie, I--"

"Good night."  Jessie blessed the darkness that kept him from seeing
her worry her lip.  She lay back on her pillow and pulled the blanket
up to her chin.  For a few moments more he remained by her side, and
she listened to his uneven breathing, fighting not to ask him to stay
with her tonight.

She released her breath when he finally moved away.  After a while,
when only the night noises outside could be heard, Jessie felt her eyes
drift closed, but sleep when it came was not restful.

Logan ignored the faint, muffled sounds of Jessie's restless turnings
as long as he could.  Twice he got up, and twice as he neared the bed,
she seemed to quiet.  He was tempted to wake her and find out what was
wrong, but stretched back out on the floor.  The thick quilts cushioned
his body, but his thoughts kept straying to the feel of Jessie in his
arms.

When she cried out, his response was immediate.  He didn't stop to
think abOut it.  He dived across the room and gathered Jessie against
him.  She was damp with sweat, her rigid body resisting, then imp in
his arms.

She let go of the blanket she had been clutching and wrapped her arms
around him.  Logan didn't mind.  He held her tight.  He wasn't going to
whisper words that made little of her bad dream.  He'd always hated
being told that it was nothing.  Bad dreams were just that for the
dreamer.

But he wondered why this night of all the nights he'd been there had
brought bad dreams to Jessie.

He hadn't forgotten this afternoon and the unanswered questions he
still had.  Smoothing one hand over her tangled hair, he knew he
wouldn't be asking them now.

She was trembling, but he sensed that the dream had ended.  She
snuggled against him, and Logan rocked her until the trembling
subsided.  Even then, Jessie made no effort to move away.

Her warm breaths slowed, touching his skin, and he could feel her
nipples through the thin cloth of her nightgown pressing against his
chest.  He tried to ease back a little, but Jessie held him tight.
Logan didn't think she knew what she was doing to him.

He wasn't about to fall on her like some ravening beast, but the ache
that had begun this afternoon had only eased, not left him.  And Jessie
was the woman who aroused him just by being close.

He couldn't take advantage of her.  But the scent of her was filling
him with every breath he drew.  He wasn't a saint, and had no wish to
be.

One of them had to be sensible.  Logan hadn't applied for the jobs the
Lord knew his good sense went out the door when he was near Jessie--but
he quickly realized he was stuck with it.

"Jessie?  Jessie, do you think you can get back to sleep now?"  He
attempted to disengage himself from her arms, but she burrowed
closer.

"Can't sleep."  Her voice was muffled.  Her open mouth tasted his skin
for the first time.  Warm.  A little salty.  Intrigued, Jessie licked
her lips and touched him again.

Heartbeat after slow, heavy heartbeat, she was warming him in all the
wrong places in all the right ways.  He was supposed to be comforting
her, not putting himself on a rack.  Jessie had made her decision very
clear.  But now ... now, she was tempting him to forget all his good
intentions.

"Jess, honey, stop.  You don't know what you're--"

"Yes.  Oh, yes, I do."  She scattered tiny kisses over his shoulders,
touching the edge of the bandage, then working her way back to the
strong column of his neck.  Her fingers kneaded the tense muscles
across his back as she came fully awake.

Logan brought his hands around to cup her face.  He released an
exasperated breath.  The last thing he wanted to do was refuse her not
when be ached to bury himself in her and never let go.

"Jess, listen to me.  Listen real good, 'cause I don't know if I can
say this again.  If you don't stop, I'm going to kiss you, and kissing
you sets a very short fuse on fire.  I don't think I could stop,
Jess."

He felt her mouth slide into a slow smile.  At that moment he wanted to
see her face, but nothing could make him move away from her.  Nothing
but Jessie telling him to go.

"And if I want you to kiss me?  If for once I didn't want to think
about tomorrow, but only now, would you say no?  If all I wanted was
you..."  Her voice trailed off.  She didn't know where the courage to
speak had come from.  Dreaming of what had happened in the store, and
knowing the danger he faced, sharpened her focus on what mattered to
her.  Logan might want to come back; then again, he might not live to
do it.  The reasons went on, reasons that tore through all the wrongs
of making love to a man she might never see again, and made them
right.

His thumbs brushed the satiny skin of her cheeks.  He hesitated a
second, giving her one last chance to change her mind.  Jessie didn't
take it.  His eyes drifted closed and he covered her mouth with his.

Her cool lips soon warmed, but never reached the heat of her mouth. She
parted them and he slipped his tongue inside.

All the honeyed sweetness he'd dreamed of was there, his for the
taking, and he took, chasing every rational thought from his mind.

His tongue delved deeper, stroking hers with gentle, consuming thrusts.
He opened his mouth wider, silently asking her to do the same, and when
she did, the Warmth turned to heat.  The slow, almost hesitant duel she
began changed heat into a slow, burning flame.

Shimmering and potent, the incredible feelings filled Jessie.  Logan
assaulted her senses, and she held him tight, afraid she would melt
away before she discovered where passion would lead her.  The wave of
desire welling up inside her stormed over her body and mind.

Logan groaned his pleasure.  She lifted her hands to the slightly curly
hair on the back of his neck, sliding her fingers through it as she
captured his husky groan with her mouth.  The.  sound echoed in her
mind, igniting her passion with his.  Jessie moved restlessly against
him, wanting him closer, not knowing how to show him.

The change in her streaked through him.  He resisted the temptation to
fill his palm with her breast, for he didn't want her to stop what she
was doing, those teasing forays of her tongue into his mouth.  She felt
so good in his arms, so perfect, and she seared him with every hesitant
touch that built a fire in his loins.  And it was all so effortless, so
quick, that Jessie didn't know how close to the edge she pushed him.
But when he went over it, she was going to be right there beside him.

He slanted his head, and the new angle deepened the kiss.  Jessie never
wanted the kisses to stop, never wanted him to stop.  Logan stole her
thoughts, her doubts, and replaced them with a languor that spread
throughout her body.

He pulled back, allowing them both a chance to draw breath.  "Jess, oh,
Jess."  He pulled her against him, seeking her lips as everything
inside himself coalesced into one driving need.  He wanted her now, to
the point of no return.  She gave so much.  No teasing, no holding
anything of herself back, and unlike any other woman he'd known, Jessie
didn't ask for more than he could give her now.

"Jess.  I want to see you.  I want to feel your skin against mine."  He
breathed the words into her mouth, his fingers seeking the ribbon tie
at the neck of her nightgown.  He trailed a string of kisses across her
jaw, his masculine laughter soft when she tilted her head to allow his
lips to follow the curve of her bared neck.  He didn't pause to taste
the hollow of her throat where her pulse beat wildly.  There was softer
skin his lips longed to touch.  Logan's hands caressed her upper arms
and shoulders, sliding the cloth down, and once more he wished he could
see her.  The cloth caught on her nipples, and he lowered his head,
using the edge of his teeth to drag the thin cotton free.

He loved the hungry little sounds she made as he took her into his
mouth.  Holding her breast in one hand, he lifted the satiny flesh,
feeling the race of her heart that matched his own.  With an outpouring
of passion he hadn't expected, Jessie covered the back of his neck with
kisses.  Her hands guided his head, and Logan let her set the pace
despite the intensity of need that built inside him.

Her lips and touch played havoc with the sensitive nape of his neck.
Logan had never realized just how sensitive that part of his body was.
But Jessie made him know, and made him want more.

Jessie tried to separate the sensations, to savor them, to cherish each
one with her mind to be drawn out later, when he was gone.  The heat of
his mouth ... the warm strength of his callused hand gently holding
her... the heated silkiness of his skin and the hard muscles bunching
in his back, even his' ragged sigh as he eased her down on the bed
became part of her memory.  His hands spanned her rib cage, drawing the
nightgown down, kissing the tips of her fingers when shyness had her
move to stop him.  He swept the nightgown and the blanket to the foot
of the bed.

He made a light, sweeping caress of her legs on his return to pay
homage to her other breast, noting the faint tenseness of her body.

"You don't have to be afraid with me, Jess.  You know that, don't you?
I wouldn't hurt you.  Ever.  Not here, not now when you're as
vulnerable as I am."

"But you're not," she whispered.  "You've still got your pants on."

"I'll take them off, Jess.  When you're ready."  "When I'm"

Her question was lost as she caught her breath before Logan took her
mouth with his in a kiss that had her twisting against him, trying to
draw him down on the bed with her.

But when he attempted to reclaim the prize he wanted, Jessie cupped his
cheeks to stop him.  She strung kisses down his throat, scattering them
over his chest.

"Jess?"

"Please?"

Logan couldn't refuse her.  He caught one hand in the long tangle of
her hair, loving the' feel of her warm breath sighing through his chest
hair.  She murmured approving sounds, then sank her teeth into the
meaty muscle of his chest and took a love bite.  Moaning, he clasped
her head tighter.  When her questing lips touched his nipple in the
whorl of dark hair, they both froze for a second.  Logan held his
breath, waiting.

"Do men .. I mean, would you feel what I did when you, ah..."

"Whatever pleases you, Jess, pleases me."  He was so hard that even
baring his teeth against the' pleasure didn't work.  He felt her smile
against his skin before her lips gently closed over the nub of his
flesh.  Daintily her tongue flicked against it.  He stroked the bare
curve of her hip, burying his thumb in the crease of her thigh.  With
the hand entangled in her hair, he tried to lift her head, but she
resisted, moving lower until the edge of the bed stopped her.

"Come up on the bed with me," she pleaded softly, giving in to his urge
to lift her head.  She scooted back toward the wall to make room for
him.

"That's all the invitation I need, Jess."

Logan thought getting to his feet was.  an accomplishment considering
the state he was in.  Shucking his pants proved a sheer miracle between
the tremor in his hands and the stubborn buttons.  Well, he couldn't
blame the buttons, only the flesh swollen beneath them.

Logan placed one knee on the bed when she reached up and touched him.
"Jess!"  he hissed.  Desire formed a red mist before his eyes.  Her
boldness amazed him.  Caught off guard, Logan remained as he was, for
he suddenly realized how hesitant her touch was.  Hesitant, questing,
almost shy.  He wanted to give himself over entirely to the pleasure of
filling her hand with his flesh, but he was afraid to move, afraid that
he would make her stop.

"I never knew a man could be so velvety soft and hard at the same
time."

Logan thought he would strangle.  This from his once-married Jessie? He
wasn't going to ask the obvious question.  He gritted his teeth until
his jaw ached from not asking it.  Her caresses grew bolder and his
body responded until the merest thought disappeared and his attention
focused on the gentle tugging motion of her hand.

The warmth of her breath fanning his flesh snapped him into moving.
"Jess, wait.  Not like this."  Lord!  Had he really said that?  But he
knew how little control he had left.  She withdrew up against the wall,
and he realized his mistake.  Coming down on the bed, stretching out
beside her, he gathered her against him.

"I was wrong to touch you, wasn't I?"

"No.  I loved you touching me.  I want you to touch me."

No trace of a lie was hidden in his voice.  Jessie wished the lantern
was lit.  She would love to see his face.  Reaching up with one hand,
she traced his lips and smiled when he kissed her tinge nips

"If you loved it so much, then why did you stop me?"

"Because, sweet lady, a few seconds more and I'd be finished before we
got you started.  Pleasure, Jess.  Remember what I said?"

"I remember.  That's what made me so bold.  Harry never let me--"

"Harry's dead.  Harry," he whispered over her mouth.  "is not going to
be a ghost between us tonight.

There's just you and me and a whole lot of lovin'."  "A whole lot?  As
in more than once?"

Logan's rich male laughter brought her own.  She swore there was a
choked agreement somewhere but she had buried her head against his
chest until the laughter stopped.

And in a voice of needy desperation, Jessie whispered, "Logan, love me.
Love me now."

And he heard the plea beneath the need, a plea he couldn't answer.  But
he wanted to, God, how he wanted to.

So he gave Jessie what he could, as much pleasure as she could stand,
as much as he was capable of.  He found her a generous lover, ready to
return every touch, every kiss, boldly following his lead, then coming
up with a few moves of her own that had him groaning.

Jessie welcomed the total assault on her senses.  He wore her
inhibitions away, taking her with him into a realm of sensation where
the treasures of life were the heating of skin touching skin and the
soft explosions he relayed to her body with each added pleasure, She
was lost in the rocking motion of his body, sliding against him,
beneath, always wanting more.  Without a word he seemed to know what
she wanted before she did.

She didn't know she was starved for praise until his dark voice
whispered it.

When her flesh was damp and heated, and her chest hurt from the breath
she couldn't take, Logan showed her another side of loving as he filled
her body the same way he had filled her mind and her
heart--completely

"I'm going to be very, very careful with you, Jess," he murmured, his
lips finding the wildly beating pulse in her throat, his hips grinding
softly against her.  "Loving you ... shouldn't ever ... be rushed."
His voice matched the cadence of his body.

He'd gone to the edge and barely clung there, waiting for Jessie.  He'd
never had trouble waiting for a woman before, but Jessie, ah, Jessie,
with her sweet heated touches and soft lips whispering.  Jessie drove
him crazy.

She cried out, her body trembling, and he knew the danger of wanting
more.  Just once more, he promised himself, driving her higher with the
thrust of his body, taking her mouth, wanting everything she had.

The need was inescapable.  Minutes later Jessie melted for him like
sugar in the rain and he was shocked at the strength of will he exerted
to withdraw.  Her hands closed over his hips, stopping him.

"Think, Jess.  Think what you're doing," he growled in a savage
voice.

"I can't think.  I only know I want you.  Stay.  Stay with me,
Logan."

And once more the underlying plea for what he couldn't give her beyond
tonight overcame any good sense he had.

He'd never spilled his seed inside a woman.  He'd never wanted to.
Never lost control of himself to forget that a man didn't leave a woman
with a reminder nine months later of a night of pleasure.

But he couldn't deny Jessie.  Wouldn't deny him selL He wanted it to
last forever.  Jessie tightened around him.  And then there was no room
for coherent thoughts or demands.  The storm of their desire broke,
leaving them drenched and shuddering.

It was a long time before Jessie opened her eyes.  Logan was still
sprawled on top of her, his weight crushing her into the bed.  She
smiled to herself, fingertips tracing small circles on his back.  His
mouth roamed up the side of her face, tenderly, gently.  He rolled them
to their sides, and held her close, kissing her until she lay quietly
in his arms.

"Are you all right?"  he asked, brushing the damp hair back from her
face.

"Yes," she said softly, scattering kisses of her own wherever she could
reach.  She didn't realize her arms had tightened their hold on him
until he spoke.

"Easy, sweet lady, I'm not going anywhere."

But you are!  she wanted to protest.  Jessie didn't know where she
found the strength to tease him.  "You can't leave yet.  You promised
me a whole night

"Lovin', Jess," he finished for her.  "Tonight I'm yours and you're
mine."

"Yes, for tonight.  Hours and hours and--"

This time he sealed his mouth to hers, silencing her, silencing the
minutes mentally ticking away, knowing there weren't all that many
left.  Certainly not the time he wanted.  That would take forever.

He gave her a night to remember, just as she had asked for, a night
where she didn't know where she ended and he began.

A grayish light filled the cabin the last time she looked into his
eyes.  Her own drifted closed, carrying the image of the smile on his
lips.

When she woke, Logan was gone.

Chapter Thirteen

A one horseman studied the lay of the land from the small rise.  He sat
his horse in a thick stand of cottonwood trees, his gaze touching each
spill of moonlight, each shadow that he knew from memory.

Logan judged the time somewhere past midnight.  His three-day trek
south to the Rocking K was at an end.  To avoid a roving band of
renegade Apache, he'd been forced to make a wide swing to the east,
riding across mesa and butte, skirting the Casa Grande ruins where the
ancient ones once dwelled.

But he was home.

Trouble was, he couldn't ride down, whooping and hollering as he'd done
in the past.  Announcing his homecoming would give the lie to his
turning his back on his heritage to ride the outlaw trail.  Unless his
suspicions proved right.

The night was surprisingly cool.  Logan jogged his memory and realized
he'd been gone almost eight months.  Fail had arrived without his
noticing.

His one regret was that Jessie wasn't here with him.  A foolish thought
at best, since he couldn't keep up his charade and have her with him.
And, he reminded himself, he'd just broken a promise made the moment
he'd walked out of her cabin he wasn't going to think about her.

The promise had served him well during the lonely hours of riding in a
land where survival was the only law.

The leaves of the cottonwood stirred above him as they were wont to do
in the slightest breeze.  Below, the only movement came from the
restless milling of a few horses in the far corral.  Breeding stock was
housed in the long barn.

Set out in the open country with a stream winding past, the big
Spanish-style house was surrounded by trees that helped to keep the
thick adobe walls and tiled roof cool.  There was a dam across the
stream, and a fair-sized pond had backed up behind it.  He and his
brothers had had their first swimming lessons under Sento's guidance
there before they attempted the swiftly moving current of the river.
Memories of those carefree, competitive days assaulted him.  This, too,
had to be put aside.

He studied the sprawl of the buildings, probing the shadows each cast.
At the back of the main house an adobe wall encircled his mother's
pride and joy, her garden.  He'd climbed the thick wooden gates many a
night, sneaking back into the house without her knowing without Conner
knowing, either.  And it still seemed the best way for him to get into
the house tonight.

There was a stillness about the place, a peaceful one that reached out
to him.  The windlass that pulled the water from the center courtyard
well was silent, the low tower where a man stationed with a pair of
field glasses could see the surrounding area for miles was empty.

Logan slid from the saddle, tying the reins to a low limb.  The horse
Jessie had bought for him had been a good mount, deserving of a
well-earned rest and plenty of grain.  Stripping off his gear, he set
the saddle aside, then wiped the horse down with the reverse side of
the blanket, knowing this was the best he could do for now.

He set off, keeping to the deepest shadows, being careful to avoid
going anywhere near Santo and Sofia's small house.  The old man who
became indignant when Logan or Ty referred to him as such--was a light
sleeper.  It pained him that the truth about his leaving had to be kept
from them.  But with the fiance of their daughter, Rosanna, high on the
list of suspects, he had agreed with Conner and his mother that they
couldn't be told.

The one thing the Rocking K didn't have was dogs, due to his mother's
fear of them2 It served him well as he flattened himself against the
adobe wall near the gates.  The bedrooms were all at the back of the
house and that made a climb necessary.

Rubbing his shoulder, Logan was thankful he'd been blessed with the
good fortune to heal quickly.  But he wasn't sure he could make the
leap for the top of the high-set gates.  Reminding himself that he
should have taken that rope that Jessie had bought him didn't sit well
with him.

Delaying the attempt wasn't going to make it happen.  He jumped and
promptly fell back.  Jeez.t Why did something he'd done a hundred times
as a kid seem so easy then, but now, as a man grown, was going to prove
difficult?

If he had another way of getting into the house... No, there wasn't
any.  He walked away and took a running start, this time clinging to
the top of the gate.  He heard the grate of his teeth when fire
streaked down his body from his shoulder.  The cry of pain stayed
buried as he scrambled to keep his grip.  He had to deny the pain and
boost himself on top of the thick wood.  He balanced in a crouch on the
six-inch-wide gate and jumped down to the soft earth of the garden.

He landed on his feet, feeling the jar through his bones, and had to
wait until he caged the pain.

Late-blooming roses scented the air.  He made his way along one of the
flagstone paths bordered with lemon trees, unable to stop images of
playing here as a child with his brothers from coming to mind.

As he headed for the window to his room, the darkened house whispered
to him of love and laughter within its walls.

One of the first things he intended to do was get into a pair of his
own boots.  He swore his toes were numb from being pinched in Harry's
old ones.

Logan gave thanks that there hadn't been any recent rain.  The window
frame would have been swollen and given him a devil's time to get it
open.  As it was, the window slid silently open.  He tossed his leg
over the sill, ducked his head and swung inside.

"Come in, come all the way into the room and talk fast, mister.  Tell
me why I shouldn't blow a hole through you."  Dixie Rawlins, soon to
become Mrs.  Tyrel Kincaid, placed the cold metal barrel of her gun
against the intruder's neck.  "I don't hear you talking, mister."

"Who the hell are you!"  Logan was furious.

"I asked first.  Since I hold the gun, that means I get answered first,
too."

"Jeez, lady, get that gun off my neck.  I'm not going to hurt you.  For
Almighty's sake, I--" Logan paused.  He didn't know who she was.  He
couldn't tell her who he was, that he lived here, that this was his
room, or had been until he had taken off.  His only choice was to
convince her to get Conner in here fast before she accidentally shot
him.

"Why don't you go---"

Dixie rapped against the inside wall.

"What're you doing?  That room's empty.  Or it was.  Look, lady, just
get Conner in here."

The rough voice held.  command.  That grabbed Dixie's attention.  His
telling her about the empty room, Ty's once-empty room, wiped the last
vestige of sleep away She repeated the three short raps against the
wall.  It was a signal that she and Ty had worked out to slip into each
other's room when both became overwhelmed by the constant chaperoning
Ty's mother insisted was proper until their wedding.

"Will you stop that!"  Logan hissed.  "YOu'll wake the whole damn
house."

"Sounds like a fine idea to me," she returned.  "I don't know what you
hoped to steal, but mister, you picked the wrong place.  You haven't
seen possessive until you've met the Kincaids.  And I'll warn you, I'm
an excellent shot.  But this close, it would take the turning of the
hand of God to miss you."  "Dixie?"

"Ty, come in and light the lamp.  I've caught us a polecat sneaking
into my room."

"Ty?"

"Oh, hell!"  Ty, hearing his brother's voice, rushed forward and
slammed his bare foot into the edge of the bed board.  Groans and
swears filled the air.

"Damn and double damn!  Lady, put the gun away."

"The hell you say.  Ty?  Ty, what's wrong?  You sound as if you're in
pain."

"I am.  Dixie, that's my brother.  That's Logan."  "Logan?"

"Yeah.  I'm Logan.  Put up the gun honey."  "Don't call me that.  But
now I know where Ty picked it up from."  Ty struck the match and lit
the lamp, and she had her first look at the missing Kincaid brother.
She was grateful that Ty grabbed him in a bear hug that left Logan
facing her.  She set the gun down on the dresser and grabbed her shawl
from the back of the rocking chair.  She wrapped it around her,
watching the two men2

The similarities were there for anyone to see.  The same rugged good
looks, although Dixie thought Ty the handsomer by far.  Both had the
same dark blue eyes, similar shapes to their noses and brows.  Logan
was a mite taller than Ty.  Where Ty's hair had a slight curl and Was
black, Logan's was dark brown; Logan was heavier in build, and his lips
were thinner than her love's.  Ty's brother appeared not only older but
harder, as if time had not been kind to him.

Dixie admonished herself.  If the whispers were true that she and Ty he
respite the effort of Conner and their mother, Maaa,t stop the talk
among the hand sLogan hadn't just left the Rocking K, he'd become an
outlaw.  More than once in the past two months Ty had left her to track
down some rumor that Logan had been seen.  She ached for her love when
he'd return, filled with more confusion at the path his missing brother
had chosen.  And now Logan had come home.

Ty stepped back from his brother.  Both had their hands resting on the
other's shoulders.  When he saw Logan wince, he dropped his hands.
"You've been hurt."

"Just a flesh wound.  Nothing to worry about.  You know how fast I
heal."

The far-off look in-Logan's eyes warned Ty that his brother was
thinking some serious thoughts.  He swallowed question after question,
unwilling to push Logan until he was ready to talk.

"Don't look so worried, Ty.  I had a real pretty lady nurse me."

The same wolfish grin on Logan's lips creased Ty's mouth and brought a
loud throat-clearing from Dixie.

"Ty is no longer in the market for pretty ladies.  And while you two
are undeniably brothers, and closer than two peas in a pod, I can't
help wondering if there's something significant in the fact that you
were both wounded in the same shoulder."

"If you're thinking what I'm thinking, Dixie," Ty said, breaking into a
short laugh, and sobering quickly,

"then my brother should be heading for the altar."  "Never mind.  What
happened to you, boy?"  "Can't call me that anymore."  Ty looked into
his brother's eyes and all he saw was Logan, ready to take on the world
if need be to fight any wrong done to his little brother.  There was a
wealth of love and no shame in the bear hug he gave Logan, whispering
that he was thankful he was here, alive and, for the most part, well.

Breaking away, Logan glanced from his brother's smiling face to Dixie's
studied expression directed at him.  "That really true?  You're gonna
give up your roaming ways to settle down?"

"Yep.  Gonna be a married man next week."  "You?  Married?"  Logan
wasn't sure he could handle more.  First the shock of finding a woman
in his room--a woman who appeared capable of using the gun she had held
on him.  Then finding out that Ty was home after years of drifting all
over the territory, and sweating he'd never be back as long as Conner
ran the Rocking K. And now this, his little brother, who wasn't quite
the lean, cocky kid Who had walked away five years ago.  The few times
Ty had returned, Logan had seen the subtle changes, but they hit him
hard now.

His brother had seen his share of trouble and had survived.  Sometimes
a man couldn't ask for more.  "Who knows you're back?"  Ty asked.  "No
one.  I came over 'the fence."

"Wait till Conner sees you.  I didn't believe what they were saying,
Logan.  I know how arrogant our brother can be, and Lord knows, he ran
me off with his set ways, but I know you.  You'd never take to riding
with outlaws.  But I'll admit, if it wasn't for Dixie, I wouldn't have
come home.  Com'ere honey, let me introduce you to my brother
properly."

Ty made the introductions.  He heaped praise on his brother until Logan
warned him to stop.  Ty laughed, then said, "Almost all of my bad
habits can be blamed on Logan's example."  When he told him who Dixie
was, all he added was, "the lady I love."

Shaking his head, Logan said, "I still can't believe it.  You swore
you'd never wear any woman's brand, Ty."  Looking at Dixie, he
finished, "Not that I blame him.  You're a beautiful woman.  And a
smart one if you got your rope around him."

"That's not exactly what happened," Dixie began.  "Dixie," Ty
interrupted, "was hunting her father's killer when I rescued her from a
mob of angry miners getting ready to lynch her."

"You didn't so much rescue me, Ty," Dixie corrected, "as stick yourself
right in the middle of my problems for devious reasons of your own."

Ty's grin was sheer sin.  "Yeah.  Real devious reasons.  I had a
hankerin' so bad for her that I took a knife in my shoulder, stole
horses an' nearly ended up getting Greg Rutland and his family killed."
He put his arm around Dixie and pulled her closer to his side.  "But I
almost lost my lady, which is why I came home.  She took a bullet meant
for me."

"But that only happened because you were so sure we were safe in the
gully.  If that storm Oh," Dixie said, shuddering with the memory of
them both battling the storm and men intent on killing them, "don't
talk about it now.  We're safe, and I only hope that the man behind my
father's death will someday pay for what he did."

"So you see, Logan, it was .a good thing I happened along.  Otherwise,
my lady here would have ended up a set of bleached bones in the
mountains."  Planting a kiss on Dixie's cheek, he smiled.  "Right,
honey?"

"I'll honey you.  I wasn't exactly some helpless female re '

"That ain't what you told me last.  week.  Called me your hero, didn't
you?"

"Ty!"

"Only teasing."  And to Logan, "She means more than to me.  I did man
who killed her father and almost took her life, too.  But I haven't
discovered who ordered his death.  We went back to Aztec to find out
who filed on her father's land after she lost it.  Some company with a
dead trail owns the place."

"Aztec?  That's west of here."  Logan frowned.  He'd heard something
from Monte..,. Whatever it was escaped him.

"Yeah," Ty answered.  "The other side of Gila Bend.  I hope you'll
welcome Dixie into the family, Logan.  Just remember she's mine."

Logan's expression became serious as he studied the woman who obviously
had captured his brother's love.  With her dark brown hair pulled back
to fall in a single braid to her waist, there was nothing to obscure
her features.  What he saw was a lovely young woman both strong enough
to be a match for Ty and soft enough to hold him.  He sensed she'd had
her share of troubles, but he liked the way her gaze remained direct
and level with his.  He smiled when he assured himself there were no
secrets in her eyes.

"Dixie, you take care of my brother, and you'll have me as a friend for
life.  And now, if the little brother won't mind, I'd sure like to kiss
the coming bride."

She felt shy with Logan as she hadn't felt with Conner.  She stepped
away from Ty, laughing at his low teasing to remember that she was
promised to him.  For a moment she hesitated, then slipped her arms
around Logan and kissed his dark, stubbled cheek.  "Welcome home."
Then she murmured softly into his ear so that Ty couldn't hear, "He's
missed you.  He's worried, too."

Logan caught her chin with his fingertips as she pulled back.  "Not so
fast, pretty one."  He saw the surprise in her eyes and thought he knew
what she was expecting him to do.  But Logan didn't kiss her lips; he
touched his mouth to her forehead.  "Make him happy and keep him home.
He loves this place, an' if he gives half that love to you, Dixie,
you're a lucky woman."  He hugged her tight, meeting his brother's gaze
over her shoulder.  Logan beamed approval before he let her go.

Ty welcomed her to his side.  Looking at the two of them, seeing for
himself the love in their eyes, Logan was overwhelmed by a wave of
loneliness.

He tried to block out the image of Jessie that came to mind.  He might
as well have tried to stop breathing.  He hadn't known he could miss
anyone this much, so that the ache was raw and painful.

Ty grew alarmed to see Logan close his eyes, his lips taut, his fingers
curling into fists at his sides.  "What's wrong?"  he demanded of his
brother, letting Dixie go and stepping nearer Logan.  "Com'on, sit
down."  He reinforced his words with a gentle nudge that landed Logan
on the bed.

Shaking his head, Logan opened his eyes and looked around.  "Hell of a
place for a reunion, Ty."

"Hell is about where I figured I'd meet up with you again.  Dixie, get
some whiskey.  But don't wake anyone yet, honey.  I want to talk to my
brother alone."

"No.  Dixie, get Conner.  I never expected you to be here, Ty.  But now
that you are, there are things you need to know.  I'm not up to tellin'
the story twice."  Dixie looked at Ty.

"Do it, honey.  Seems like there's a few secrets been kept."

"Don't get all bet up about it, Ty.  No one knew where you were.  You
haven't exactly been a regular visitor here in the past few years."
Logan didn't say anything about the curt nod Ty gave Dixie.  He waited
until she slipped quietly out of the door and closed it.

"Hell of a woman you picked for yourself, boy.  I had a feeling if she
didn't like my answers I'd've had a mighty close and personal
acquaintance with her gun."

"Believe it, Logan.  Dixie knows which end of a gun is for business."

Once more Logan was assailed by the memory of Jessie the night she'd
run out to scare off the egg thief.  He had to stop this, but his focus
blurred and he saw her in his mind's eye, soft and warm, tawny hair
tangled and those wide golden brown eyes... No!

His fingers clenched with the need to touch her, and he was tormented
by the guilt of leaving her without saying goodbye.  Logan glanced at
the floor, scrubbing his fingertips over his forehead.

When he finally looked up, he saw compassion in his younger brother's
gaze.

"I have a feeling I looked a lot like you some nights, Logan.  Mostly
when I was troubled about

Dixie.  You fall prey to some woman, too?"

"Is that what this is?"

"Got an ache that won't quit?"

"I don't believe this.  My little brother is gonna tell me about
feelings for a woman."

"Believe it, big brother," Ty said, then laughed.  "Guess when it comes
to falling in love, I beat you and Conner all to pieces.  For the first
time, I'm the one to be first--"

"First in what?"  Conner demanded from the doorway.

Chapter Fourteen

Dixie followed Conner into her bedroom carrying a tray of glasses and a
heavy cut-glass decanter of whiskey.

"BefOre anyone else says a word, I want to make a toast to my brother
and his bride."  Logan, finding one of Conher's questioning blue-gray
stares directed at him, shrugged and added, "How was I to know she had
my room?  Cat's out of the bag now, so make the best of it."

"Damn it!  You two better start explaining to me.  I've a right to know
what's been going on.  You," Ty said, rounding on Conner, "told me he
just took off, that you didn't know where he was, or what he was doing.
You had to know we'd find out about the whispers going around that
Logan's turned outlaw.  Yet you did nothing, said nothing to stop
them."

"Ty."  Dixie brought him a glass of whiskey.  "Give your brother a
chance to explain."  Handing a nearly full glass of liquor to Logan,
Dixie then shot Conner a furious look.  "And you both will explain,
won't you?"  she asked in a too-sweet voice.

"Oh, do I detect a little vinegar with all that sugar?"  Logan laughed
when Ty nodded and Dixie was quick to elbow his side.  "Gonna get your
gun out again, little lady, and make me?"

Sliding her arm around Ty's waist and resting her head on his shoulder,
Dixie gave Logan a smug look.  "If that's what it takes.  Ty's been
very worried about you.  When he worries, I worry.  So make your toast,
Logan, and then, please, end the suspense for all of

US."

Conner, barefoot and shirtless, poured a small amount of whiskey for
himself.  Taking up a leaning position against the door, he lifted his
glass as a gesture for Logan to get on with it.

"Back off, Conner.  The little I have to tell you will keep.  Ain't
every day that a man comes home to find out his little brother's
getting hitched."  Logan's voice roughened with emotion.  "The first
toast is to the bride--lovely, smart and skilled enough to rope and
brand one of the best men I know."

The glasses were raised and emptied.  Dixie did the honors of filling
them again, spilling only a little into Conher's glass.

"And to you, Ty," Logan continued.  "The best brother a man could have,
the most ornery, too.  I offer my best wishes to the first of the
Kincaids to wed, and may all your troubles be little ones."

"Corny, Logan.  Real corny," Conner said.  "That the best you can come
up with?"

"Traveling three days to get here, and all I find is abuse.  But that's
all I can think of now."

"Drink to the sentiment, if not the words," Ty added, and tossed his
drink down.  He frowned when Logan held out his glass to Dixie for a
refill.  "Don't you want to eat something, Logan?"

"Nope.  And I'm glad to see how much you've grown, Ty.  There was a
time when you would've been all over me demanding that I tell you
what's been going on.  Yep, the lady is good for you."

Dixie joined in their hushed laughter, and took it upon herself to
replace the glass stopper in the decanter.  She wouldn't say anything
now, but she wondered if Ty or Conner had picked up the underlying note
of sadness in Logan's voice.  She had a strange feeling that he was
missing someone, missing them badly.  For a moment her gaze locked with
Logan's and she sensed that he knew what she was thinking.

"Would you mind if I make use of the bed?  Logan asked Dixie.  "I must
be getting' old.  Feeling every ache there is.  Wouldn't mind another
drink to loosen the last of the road dust.  Best make it quick," he
told Dixie as she propped the cushion from the rocker behind his
pillow.  "I don't start talkin' fast, old Conner's gonna have apoplexy.
Just let me shuck these damned boots before my feet forget they belong
to me."

"They're not yours?"  Dixie asked, bringing him the decanter.  She
refilled his glass and left the decanter on the table beside the bed.
She realized how foolish she was to think that Logan couldn't hold his
liquor.

Conner kept to his leaning stance against the door, but Ty took the
rocking chair and pulled Dixie down to his lap,

Logan began.  "When Conner and I ran up against stone walls everywhere
we turned trying to find out who's behind the rustling and the mine
robberies, we came up with a plan."

"I finally heard the truth from Hazer about the fight you two had."
"Don't you believe it, Ty.  "Course, those punches Conner threw at the
end of it sure added truth to his ordering me off the ranch.  But it
took me months before I hooked up with the right bunch."  Rubbing his
jaw, Logan looked at Conner.  "I was in on the last four mine robberies
at the Silver Belt.  Real sorry about those men getting killed."

"You couldn't have stopped them, Logan.  If you had, you would have
blown your cover and we would have had to come up with another way to
find the bastard behind this."

"Conner, your understanding doesn't lessen my guilt.  But that's when I
got shot, too."

"No!  The remaining guards didn't say anything about hitting one of the
outlaws," Conner protested.

"I don't know if the bullet that hit me came from them or the men I was
riding with.  All I know is I lit out, and somewhere south of the mine
I got knocked off my home, had my outfit stolen and was left for
dead."

"Obviously," Dixie said, "you didn't die.  Is that when your pretty
lady found you?"

Sipping his drink, Logan stared at her.  Sharp lady to have remembered
what he'd said to her and Ty.  "Not exactly.  Two sagebrush orphans
were about to bury me--"

"Good Lord, Logan, what the hell were you doing?"

"Hold on, Conner.  I'm here, ain't I?  The boys thought they were doing
a good deed.  Anyway, when they saw their mistake, they wrapped me up
in a quilt and delivered me to a widow's door."

Dixie snuggled closer to Ty.  To lighten the tension in the room
pouring from all three brothers, she tried teasing Logan.

"Bet she thought you were an early Christmas present?"

"No way, Dixie.  That widow, Jessie, couldn't--" "Jessie?"  Ty cut in.
"I forgot about Jessie!"  "Ty, you promised Greg you'd check on her."

"I know I did.  But I forgot.  Clean forgot to go up there and check
like I promised."

"Would you two mind explaining what the hell you're deviling about?"
Logan demanded, attacked by a sudden queasy feeling that he tried to
shrug off.

"You don't know her, Logan.  A few years ago Greg Rutland bought stock
from us.  I ran them up to his place and stayed a while.  His sister,
Jessie, had just come to live with him.  Their aunt died and she had no
place else to go.  Livia, that's Greg's wife, sort of tried to do a
little matchmaking, but Jessie was such a quiet little thing that I
backed off.  "Sides, I wasn't looking to get tangled up with calico."

"Good thing, too," Dixie reminded him.  She folded her arms over Ty's,
which were wrapped around her waist.  "Ty told you how we met up.  What
he didn't tell you was that we were running from the men whose horses
we stole the night he got knifed trying to rescue me.  We went to
Greg's ranch, never realizing that we'd been followed.  But while we
were there, Greg told us that his sister had married a man he didn't
like, didn't trust and didn't know one end of a steer from another.  He
was worried that he hadn't heard from her.  Ty said he would try and
stop by and find out what he could.  I don't remember where he said
their place

Was."

"Near the Superstitions, around Apache Junction.  Only I never did.
Damn!"

"Stop it, Ty.  It's not your fault," Dixie assured him.  "I got
shot--"

"You nearly died," Ty interjected.

"But you brought me here, and Sofia and your mother nursed me.  But
this is pointless.  It couldn't be the same woman.  You said that she's
a widow, didn't you, Logan?"

"Yeah.  My Jessie's a widow."  Of a man who wouldn't know one end of a
steer from the other, since he was too busy hunting gold.

Logan held up his glass and watched the lamp's light play in the rich,
amber-colored liquor.  They were all watching him, waiting, he was
sure, for him to confirm or deny that his Jessie and their Jessie were
one and the same.  His Jessie.  He liked the way the words came
together so naturally.  What he didn't like was the speculation in his
brother's eyes.  A quick glance at Dixie showed him that she had
already reached her own conclusions.

"What I really want to know," Ty said in a soft, very soft, voice, "is
why you couldn't tell me the truth, Conner?"

"When?  When you brought her home nearly dead with a raging fever that
wouldn't quit?  Or those weeks you were consumed with finding where her
father's killer was hiding?"  Low voiced and furious at being
questioned, Conner, who rarely drank, tossed down the last of his
liquor.  The glass hit the top of the dresser with a thud.  "I couldn't
tell you.  No one but Ma knows about what Logan's doing."

"Conner," Logan said, sitting up and quietly putting his glass down on
the bedside table.  "Tell Ty.  He's got a right to know."

"It makes me sick to say it."

"Say what?  What are the two of you hiding from me?"

"Someone," Logan explained when he saw that Conner didn't want to,
"real close to our brother here, is working with the outlaws.  I saw it
up close.  Even the times and days being changed for payroll or ore
shipments didn't help.  They knew."

"Are you telling me that a Kincaid hand is giving out information that
will ruin us?"

Conner and Logan exchanged looks, looks that set Ty's temper on fire.
"Who?"  he demanded.  "And don't put me off."

Dixie was glad she was sitting on Ty's lap.  It was all that prevented
him from bolting out of the chair.  "Honey, can't you see that whoever
it is, thinking about it, much less saying the name, is hurting your
brothers?"

"Wait a minute.  You just told me that Ma is the only one who knows
about Logan besides you, Conner.  That means Santo and Sofia don't
know?  You can't think he's involved?  Damn it, not Santo!"

"Keep your voice down.  All we need is Ma in here," Conner took a deep
breath and released it.  "No one said we thought it's Santo.  But the
man Rosanna's going to marry, Enrique, tops both my list and Logan's.
How could we tell them that we suspected the man they love like a son?
A man Rafael already calls his brother?  You know how prideful the old
man is.  It would kill him to find out.  That's why we kept it secret.
The less anyone knew, the better chance Logan had."

Logan raked his hands through his hair and heaved a tired sigh.  "By
the look of you, Ty, you're still mad.  You've got no right to be.  You
weren't around, little brother.  We didn't know where you were.  Would
you expect Conner to send out word that I'd taken to riding with
outlaws?  Would you want to risk my neck that the wrong people found
out?  That's why we made it appear that Conner, in his greed to control
all the Kincaid holdings, forced me out after he got rid of you.  Boy,
I hate saying this, but you never did want the responsibility to help
manage the ranch or the mines.

"I can see that marrying Dixie is making changes in you.  Conner won't
shoulder the burden alone anymore.  But direct your anger where it
belongs--to the bastard who's trying to destroy us."

"All right," Ty said after a few minutes, and Dixie's whispered urging.
"you couldn't tell me.  And I do understand about Santo.  The way he
feels about this place and Ma, he'd kill Enrique without a qualm
regdardless of his daughter's or his son's feelings about him."

"You should know," Conner said, drawing their attention, "that the
rustlings escalated after Rafael asked that we give Enrique a job here.
Not long after that, the mines started getting robbed.  Damn thing is,
I let no one know about the changed time, or the days of payroll.
How'could he find out?  How does he get word to them?"

"All I know is that we'd camp out.  Next morning Monte'd have the
information of where we'd hit next.  A few times I heard him muttering
about someone called Old Charlie getting paid back someday.  But none
of the others seemed to know who Monte was talking about.  Only once
did I manage to follow him.  Sly fox that Monte is, he met his contact
out in the open where I couldn't get close enough to see or hear
them."

Logan started drawing circles on the sheet.  "The Silver Belt is here,"
he said, almost to himself as he plucked up the top sheet to form
peaks.  "Northeast of Florence.  That'S where I finally linked up with
them.  We hit that mine four times, and we know they hit the Reunion
mine north of Phoenix twice, which forms a half circle.  Come southwest
to the Buckeye mine off of Robbins Butte, and close the circle by
ending up at the Rocking K stealing cattle.

"If we're right about Enrique feeding information, then we need to look
within this circle for the man behind the robberies.  I know it isn't
Leo Vesta.or Joe Rawson.  They're the only two ranchers with an ax to
grind and the money to hire men like Monte and his gang."  Logan looked
up to find them crowded around the bed where he had drawn his imaginary
map.  "Any ideas of who's within this circle that wants us gone?"

"I'd cast my vote for Rivennon," Dixie said without a second's
hesitation.

Conner shot her a surprised look.  "Yeah.  Riverton's worked his way to
the top of my list."

"Who the devil is Riverton?  Logan asked, reaching back and pouring
himself a drink.

"Charles Riverton," Conner answered.  "But I never heard anyone call
him old Charlie.  He's more trouble that arrived since you left, Logan.
Our new neighbor on the Circle R beat me out of the beef contract at
the reservation.  Man's building a spread that puts this Place to
shame.  Claimed his land under the Desert Act, then got his men to
file.  But it's all Circle R land no matter whose name is on the
deeds."

Conner looked at Dixie.  "How come you thought of him right off?."
"When he sent the invitation to the fiesta to meet his neighbors and
you and Ty refused to go, I couldn't let your mother go alone.  The
man's a bragg ann He went on and on about his leading the fight to keep
the territory capital in Tucson.  And he insulted your mother when she
pointed out that he had lost his fight, too.  They have moved the
capital to Prescott.  He also claims that he's going to support John
Fremont in his bid for the governor's chair.  But I think he's after
that himself."

Ty hugged Dixie.  "I picked the smartest woman.  Dixie and me have done
a little looking around on our own.  When I went after her father's
killer, I had a passing visitor at my campfire.  He mentioned you,
Logan."  '

"You knew?"; Conner asked: "All this time and you knew?"

"He told me that word was out that Logan was seen with a bad bunch of
hombres.  I didn't want to believe him.  I couldn't tell you or Ma,
Conner.  Hell, I had to protect her.  I feel like a fool now,"

"Don't, Ty.  I'm sure your brothers don't think that about you.  You
did what was right."

"Spoken like a woman in love," Logan said.  He grinned at Dixie, and
her soft laughter, with her cheeks flushed pink, lightened their mood.
Unfortunately, he knew it couldn't last.

"Look, I can't risk either Sofia or Santo discovering me here.  You
really suspect this Riverton, Dixie?"

She felt a warm rush of gratitude for Logan's total acceptance of her
into their family circle.  And she reached down to squeeze his hand,
silently thanking him with a look.

"My answer is yes.  But I'm not as sold as you are' about Enrique. I've
been here two months.  I've had a chance to know him.  He's very much
in love with Rosanna, and she's as devoted as her mother to this
family.  I don't understand why it couldn't be any one of a number of
hands that work here."

"No!"  the three brothers chorused at once.  They shared sheepish
grins.

Conner explained.  "Most of these men have been working on this ranch
since before I was born.  You know that most of them are older than me.
I'd trust my life to any one of them.  Enrique is the only newcomer
I've hired to work on the ranch.  And we are agreed that it is someone
right here who's passing information along."

"I see that I have lost my place as the head of this family," Macaria
announced from th doorway.

Four pairs of guilty eyes focused on her as she entered the room and
closed the door behind her.  But her gaze was for Logan alone.  "My son
returns and does not see fit to tell me?"

The others backed away from the bed to allow Logan to rise.  He wiped
his mouth with the back of his hand, but she'd smell the whiskey on his
breath when he kissed her.

Macaria opened her arms to this middle son who most resembled his
father.  She forced a smile despite seeing the new lines that had
formed on his beloved face.

"Madre."  Logan held her fight.  They'd never needed words.  She
smelled faintly of sweet mountain lilacs, and he caught sight of a bit
more gray in the two long braids that fell to her hips.  He couldn't
remember the last time he had seen her with her braids down.  Usually
she wore them pinned in a crown that gave her a regal air.

"Is it done?  Have you come home to stay?"  she asked him.

Logan pulled back, kissing her cheeks, then framing her slender face
within his hands.  "No."  His gaze held hers, silently begging that she
not question him.  He had no worry that Ty or Conner would tell her
that he'd been wounded.  He could only hope that Dixie didn't.

"If it is not over, then you have come to tell us who is behind the
stealing?"

"No, madre.  I lost my outfit and home and my boots and came home to
replace them."

Macaria gracefully slipped from his hold and looked at the others. "Why
did you not come and wake me to tell me that Logan was home?"

He caught hold of her slender hands, bringing her attention once more
to him.  "Madre, I asked them not to wake you.  I'm not staying. Before
the first light I will leave."

"No!"

"S/, madre.  Now," he said, standing back and holding her hands out,
"let me see if you are still as supple as the willow and as strong as
the hickory."

"Strong, yes, a mother must be strong when she has sons such as you and
your brothers.  Tell me, my son, have you eaten?"

Logan threw back his head and glanced at the thick cedar beams
overhead.  "I have come home to tell my brother that I have failed, and
you want to feed me."

Freeing her hands, Macaria smiled because it was what Logan wanted. She
tightened the tie of her bright red wool robe and beckoned Dixie to her
side.  "Go and speak with your brothers.  Your soon-to-be sister will
help me in the kitchen."

Dixie cast a helpless look at Ty.  He shrugged in response, and she
followed Macaria out of the room.  "She's aged since I left," Logan
remarked.

"She worries that all her chicks are not around her," Conner replied.
"Since you can't stay, Logan, I suggest we get back to the problem at
hand.  I want to tell you that I don't think it's a good idea for you
to try and join up with Wheeler again.  Suppose they know who you are
and meant to kill you?"

"I've already been over that ground.  I don't think that's it."

Logan hoped that Conner accepted his dismissive tone.  If Conner knew
that he had voiced the very thought that Logan harbored, Conner would
use any means to stop him from going back.  Despite the risk, Logan had
to go back.  He had a score to settle and he refused to fail to protect
his family's holdings.

"This kid Billy Jack had a hankering for my horse.  I was wounded and
don't remember much, but he was riding close enough at one time that he
could have knocked me out."  Logan paused and stared at the wooden
cross over the bed.

The memory of searching out the wood for the cross with Santo returned
with a sharp poignancy.  It shelved itself in with the ache that had
grown watching Dixie and Ty together.  He missed Jessie.  She was a
woman his brothers would like, strong in a different way from Dixie
soft, too.  And he worried how she was making out with the boys.

"Logan?"  Conner called, seeing the distracted look on his brother's
face.  "What's wrong?"

"He's been drifting off like that since I came in here," Ty answered.
Coming closer, he snapped his fingers in front of Logan's face.  With a
jerk of his head, Logan glared at him.  "Whatever's got you
moon-eyed--"

"Nothing.  It was nothing.  Tell me more about this Rivertom Where'd he
come from?"

"No one's really sure.  He's got hands from Texas working his cattle. A
damn fine-looking herd, too.  With the losses we've had," Conner said
with anger riding his voice, "I would've been hard-pressed to meet the
need for beef at all the reservations."

"Well, I tried to get a closer look at his cattle, and was warned off.
Real polite-like, you understand," Ty added.  "But there was no mistake
that the order went out that Mr.  Riverton don't like strange folk
poking around his cattle."

Ty stretched and yawned.  "Damn," he said, shaking his head.  "Been a
while since I've stayed up half the night."  He started for the bed,
intending to throw himself across it, when he suddenly stopped.

"I just remembered something funny that Dixie said to me.  You remember
that mossback old longhorn, the one whose left horn got broke?"

"The one Blue Dalton tried to rope that plumb near took his thumb
off?."  Logan laughed, although there hadn't been anything funny at the
time.  "Blue was always trying to sneak up and get a rope on him.
Why?"

"Well, I'd told Dixie the story and, if I remember correctly, she
thought she saw that old longhorn."

"Ty, what the hell has this got to do with Riverton?  That old mossback
shows up now an' again."  Conner shook his head.  "Go to bed.  You're
too tired to think."

"Ain't so.  And it has plenty to do with Riverton.  that's where Dixie
thought she saw him."

Conner, in the act of rubbing his neck, jerked his head up.  "When?
Where?"

"The day we rode up there for his party.  Ma had insisted we take the
carriage," he explained for Logan's benefit.  "Like you, I'd lost
everything I left here with, too.  I'd finally picked out a sorrel for
myself and we were still working out who was giving orders.  I rode him
out a ways to get rid of some of the pepper.  When I got back, Dixie
gives me this funny look and tells me about the mossback.  I figured
she was wrong.  But what if she isn't?  What if our new neighbor is
running our cattle with his?"

"The only way to know for sure is find a Rocking K brand on his
stock."

"Whose stock?".  Dixie asked, coming inside the room with a basket that
she set on the bed.  Macaria followed her with another basket.  As
Dixie smoothed out the top sheet and blanket, she waited for an
answer.

"Well?"  she prompted.  Who were you talking about?"

"Our new neighbor and his sleek, fat cattle."  "Conner!  This cannot
be."  Macaria left the basket she had been emptying and went to: stand
in front of her oldest son.  She stared up at him, sorrow rising for
the son who had been forced to become a man before he'd had a chance to
he a boy.  Anger roiled within.  the blue-gray depths of his eyes.

"Conner, you will not speak disrespectfully of Charles.  Not in my
home."

Mother and son ignored the sharp gasps from the others.  But both were
aware what had caused them.  Macaria had never, not once, reminded her
sons that this was her land, her home first.

"Charles?"  Conner tried to control his temper, but having his mother
defend the best suspect they had was intolerable.  "Since when, madre,
did the man become Charles to you?"

"Since he courted me at the same time your father did."

Chapter Fifteen

The hell you say!"  Conner exploded.

For moments them was a shocked, hushed silence in the room as Macada,
satisfied that she had made her point, calmly returned to the bedside
and removed broad and cheese from the basket.

"Conner!"  Logan warned.

"Stay out of this," Conner snapped.

"Like hell I will.  You apologize.  Now."  The look of disbelief that
Conner shot him sent Logan lunging for his brother.  Ty grabbed hold of
his arm, yanking it hard to stop him.  Logan cried out in agony when
pain raced up to his shoulder.  "For Almighty's sake!  Watch what the
devil you're doing to me."

"Conner?"  Ty prompted as he released Logan's arm.

"Do it," Logan added, cradling his arm against his body.  He shook his
head when he saw his mother start toward him.  "Nothing," he whispered.
"I swear it's nothing."

"More secrets kept from me?"  Macada asked, but without expectations of
an answer.  She knew she would be told by her sons, and Dixie, only
what they wanted her to know.

"Madre," Conner said softly.  *"I do apologize for losing my temper
with you.  But you can't just drop that fact into the conversation and
not expect me to react.  I can't believe you kept this secret."

"You cannot?  How strange.  Is there one of you in this room that does
not have a secret?  A secret that will not be shared until you deem the
time perfect?"  Her dark, piercing eyes searched each face in turn.

Ty, unable to meet her gaze, stared down at his bare feet.  He believed
no one knew of his continuing search for information about the man who
had ordered Dixie's father's death.

Logan, too, could not bear her gaze, and turned toward the window.
Macada caught the set of his mouth and knew he was in pain.  So, he had
been wounded and thought to keep it from her?  But them was more within
the dark blue eyes of this son.  Memories that troubled him.  What
would he hide from them?  Always Logan had a woman.  But them was an
older secret this middle son kept.  He'd never once challenged
Con-her's place, but he longed to take the rains of leader into his
hands.  This, too, no one knew.

Macada smiled a little when she saw that Dixie found polishing the
apples with the end of her shawl a refuge from her gaze.  Her secret
was one of joy for them all.  She remembered well those first months
and the need to hold tight a little while longer to the woman soon to
be a wife before the biggest change in her life would be shared with
the family.  Her poor son did not know, and she had no intention of
telling him.

For Conner, he hid his dream.  Never once in the years that he had worn
the boots of his father had this oldest son retreated from doing what
he must.  But she judged the time coming soon for Conner to walk the
path he longed for, nd one more secret had to be kept.

"I believe," Macada said softly, "that this matter of secrets is done."
"No, madre."  "Conner?"  she queried.

"I want to know why you didn't tell me.  Forget that I'm your son.  I'm
the ramrod of this outfit.  That position gives me the right to
know."

Her short laugh caught them by surprise.  "You did not ask me if I knew
him," she stated calmly.  "I recall you took an instant dislike to
Charles when he came to invite us to his fiesta.  As you did, Dixie."

"He's very attractive, but there's something about him that makes me
uncomfortable," Dixie offered in her defense.

"Don't forget me," Ty muttered.  "I didn't exactly want him for a dance
partner."

"I am very well aware of your feelings, too.  It is because of this
open dislike you have rudely displayed that I have not returned his
kind invitation and asked him to dine with us.  Now that the matter has
been discussed and you are all aware of ray feelings, I shall hasten to
remedy--"

"Madre."  Calm and soft, but commanding, Logan's voice brought his
mother's instant attention, and silence from the others.  "We are
talking about the possibility that this man may be the one behind the
rustlings and the mine robberies.  You can't expect us, your sons," he
reminded her, "to ignore the facts we have put together.  And I know
that you are also aware to the of how much we lost.  Would reconsider
and allow us time to confirm or put the lie to his involvement?"

"Such sweet reasoning, Logan.  But you are wrong, my son.  All of you
are wrong.  Charles Riverton has no need to steal from us.  He was
already a very wealthy man when he first courted me."  Macada's tone
grew impassioned as she stated her reasons.  "I loved your father, and
begged my own to choose him for my husband.  Charles was a gentleman
when he understood that my heart and mind were filled with love for
Justin.

"If your brothers had behaved as I raised them, and not spoiled
children, when he invited us to see the grand hacienda he is building,
they would know that he has purchased large tracts of land to the west
of our holdings in hope of convincing the owners of the Southern
Pacific Railroad to route their track closer to Sweetwater.  And think,
my children, what that would mean to all of the ranches.  We would be
able to ship our cattle while they are fat, not herd them for miles
with terrible losses of weight."

She allowed them a few minutes, then added, "Now, tell why such a man
of wealth, .a man who carries the same vision as your father once had
for the growth of this land, Would have a need to steal from

US?"

"I don't know.  But I'm going to find out."

"Conner!  Have you not heard a word that I have said?"

"I heard you, madre.  I just don't believe it."  Logan, more exhausted
than he dared to admit in front of his mother, grabbed hold of Conner's
announcement and used it for himself.  "I'm for letting you all sort
this out.  I'm starved and when I'm done eating, I need to leave.
Conner can investigate from this end, and I'll make Monte Wheeler talk
or die trying."

"Do not say such words!"  Crossing herself, Macada cast Logan an angry
look.  "You will bring ill luck upon yourself, I never wanted you to
ride with these men.  I ask you not to go back."

"Madre, I love you.  But this is best left to us.  I don't think you're
looking at this with the eyes of Macada Kincaid."

"And who, then, am I if not your mother?"  "Forgive me for making you
angry again.  But you are perhaps a young woman thinking of long-ago
nights and the handsome caballero who paid you court?"  '

"You insult me, and you insult the memory of your father to believe I
would ever forget my place and put at risk what your father lost his
life to build.  Eat, then, I will see to clean clothing and boots, so
that you, too do not forget your place."

Her exit brought a shared disbelieving look among the brothers.  Dixie
shook her head and began slicing cheese and dried spicy sausage.

Logan thanked her when she handed him the first plate, but before he
ate, he asked Conner how he'd made out with the sheriff.

"About what we had expected.  Verl Jenison tells me to bring him
proof."

"Then we should have gone with the first plan," Logan reminded him. "We
could've set a trap and captured Monte and his gang."

"I vetoed the idea then and still do.  I want the man behind them.  The
more I mull over what we discussed tonight, the more Charles Riverton
bears watching.

The information Ma gave us about him encouraging the owners of the
railroad to set track near Sweetwater is worth looking into.  Bribes
take a lot of cash.  So does that place he's building.  I haven't seen
anything mentioned in the newspapers, but they're bound to keep it
quiet.

"I recall that old miner ... Crazy Judah, I think he's called.  Well,
he tried to get me to put up money when he took a notion to buy into
the Central Pacific after they were almost busted.  Those mountains in
California cost them too much to blast and lay track.  But he did
mention that he arid his partners were looking at the Southern Pacific,
too.  Claimed it had an imposing name and a charter just waiting for
someone to pick up to build into southern California, but they had no
track laid."

"Well, I can't see Ma being fooled by the man."  "Ty!"  Dixie, who had
been quiet till now, rounded on him.  "How can you say that?  Your
mother, in case you've forgotten, is still a lovely woman, She's been
widowed almost sixteen years.  My goodness, that's how old she was when
she married your father.  How can you all be so selfish to deny her
whatever pleasure she has in his company?"

"Now, honey--"

"Don't honey me!  It's true and you know ... you all know it," she
stated with a sweeping look that touched Conner and Logan.  "Maybe he
is behind this.  But you'll have no more information from her about
him.  What's more, I believe that if you stubborn males dig in your
heels about her seeing him, she'll do it out of spite."

"All that may be true, Dixie," Conner said with an infuriating calm.
"But my mother--our mother--is a rich woman.  Allowing Riverton to get
anywhere near her -"

"I can't believe I'm hearing this from you, Conner" Dixie closed her
eyes and fought to calm herself.  She took a deep breath, then released
it.  She opened her eyes to find Ty's worried eyes upon her.  She
forced a smile.  "All right.  I am yelling.  I'm sorry for that.  But I
think you insult your mother when you question where her loyalty lies.
She would never do anything to hurt you or the Rocking K."

Sensing another buildup of tension, Dixie turned to Logan.  "You said
that two boys had found you.  What happened to them?"

While Logan told them about Marty and Kenny, Macaria remained outside
in the hallway.  She had gone to her sewing room where she had stored
all of Logan's clothing in a large chest lined with fragrant cedar.
Holding the clean clothing and the boots she had taken out for her son,
Macaria half listened to his tale about the boys.  But memories rose
and she leaned against the wall, thinking back.

When she had lost the last child, a stillborn daughter, the midwife
sent by her parents had said them would be no more children.  She had
cried for the daughter she would never have.  Her love, her Justin, had
reminded her then that as each of their sons married, they would bring
her daughters.

She had accepted Dixie from the first, and loved her for herself, not
just for bringing her lost, maverick son back to her.  But coming to
her defense, reminding her sons that she was a woman as well as their
mother, had endeared Dixie to her even more.

Coming back to hear the low rumble of Logan's and Conner's voices,
Macaria glanced upward' and wondered about the women they would bring
to the Kincaid family.

She understood the fears her sons raised, but they did not understand
the loneliness that filled her days and her nights now that they were
grown men.

She would do nothing to endanger their future.  But they could not
dictate to her.  Her family could be traced back to the soldiers who
had ventured first from Spain with Diego Velfizquez to claim the island
of Cuba, then traveled with Hem fin Cortts when he was sent to conquer
Mexico.

The same passionate spirit that flowed in their blood was hers.  And it
still ruled her.  She had come here, a bride of sixteen, and helped
Justin carve out a home from a wild, raw land that had earned her
love.

Yet she could not ignore that for the first time, her three sons stood
in agreement against her.

Rousing herself, Macaria walked into the room and gave the clothing and
boots to Logan.  She hushed Dixie when she asked if they should put off
the wedding.

"There is no need.  Would you give rise to talk that we wait for him to
return?  That would put Logan's life in danger."

"Madre "

Macaria placed her fingertips against Logan's lips.  She stood on
tiptoe to kiss his heard-stubbled cheek.  "Go with God, my son," she
whispered, then left them.

Dixie, too, came to him to say goodbye.  "I'll curl up on Ty's bed, so
stay here as long as you can."  Then she, too, kissed his cheek and
left the room.

Ty closed his eyes, and Conner motioned to Logan to let him be.  "He's
been run ragged about the wedding and Dixie's strange moods these last
weeks.  I'll get you a new rifle to replace the one you lost."

Logan shucked his travel-stained clothes and made use of the pitcher of
water on the dresser.  It wasn't as good as a real bath--one of the
things he kept promising himself he'd have when this matter was
done--but he felt better once he was dressed in his own clean clothing.
He tucked the nut brown chambray shirt into a well-worn pair of denims
and, ever mindful of his shoulder, slipped on a brown leather vest. His
mother had chosen comfortable clothing, with enough wear on them so as
not to amuse suspicion.  The boots brought a sigh of bliss from him as
he stomped the low heel against the floor,

Conner returned with a Springfield .45-70 side hammer trapdoor model
just like the one that had been stolen from Logan.  The Springfields
had been made by the firm's master armorer, Erskine Allin, and were
treasured possessions.

"This is yours, Conner.  I can't take it."

"Not mine.  It's Pa's.  You'll need it.  Only I'm warning you fair,
lose this one and I'll take it out of your hide."  He shoved a box of
ammunition into Logan's vest pocket.  From his own shirt pocket Conner
removed five double eagles.  "I figure you lost your money, too.  Just
promise me that you won't take any unnecessary risks.  I don't want to
lose you, Logan."

"You won't."  Logan pocketed the money.  "I want you to arrange for
another payroll shipment at the Silver Belt.  Give me five days to find
Monte.  Put the word out that you're shipping ore, too."

"What are you planning?"

Logan told him while he packed food in one of the wide linen napkins.

"Simple plan," Conner remarked.

"Let's hope it works."  Logan gently nudged the rocking chair, and Ty
jerked awake.  "Hey, little brother, I've got a date that won't wait.
You take care of that little lady."

"Logan, I wish... ?"

For a moment regret filled Logan's eyes as he looked at his brother.
"Yeah.  I wish I could be here, too, and dance at your wedding.  Maybe
you'll dance at mine."

He was out the window before Ty came fully awake and realized what he'd
said.  "Conner, tell me you heard him, too."  He spun around. "Conner?"
Shaking his head, Ty told himself he'd made a mistake and began
cleaning up the food left on the bed.

In her room, lit by two small candles, Macaria knelt at the elaborately
carved wooden prayer bench she had brought with her from Mexico.
Clutching her rosary, she offered prayers for her son's safe return.

From his darkened room's window, Conner searched the garden's shadows
for a sign of his brother.  He caught sight of him as Logan vent over
the gate.  "Go with God," he whispered, echoing his mother's earlier
words.

As he stood there, a nagging thought rose in his mind.  He'd meant to
ask Logan ... no!  Not Logan, but his mother.

Conner ran down the hall and burst into Macaria's room.  "Did Riverton
question you about Logan?"  "Calm yourself--"

"Never mind me.  Did he ask you about Logan?  He had to hear the
whispers about him.  Everyone else has.  Did you tell--?"

"You go too far!"  She rose from the bench and faced her irate son.
"No, Charles asked me nothing about Logan."

"That's it!  Damn it, that's it.  He knows."  Conner tunneled the
fingers of both hands through his thick hair.

"You are not making any sense, Conner.  How could Charles know about
him?  Yes, there are whispers, but if what you believe about him is
true, why would he know that Logana"

"It's the only reason why they dumped him.  They know he's a Kincaid."
Pacing the tiled floor, he sorted everything that Logan had told him,
and revealed his reasoning to his mother.

"Heharles---didn't ask you about the rumors that one of your sons was
riding with outlaws.  Didn't that strike you as odd?"

"No.  A gentleman would not remind me of something so shameful."

"Wrong, madre.  He didn't ask because he knew.  And he'd already sent.
word to have Logan killed before he could follow a trail back to him."
He stopped and faced her.  "I know you don't want to believe me, but
this is the only thing that makes sense.  And Logan" He broke off and
started to leave.

"Conner!  Conner, come back here."  Macaria ran after him.  "Where are
you going?"

"After my brother before he gets himself killed."

"What the hell are you talking about?"  Ty demanded, grabbing hold of
Conner's arm to stop him.

"Logan's gonna find Monte and tell him he's got word that we're
shipping ore and a payroll next week."

"He won't believe him after all the losses we've had."

"That's just it.  Logan's to tell him that we figure the very same
thing, that no one would expect us to do it, so the setup is perfect
for them to rob us again.  And they won't have time to check it out
with Riverton, if he's behind it."

"I hate to tell you this, Conner, but I find a big hole in this plan
you two put together.  Where did Logan get this information?"

"There's ten, maybe fifteen small mining camps close to where they left
him.  Close enough that someone could have found him.  You know how
talk spreads.  Whiskey's loosened a lot of tongues.  It all would have
worked, too, with us being in place to trap them, but if Riverton knows
that he's a Kincaid, Logan life is worth less than the spit to say
it."

"I'm coming with you."

"No.  Someone's got to stay here and keep an eye--"

"I'm coming.  An' while we stand here, Logan's getting a lead on us."

Macada pleaded with both of them as they hurried to dress.  All Conner'
did was fire orders about how many men he wanted ready to ride at a
moment's notice if he couldn't find Logan and stop him from setting the
plan into action.

Conner stifled his impatience while Ty went to kiss Dixie goodbye
without waking her.  There was going to be hell to pay in the morning
when she found out he was gone.  Leaving her to his mother's care, he
ran with Conner to saddle their horses.

Chapter Sixteen

"Miz Jessie, you lookin' for him again?"

Turning around, Jessie grinned at Kenny.  "Caught me.  I can't seem to
help myself from looking.  Hope, I've discovered, dies a hard, slow
death."  Climbing down from the jutting rock shelf that gave her a view
of the flat below, Jessie looked around.  "Where's the little one?"

"Marty's still down by the creek.  He didn't finish cleanin' the fish
We caught."  Digging the toe of his boot into the dirt, Kenny hunched
his thin shoulders.  "Logan's been gone nigh on a week now.  Don't
recall him makin' any promises 'bout when he'll come back."

"I don't recall him making any promises at all."

"Now you got that sad look in your eyes again.  Didn't mean to hurt
you."

She reached out and tousled his hair.  "You didn't.  What say we go
join Marty?  I'll fix a picnic lunch for us.  We couldn't ask for a
more beautiful fall day."  Jessie glanced up to find the sky a blue
bowl overhead with thick white clouds that looked like puffs of clean
picked cotton.  But when she started to walk back to the cabin, she saw
that Kenny stayed behind.  "What's wrong?"  she asked him,

"Me an' Marty're been talkin', ya know, 'bout what's gonna happen to
us."

"Happen to you?  Nothing is going to happen to you.  Not while I have a
breath in my body."  Jessie felt a little alarmed at the way Kenny
avoided looking at her.  The boy was always so direct, with his words,
his manner and sometimes disconcerting gaze.  "Have you held back
telling me something I should know?"

"No.  No," he repeated.  "It's jus' like I said.  Me an' Marty are
cousins.  We ain't got no kinfolk back home."

"Then what is the problem, Kenny?  I guess I assumed that the two of
you would live here with me.  If that's not what you want, tell me."

Kenny glanced beyond Jessie toward the cabin where they had made their
home this past week.  For the first time in months he did not have the
total responsibility for himself and Marty.  But he didn't trust that
they could just go on as they were.  Fears built at night, and they
weren't leaving him during the day.  "Ain't folks gonna talk 'bout you
hayin' us?"  "Why should they, Kenny?  I'm a widow, that's time, but I
am a grown woman perfectly capable of taking care of you and Marty."
Jessie gnawed her lower lip for the lie.  Until she found a way to sell
her cattle, she had forty dollars between the three of them and losing
it all.

"But what if someone comes an' tales to take us away?"

Frowning, Jessie walked to his side.  He barely tolerated her hugging,
but he appeared in need of more than verbal assurances.  Dropping to
her knees, she drew him close.  "Honey, I won't let anyone take you and
Marty away from me.  I know how hard it's been for you, but I think of
you two as mine.  Family, Kenny.  The three of us make our own
family."

She held him, closing her eyes when he accepted her by wrapping his
arms around her neck.  And Logan, a little voice whispered in her mind,
would complete the circle perfectly.  Jessie, too, closed her eyes for
a moment.  She dreamed of him, and tried hard to banish the dreams upon
waking.  She was unable to stop them, the way she couldn't stop
searching the land for a sign of a lone rider returning.

Jessie roused herself.  She was determined not to allow her longings to
sour the day.  And that's all she had left for Logan, she told herself
as she released Kenny and stood, foolish longings for a traveling kind
of man.

"You and I," she said, touching the tip of her finger to his nose,
"have a picnic to get ready."

His smile was all she hoped for, and if her own was a little less than
genuine, Kenny didn't know as he ran for the cabin.

She followed him, but at a slower pace, looking over her shoulder once.
Wherever you are, Logan, I hope you're safe.  And I hope that you miss
me just a little.  Just enough 'to draw you back to me so !  can put a
name to the feelings you awakened.

"Jessie!"

"I'm coming, Kenny."

Logan guided his horse around the saguaro cacti that rose in contorted
shapes from the valley floor.  Some had the form of massive candelabra
that beckoned a rider's eyes to follow their height to the tops and
view the majestic and haunting mass of rock known as Superstition
Mountain.  But he wasn't heading for Apache Junction; his goal was the
mining camp at Florence.  The place where he'd first linked up with
Monte Wheeler and the others.

He remained aware that when men desired to hide in this broken land of
desert and mountains, the Apache were about the only ones who could
find them.  But he was determined to hunt them down.  His family's
holdings were at stake.

And he never forgot the personal score he intended to settle with
whoever had stolen his gear and left him for dead.

Doggedly trying to keep his mind focused on what he had to do, Logan
didn't have much success in keeping Jessie out of his thoughts.  At odd
moments he would remember her smile, or hear the tartness of her voice,
or the wondering whisper of his name when she had trembled in his
arms.

Last night, when he'd made camp in a dry wash, a cactus wren defending
her nest of grasses and twigs high up in the thorny branches of a
cholla cactus had caught his eye.  Jessie was like that, all tawny
shades, defending herself and all she claimed with the same
single-minded devotion.

A man could do worse than to have a woman like Jessie at his side.

An ache he'd never quite subdued since he had left her began to grow.
How could she have worked herself so deeply into his mind in such a
short time?

Women had come and gone and he never let his thoughts dwell on them.

Why Jessie?  He attempted to shrug it off, but the question remained.
And all he could do was blame its lingering on seeing his younger
brother, who had previously de sired no shackles, suddenly ready to
settle down.  He couldn't make any plans.  But if he did... Sensing the
turn of his thoughts, Logan drew back mentally from the subject of
Jessie.  To distract himself, he considered Conner's report that
Riverton had his men file on the land and then deed it back to him.  It
was by no means an uncommon practice.  Most of the larger ranchers used
this method to hold on to more land after the government began passing
land acts.

Funny how someone else's doing it riled Conner, when Logan remembered
Santo telling him once that their father had done the very same thing
to claim land where there was water.

Any man who controlled water in the territory was the man who
controlled the range.

He rode up a loose scree slope of a dry wash, keeping the horse down to
a plodding walk.

This was Apache country, and if aman intended to survive he took his
time to study the land before him.  Logan had found places of
incredible beauty, and others so barren it was hard to believe that
life managed to exist there.

Shaded in rusts, copper and dusty gray flecked with the green of cacti
arid brush, it was a rough, broken country.  Water was priceless, for
every predator needed it to live.

He had pushed himself and his horse these past few days.  Logan
dismounted, ready to share the warm water in his canteen with his
animal.

And the horse had to drink first, for without him, a man could die.

No land held death so close, waiting for a careless mistake, as the one
he called home.

He led the horse toward a large rockfall, hoping to find a tinaja.
Rainwater collected in these small pools in the rocks, but there hadn't
been rain for weeks.  Far to the west he spotted the circled flight of
buzzards and a chill walked up his spine.  There but for those two boys
and Jessie went I. As he leaned close to peer down into the crack
between the rocks, his hand accidentally brushed against the stone.
Logan jerked his hand back.  The rock was as hot as a branding iron
from the sun's baking heat.

Taking the canteen off his saddle horn, he poured some water into his
hat and gave the horse his drink.  All the while, his gaze moved in a
steady searching pattern, ever alert to danger.

When the animal finished, Logan replaced his hat on his head, enjoying
the coolness of the wet felt, then sipped the warm canteen water to
quench his own thirst.

He had to push on if he was going to reach Florence by nightfall.  The
desert came alive when the sun went down, with predators in need of
water, in need of food.  It was one reason a smart man didn't make his
camp close to a watering hole.  The other had to do with allowing
nature's cycle to play out its methods of ensuring survival of the
fittest.  If a man's scent kept the thirsty animals away from
life-giving water, he broke the circle.

Yet he was reluctant to mount, despite the need that drove him.

Once more he sent a searching gaze over the land.  Nothing moved but a
heated breeze.  He canted his hat brim low and slung the canvas strap
of the canteen back over the horn.  Gathering the reins in his hand, he
started to mount.

The horse sidestepped toward the rock.  Logan's curse died as his foot
slipped from the stirrup.

Four Apache warriors were crossing the dry wash about three hundred
yards ahead of where he stood.  Although he'd just satisfied his
thirst, his mouth was suddenly parched.

He saw the jerky fall of the horses' hooves, telling him the animals
were tired.  His gaze focused on the knife slashes that had forced the
horses to lengthen their stride.

He ran one hand over the brown's muzzle, silently thanking him.  If he
had moved out they would have seen him.

Logan slid his rifle from the leather scabbard that protected it from
trail dust.  He waited, rifle ready, standing very still.

If those Apaches spotted him, he wouldn't take any bets on what his
life would be worth.

His breathing was shallow.  He.didn't look directly at the Indians.
There were some who said that an

Apache could feel a white man's eyes upon him.  Logan wasn't about to
test the truth of it.

They disappeared in the juniper and ocofillo that grew on a slope up
ahead of him.  Logan blew out the breath he'd been holding.

"Snakes in purgatory!"  he hissed, feeling the coil of tension that
gripped him.  "Damn if that didn't shave a year off my life, horse."

Sliding his hand up and down the animal's neck, Logan praised him. "You
done good, boy, real good.  "Course, I realize you were protecting your
hide as much as my own.  We could've ended up over those Apaches'
campfire, you for supper and me providing the entertainment."

The horse flicked his ear, and Logan quickly scratched the area
directly behind it.

"Jessie picked a winner when she chose you to buy.  Didn't flick an ear
when you saw them, did you?  When this is over, I've a mind to find
more stock like you, but your brand's been worked over so many times
that it's hard to tell what it ever was."

As he lifted the corner of the saddle blanket, Logan thought he might
have been army stock.  Using one finger, he traced the burned hide.

"Lazy three, or running M, a boxed M or a boxed three," he murmured,
then paused.  A deep frown creased his forehead.  "Damn!  Hot damn!
That's it!"

He Swung away from the horse and dropped to his knees.  Switching the
rifle to his left hand, Logan marked the Rocking K brand in the dirt
with his fingertip.  The capital initial K had a half circle beneath it
to indicate the rocking letter.  If the K had been tilted slightly, it
would have been a tumbling K. It took him only seconds to close up the
top of the K and form an R. More slowly, he finished drawing a closed
circle around the new letter.

He stared at the new brand he'd just drawn.  "From Rocking K to Circle
R and none the wiser."

Including him.  He might be wiser about how it was done, but it didn't
end his problem.  Without proof, the law wouldn't touch Riverton.  Even
with proof, they might not if the man had the money and political power
behind him.  But Logan had one solid clue that pointed to the man being
the one behind the robberies and the rustlings.

And the only way to justify a necktie party would be to catch him with
his crooked brand heating over a fire and a hog-tied animal wearing the
Rocking K brand beside him.

Men like Riverton wouldn't soil their hands with working over another's
brand to claim the cattle as his own.  He had the money to hire men to
do the dirty work for him.  And he could always claim that he didn't
know.

Once again, Logan reasoned, who would stand and call him a liar?  His
own mother had defended him by reminding her sons that he didn't need
the money or the cattle.

But appearances were so deceiving.  He had arrived with a large herd of
cattle for his ranch.  How could they prove he'd stolen the cat He from
them, had had men hole up in any one of a hundred blind canyons, change
the brands, smudge them with dirt and run the cattle on his newly
claimed land?

The choice was to catch someone in the act, or get someone to talk who
had actually done the deed.

Logan rose and wiped out his scratchings in the dirt with the toe of
his boot.  After another sweeping gaze over the land; he mounted.

"Horse, you just earned yourself all the shiny red apples you can
eat."

Five hours later Logan rode into Florence with his rifle across the
saddle in front of him.  The town was old, almost eight years in the
making, and might last for another eight.  A huddle of shacks and tents
gave way to the weathered wood buildings.

He'd kept his pace easy, as much to save the horse as himself.  He rode
in the middle of the dirt street, having his choice of three saloons.
He was thankful it was a weeknight and most of the miners would still
be at their diggings.  If this were Friday or Saturday night, he'd have
his work cut out searching out Monte or any of the others.

Neck-reining the horse toward the hitching post, he dismounted in front
of Jager's Muleshoe, the name of the owner, saloon and the rotgut swill
he passed as whiskey.  Taking his rifle with him, he pushed open the
door.

The place wasn't crowded.  His arrival caused a few heads to turn, and
coo!  eyes took his measure.  He returned the looks of the men seated
around the tables, and they quickly returned to their card games. Logan
hid his disappointment that the faces he most wanted to see weren't
numbered among these men.

But there was always the barkeep.  After ordering a whiskey, he sipped
from the none-too-clean glass and engaged the man in small talk.
Information was passed along from the stage-line drivers, miners and
those passing through, and served as the most reliable source.

When Logan finally got around to asking the questions he wanted, he
didn't get the exact answers that he needed.

There had been no sign of Wheeler, or the men that rode with him, for
almost a week.  Logan left without finishing his drink and before the
talk turned to why he was looking for him.

The second place he tried earned him more of the same, until a lone
man, a down-and-out cardsharp by the cut of his fancy duds, stopped
Logan as he headed for the door.

"Game, mister?"

"Ain't got the time," Logan answered.

"Right.  You're lookin' in the wrong place for any man that' got money
burning a hole in his pocket."

"That so?"  Although anxious to leave, Logan hesitated.  He knew if the
man had information, he'd have to wait until he was ready to name his
price or tell it in his own way:

"Nice-lookin' rifle," the gambler commented.  "An' I'm looking for a
man with one just like it."  Logan pulled out a chair and held up two
fingers to the barkeep.  He half listened as the gambler remarked about
the lack of a good game in Florence, then he paid for the drinks that
were served and waited impatiently for the man to say his piece.

"Like I was tellin' you, if a man has money he's gone over to Haskel's
place.  He's got a woman working his back room."

The word stirred Logan into a frown.  Then he smiled.  Billy Jack had a
fondness for women, and he had money to spend.

"Much obliged."  Logan shoved back his chair.  He took a twenty-dollar
gold piece from his shirt pocket.  "For drinks or a stake," he said,
laying the coin on the scarred tabletop.  "The information is worth
that much."

He left the horse tied and walked along the street until he reached the
end and saw Haskel's, which stood alone from the other buildings.

Logan went inside with the hammer cocked on his rifle and his finger on
the trigger.

"Monte been around?"  he asked, approaching the bar.

The barkeep's eye went from the rifle to Logan's face.  "We don't want
no trouble in here."

"Ain't gonna be any if you give me the fight answers If Monte ain't
here, then one of his men is."  "You the law?"

"No."  Watching the man, Logan didn't miss his darting glance toward
the back of the nearly empty saloon.  The woman he had was either a
dried-up old whore or someone had bought her time for the night,

because no one was lined up and waiting.

"Who's back there?"

"Billy Jack.  An' he's in a mean temper."  Logan started walking.

"Hey!  Wait up, mister!  You can't just go barging-"

"Watch me," Logan returned in a cool, deadly voice.

Logan kicked open the door on a dingy room no bigger than a birthing
stall.  Two candles cast flickering light over the rough wood walls. He
ignored the scream from the woman bolting from the bed to cower in the
corner.

Billy Jack, stripped down to his sweat-stained union suit, was on the
bed, his back to the wall, his legs sprawled open.  He blinked, rubbed
his eyes with one hand and lifted the bottle to his lips with his other
hand.

Suddenly he choked and spewed the liquor all over himself and the bed,
shaking his head like a maddened bull.

Logan angled the barrel of the rifle up so that there was no doubt that
his target was Billy Jack's flaccid flesh.

"It would give me the greatest pleasure if you moved, Billy Jack."

"You're a bad dream, s pounds "

"You're gonna wish that's all I am by the time I'm finished with you."
Then Logan said to the cowering woman, "Get your clothes and leave.  My
amigo and I are going to be busy."

"He didn't pay me," she returned in a sullen voice, hitching up the
falling' shoulder strap of her soiled chemise.

"Then take his pants with you and keep whatever's in the pockets."
Logan shot a quick look at the pants hanging off the foot board.  "But
leave the belt," he added.  "That's mine."

"Amigo, have a drink.  We are friends, s pounds This is a way to
share--"

"No sharing, Billy Jack.  I'm still deciding if I want to kill you now
for leaving me to die, or wait until you answer a few questions for
me."

A sly smile lit the outlaw's face.  "If you kill me, you have no
answers."

"But I'll have pleasure, boy, a great deal of it."  Logan heard the
woman scurrying around behind him and watched her carefully, as she
came forward and took the pants from the foot board.  Under his
watchful gaze she stripped the belt off and replaced it over the board.
Logan backed up behind the door as she ran from the room, then slammed
it closed.  To ensure it stayed that way, he grabbed hold of the
straight-backed chair from the far corner and wedged its back' beneath
the door latch..

His smile was chilling as he caught the darting look Billy Jack made at
his holstered gun that lay on the floor near the bed.

"Be my guest and go for it, Billy Jack."

"What ya want?"

"Let's start small.  And to make it easy, all you have to do is nod.
See, amigo, I won't take no as any answer.  Understood?"

"S/.  The rifle--"

"Stays right where it is, just like you're going to while we talk.  We
all know how fond you are of the ladies, Billy Jack.  You move and
you'll disappoint them all."

Billy Jack took a long swallow from the bottle and Logan allowed it. He
knew it was calculated as a gesture of disdain for his threat, and
perhaps a little boost of false courage.

"Now," Logan began when Billy Jack lowered the bottle and hugged it to
his side.  "Who gave the order to leave me to die?"

Billy Jack took his measure.  He'd faced his share of men and knew when
one would kill and when he would not.  Despite the fog induced by
liquor, he stared long and hard at Logan.  Every man would kill when
pushed far enough.  He didn't know how far Logan had been pushed.  He
wasn't paid enough to lose his life, or end up maimed so that he would
wish for death himself.

"It was Zach," he said at last.  "Not an order.  He wanted the rifle.
You would not trade him."

"He left me to die over a rifle," Logan repeated, fixing him with a
hard stare.

"And I wanted your horse," Billy Jack admitted with a shrug.  "You were
bleeding badly, amigo.  We did not think you'd live."

"I had a flesh wound, Billy Jack.  It wasn't life threatening at
all."

"Then it is good you found help."

"Did I say that?  Not that it matters.  I'm here now and I want to know
where Monte is."

"He comes an' he goes."

Logan stroked his left hand along the barrel.  "I'm getting' mighty
tired of holding this.  And a man gets real careless when he's tired. A
hair trigger on such a fine rifle, well..."  He paused, then smiled.
"You get the drift, don't you?"

"Monte goes up to an old line shack he found.  The others, they wait
for him there."

"More," Logan demanded.

"Monte, he is angry.  He don't hear from--" Billy

Jack lifted the bottle and swallowed until it was empty.  For a moment
he held Logan's steely gaze and thought of flinging the bottle at his
head.  He weighed his chances.

Logan didn't move.

Billy Jack grinned and placed the bottle on the floor where the
temptation of his gun waited.  With a curse he flung himself upright on
the bed.  "I'm waiting," Logan prompted.  "It's my life you ask me to
risk."  "It's your life if you don't finish."

"The boss man.  Monte don't hear from him.  He worries there is no more
jobs.  Zach an' Tallyman get angry with him.  He.  sends word for them
to walt."  "And Monte rode off to see the boss man??"

"S pounds This is all I know.  I swear by my mother's--" "Billy Jack,
you could swear up one end of this territory and down the other and I'd
still have to make the choice of whether or not to believe you."

"You have the gun.  I tell you the truth."  To show you I am still your
amigo, I tell you your fine horse, he is out back.  I will come with
you.  I show where the shack is."" He swung his legs off the bed, ready
to stand.

"Hold it."  Logan had to think fast.  He couldn't leave Billy Jack
here, not on the loose.  Tying him up wouldn't give him more than an
hour's start if he was lucky.  He didn't want to kill h:m, and that
meant Logan had to take Billy Jack with him.  With a gun in his back
the breed would be careful not to cross him.  "Put on your boots, but
that's all."  "You make a joke, s pounds "

"Do I look like a man in a joking mood?"  Logan kicked the chair away
from the door.  "Let's go."

"You cannot mean to do this to me.  I will kill you before--"

"I warned you.  You want to live, you march out of here just as you
are."

Billy Jack reached for his boots and stomped into them.  He buttoned up
his fly and, with fury lighting his eyes, proceeded out into the
saloon.

Logan grabbed hold of his precious belt, slung it over his shoulder and
followed him out.

Spying the woman, Logan spoke to her.  "You get enough out of his
pockets?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Good.  Then for the price of whatever his gear in the room will bring,
go out back and get the horse he left there.  Bring it around in front
for me and I'll toss in twenty dollars more."

Logan had no doubt that she would do it.  The offer was more than she
would make in a week.  He prodded Billy Jack outside.

Thinking about Zach looking for him had questions burning on Logan's
tongue.  But he couldn't ask Billy Jack without giving away that he
knew.  Billy Jack might be smart enough to figure out where Logan had
been, and he didn't dare endanger Jessie.  Yet the more he thought
about it, the more he needed to know if Zach had ever gone back to her
place.

As if his thoughts had somehow reached the breed, Billy Jack shot him a
look over his shoulder.  "You do not say where it was you stayed. Zach,
he go looking for you.  But he tells Monte there is no sign.  Me, I
figure the buzzards got you."

"I guess you figured wrong."

"But it puzzles me.  You come here, so far from where we left you.  And
you have another horse.  I ask myself, where does this horse come from?
Where does another fine rifle come from?  A man must have much money to
buy these things."

Logan didn't answer him.  He worked loose the knot in his neckerchief,
then pulled the bandanna free.

"So I think long and hard about this, amigo.  And I remember the
senorita."

The woman came around the corner of the saloon just then, leading
Logan's horse, the one Billy Jack had taken.

"What do you want me to do with him?"

"Just wrap his reins over the post and go inside.  My friend suffers
his embarrassment poorly."  Logan was not about to wait for her to
leave.  "Get down on your knees," he ordered Billy Jack.

"Amigo---"

"Cut the amigo.  I'd rather have the devil call me his friend.  Just do
it and put your hands together over your head."  Logan kicked his knees
apart, making it harder for Billy Jack to attempt to rise.  "Now lean
out and grab hold of that hitching post with your left hand.  Stretch,"
he added when he saw the man hesitate.  "Now bring your right arm down
and behind you."

Moves and timing had to be perfect.  Logan knew he had seconds to tie
Billy Jack's hands behind his back, and he couldn't hold the rifle on
him.  Cradling the rifle so that the barrel rested in the small of
Billy Jack's back, he looped and twisted the neckerchief around one
wrist, then ordered him to bring his left arm back.  He could almost
feel Billy Jack weighing his chances once more, and the tension hummed
through him until he grabbed the breed's left wrist and finished tying
his hands together.

Logan felt the leash he held on his control begin to fray.  The rage
inside him was building and he had to struggle not to let it free.  He
kept thinking about the men who had lost their lives doing their job to
protect the payroll, all because of this man's taunting.  He thought of
the losses to his family.

But it was the moments of stomach-lurching fear that had gripped him
when Billy Jack mentioned a seorita.  It had all come together then for
Logan.  That day Jessie went to Apache Junction to buy him a horse.
Something had happened to her, something she had refused to tell him.

And he knew Billy Jack's fondness for anything in skirts.

"You bastard!"  Logan moved before he even thought about it.  Using the
rifle barrel, he swung low and hard at Billy Jack'S lower back,
doubling him over with a cry of pain.

"Tell me about this senorita.  And while you're talking, start
walking."  Logan saw him through a red haze of rage.  He didn't know
what stopped him from shooting the breed right then and there.  Jerking
him to his feet, he shoved Billy Jack into the street.  "Move."

Billy Jack fell to one knee, and by the time he staggered upright,
Logan was mounted on his own horse and had tied, to the saddle horn,
the reins to the one Jessie had bought him.

Logan had to prod him as he rode back the way he had come.  He ignored
Billy Jack's whining that he was heading the wrong way.  Logan felt as
if he'd been in a fog and it had suddenly cleared.

He blamed the thought of Jessie occupying his mind when he should have
been concentrating on business.

But he'd make it right.  He had to.  If anything happened to Jessie or
those boys because of him, he'd never forgive himself.

Yet it was Jessie in his thoughts as he led the breed out into the
broken and.  Jessie telling him about an abandoned line shack.  It had
to be the same one that Billy Jack claimed the outlaws were waiting in
for Monte.

"You need me!"  Billy Jack cried out.  "I will show you the way."

Logan ignored him and rode on.  It wasn't the punishment he wanted to
give Billy Jack, but something held him back from killing him.  So he
kept riding out into land where the bushes rustled with sounds of the
night predators hunting.

And when the moon rode high, casting its light on the thorny heights of
the cholla cacti, Logan, despite the danger of calling attention to
himself, began firing his gun into the dirt at Billy Jack's feet,
ordering him to run.

"I will die!"

"That's the idea."  Logan emptied the chamber and saw that he was
backing away.

"You cannot leave me without water.  Without a weapon.  At least cut me
free."

"I've got a whole cartridge belt full of bullets here.  I could get
careless with my aim.  The way I figure,

I'm giving you a fighting chance, and that's a hell of a lot more than
you've ever given any man."

"It is the woman, s pounds I did not touch her.  Monte stopp---" He
caught himself, quickly saying, "It was Zach.  He went after her."

Logan's hands shook as he reloaded his gun.  His Jessie.  His sweet,
sassy-mouthed Jessie had been terrorized by this animal.  As he slid
each bullet into the chamber, he thought of where on Billy Jack's body
he would fire it, and he talked.

"I've heard of the men you left staked in the desert for the ants. Ugly
way for a man to die.  But then, you're not a man, are you?  A man
never enjoys hurting things that are smaller than him."  It was with
some wonder that Logan heard his calm voice when rage was erupting
inside.

But when he looked up, Billy Jack was gone.

And Logan rode for the line shack where he would come face-to-face with
Monte and the others.

Two hours after Logan pulled out of Florence, Ty and Conner rode in.
They fought off the bone-deep weariness that came from just failing to
overtake their brother since they had set out to follow him.

They split up, and Ty went to Jager's Muleshoe, where the gambler
excused himself from the card table to approach Ty where he stood at
the bar.

"You've the look of a man who did me a good turn for a few words."

"My brother," Ty answered.  "He's been here, then?"

"Not long ago.  He was looking for a man, and I directed him to
Haskel's at the end of town.  He's got a woman them.  That interested
your brother."

Ty added the price of another drink to the coins on the bar.  "Obliged.
Have one on me."  He went to find Conner.

"There's only one saloon left," Conner said as Ty approached him coming
out of the second saloon.

"And that's where Logan is.  Man said he was interested in hearing that
Haskel has a woman them.  I know my brother, it wasn't the woman he was
interested in, but maybe one of Monte's men might be there."

"You can't go barging in and give him away if he's with them," Conner
warned.

"Then what do you suggest?  We stand here till sunup?"

"Give me a minute, Ty.  I don't want to do anything that will get Logan
killed."

"I thought that was why we came after him in the first place."  Ty
thumbed back his hat.  "For all we know he could be dead already."

"No.  We'd know if there'd been a killing here.  It's all they'd be
talking about.  One of us has to go inside.  One of us has the
reputation to go inside Haskel's place and ask questions."

"The one of us being me.  What the hell are we standing here jawing
about, then?  Let's go."

;"Ty'

He glanced at his older brother and slipped the thong on his holster.
Settling the belt a little lower, Ty then canted his hat brim forward.
"This is one time I'm gonna enjoy this unwanted reputation."

Conner followed him, and despite his worry about Logan, he noticed the
change in Ty's walk, the way his brother carried himself.  When Ty
paused before the bat-wing doors and Conner saw his face in the
spilling light from the saloon, he had the strangest feeling that he
didn't know him at all.  What Conner did know was that he didn't want
to be the man who crossed Ty's path right now.

It frustrated him all to hell to be the one who waited outside.  Waited
with his gun drawn, ready to roll through the door firing if need be.

But the minutes ticked by, and there was no alarm, no shots.  Conner
could feel his muscles tensing with every passing moment.  What the
devil was Ty doing?  But more importantly, was Logan inside?

When his nerves were stretched to breaking, Conner fought the
temptation to walk.  inside It was a good thing, too, as Ty walked out,
grabbed his arm and hustled back down the street.

"He was there, all right.  We missed him.  But he left with a mixed
breed named Billy Jack, According to the woman, they headed west out of
town."  "West?  Why would Logan--"

"I don't know, Conner.  That's all she knew.  That and the fact that he
made the breed walk.  Seems he recovered his own horse from the man,
tied his hands behind his back, left him in his boots and union suit
and took him out of town."

Conner shoved his hat back and slumped against the wall of the
building.  "There's nothing out there."

"He's alive.  Logan's rio body feel.  He wouldn't ride out blindly.  My
guess is that he knows where he's going.  Taking this Billy Jack with
him was just insurance."

"That leaves us to sit here and wait and give him time to get set up.
Then we'll ride up to the Silver Belt.  I've got my own kind of
welcoming party in mind for the next robbery."

"You sit and wait here.  Me, I'm gonna keep a promise.  We're not that
far from Apache Junction.  I can ride up and back in a day.  I've got
to at least try to find Greg's sister.  I've never broken my word to a
friend before."

"I won't wait here, Ty.  Com'on, we'll make camp and ride out first
light.  I wouldn't be any good waiting."

"None of us are," Ty said, walking alongside his brother to their
horses.

Mounted, they rode north, silent but having parallel thoughts each
refused to voice so as not to add to the worry of the other.

Where was Logan?

Chapter Eighteen

Jessie, plagued with a restlessness that did not abate but only
increased as the moon disappeared behind a bank of clouds, slipped
outside where her pacing would not disturb the sleeping boys.

She wrapped her shawl around her and huddled on the bench with her bare
feet tucked beneath the hem of her nightgown.

All day her thoughts had been fixed on Logan, which was not unusual,
but there was an added edge of tension that refused to leave her.  She
longed to have someone that she could talk to about her feelings for
him.  She had believed the desire to see him, hear him, touch and kiss
him again would lessen as the days passed.  She needed to believe it.

But tonight she had come to terms with her feelings.  Logan had asked
for her trust.  Jessie had given that to him and more.  Logan wasn't
going to leave her thoughts and give her any peace.  He had made a
place for himself in her heart.

Every argument that she marshaled against him, all the suspicions she
harbored, paled against the blazing intensity of her need to be with
him.

There was an old proverb that kept running through her thoughts: what
is woven by reason is by passion undone.

But she knew, despite every effort she made to deny it, that there was
more than passion involved.

Yet she feared to name it.

To give name to what she fel would allow the more sensible side of
herself to ridicule the idea that she could have these strong feelings
for a man she barely knew.

She denied that part.  She knew Logan.  She knew what he made her
feel--pretty and strong and young, so very foolishly young.

She remembered his whisper in the dark that night that he had shown her
the woman she could be.  How many times had he asked to feel her smile
against his lips?  Teasing her when she understood it was a game and
played coy.  Telling her he loved her smile, while she yearned to hear
him murmur that he loved her.

There, she had silently said the word.  Love.  It was totally
impossible.  You couldn't love someone so suddenly, so deeply.

But a picture came to mind of herself reading a letter from her brother
when Greg had written that he had met the woman who would be his wife,
the only one he would ever love.  Two weeks later Greg and Livia had
been married.  Jessie recalled her hastily written advice begging her
brother to wait, to be sure.

And she didn't know any two people who were more in love with each
other than those two.

So much for her practical nature and beliefs.

As memory stirred, an older one came to mind, that of her parents. They
had met at a church social, and following an intense courtship that set
tongues wagging, they, too, had married within weeks of meeting.

Where had her dreams of finding such a love gone?

Buried beneath the lost youth, and the folly of marrying in haste to
the wrong matt

Giving herself a mental shake to rid herself of the nagging little
voice, Jessie rose and paced the hard-packed earth in front of her
cabin.  So, what good did it do to name what she felt for Logan?  She
had no way of finding him.  And even if she did, he might not return
her feelings.

Adorabelle snorted and Jessie stopped her pacing, turned, then lifted
her head.  The moon, with a pearl-like luminance, broke from behind the
dark bank of clouds and revealed the mare poking her head over the pole
fence of the corral.  Her whinny had a strange effect on Jessie.  She
thought it sounded lonely, as lonely as she felt.

Jessie dismissed the tiny ripple of fear that streaked down her back.
It was only some animal, and not a dangerous one or Adorabelle wouldn't
be repeating a sound as if she were calling whatever was out there.

But Jessie couldn't remember her mare ever doing this.  And you've
never been out in the middle of the night, either.

When the noise was returned, Jessie stood stock-still.  Her heartbeat
was suddenly faster, and a small heat raced through her body.  She was
afraid to turn around, afraid that her need would make her see what
wasn't there, what couldn't possibly be there.

From the darkness came his whisper.  "Jessie?"  And she didn't dare
deny her heart's desire.  She turned and ran toward the rider coming
down the slope, heedless of the stones beneath her bare feet, heedless
of any danger as she rushed, the way her blood rushed through her, to
the lover the night had returned to her.

Seeing him draped in light and shadow, Jessie stopped her headlong
flight.  The doubts fled the moment she beheld him and heard her name
whispered from his lips.  She knew if he came to her a hundred times
out of the darkness she would welcome him, for she felt alive again.
Like a wild, raging current, emotions swept over her, then she was
moving toward him.

Logan caught her up in his powerful arms, his lips finding hers in a
hungry kiss as he settled her across his thighs.  The added weight sent
the horse into a sidestepping dance, but a hard press of his knees
stilled the animal.

One hand caught in the loose single braid of her hair to hold her head,
the other cradled the small of her back as he lost himself in a kiss
that was more than her lips parting and hungering against his mouth.
It was all of her, coming up tight against him, generous with her total
response, until he felt enveloped with the sweet, heated press of
Jessie's body.

It wasn't enough.  This would never be enough.  Jessie's fingers clung
to his leather-clad shoulders, knowing the ache of her own buried
hunger.  His teeth and tongue played over her mouth, making her cry
out, utterly defenseless against the need he called from her.

Hammer blows of desire thudded inside him.  The tiny hungry sounds she
made snapped whatever control he had left.  His mouth took all she
offered with an almost savage intensity.  With a muffled groan, he felt
the force of his kiss bend her back over his arm, and she held him
tight, the supple molding of her body to his sending fire licking his
insides.

She trembled against him like a leaf caught in a windstorm.  Her kiss
more than matched the passion unleashed in his.  Jessie felt as if she
were drowning in a swirl of fevered darkness and Logan was the only one
who could save her.

With a vicious curse, Logan tore his lips from hers as the restive
moves of the horse threatened to topple them to the ground.

He drew her up against his chest, burying his face against the soft
warmth of her neck.  "Jess, I swear, I feel like I found a part of me
that's been missing."

Jessie was too overcome to speak.  She wrapped her arms around him, her
fingers tunneling through his thick, silky hair, He'd lost his hat in
the first few moments, and if she had ever thought to keep claim on her
heart, Jessie realized she had lost that, as well.

"I need to set you down," he murmured, trailing kisses along the curve
of her neck until he found the softer prey of her earlobe.  He smiled,
recalling how sensitive Jessie was, and teased her with his lips and
teeth and tongue while he teased himself as well, for as the fever
spread inside her, it ensnared him.

"Jess," he whispered.  "Jess, this is crazy.  I shouldn't have come
here now."

"I thought I was dreaming re

"I was going crazy missing you.  Crazy with thinking that you wouldn't
want me to come back, that you couldn't forgive me for leaving you the
way I did."  He lifted his head.  He touched her cheeks with his
fingertips.  "Mostly I couldn't believe that you might feel what I do
for you."

His look was challenging.  His voice held a low-pitched timbre of
sensuality that stroked her.  "Yes."  Her lips curved into an uncertain
smile while she bat tied the tears that burned her eyes.  "Yes, all
that and more."

Logan gathered her close, feeling a peace the like of which he had
never known steal through him.

"I dreamed of you," Jessie confessed in a soft voice.  "I prayed that
you would come back to me."

"Is that what you're doing out here in the middle of the night?"

She jerked back from him, and the horse, having had enough, started to
rear.  Logan quickly controlled the animal and, with a short laugh, set
Jessie down on the ground, then dismounted.

The moonlight caught on the silver buckle of his belt and Jessie stared
at it for a moment, then backed away.  She had seen that buckle or one
just like it on 'the man called Billy Jack in Silas's store.

But she didn't question him about the buckle.  "The horse tied to the
saddle, that's the one I bought for you, isn't it?"

"Yeah.  A fine horse, Jessie.  I wouldn't mind having stock like--"

"And this other one?"  she asked, gesturing to the horse he had ridden.
"It's yours, isn't it?  This is the one that was stolen from you?"

There was an edge to her voice that hadn't been there before, and he
had noted the distance she put between them.  Alert to the direction of
her questions, Logan tensed.

"The horse is mine, Jessie.  I raised him from birth.  I don't part
easily with anything that I claim as mine, unless I want to give it
away."  He dropped the reins he held, ground tying the horse.

From the corral came Adorabelle's whinny.  Logan slapped his horse's
rump.  "Go on, boy.  Pay the little lady some attention."

"She's too old--"

"He's a gelding, Jess.  And I don't know of any animal that won't seek
its own kind."

"Perhaps when the urge to mate comes, then the male usually takes
off."

"Is that why you think I've come back here?"

"No.  I didn't mean--" She broke off, pulling her shawl tight around
her.

"Jess, I swear it must be a trick of the moonlight,

but you're blushing."

"I don't blush."

"Coloring up as pink as a desert flower--"

"Stay right where you are, Logan.  I won't let you distract me.  I
refuse to allow it.  If you got your horse back, then you found the men
who left you to die."

"One of them."  His hands curled at his sides.  He took a deep breath,
then released it.  "Don't be afraid of me, Jessie.  I couldn't stand
the thought that you are.  I would never hurt you.  And I didn't kill
him.  I

sure as hell wanted--"

"I didn't ask."

A cynical smile curved his lips.  "It's about the only thing that you
didn't ask me."

"That's not true.  I haven't asked you where you've been."  Or- a
hundred other questions that have plagued me.  DM you miss me?  DM you
get hurt facing him?  Are you staying?  That one she wanted to ask,
wanted an answer to.

"Jess?"  He took a step toward her, and when she stood her ground,
almost as if she challenged him to come to her, Logan wasted no time in
coming to stand before her.  But he didn't touch her.  He didn't trust
himself not to brush her very real concerns aside by sweeping her up
into his arms and kissing her senseless, back into the heated welcome
he had received.

"I want you to know that you can ask me anything you want."

She studied his chiseled features, imagining that she could see how
tired he was.  The lock of hair that fell over his forehead tempted her
hand.  Jessie resisted the urge and the need to touch him.

"Anything?"

"Whatever it is that's keeping you away from me."  "Who are you,
Logan?"

There was truth, and then there was truth.  "I'm the man who came back
looking for the other half of himself.  The other half that matters,
the one who's full of hope and love and a smile that turns my middle to
something close to jelly."

"Logan--"

"No.  You asked, and I'm answering.  I'm the man who still needs to ask
for your trust a while longer.  Then, and only then, will I finish
answering your question."

"I see," she murmured, looking off to the side.  "I have a feeling
there was something missing.  A few words about when I come back--"

"Jess--"

"No.  I do see."

"Do you, Jess?  Do you really understand?"

The earnest plea in his voice invited her to look at him again.  There
was something different about him, more than the clothing that, while
not new, wasn't the same as he had worn.

"You may have a little mule in you, Logan.  I'm not running, am I?"

It had been so much to hope for that her answer sank in very slowly.
But when it did, a deep smile of sheer masculine satisfaction creased
his lips.

"Oh, Jess.  My sweet, sassy Jessie.  You may wish you had run while you
still had the chance."

Jessie gave him back a smile that was every bit as satisfied, and
danced away from him.  "I've regretted a few things in my life, Logan,
but not one moment that I've spent with you."

He went after her with laughter, and caught her close, stealing the joy
of her smile with his lips.

From inside the cabin Many, who no matter how hard he strained to see
above the sill couldn't, demanded an accounting from Kenny, who easily
reached it.

"What's he doing?  Com'on, Kenny, tell me.  Tell me."

"Keep your voice down.  Do ya want them to hear?  They're kissin'.
What else?"  Twisting away from the window, Kenny pulled Marty into the
'other room, where their whispers wouldn't be overheard.  "I swear, he
comes ridin' in this late an' I figured for sure we'd see some real
excitement, an' all he can do is kiss her."

"Maybe he brought us a present, Kenny, Do ya think so?"

"I don't know 'bout us.  But Miz Jessie's sure actin' like he brung her
one, Bet they wouldn't be smoochin' so much if they knew what we
did."

"I told you we shoulda told Miz Jessie.  She won't like finding out
those men are up there.  We shoulda told, Kenny.  We shoulda--"

"Tell you what.  Let's get dressed.  We'll fix up the beddin' jus' like
we were still sleepin' an' go up there.

If they're still in the shack, we'll run down an' get

Logan.  He'll know what to do."

"We'll get caught."

"You can stay."  Kenny stripped off the nightshirt that Jessie insisted
he wear like a proper young man and grabbed up his clothes.

"Baby," he taunted Marty.

"Ain't."

"Are too."  Kenny shoved his shin into his pants.  Marty scrambled to
pull off his nightshirt and get dressed.  "Wait for me.  Miz Jessie's
sure to tan me if she finds you gone."

"Corn'on, slowpoke."  Kenny went to the window again and saw that Logan
had taken the saddles from his horses and turned the animals into the
corral.  He didn't see them at first, but a closer look showed them
standing together just inside the shed.

"Hurry up.  We can get out the door without them seein' us."

"You sure about this, Kenny?  Miz Jessie--"

"If you're scared, stay here.  Be lookin' like a fool if fen I tell
them to go up there an' there ain't no one around."  But for all his
brave talk, Kenny climbed up on the chair and took down his father's
shotgun and the box of shells that Jessie had put there for safe
keeping.

Marty, not to be outdone, shoved his slingshot into his back pocket and
checked the front pants pocket for his collection of small round stones
that he was never without.

Kenny opened the door just wide enough for them to slip out.  He took
hold of Marty's hand, leading him away from the shed and into the brush
that would bring them out well beyond the cabin and the hen house.  He
didn't want the old rooster squawking.  The bright moonlight made
finding their way easier, and while Kenny wouldn't admit it to Marty,
also made him feel braver.

And bravery was the very subject that Logan managed to work into the
talk he was attempting to have with Jessie.  The woman made it
difficult, what with her lips getting in the way for the most
pleasurable kisses.

"That day you went to the Junction.  Why didn't you tell me what
happened in the store?  I know Billy Jack was there.  I know that Zach
and Monte were there, too.  Jess, if I'd known, I would never have
left

"Let me tell you what I dreamed about you from the night you left," she
whispered, snuggled against his side on his blanket while he rested his
back against a bale of hay.  To make sure she had his attention, she
drew his head down to meet her waiting lips, His kiss was sweet, but
far too short for her.

"My brave lady," he murmured, lifting his head to finish, despite her
offered temptations.  "For what he did to you I would have killed him,
if I'd known.  Why didn't you tell me, Jessie?  You had to have some
idea that I was connected with them."

Jessie closed her eyes and sighed.  She had done her best to avoid
this, but Logan wouldn't let it be.

"I wasn't brave.  I was scared.  But all they did was frighten me." For
a moment she saw again the image of herself cringing beneath Billy
Jack's touch, and she couldn't stop the shudder that ripped through
her.  "No, don't, I'm all fight," she protested when he held her
tighter.  "And I couldn't tell you.  I was ... I wanted, no, I needed
to forget it."

"The whiskey--"

"False courage, I discovered, and it made me sick."  "Damn it, Jess.
You shouldn't have gone through that.  I just don't understand why no
one stopped them."

"Silas?  He wouldn't.  They were spending money and I'm not a very good
customer.  His Indian woman was paid to ... well, I can't judge
another.  And David-"

"David?  That guy that's been courting you?  He was there?  He--"

Jessie covered his mouth with her hand, silently cursing herself for
letting that slip.  She rose to her knees and leaned over him.  "I want
you to listen to me.  I am my own woman.  I didn't ask for David's help
that day because I knew those men would hurt him.  It's over, Logan.  I
don't want to talk about it."

Logan settled his hands on her hips, slid down until he was supine and
urged Jessie to stretch out on top of him.  "Comfy?"

"Actually--"

"You're delighted to be in charge," he said with underlying laughter
that lulled her.  "I want to ask one more question, Jess.  Just one
more, all fight?"

"Only one?"  She hard the strain in her voice, and knew he had, too,
for his hands stroked over her back as if to calm and reassure at the
same time.

"I want to know the reason why you didn't tell me.  And don't tell me
it was to protect me, Jess.  I already know that part."

Jessie lowered her head to his chest and listened to the strong, steady
beat of his heart.  She wished he hadn't asked her, wished she could
stay like this forever, safe and warm in his arms with no thoughts of
his leaving her again circling through her mind.  Silently she blessed
him for his patience and for the touch of his hands gently telling her
how much he cared.

The moments stretched into minutes, and with them grew a fear in Logan
that more, so much more, had happened to her that he was hurting her by
asking that she tell him.  "Jess--" "Logan--"

The apologies were quick, but Logan told her to speak first.  He needed
to know if he had to go back and hunt down Billy Jack, and this time
he'd make sure that animal never hurt anyone again.

"I don't know if I can explain this to you," she began.  "But I felt
helpless that day.  Helpless to stop them.  Helpless to punish them.
And I felt so dirty.  Dirty and aa shamed she finished, sniffing as
tears gathered.

But she was very aware of the tension gathering in his body and knew,
even without a word from him, what he was going to-do.

"I told you the truth.  Now I want a promise from you.  1-2-'"

This time Logan slipped his hand gently over her mouth.  "Don't ask
that of me.  You're mine.  You know that, Jess, I don't want you to
ever fear anyone.

And you need to understand that you're not alone any more."

He removed his hand and stroked her cheek, gritting his teeth when he
felt her tears.  "Come up here, sweet lady.  I need' to kiss you."

"It doesn't matter to you, does it?"

"Jess, how can you ask me that?  You matter to me more than anything.
Well, those two boys can't be forgotten."  He liked the way she wiggled
her way upward until her mouth hovered over his.  Logan liked it so
much he was fair to bursting his britches.

"I want very much to make love with you," she whispered, glad of the
dark that allowed her to be bold.

"The boys?"

"Are soundly asleep after the day we spent--"

"Later, Jess."  He rubbed his mouth against hers.  "Later you can tell
me all about them."

Jessie dipped her head and kissed the corners of his mouth.  "Will you
promise you won't leave without waking me?"

Logan cupped the back of her head as hunger would no longer be denied.
"Don't ask that, Jess.  Don't ever ask me to say goodbye to you."

And he took her mouth with a kiss that slowly deepened, stroking her
tongue with his until she was trembling.  He couldn't taste enough,
couldn't touch enough of this woman who had come into his life and left
her mark on his mind and his heart.  His lips slanted across her face,
wooing and greedy.  Jessie made those hungry little sounds that he
loved to hear, running her hands over his chest and arms, whispering
encouragement when he arched his body upward for more.

And his pleasure increased when she overcame her shyness to murmur what
she wanted, then grew bolder still when he demanded that she show
him.

There was laughter as he blocked what tomorrow would bring from his
mind, and cherished these loving moments with the woman he wanted
beside him forever.

Wildness and fire came together until they were one in flesh, body and
mind and the shimmering pleasure that awaited them once again.

He hated leaving her, hated it and knew he had no choice.  When he
eased himself from her sleeping form, Logan wished he could carry her
inside the cabin, but fear of waking the boys stopped him.  He left her
wrapped in his blanket with the silent promise in his mind that he
would come back for her.

Chapter Nineteen

Jessie drifted awake slowly, then bolted upright.  She knew she was
alone.  For a moment she sat there, clutching the blanket that was
filled with the scent of their lovemaking, her loose hair falling
around her.

She kept the promise she had made to herself that there would be no
regrets this morning.  She pushed her hair back.  From the open shed
she could see the lighter shades of gray in the sky.  Her shawl lay
across the blanket, and she took hold of it as she stood.  Wrapping the
shawl around her against the slight morning chill, she went to the
doorway to watch the dawn chase the last vestige of night, wondering
where Logan was, and if he, too, watched the coming day.

The light brightened in seconds, and long shafts of color began to
appear, a yellow glow lifting the shadows from the land.  Lavender
streaks suddenly blended with the yellow, then pink and pale orange
showed for a few moments.  Abruptly, it was sunrise.

Knowing that the boys might also be waking up, she took a few minutes
to finger comb her hair and plait it into a single braid.  Bits of
straw fell as she worked, and each one was a reminder of the night
past.

She refused to cry, just as she refused to linger a moment longer.

She hurried across the yard to the cabin and eased open the door.  The
room was filled with a soft, shadowed light, but she breathed a sigh of
relief when she saw that the boys were still asleep.  Tiptoeing to her
bed, she gathered up her clothes and slipped behind the blanket strong
on a rope in the corner to afford her some privacy.

The water was barely warm even though it had sat in the pitcher all
night.  Jessie hurriedly washed, feeling a strange sense of urgency
that she could not explain or find the source off Donning her chemise,
she fumbled tying the ribbons closed.  Impatience with herself only
made matters worse as she knotted the drawstring on her petticoat.  By
the time she had slipped on her skirt and shirt and buttoned the last
button, she was in a sweat.  Picking up her boots, Jessie pushed aside
the blanket.  Sitting on her bed, she pulled on her boots.  The light
was brighter now inside the cabin.  Bright enough for her to stare at
the still forms on the floor.  Marty always kicked off his quilt during
the night.  She hadn't woken up one morning since they'd been staying
with her and not found him huddled into a tight little ball,

Not only did he appear covered with his quilt, but it had been pulled
up over his head.

Could he have woken up and heard her with Logan?  Jessie felt heat rise
in her cheeks.  She closed her eyes for a few seconds, praying that had
not happened.  And if it had... Her inexperience in dealing with young
boys and their incessant questions rushed over her.  But she had never
been one to shirk her obligations.  Although she never thought of Marty
and Kenny as such.  They had given her so much these past days.  And
she believed that she had given them something they needed in return.
Love and someone to count on being there no matter what happened.

"All right, sleepyheads," she called out softly, thinking to tease them
awake, "time to rise."  Jessie stood and crossed over to Kenny.

Leaning over, she eased the edge of the quilt down.  A rolled-up pillow
met her disbelieving eyes.  She flung the quilt aside and saw his
clothing bunched on the bottom quilt.

"And where Kenny goes..."  She knew Marty wasn't there, but, pulling
the quilt away from his place and clutching it to her chest, all Jessie
could do was stare.

It took minutes of arguing with herself that there was no reason to
panic for panic to take hold and override every reason she thought of
to explain their disappearance.

She had promised they would go up to the wagons today with Adorabelle
and bring back whatever they could load on the horse and carry.  It was
something that Kenny had suggested, and she had agreed to, thinking
they would enjoy having things from their homes around them.

Kenny wouldn't have gone without her.  He had made her a promise that
he wouldn't go off without telling her.

But what had made them leave?  And when?  Guilt hit her so forcefully
that she staggered back until the edge of the table stopped her.

Had they awakened and needed her?  Had Marty had one of his bad dreams
again?  She would have heard him cry out.

Would you?  Lost as you were in your lover's arms, would you have heard
anything but the murmur of his voice?

"I would have.  I swear I would have," she insisted.  Jessie threw the
quilt down and grabbed her hat and shotgun.  She ran from the cabin to
the corral.

The sight 9f the brown horse she had bought for Logan stopped her for a
moment.  But even as she ran for the saddle and bridle he'd left
hanging on the pole fence, she knew it was a blessing.  Adorabelle was
not the horse she needed now.

She talked as she worked the bit between his teeth, desperate to keep
the panic at bay.  "Blessing is going to be your name.  That's what you
are.  And if you're half as good as Logan thinks, you'll help me bring
my boys home."

The animal's quiet steadiness enabled Jessie to work quickly.  Logan's
saddle was heavier than her own, and she saw that he'd left his rifle
behind.  She wouldn't allow the question to rise of where he'd gotten
such a finely made rifle.  Engraved silver plates were worked into the
gleaming wood of the stock.

The sound of men's voices arrested Jessie.  She froze with her hand
touching the rifle.  The horse stood between her and the fence and she
slipped the rifle from the scabbard, crouching down as the sound of a
hoof striking stone joined their voices.

"I'm telling you, they've got to be one and the same.  I can't believe
he listened to me go on and never said a word."

"Maybe," Conner returned, "he didn't want us to know."  Topping the
slope, he drew rein and cast a searching gaze over the yard, noting the
open door of the cabin and the meanness of the place.  "Not exactly a
thriving concern, is it?"

"Remember what I told you.  Greg--"

"Just hold up fight where you are."  Jessie stepped out and away from
behind the horse, aiming the rifle at them.  "State your business.  And
make it fast.  I'm in a hurry."

Jessie prayed the stomach-churning fear wouldn't betray her.  She made
quick judgments of both the men and their horses.  The sleek hides,
despite a coating of dust, told her these horses weren't range fed but
had been grained recently and regularly.  The riders were covered with
the same dust, indicating a long, hard ride.  Dark stubble on their
faces lent a dangerous air to both men.  She tried to avoid the gaze of
the younger one, who was studying her with the same intensity.

"Talk," she prompted.  What would she do if they were after Logan?
Without her being aware, her hand slid over the hammer and cocked the
rifle.

"Hold on.  Don't this beat all," Ty said, thumbing back his hat.  This
woman wasn't the mousey Jessie that he remembered.  That one wouldn't
know which end of a rifle to aim at a man.  But he couldn't deny that
she had not only the same lush figure of Greg's sister but, from what
he could see of the braid hanging over her shoulder, the same color
hair.  The pieces all fit.  They had to fit, or he'd come on a
wild-goose chase and taken Conner with him.

Ty held his arms out and away from his body.  "You don't remember
me?"

"Should I" Jessie frowned.  There was something about that cocky grin
that nagged the back of her mind.

"Ty Kincaid," he prompted with a small edge of annoyance in his voice.
"I met you up on your brother's place.  You are Jessie, aren't you?
Greg's sister," he added when she still showed no sign of recognizing
him.  "I'm the one Livia tried to match--"

"Ty?"  Jessie shook her head.  "What are you doing here?  Did something
happen to my brother?"  She started to shake, and fought to control
it.

"Greg and his family were fine when I left them."  Jessie's gaze went
from Ty to the other man, His very stillness and waiting air alarmed
her.  If Ty hadn't come because of her brother, then her suspicions
were right.  They had come after Logan.

"I've no time to visit.  Make yourself and your quiet friend here at
home.  I've got to find my boys."

"Boys?"  Ty spurred his horse to cover the short distance to the
corral, where he quickly dismounted.  "What are you talking about?
Greg never said anything about you having any children."

"My brother hasn't bothered to keep in touch with me since I
married."

"You can't put all the blame on him," Ty said in defense of his friend.
"Greg worries about you.  I know he didn't care much for the man you
married and I'm sorry to say it to you.  But what really bothered him
was you're living so far away.  Greg'll come around."  Ty's thoughts
raced.  If this was the woman Logan had been with, she had lied to his
brother.  He grew uncomfortable with the thought that Logan didn't care
that she was another man's wife.

"Greg doesn't need to worry anymore.  Harry's dead.  And the boys
aren't exactly mine.  Please, Ty, it's a long and complicated story.
When I woke up the boys were gone, and I've got to find them."

Jessie's matter of fact tone stopped Ty from murmuring words of sorrow
for Harry's death.  He hid his relief that she was a widow and not a
liar.  He hopped the fence and went to her.  "Jessie, take it from me,
boys love to get up early and take off, especially if there are chores
waiting."  Seeing that she was shaken, despite his attempt to reassure
her, Ty proceeded to finish saddling the horse.

Jessie slipped the rifle back into the scabbard, trying to sort through
her worry about Logan and her need to make Ty understand about the
boys,

Neither of them noticed that Conner had dismounted and stood holding
the reins to his horse and

Ty's outside the fence, until he spoke.

"Ty?  Did you notice the rifle?"

Jessie looked up.  She was instantly leery, her fear rising for Logan
and what these men wanted with him.  She stepped around the horse to
block this stranger's view, sorry she had been so quick to set the
rifle aside.  "What about my rifle, mister?"

Eyeing the challenge flaring in her brown eyes, Conner answered her in
a soft, controlled voice.  "I'm Ty's older brother, Conner.  That rifle
you claim as yours belongs--"

"No!"  Jessie didn't want to hear that Logan had stolen it.  She
turned, yanked the rifle free and tossed it over the fence at Conner.
Her nerves were strung so tight she couldn't seem to think straight.

"You've got the rifle," she said to him, then rounded on Ty.  "I don't
know what's got you chuckling, but I've no time for this."  She hated
stepping closer to the fence where Conner stood, but she intended to
untie the reins to her horse and leave.

"Jessie, you don't understand," Ty said.  A glance at Conner's furious
expression should have stopped him from grinning.  But it was so rare
that Conner appeared buffaloed, Ty couldn't help himself.

Conner, hanging on to his temper by a hair, ignored Ty's grin.  He
tried once more to explain.  "You took my asking about the rifle the
wrong way, Jessie.  It is all right if I call you that?"

"Fine.  Just hurry up."

"I gave that rifle to my brother.  And it's not something that he would
give away."  Despite his effort, the last was spoken in an angry voice.
He'd been riding all night, worrying about Logan, his mother's
involvement with Riverton and a hundred other smaller problems.  Now he
had to put up with a woman who simply glared at him as if he had lied
to her.

"Now, Conner--"

"If you know what's good for you, little brother, you'll shut up."

"You're telling me," Jessie asked Conner, "that this rifle belonged to
your brother?"

"That's what I said."  The hair holding his temper frayed.  She had to
make up her mind quickly or she was going to witness what few people
ever saw then talked about--Conner Kincaid losing his temper.

Jessie turned to study Ty, the suspicion forming, but she was afraid to
voice it.  If it was true... "Ty, who is your brother?"

His grin disappeared.  With serious regard he answered her.  "My
brother is the man two boys found and brought to a widow."

"His name?"  Jessie's voice was a bare thread of Sound.  She could
hardly swallow past the sudden dryness in her mouth and throat.  "Tell
me."

"His name's Logan."  Conner answered before Ty did.  He watched her
carefully, judging her reaction as she grabbed hold of the fence and
stared at him.

"It's obvious he was here, and just as obvious that he's gone," Conner
added.  When she looked up at him, his whole manner changed.  She had
taken the news hard.

"I thought he was an outlaw," Jessie said, more to herself.

"He's... Like your story about the boys, this, too, is long and
complicated.  Do you know where he went?"

"No.  Conner, he's--" Confused, Jessie rubbed her forehead.  "I don't
know when he left, Sometime during the night," she said after a few
seconds.  "Please, I've got to find the boys.  They never do this.
Kenny would not break his promise to me."

"You're real sure Logan didn't say anything about where he was
heading?"

"I said as much, didn't IT' Jessie heard the shrill note in her voice.
"Give me a moment, please.  I know he had found one of the men that
left him for dead.  He didn't kill him," she added quickly before
Conner could interrupt.  "But he did take back his horse.  The one that
was stolen from him."  Jessie shot Ty a helpless look.  "He went after
the others, didn't he?  And he could be in trouble?"

"We don't know, Jessie.  Conner has an idea that the reason they left
Logan to die was because they found out who he was."  Seeing the
confusion fill her eyes, he added, "It's just like Conner told you.
Long and very complicated.  I had promised Greg I would look in on you
and see how you were doing.  Despite your differences, he does care
about you.  We're scheduled to meet Logan in a few days.  When he came
home--"

"Home."?"  Jessie looked from Ty to Conner.  "You're right.  This is
too much for me to take in now.  I've got to find the boys.  I have an
idea where they are, so you are both welcome to stay here and wait."

Adorabelle came trotting up to Jessie when she saw the gate open.  "No,
gift.  You stay here."  She gently pushed the marc's nose and led the
brown horse through.  Ty was right behind her.

Jessie mounted and Ty held a quick, whispered conversation with Conner,
then announced to her that they would go with her.

"Just in case the boys aren't where you expect, Jessie, Conner is an
excellent tracker."

Jessie rode out and the Kincald brothers followed.

A blue-gray finger of Smoke finally led Logan to the line' shack.  He
remained hidden behind the bare up-thrust of rock about a hundred yards
away.  There were only three horses in the newly erected corral.  One
of the men was missing, and he figured Monte as the likely choice.

The smell of frying bacon sent his stomach growling and he thought of
the jerky and water that he'd eaten a few hours ago.

While he'd been searching for this place he'd thought of Jessie, and of
the plans he'd made with Conner.

Logan didn't want to walt to catch this gang in the midst of robbing
another shipment and payroll from their mine.  He wanted justice now.
But he knew his kind of justice had to walt until all the suspicions
and facts were confirmed and he had the name of the man behind the
robberies.  Conner wouldn't have it any other way.

Three to one weren't the best odds a man wanted, but they weren't
impossible ones.

Tallyman appeared in the doorway, scratching his belly.  His suspenders
were looped on either side of his hips, his union-suit sleeves had been
ripped off and he wore blue army-issue pants with the yellow stripes.
Logan cupped his hand over his horse's muzzle.  Tal-lyman looked
around, stretched and yawned, then disappeared around the co ruer of
the cabin.

The opportunity to lessen his odds was too good to pass up.  Logan
moved out, keeping to whatever brush and rock cover he could find to
circle around the back of the line shack.

The shouts and yells were so unexpected that at first Logan made no
sense of what he was bearing.  The impossibility of Kenny yelling for
Marty to run was cut off by a roar of fury coming from Tallyman.

A shotgun blast split the air.  Logan felt his blood freeze.  No longer
keeping to cover, he came around the back of the line shack at a dead
run, half dreading what he'd find.

The scene before him was a nightmare come to life.  Kenny took a blow
from Tallyman's fist and sprawled in the dirt.  Held in Tallyman's
other hand by the back of his shirt, Marty Swung wildly as another roar
erupted.  Kenny rolled and made a grab for his shotgun, but Logan, who
hadn't realized that he'd drawn his gun, couldn't shoot for fear of
hitting either of the boys.

He shouted for Kenny to get out of the way.  Logan went after Tallyman,
who spun around and dropped Marty to the ground.  The man outweighed
Logan by a good fifty pounds, but he didn't have rage boiling inside
him.  And Logan knew he'd have to take him fast before the other two
showed up.

Frustrated at not finding the boys at their former camp, Jessie had led
the way to the hidden valley where she kept her cattle, growing
frightened when Conner had confirmed what she knew.  There was no
recent sign that Kenny and Marty had come this way.

It was Ty who halted them as the faint echo of a shot filled the air.
Ty who shared a worded glance with Conner, then attempted to reassure
her.

"It's likely those boys went hunting."

Jessie didn't answer him.  She relied on her own instincts.  They
weren't telling her to be calm, they were screaming at her to find
those boys.

And then she remembered Logan questioning her and her telling him about
the abandoned line shack.  Had the boys discovered it, too?

"Ty," she called, urging her horse around, "a little while ago you said
you came to see me because you were heading up this way to go to your
mine."

"That's right.  I told you we've been plagued with robberies."

"Would it be north of here?"

The bright glitter in her eyes, the desperate edge of her voice alarmed
him.  "Yes."

"There's an abandoned line shack north of here.  I just remembered that
Logan asked me about it.  No," she said quickly before he cut in, "not
because of those men--it had to do with the boys.  I told him I hadn't
been up there since the first time I found it, but what if--" Jessie
stopped and closed her eyes.  Dear Lord, please let me be wrong.
Please let me be making a terrible mistake.

"Jessie?"  Conner called.  "What's wrong?"

"No more questions.  Just come with me."  She set her heels into the
horse's sides.  "If you two have any prayers, say them.  Pray we get
there in time."

Chapter Twenty

Mmy was scared.  More scared than the night he'd helped Kenny bury
their folks.  He didn't want to cry.  Kenny would tease him if he
cried.  But Kenny wasn't here to see him.

He'd run when Logan had yelled at him to, but he hadn't gone far. Logan
was fighting the man who had grabbed him and Kenny.  He'd kept calling
for Kenny to come with him, but Kenny had gone for his shotgun.

Only he'd never reached it.  Two other men had come running from the
shack.  One of them had hit Kenny, and he didn't get up.  Then they'd
pulled Logan off the big man and held his arms while the black man had
punched and punched Logan.  There'd been no one to tease him when he'd
covered his ears and squeezed his eyes closed.

They were all inside the shack now and he didn't know what to do.  If
he ran home to get Jessie, they could leave and take Logan and Kenny
with them.  Then he wouldn't know where they were.  He knew they might
come out looking for him again.

He'd have to be brave and think of what Kenny would do.

Inside the shack, Kenny wasn't feeling very brave.  He hurt all over
from trying to stop these men when they had beaten up Logan.  At least
he was awake.  Logan lay beside him out cold.  One of the men sat on a
crate near the door.  It was the only way out.  The one called Tallyman
sat near the table, nursing his cut lip, saying over and over that he'd
thought he had seen a ghost when he found himself facing Logan.

He guessed they didn't think Logan was any threat, for after taking his
gun, they hadn't bothered to tie him up.  Even if he could rouse Logan,
they would have a hard time whispering to make a plan without anyone
hearing or seeing them.

Kenny sat with his back against the rough wood wall.  Logan lay with
his back to the others.  More to reassure himself, Kenny wiggled closer
to Logan and took hold of his hand.  He ducked his head to hide his
surprise when Logan squeezed his fingers.

It was nothing compared to the shock he felt at the poke in his back
through the crack in the wall.  Marty!  It had to be him.  But how was
he going to tell him 'that Logan was all fight?

"What ya wanna do with these two?"  Tallyman asked.

"ShoUlda killed him when I wanted to," Zach answered, shooting a
murderous look at Logan.

From the doorway, Blackleg warned, "You'd better wait for Monte.  Still
don't understand why the hell he went after you.  Or where these kids
came from."

"That one," Zach said, pointing at Kenny, "is the kid from the ranch.
Remember I told you he said he ain't seen no strangers.  Lying
little--"

"That's enough, Zach.  He's just a kid."  Blackleg sipped his coffee
but once more sent a searching gaze over the front area of the shack.
He had a funny feeling about Logan showing up like this.  "One of you
better go out and find his horse."

"You go, if you're so worded," Zach snapped.  "An' while you're out
there, find the other little brat."

Kenny tried to whistle the two short notes of a bobwhite's call, a
signal he'd been trying to teach to Many.  He couldn't find enough spit
to wet his lips.  He grew desperate when he saw the man at the door
rise and finish his coffee.  Marty'd get caught for sure.

"Hey, mister," he called out.  "Let me go with you.  You'll spend all
day trying to find my little brother.  My ma's gonna tan my bottom for
getting into trouble."

"You're gonna have more than trouble or a tannin' to worry about, boy,"
Zach warned.

"Hold on there, Zach.  I ain't killing no kids."  "You telling me what
to do, Blackleg?"

"I'm telling you I ain't killing no kids.  Com'on boy, you come with
me."

Zach pulled his gun.  "Stay right where you are, boy.  As for you,
Blackleg, you go find his horse."

He eyed the gun and then let his gaze rise to meet Zach's eyes. Shaking
his head Blackleg left the shack.

Kenny slumped down against the wall.  He hoped that Many had heard
every word and had run like hell.  As the minutes passed and there were
no shouts, he began to think Marty was safe.

It was Conner who spotted the lone rider down below them.  He didn't
want to risk the sun's reflection off his field glasses giving them
away, so he left them in his saddlebag.  Since there wasn't enough
cover for the three of them, he turned his horse back toward the dry
wash they had just ridden out of.

"Keep the horses quiet," he ordered, glancing at Jessie.  She was pale
and silent.  He wished he could offer her some reassurances that those
boys were all right, but every passing minute made him believe that
they were in trouble.

Ty brought his horse up alongside his brother's.  They were far enough
into the wash that a whisper wouldn't carry.  Still, Ty leaned close.
"Logan?"  "Too far to tell."

"No more shots," Ty said.

"It shouldn't, but it worries me."

They both looked at Jessie, who sat perfectly still, her eyes closed
and her hands folded together.

"Hell of a woman," Conner murmured, more to himself than to Ty.

Ty didn't answer.  The sounds of the steady plod of a horse reached
them.  Both men did no more than pat the necks of their horses to keep
them still.  Jessie had already forced her horse's head around and was
stroking his muzzle to keep him quiet.  The minutes they waited passed
with an agonizing slowness before Conner signaled them to ride out.

Logan found it unfortunate that he was becoming aware of the individual
pains in his body.  For a little while he thought of himself as one
massive hurt, but he couldn't allow the pain to rule him.  He had to
get Kenny out of here.

Squeezing the boy's hand was all the warning that Logan could give him.
With a loud groan he rolled over and came up on his knees.  The groan
was realm

Tallyman's fists seemed to have pushed his stomach somewhere in the
middle of his back.  But Zach reacted as he'd expected, rushing over to
kick him back down.

Only Logan was ready for him.  He grabbed hold of Zach's extended foot,
twisting it sharply in a move that almost cost him his breath.  But
there was enough to yell at Kenny to get out.

Zach went down flat on his back with a thud, his hand scrambling to
draw his gun.  Logan lunged and landed on top of him.

Kenny, instead of obeying, jumped up and lowered his head, charging
Tallyman before he could get to Logan.  He hit the man's side, grabbed
hold of his leg and let fly with the hardest kick to the shin that he
could.  Tallyman let him go, screaming as Kenny landed another kick to
the same leg, then darted around to repeat his damage to the other one.
If he hadn't been so scared he would have laughed to see the big man's
eyes bulge in disbelief while he tried to rub first one leg then the
other.

Once more he came after him and Kenny shoved the table between them.
Tallyman couldn't stop his forward lunge, and went crashing to the
floor over the broken wood.

Logan had his hands full trying to get Zach to let go of his gun.  He
lay sprawled on top of Zach, fighting the dizzying waves of agony that
rolled up from Zach's fist pounding his side.  Both his hands were
wrapped around Zach's and the gun, banging it repeatedly against the
floor.  He had no breath to answer one of Zach's muttered curses.

He could feel Zach gathering himself to attempt a full body heave.  The
crashing sounds behind him were all the distraction that Zach needed to
make good his move.  He dislodged Logan halfway.  Logan refused to let
go of his gun hand despite the added shove from Zach's free hand that
forced him closer to the floor.

With another heave, Zach rolled Logan over.  The position allowed him
to land a solid blow to Logan's jaw.  Scrambling a few inches higher,
he had both of his hands around Logan's and managed to rip one of
Logan's free from the gun.  Before Logan could recover, Zach had the
gun between them.

Logan didn't know where the strength came from; he was only glad that
he had enough to pull the trigger.

The shot was muffled.  Zach stared at him.  Logan shoved him away just
in time to see Kenny swing a piece of the broken table and knock
Tallyman out cold.

"You bastard.  You gut-shot me."

Logan didn't answer.  It was all he could do to crawl over to the wall
and stagger upright.  Kenny started for him, but he gave a quick shake
of his head.  Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, every
breath sending pain shafting through his battered body, Logan worked
his way along the wall toward the door.  "G-get going," he told Kenny.
"But--"

"Move."  Once again he wiped blood from his split lip.  He tried to put
some anger in his gaze when Kenny handed him his gun.  Logan drew the
gun from the holster and let the belt fall.  He couldn't spare the
strength to wrap the belt around him.

"Go."

"But there's still one more."

As if his words had conjured him up, Blackleg stood in the doorway.

He took one look at the bodies on the floor, then looked at Logan.
"How the hell did you manage this?"

"You're s-smart not ... to go for ... your gun."

"I told them I wouldn't kill no kids.  Put the gun down.  I didn't have
nothing to do with them leaving you.  Didn't take one thing of yours.
You ain't got no cause to shoot me, Lucky."

"No."  But Logan didn't explain that it was the name he denied, and
only that.  He knew he had to get Blackleg out of the way.  He couldn't
let him go.

"Where's Marty, mister?  What'd ya do to him?"  "I told you to get
out."

"You're hurt, Logan.  I can't leave you here.  Suppose there's more of
'em?  Who's gonna help you if I go?"

"Logan?"  Blackleg repeated.

"Yeah.  That's his name, mister.  An' he's gonna be all over you
like--"

"Kenny !"

"Well, I know you'll take care of him jus' as soon as you get a second
wind."

For a moment Logan didn't know if he wanted to curse the boy's
stubbornness or give thanks for his courage.  And he couldn't deny that
Kenny was right.  He still didn't know how he was standing.

"Go find something to tie him with," he ordered the boy, motioning
Blackleg inside.

Kenny ran for the pile of gear in the far corner and in minutes
returned with a wicked-looking blade and a blanket.  He didn't wait for
Logan's order to cut strips.  And when he had enough, he went first to
Tal-lyman and bound his hands behind his back, then tied his feet.  He
avoided looking at the man still groaning on the floor.  Logan ordered
Blackleg facedown on the floor.  Holding the gun on him, Logan waited
until Kenny was finished tying him up.  "Now, you get out of here."

"But--"

"No.  I'm proud of you, boy.  So proud I can't even tell you fight now.
Find Marty.  Get back to Jessie."

Kenny's face took on a look of sheer mule-thick stubbornness.  Logan
briefly closed his eyes and prayed for patience.

"Listen.  You nearly got killed, Kenny.  You think I could face Jessie
if anything happens to either one of you boys?  Go.  I need to know
that you're all safe and together."

Kenny turned and almost made it out the door.  Monte Wheeler blocked
his way.  A sweeping glance took in the wreckage and the bodies, along
with the gun that Logan aimed at him.

Monte started to throw up his hands and back out of the door.

"Don't move," Logan yelled.

But Monte's move had been a ploy.  His arm snaked out and he snatched
Kenny up against him.  Holding the boy in front of him, Monte drew his
gun.  Kenny stopped straggling the moment the gun barrel touched him.

"I'll give you three seconds to throw down your gun and start talking
before I shoot."

Logan dropped the gun.  Slowly he brought his arms up and out from his
body.  Any man who claimed there was nothing that he feared was a liar.
Logan wasn't one.  He thought he had experienced the kind of
stomach-lurching fear that brought a man to his knees earlier.  He
found out it came back, in a stronger, bitter dose.

"Let the boy go.  This is between you and me, Monte."

"I heard the kid call you Logan.  You're a Kincaid."  He wasn't asking,
but Logan answered him.  "That's right.  But you already knew that,
didn't you?"  Logan voiced his suspicion.  If he had not been watching
Monte, he would have missed the barely formed frown and the slight
tightening of his mouth.  Excitement filled him at having his suspicion
confirmed.  And if Monte knew that he was a Kincaid.."  "It's why you
left me to die.  And if you know about me, you know there isn't a crack
in a rock where you can hide if you kill me.  My brothers'll tear this
territory apart to find you."

"Big talk for a man who's about to die.  Get over in the corner.  I
ain't standing here with my back open."

"Afraid, Monte?  Someone on your tail?  Someone see you meet with
Riverton?"  It was another shot in the dark, but a damn lucky one.
Logan caught the fractional narrowing of Monte's eyes.  You didn't
think we knew?"

"I told you to move or I'll shoot the kid."

"Sure, Monte, sure.  Anything for the man with the gun."  A cold,
deadly calm settled over Logan.  He didn't know how he'd do it, but
he'd kill this bastard for the fear that he made Kenny feel.  The boy's
head hung down as if he had no hope left.  Logan wasn't sure he had any
to spare.

He moved slowly in a half circle, avoiding the bodies on the floor
behind him, and not really going deeper into the cabin.  It seemed to
satisfy Monte, for he inched his way inside and stopped when he felt
the wall at his back.  Logan noticed that Kenny's body appeared to sag
almost as if he had passed out.  If he had, his deadweight was
straining Monte's arm.  Kenny wiggled his fingers.

That's it, boy, play opossum Get him to set you down, thinking you're
no longer any threat.

Logan forced himself not to react when Monte did just that.  He lowered
Kenny's body, then let it slide to the floor.

Immediately Logan started talking to.  keep Monte from looking at the
boy.  "We figured out the whole operation, from the stealing of our
cattle to the way you managed to change our brands.  The money from the
mine robberies goes to pay Riverton's way for land--"

"Who the hell told you?  None of them knew.  I'm the only one he had
contact with."

Logan smiled.

Monte realized his mistake.  "You son of a bitch!  You tricked me!"

Logan made a rolling dive for his gun.

Monte's shot sent chips of wood flying.  "It ain't gonna do you any
good to know.  You'll be dead."

Kenny crawled out the door and took off running.

Monte fired again.  His bullet splintered the corner of the crate that
Logan flung at him.

There was no time to take aim.  Logan started to return Monte's fire.
His shot went wide.  The second sent Monte's gun flying as he screamed,
grabbed his wrist and bolted for the door.

Firing from a prone position, Logan aimed his gun over his head in
warning.  A simultaneous shot sent

Monte staggering back inside, where he fell.

For a moment the silence was absolute.

Logan stared in disbelief, Monte lay dead.  The one man he needed to
link Riverton to the rustlings and the robberies was dead.  And he
couldn't say a word to Kenny for shooting him.

Only it wasn't Kenny's voice that shouted his name.  It was Conner.

Logan dragged himself to his feet.  "Hold your fire,

I'm coming out, Conner."

It was over.

The moment he stepped outside, the two boys flung themselves at him,
clinging to him.  Logan dropped his gun.  He cradled the boys against
him, but his gaze locked on the woman running toward him, throwing
aside her rifle.

"Jessie!"

It was a good thing that the boys were clinging to him, bracing his
legs with their own bodies, because she cried out and flung herself
into his arms.

"Oh, my Lord, what have they done to you?"  "It's all right, Jess.
It's all right."

"No.  No, I thought they killed you.  The boys... Oh, my love, I wan
ted to die, too."

He rocked her, burying his face against her shoulder, too spent to
talk.

Conner slipped around them and went inside the shack.  Ty coaxed Marty
to let go and held the little boy while he beckoned Kenny to his side.
He took them off a little way to give his brother some privacy.  Seeing
Conner come back out, Ty waved him over.

It wouldn't have mattered.  Logan had eyes for no one but Jessie.  Her
tears soaked his shin, but her whispers were less frantic now.  And
still he held her until the shudders running through both of them
stopped.

Very gently he cupped her chin and lifted her head so he could see her
face.  Wiping the tears with his tinge nips he brought them to his
lips.

"I never want to see you cry again," he whispered.  She tried to stem
the flow, truly tried, but the tears kept coming as she gazed at his
battered face.  She longed to touch him, and was afraid to.

"Ah, Jess, what am I gonna do with a woman who won't obey me?"

"I don't know."

He angled his throbbing head and brushed his swollen mouth against
hers.

"Guess that's all you're getting in the way of a kiss for now.  But
I've the rest of the answer to your question, Jessie.  Remember last
night?  You' asked who I am.  Logan Kincaid of the Rocking K ranch and
the man who wants to marry you.  Come home with me, Jess.  '

From the hope that blended with the love glowing in her eyes to her
trembling mouth, she was too much of a temptation for him to resist. He
needed to bring his lips to hers, needed the sweet, glorious taste of
love to chase the moments of death away.

When she broke the kiss to answer yes, he looked up and found a
grinning audience of males.

"My brothers, Jess--"

"We've obviously met.  The boys--"

"Are ours, no question about that."  But he looked at her.  "You want
them, don't you?"

"I don't think I'm the one to ask.  I want the choice to be theirs,
Logan."

He wrapped one arm around her waist and walked over to where the group
stood.  If either of his brothers was impatient to hear what had
happened, they hid it well.  Logan directed his attention to the
boys.

"Jessie has agreed--"

"To marry you.  Figures.  With all the kissin' you two do.  Now she
won't be mopin'--"

"Kenny!"  Jessie protested.

All bright-eyed innocence, he looked up at her.  "Didn't you want him
to know how much you missed him?"

"He already knows, thank you."

Logan ignored every pain in his body and hunkered down to talk to the
boys.  "Before I ask you two a very important question, I need to thank
you."

"See?  See, I told you, Kenny.  I told you he wasn't gonna whop us."

Logan tousled Marty's hair.  "For being disobedient you deserve a
tanning that won't let you sit for a week.  I bet Jessie's gonna find
gray hairs come morning for all the worry you caused her.  Not to
mention that I'm likely to turn white for the scare I've been through.
But all that aside, I'm proud of you.  Your folks must be watching from
heaven and smiling to put the sun to shame to know how you're turning
out.  There's not a man walking this land that wouldn't be honored if
you carried his name."

Marty leaned into him, and Logan hugged him tight.  Kenny, however,
stood silent, his eyes watching and weighing.

"You're troubled, Kenny?"

"Yeah.  Sounds a lot like you're goin' off with Miz Jessie."

"Not just her.  That's the important question I've come, no, we've come
to ask you and Marty.  We want you both to come home with us, to be
part of our family."

"You mean that?  You'd just take us in--"

"Not just take you in, boy, we want you to be family.  Our spread--"

"Guess Marty an' me be acceptin' your offer."  Kenny stuck out his
hand.  "You ain't jus' doin' this 'cause I helped you?"

"No," Logan answered, shaking his hand.  "That's a debt I'll never be
able to repay.  You're a boy full of man-size courage whom I'm proud to
call my friend."

Conner cleared his throat and drew Logan's attention.

"Ty'll ride back with you.  I'll clean up here.  Figure to bring them
in to the sheriff."

"Monte confirmed that Riverton's the one who's given him his orders.
But With him dead, my word is all we've got."

"And we still don't know who has fed information to him," Ty added.

"Maybe not, but let me show you what I discovered."  Logan shifted
Marty so he could scratch their brand in the dirt.  "Rocking K, right?
Now watch how easy it is to make this a Circle R brand."

Logan rose.  "One step closer to nailing his hide to the wall.  We
either catch his men doing it, find the brand or spread the word to
anyone that buys from him to--"

"You must have already figured out that Riverton will deny having
anything to do with it.  He'll say his men acted on their own.  There's
one sure way of getting him."  Conner paused and took a deep breath.
This wasn't the way or the place he would have chosen to tell his
brothers his plans now that they had come home to stay.

To their credit, they heard him out.  Even the boys quietly listened as
he told them they would run the ranch without him.

"This is something I've wanted to do and couldn't until you both were
ready to assume your rightful places.  I never wanted to take over.  I
never was given a choice."

"But a sheriff, Conner?"  There wasn't so much demand in Ty's voice as
there was a plea to understand his brother's decision.

"I believe in the law.  I've been studying.  And I know that if this
territory is going to be civilized to where a man can raise his family
and keep what is rightfully his, then we need to work within the law.
Without it, we'll have more gangs like this one running wild unless
there are men willing to uphold the law."

Logan and Ty shared a long, thoughtful look.  They had seen their
oldest brother in the role of ramrod, protector and law on the Rocking
K, but never as a man who had shared his dream with them.

There was a moment of confusion as Ty and Logan acted as one and both
offered their hands to Conner, pledging support.  Laughter eased the
seriousness of the moment, then Logan turned to Jessie.

"How would you feel having a sheriff for a brother-in-law?"

"Logan, please.  Let me get used to the idea of having you for a
husband before you ask."

"Are you gonna have a badge?"  Marty asked, tugging on Conner's pants.
"Can I have one, too?  Can

IT'

Conner scooped him up and held him.  "You get the first deputy badge.
But first we go home so I can win the election."

"Oh, boy!  Kenny, did you hear?  Did you?  I'm gonna be a deputy!"

"Home first," Conner instructed, handing him over to Ty.  "And when I
pin that badge on, I'll show how to skin a polecat named Riverton and
nail his hide to the gate of his Circle R spread."

"Sounds like we got more trouble ahead," Kenny said.  "Guess you'll
really need me around, won't you?"  He looked up at Logan and shyly
clasped his hand.

"No guessing about it, son.  I'll need you right there.  Jess?"  He
held out his hand to her, and as she took it, he thought of the months
he'd ridden the outlaw trail.

"There'll be whispers about me," he told her.  "To make it real, I rode
with them and stole--"

Her fingertips silenced him.  "I love the man I

trusted, be he rancher or outlaw."

"That simple?"

"Love, I have recently learned, often is."

Once Jessie had mounted, Ty handed Marty up to her while Kenny settled
himself in front of Logan.  "Go on.  I'll help Conner.  We'll meet you
down at Jessie's place."

Logan leaned over his saddle and held Ty's gaze with a hard, level one
of his own.  "Tell Conner that you found the man who ordered Dixie's
father's death.  Word spreads, Ty.  I know you've been looking for a
man named Charles who hired a vicious killer who died in Ajo.  Word
was, a fast gun put him to rest and a kid named Cobie with him.

"You were a maverick, Ty, and Dixie put a brand on you, so you're ready
to settle down.  Me, I'll look over my shoulder for years to come after
riding the outlaw trail with these men.  I'd hang up my gun in a minute
for the chance to love my Jessie and live in peace.

"You've had your differences with Conner,- and Lord knows he can be a
hard man.  But be fair with him.  Let him know how the deck is stacked
against him, and who's sitting on his side of the table."

Logan shook his head when Ty started to speak, and touched his heels to
the horse's sides, anxious to catch up with Jessie, anxious to leave
death behind him.

"How come you didn't tell Jessie that you loved her?"

Logan was caught by surprise at Kenny's question.  The boy missed
nothing, yet didn't ask about what he'd said to Ty.  "You know, son,"
he said, the word slipping easily off his tongue, "you have the makings
of a fine man."  He caught sight of Jessie up ahead and called to
her.

"Jessie!  Our boy Kenny just reminded me that I forgot to say I love
you."

"Can't hear you, Logan," she shouted back, laughing as she bent her
head and cuddled Marty.

"I said I love you!"  he yelled.

"Know something, outlaw?  I love you, too!"

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