May 13, 1874


Chapter Twenty-Nine

The sky was dark, sleet and snow blowing so hard that I could no longer see the trail through the ice-shrouded vegetation. Although I knew that I had to keep walking--that to stop would mean certain death from exposure to the bitter cold--I was finding it harder and harder to resist the temptation to sit down for just a few minutes and rest my injured ankle.

Not for the first time since I had watched Storm flee down the path toward the safety of a stall in the livery, I cursed myself for the reckless impulse that had sent me out riding at dawn without including in my note to Beth and Zach a rough indication of where I might go.

My encounter with Gabriel Lawrence almost two weeks earlier had nearly paralyzed me with fear, keeping me close to home. But now with only two days remaining before I boarded the train for Georgia, I had firmly shaken off my timidity, having fought too hard and come too far to willingly give in to the terror that his touch had caused to resurface. I had ridden alone whenever and wherever I pleased from the time that I had arrived in Colorado, and I was determined to leave the territory with that same sense of self-confidence intact.

Knowing the objections that I would face from my two housemates, I had dressed in warm layers before anyone else was up that morning, crammed my pockets full of apples and leftover biscuits stuffed with ham, and saddled my mare with the intention of spending most of the day wandering familiar trails for what would be the last time. The soughing of wind through the trees and occasional bird songs were the only accompaniments to the muffled rhythm of Storm's hooves against the pine needle covered earth, and as the hours passed I had gradually relaxed and stopped looking over my shoulder, enjoying the deep silence of the evergreen forest.

When the air began to grow noticeably colder in the early afternoon, I had turned around and started back down, feeling more at peace. Time alone out on the mountain had been something that I had desperately needed to be able to reclaim a part of myself that had almost been lost--to take back what Lawrence had stolen from me--and now I was looking forward to a cup of tea in front of the fire.

Spotting asparagus growing wild beside a small stream, I had dismounted--the lure of my favorite vegetable irresistible--and quickly gathered enough of the tender stalks to serve for dinner. Storing them in a pouch that I had begun wearing on my rides after Mike had taught me to identify roots and herbs, I had made my way back up the stony embankment to where Storm waited.

The snarl of a mountain lion had surprised both me and my mare, and as I whirled around, drawing my gun in the same motion, I had caught my bootheel between two rocks. The fiery pain that ripped through my foot and ankle left little doubt that the sudden motion had at best either torn a ligament or caused a severe sprain, but my first concern was the tawny cat perched on a boulder above the trail.

My heart pounding audibly in my ears I had leveled the Colt, grasping it with both hands, knowing that one chance was all that I would get. Sensing my vulnerability, the animal raised itself slightly, gathering its legs to spring, and I had gently squeezed the trigger.

For a span of what had seemed like several seconds I held my breath, then the five-foot-long beast crashed down onto the trail. Quickly refilling the empty chamber before going closer, I had been prepared to finish him off if there was any sign of life, but the kill had been quick and clean, the bullet striking his chest dead-center.

Hands trembling, I had slid my pistol back into the holster, thankful for the long hours of practice I'd put in, firing at tin cans. If that shot had gone astray, or wounded rather than killed, I would have stood a very good chance of being mauled to death by the angry, winter-lean feline.

Sitting down on a nearby log, nauseous from the pain in my foot and ankle, I had removed my boot to examine the damage. There was already discoloration, and my ankle had begun swelling rapidly, so I had quickly put the boot back on, aware that once the edema was further advanced it might be impossible for me to slip my foot back into the leather.

Now, as I hobbled toward town, using a stout stick for a makeshift walking cane, I refused to think of how long it would take for me to go that far on foot with an injured limb. There was no choice but to walk, and so I would walk. I attempted to ignore the pain, along with the rapidly dropping temperature, and when the rain started, I pulled my hat lower and continued. Even when the icy drops turned to sleet and snow, I resolutely pushed on down the mountain toward Colorado Springs, determined to continue for as long as I had the strength to go on.

Without a watch I had no idea of how much time was passing, and I willed myself to put one foot in front of the other--to take the next step-- while I tried to ignore my increasing level of discomfort. Finally, with my clothes half-frozen on my body, and my hands, feet, and face beginning to feel numb, I started to accept the fact that the odds were set against me making it. I was weary beyond thinking and colder than I had ever been in my life. Soon I would give in to the urge to sit down with my back against a tree and rest.

The thought of dying brought no sense of fear or panic. I would drift off to sleep lying there in the snow, and simply never wake up again. Even though I felt a momentary sadness at the thought of the pain that my death would cause my parents, sisters, and friends, there were far worse ways for life to come to an end than to go to sleep with a towering fir standing sentinel...snowflakes falling like frozen tears of mourning against your cheeks.

Suddenly a familiar voice cut through the growing darkness, shouting out my name. For a moment I thought that I was imagining the sound that I most wanted to hear--and smiled wistfully. Then it came again.

"Hank!" I screamed, one last measure of hope surging through my veins. "HANK!"

"Don't move!" he yelled hoarsely. "Ya hear me? Stand still, an' keep talkin'."

"Hank--please..."

"Listen to me!" His voice sounded closer. "I could pass right by. Never even see ya! Ya gotta make some kinda noise for me to track."

"Help me." I swayed, exhaustion beginning to win against my efforts to remain on my feet.

"Louder!" he roared. "Damn it, Woman, don't you dare quit on me now! Call me a mule-headed bastard--cuss me up one side and down the other! Just talk!"

"Hank," I whimpered.

Unable to focus any longer, I sank down into the snow, giving in to the lethargy that was stealing over my body. As I hugged my arms across my breasts, my eyelids growing heavier moment by moment, the tune to an old Scottish ballad drifted through my mind--a song that I had been rocked to sleep with--and I softly sang the familiar words to myself...hearing my father's rich tenor crooning, "Will ye go...lassie? Will ye go?"

Suddenly Hurricane's shape emerged through the snowstorm, and Hank was in front of me, dismounting and pulling me up into his arms. "Caitlyn," he groaned, crushing me tightly against him. "Oh, God... Cait!"

"So--c-cold." My teeth were chattering as I leaned into his broad chest.

"I know," he whispered. "I'll get ya warm soon as I can." Swiftly removing his coat he wrapped it around me.

"No!" I shook my head in a feeble protest, aware that he needed the protection of the heavy wool garment almost as much as I did. Despite a desperate desire to hug it closer, I tried to shrug the huge coat off and return it.

"This ONCE willya just do what I say without arguin' about it?" He firmly tugged the coat back into place, then placed me on Hurricane before vaulting into the saddle behind me.

I slumped against him, no longer having enough strength left to fight...or put the suggestion that he wear the coat and try buttoning it around us both into a coherent thought. Hank pulled his hat brim down to shield his eyes against the blinding whiteness that surrounded us on all sides, then tapped the stallion lightly with his heels, sending him in the direction that I had just come instead of toward town. Somehow sensing my consternation, he leaned down close to my ear so that I could hear his voice over the rising wind.

"Snowin' this hard and near dark, we're bound to end up losin' the trail. Know a cave not far from here--be better to hole up there 'til it's over."

Our progress was slowed by what was rapidly turning into a howling blizzard, but no more than ten minutes could have passed until he urged the horse toward a dark precipice. Despite the fact that the cave entrance was only a hundred yards off of a path that I had used dozens of times, I had never noticed it. From even a short distance away the opening, roughly five feet wide and slightly higher than Hurricane's head, appeared to be nothing more than a shadow cast by a rock formation positioned directly in front, blocking it from direct winds.

"Cait." Hank shook me to make me more alert, then forced the reins between my stiff fingers. "Stay put. I'm goin' in to make sure it's safe."

He found a small branch that was dry enough to use as a torch, lit it, then drew his revolver and cautiously slipped inside the mouth of the cave to explore the cavern. Doubtful that the reduced feeling in my hands and legs would be enough to allow me to control the powerful animal if 'Cane decided to bolt, I was grateful when Hank returned almost immediately and reached up to lift me from the saddle.

"Few minutes more, I'll have a fire goin'," he promised, carrying me into the shelter, the stallion's lead looped around his wrist so that he would follow.

Seating me on a large log drawn close to a firepit, he went over to a stack of split hickory resting against one wall of the rock structure and carried an armload of wood back. "Lucky whoever used this place last keeps to the old ways." He struck a match and lit a small pile of twigs that he had arranged in the center of the rock circle. "Man was out huntin' or trappin' an' used a cave, he'd leave firewood behind. Could mean the difference between stayin' alive or dyin' on a night like this. Him or the next one to come along."

Hank had stuck the makeshift torch into the ground to allow it to burn down, and with the light that it cast I saw that a firepit had been positioned beneath what appeared to be a small crack in the roof of the cave, creating a natural vent when the ground wasn't covered with snow. Roughly 30 feet long and slightly narrower than that in width, the cavern was small and dry, a welcome respite from the storm.

Crouching on his heels, Hank carefully fed kindling to the flame until the smaller logs began to burn, then he went to Hurricane, who waited patiently just inside the mouth of the cave. Murmuring soothingly to the weary beast, he removed the saddlebags and brought them back to where I huddled beneath his coat.

"Yer soaked to the skin," he said softly. "Let's get ya outta them wet clothes."

"No." I hugged myself protectively, leaning as close to the fire as I dared in an attempt to soak up its heat.

"Ain't the time for bein' modest. Don't get ya dried off and warmed up soon, yer likely to take pneumonia and die." He turned my face so that I had to look at him. "I'd hate to hafta force ya--but I will, if that's what it takes to keep you alive. You can't manage all them buttons by yerself-- not 'til yer fingers warm up."

Prolonged exposure to the cold had caused my body temperature to drop to the point of near-stupor, but even with my muddled thinking I finally realized that Hank was right--I couldn't possibly undress without help. Recognizing my look of acquiescence, he unbuttoned the coat that he had loaned me and reached around my waist to remove my gunbelt and gathering pouch, then laid my hat aside to dry.

Pushing up the sleeves to expose my hands, he gently stripped off my fur-lined leather gloves and checked my fingers one by one, the relief on his face making it obvious that he saw no evidence of frostbite. With an apologetic look for the loss of its relative warmth, Hank dropped the coat to the ground, then quickly slipped off my own soggy tweed jacket and heavy shirts. The white camisole was stuck to my skin underneath, and I flushed with embarrassment as I saw the way that the thin material outlined the response of my nipples to the cold.

But Hank didn't even seem to notice the pouting peaks as he knelt to remove my boots.

"Wait." I touched his arm. "My--right--aa-aankle. Be cc-careful."

Nodding once in understanding, he quickly stripped off my left boot, then carefully unfastened the right. "Laces far enuff, I'll try gettin' it off without cuttin' it. Hurts too bad, you tell me."

Gently easing my foot from the leather, he probed from the arch to right below my calf. "Don't think it's broke." His eyes lifted to mine. "But then I ain't no doctor either."

Helping me to my feet, he supported almost all of my weight with one arm while rapidly unbuttoning my wool trousers and pink longjohns with the opposite hand. I stood there in damp drawers, camisole, stockings, and socks--shivering violently--as he used a neckscarf to matter-of-factly dry my arms, face, and shoulders. Reaching into his saddlebags, Hank pulled out a soft, thick river-driver's shirt--the kind of double-layered pullover that he often wore beneath a regular shirt for additional warmth. Before I realized his intentions, he had my camisole off and the henley covering me from my chin to my knees.

The thought that my breasts had been exposed to his gaze for those few seconds penetrated my cold-induced confusion, but even as I gasped out a shocked protest, he reached beneath the shirt --ribbons and hooks were skillfully undone--and my lace-trimmed bloomers lay around my ankles.

"Ain't the first time I ever seen a lady's unmentionables," he reminded me mildly. "Or what's underneath 'em. Brace yerself against me so's I can finish dryin' ya off."

My hands felt partially numb as I grasped Hank's shoulders for support while he rolled my clammy stockings down, then rubbed my legs briskly with the scarf. The wool shirt that he wore was damp beneath my palms, but he seemed oblivious to his own discomfort as he worked as quickly as possible to take care of my needs. Laying aside a thin piece of oiled hide that he used as a ground cover for his bedroll, he draped a thick blanket around me, then helped me ease down into a sitting position. Kneeling on the ground, he brought my legs into his lap, removed my socks and stockings, then dried and examined each foot as closely as he had looked at the tips of my nose, ears, and fingers.

For a minute he held my icy toes in his bare hands to warm them, then pulled a pair of his socks onto my feet, the difference in our sizes making them come up to my knees. "Can try bindin' yer ankle with one o' these after they dry." He hung my cotton stockings over a stick positioned close to the firepit. "Might help ya get around better."

Retrieving a canteen from Hurricane's back, he filled a small coffee pot and placed it at the edge of the fire. While keeping a close eye on the temperature of the water that he was heating, he removed the tie from my braid and loosened my hair, squeezing as much moisture from it as he could. Finally he poured some of the warm water into a shallow tin pan, tested it, then set it on my lap. "Soak yer hands in that."

I obeyed, then cried out with pain, jerking them back. Putting his fingers on top of mine he firmly pressed them back down into the water. "Leave 'em," he insisted. "It'll thaw you out and get the blood flowin' back right."

"The water's too hot," I protested, tears rolling down my cheeks from the burning ache in my hands when the feeling started to return.

"Feels that way, but it's 'bout like what you'd fix to bathe a baby." He reached for his coat. "I'm gonna bring in some more wood. Get it started dryin' out."

"Please, be careful." I swallowed hard.

Removing a small axe and a rope from his saddle to use as a guide line, he glanced at me. "Just sit tight."

I would have fallen asleep immediately, exhaustion and the effects of over-exposure having taken their toll, but the pain in my fingers kept me awake as Hank made trips into and out of the cave. He placed logs at the edge of the fire and piled another large stack just inside the entrance, stopping work occasionally to assure himself that the water temperature in the pan remained lukewarm. Finally he dried my hands, pulled off the borrowed socks and immersed my cold feet in the pan of water.

The coffee that he made had been set into the coals to stay hot, and as soon as my hands were capable of holding a cup, he added a lump of sugar to the brew and urged me to drink it. Despite the stimulating effect of the beverage, my eyes were heavy with the need for sleep, and after he put the long socks back on I curled up on the ground, wrapped in the warmth of the same two blankets that I given to him on that morning in mid-February.

The crack of a rifle brought me wide awake again, and when Hank didn't come back for what seemed a long time afterward, I started to feel anxious. Reaching for my pistol, I made sure that it was dry and ready to fire if I was forced into using it. Just when panic was about to set in Hank finally appeared, carrying a rabbit that was gutted and cleaned for cooking.

"You were gone for so long that I started to get worried," I confessed, relief washing over me when he ducked back inside the cave.

"Figured ya could use somethin' hot in yer belly." He put the meat on a spit set high enough above the flames to allow it to roast slowly and thoroughly.

"Thank you," I whispered, feeling a lump rise in my throat at his kindness. "I don't know how you ever managed to find me...but thank you."

"Meant to keep lookin' long as it took." Snowflakes melted on his shoulders and hat as he poured himself a cup of coffee, warming himself over the fire for a minute while he savored the taste of the strong, rich brew.

Setting the cup aside he went to Hurricane, unfastened the bit, and fed the horse a short ration of oats while he dried moisture from the saddle, then removed it. After leading the animal to the creek to drink, he rubbed him down and checked his hooves for stones.

"Can't see leavin' him outside durin' a blizzard, but come mornin' the droppin's are gonna make you'n'me both sorry I didn't."

"I grew up around horses," I reminded him. "And I cleaned my own barn for all those months until Zach moved in. A few horse patties won't turn my stomach."

Dragging dried brush into the entrance of the cave, Hank used the pile of bushes and broken limbs to form a barrier that helped block out more of the wind and to discourage animals who might decide to join us during the night. Although it wouldn't physically keep them out, it would slow them down enough to smell human scent and hopefully send them in search of a more hospitable shelter.

My wet clothing lay scattered on the cave floor, and Hank gathered it up, adding his own heavy woolen outer shirts and coat to the mix, then hung the garments over protrusions in the wall or spread them over rocks. Coming closer to the warmth of the fire, he sat down and removed his boots and socks.

"Might wanna shut yer eyes," he advised flatly. "I'm 'bout to peel down to my skin."

Knowing that he was serious, I closed my eyes, and a few minutes later I heard his husky chuckle. "Ya can open 'em now. I'm decent."

When I looked up he was wearing dry socks and a clean union suit left unbuttoned to the waist, partially exposing his heavily-muscled chest. His cropped locks were soaking wet, and he rubbed them roughly with the driest of the shirts that he had removed, then ran his hands through the riot of curls to push them out of his face.

"Can I warm your coffee?" I offered, picking up the coffeepot and holding the spout over his cup.

Nodding his thanks, Hank squatted on his heels on the opposite side of the firepit to turn the cooking meat. Silence stretched out between us, making me uncomfortable, and I pulled the blankets around me more tightly.

"How long do storms like this usually last?"

"Depends. Day...sometimes more."

"All I said in my note to Beth and Zach was that I was going out for a ride," I fretted.

"Little late to be worryin' 'bout that now."

"Is the whole town out looking for me?" I asked guiltily.

"Hell, no." Hank frowned. "Not with snow already more'n a foot deep and still comin' down. Couldn't find yer own hand in front of yer face, hard as it's blowin' right now."

"But when you don't come back won't they..."

"Didn't have time for a whole buncha chit-chat 'bout where I was goin'. Told Robert E. Don't know who he mighta told." He shrugged. "They'll figure we're ridin' the blizzard out somewheres, or one or both of us won't make it back a'tall. Nothin' to be done about it, either way. Weather like this, ya don't take a chance on losin' more lives."

"When I left this morning, I had no idea that there was snow on the way," I confessed. "If I'd known, I would have stayed at home."

"Storm clouds been threatenin' since sometime yesterday," he said levelly. "Plain as the nose on yer face. Maybe you oughta learn what to look for or open yer mouth an' start askin'."

"Two days from now, I'll be on my way home." I bristled at his tone. "I won't have the need to know."

"Two days from now, ya may still be sittin' right here," he advised flatly. "This time o' year, could get snowed in for a solid week--or might be all over by tomorrow. Depends on the winds."

"I have absolutely no intention of staying alone here with you for that long!" I protested.

"Got caught out in a blizzard once up on the North Trail. Ain't something I'd wanna do twice..." Putting a cigarillo between his lips, he stuck a twig into the fire, then lit it. "Seein' as how I'm stayin', and you ain't goin' nowhere without a horse, we're pretty much stuck with each other 'til this ends. Could be we both oughta take the bullets outta our guns. Be on the safe side."

"If I'm going to have to spend a week here with you, go ahead and shoot me now and put me out of my misery." I glared at him.

"Might be the only way I'll get any peace and quiet." He tipped his head back, exhaling several smoke rings.

"And I DESPISE those filthy little cigars," I huffed childishly.

"Gotta a pencil, we can add 'em to that list o' other things ya hate about me." He set his empty cup aside.

Going over to his saddlebags, he retrieved a small tin, then picked up my boots and his own. Watching him work grease into the leather to keep it supple as it dried, I began to feel some sense of shame and remorse. No matter how angry and frustrated that I was over being rejected by Hank, it didn't negate the fact that he had undoubtedly saved my life.

"Your saddlebags are better equipped than some general stores." I tried again to make conversation.

"Out here, man don't carry what he needs to survive won't last long." He held the cigar clenched between his teeth, smoke drifting up lazily toward the roof of the cave. "Never know when yer gonna end up somewheres ya least expect. Or for how long."

"Regardless of what I had in my saddlebags, it wouldn't do me any good now," I reminded him, stinging from the mild rebuke. "Storm is long gone."

"You plan on ever tellin' me just what the hell happened?" Hank suddenly erupted, throwing his boot to the ground and frowning at me.

"I thought that you would ask, if you wanted to know."

"Don't you figure it might interest me some to know HOW you ended up on foot, smack-dab inna middle of nowhere? Bein' as I'm the one risked my fool neck to find you?" he growled.

Fighting down the retort that automatically rose to my lips, I waited a few seconds before responding. "A mountain lion spooked my mare. Had to have been downwind--Storm would have been acting up if she had smelled cougar, and that cat couldn't have been more than 15 feet away when I shot him."

"Male?" Hank looked surprised. "Musta been half-starved. Ain't like cougar to come that close 'less it's got cubs to protect."

"When I checked to make sure that he was dead, I saw a lot of half- healed scars and an abscess the size of an egg on the inside of one of his back legs. It probably slowed him down. Made it difficult to hunt."

"Sounds like he'd come out on the losin' end of a fight with another cat," he agreed.

"Before I was too cold to care, I started to wish that I had at least tried my hand at taking the pelt," I admitted quietly. "I've never skinned out a carcass, but I've seen my brother do it, and cured or not, that fur would have offered some protection from the rain and snow."

"Or got you killed. Scent of fresh blood coulda drawn wolf or another mountain lion."

"I don't suppose that you carry willowbark--or noticed a stand oftrees down near the creek? My ankle's really starting to throb." I reached through the blankets and rubbed the swollen joint. "I could use a cup of Michaela's tea."

"Anything hurt besides yer ankle, when yer horse threw ya?"

"The last time that a horse threw me, I was six years old." I frowned in indignation.

"Then I reckon you just figured it was a real nice day to take a little stroll," he suggested cynically.

"What I 'figured' was that it was only going to take me a couple of minutes to cut all of the asparagus that I needed, so I dropped the reins," I confessed. "It's my own fault that she bolted."

"Don't take but one mistake to get you killed. You oughta be smart enough by now to know that."

"I don't suppose that you've ever made a mistake, have you?" I snapped peevishly.

"Made more'n my share." He met my gaze for a moment. "One, I shoulda guessed what Gabriel was plannin' to do and followed him--so I coulda got inside that school quicker."

"I've had nightmares...and today was the first time that I've had the courage to go out alone, even to the barn...but all in all, I consider myself extremely lucky." I kept the blankets tucked around me as I shifted to rest my back against the log. "It could easily have been much worse."

"Been wonderin' ever since it happened if he mighta gone after you as a way of gettin' back at me," Hank's voice was grim. "Told Lawrence more'n a year ago his money was no good anymore when it come to my girls. To stick to drinkin' and playin' cards. Or stay outta the Gold Nugget. Crazy bastard likes hurtin' women."

"I know." I sighed. "It's no secret that he beats his wife. Mike has treated Ellen more than once for broken bones."

"Ain't all he does. Nearly killed a whore over in Soda Springs."

"How?" I blurted out the question without thinking.

"Used a garrote and a knife on her." Seeing my continued confusion, he sighed, searching for a way to explain. "Takes him doin' things that cause pain to be able to--finish. Younger the girl and the more he can hurt her, the better he likes it."

I blushed bright red, knowing--without having a single idea of what those "things" might be--that Hank was attempting to tactfully describe a brutal type of sexual encounter. To that point in time Beth's rape had been the worst thing that I had thought could ever happen, and his veiled reference to sinister acts of violence that I couldn't begin to even imagine sent a cold chill down my spine.

Recognizing that I was upset by even that sketchy description, Hank changed topics to distract me. "Appreciate you lookin' out for Zach. I owe ya...for givin' him a place to stay and takin' care of him the way you did when Michaela let him go home from the clinic."

"I'm not sure of who takes care of whom--but I've loved every minute of the time that he's been living with me."

"Seems to 've done him good." He set our oiled boots further back from the fire, then washed the grease from his hands. "Never seen Zach this happy."

"Some of the credit for that definitely goes to Beth." I smiled. "Unless I'm very much mistaken, the two of them are well on their way to falling in love with each other."

"Been worryin' how yer folks are gonna take to that news," he admitted frankly. "Considerin' I'm his Pa, an' his Ma was a whore...he's a long way from bein' yer own kind. Wouldn't want my boy to end up alone like me--but I'd hate to see him hurt."

"Whenever Beth looks at Zach, she has stars in her eyes...and I lost my own heart to him a long time ago. I can't think of any other man that I would rather see my sister marry. If the two of them decide that they're right for each other, I promise you that he will be welcomed with open arms by the McShanes." I blinked back a tear. "I'll make absolutely certain of it."

"Makes me feel old, havin' a son grown enough to take a wife."

"Look after Beth for me," I requested softly. "Zach will be moving into the hotel on Friday when I leave, and it's going to be awfully lonely--and frightening--for her until she adjusts to an empty house."

"If yer plannin' to eat that asparagus, we'd best get it started," he suggested gruffly, abruptly getting to his feet and checking the rabbit for doneness.

"Hand me my pouch. I can do at least that much."

"Save the ends for 'Cane." He watched me break the young, tender stalks at the part where they turned woody. "Ain't much forage, what with everything covered in snow."

"We could give him all of it," I offered.

"Figure yer willin' to face a mountain lion down to get it, you oughta be the one gets to eat it," he answered lightly.

"There are two apples in my coat pockets--that came from Mr. Bray's-- if he needs them." I found myself smiling slightly.

Placing the scraped and washed vegetable into a skillet, he added a small amount of water, then put it onto the fire. "Want me to make more coffee?"

"Water will be fine." I looked doubtfully at the small bag resting on top of his saddlebags, trying to gauge how long that it would last.

While we waited for the asparagus to cook, Hank moved about the cave restlessly, adding more logs to the fire and checking various garments to see how well they were drying. My eyes followed him, and a wave of longing swept over me as he turned so that his face was illuminated by firelight. His beard had filled out, and without the application of heavy oil that it had taken to smooth his hair into a reasonable facsimile of his brother's perfectly straight locks, layered blond curls fell to his jawbone and tumbled loosely over his collar in back, long enough to touch his shoulders.

He pushed the pieces of hair that had fallen onto his forehead out of his eyes with the back of his hand, completely unaware that I was watching his every move--storing up memories for the remainder of my life, in the same way that a squirrel gathers nuts for the coming winter. Even dressed in the gray union suit his tall, lean-muscled body made my breath catch in my throat as my gaze moved from the broad shoulders downward. Hank Lawson was beautiful. There was no other word in the English language that could otherwise adequately describe this golden-haired male.

"Dinner's ready." My voice sounded strangely thick, even to me.

"Only carry one plate," he apologized--bringing it, a second fork, and packet of salt and pepper back to the fire. "You eat--then I will."

"There's no reason why we can't share."

Shrugging, he put the meat onto the large tin plate and used his knife to cut it into portions while I slid over, making room for him to sit next to me on the log. Conversation ebbed, along with my appetite, as I became more and more aware of the warmth of Hank's body and the mixed scent of tobacco and sandalwood emanating from his skin. I tried to keep my attention on the meal, forcing myself to eat, but my eyes were repeatedly drawn to the way that his long fingers held the roasted meat and to the faint hint of grease that it left glistening on his lower lip.

"Is Storm all right?" I took a sip of water and cleared my throat. "Obviously, she made it into town, since you knew to come looking for me."

"She's fine--for now." His voice hardened. "Be another story when I get back. Got half a mind to put a bullet 'tween her eyes."

"Then you had better listen to that other half that has better sense!" I flared. "That horse is MINE--and I'll put a bullet right between YOUR eyes, if you so much as touch her!"

"High-strung mare of yers came real close to gettin' you killed!" he snapped. "Case you don't know it, ya wouldna lasted much longer out there!"

"And if my horse hadn't shown up you wouldn't have known where I was-- not until the snow and ice melted, and somebody stumbled across my dead body!" I fired back. "If you had the brains God gave to a boar hog, you could see that if it wasn't for her, mine would have been the next grave dug in that church cemetery!"

"Mare bein' skittish and runnin' off is what got you inta this mess in the first place!" he shouted angrily.

"No horse is crazy enough to stand there with a cougar screaming in its ear--not if it can get away!" I frowned. "Not yours, not mine, not anybody else's! And if it WAS that stupid, who would want to own it?"

"What were you thinkin' anyway?" he growled in frustration, shoving the plate into my lap. "Only a damned fool would ride out alone, with a blizzard comin' in, and not tell a livin' soul where she's goin'!"

"I've already told you once that I didn't KNOW the weather was about to turn bad! You're not exactly in the habit of answering to anyone else for your own whereabouts--the thought would never even occur to you! Why is it so different for me?"

"I gotta get outta here." He ignored my question, going over to where his trousers were drying and starting to slip them on over his union suit. "I can't breathe."

"Go ahead--run away! You've spent your entire life doing it--why stop now?" I asked curtly, setting the remainder of our dinner aside.

"Who says I'm runnin' away?" His eyes narrowed.

"Aren't you?" I demanded. "Unless it's a physical fight--which you would never dream of away running from--you always take off, in one form or another. Either you push people away--or you leave. It accomplishes the same exact thing, doesn't it? So what if you hurt yourself and everyone else in the bargain? It gives you a grand excuse to go on being mad at the entire world!"

"What in the hell d'you want outta me?" He roared, throwing the still damp pants back over a rock. "You expectin' me to say what you did made good sense?"

"No! What I want is for you to stop disappearing physically and emotionally whenever something goes wrong in your life!" Despite my injured ankle, I struggled to my feet, hands planted on my hips, my lack of appropriate attire forgotten in the heat of battle. "What I want is for you to quit hiding behind that damned WALL that you've built to close other people out! Whether it was with me or Erik or even your father, you've always cut your losses and walked away. Why don't you try being honest for once about whatever's bothering you? What do you have to lose, Hank? We'll never see each other again after this blizzard is over. I'll be thousands of miles away!"

"Ya really wanna know what's botherin' me?" He snarled, pacing the floor of the cave.

"Yes, I REALLY want to know!" I stood my ground.

"Few hours ago that horse of yers wandered past the saloon--saddle still on her, and you nowhere in sight. Thought you were layin' out there somewhere, hurt and bleedin' or already dead. That some other horny bastard had finished what Gabriel started!" Agitatedly running his hands through his curls until they formed a wild halo, he whirled to face me. "Hadn't seen where that mare come outta the woods, I wouldna even known you were missin'! Wouldna had a clue where to start lookin'. Snowfall was already coverin' her tracks... Figured I'd lost you. For good. That I didn't stand one chance in hell of findin' you still alive! Ya wanna know..."

"Hank?"

"What?" Something in my tone made him pause.

"Hold me."

Drawing in a deep shuddering breath, he groaned and two took long strides in my direction, gathering me close. "Woman, don't ever scare me like that again," he ordered softly, his voice breaking with emotion.

Wrapping my arms around his narrow waist, I held on tightly, sobbing while he gently threaded his fingers through my hair, soothing me. For several minutes I allowed myself the comfort of his embrace, clinging to him with a desperation that matched his own.

"I love you," he whispered.

"Oh, Hank..." I breathed, pressing my tear-dampened face into his bare chest.

"Been sayin' things I never meant...words 'bout tore the heart outta me to say. Thinkin' the best thing I could do if I loved ya was get outta yer life." He rocked me against him protectively. "Hard as I tried, I can't. I ain't strong enough. Truth is, I need ya more'n any man oughta ever let himself need a woman."

Looking up, I saw that Hank's blue eyes were glassy with unshed tears, his guard down, and I swallowed hard. "Please--don't make me any promises that you can't keep. If you're not sure, then just let me go and leave me alone."

"Never been this sure 'bout anything in my whole life," he reassured me gently. "Scares the hell outta me...but I'm sure."

"The only way to cross over water this wide is if the two of us are both rowing that boat," I cautioned. "But I'm willing to get in and pick up my oar, if you are."

"Ya sayin' ya'd still have me?" I felt his muscles tense beneath my palms as he waited for my answer.

"You're my heart, Hank." I stroked my fingertips along his bearded jawline. "I'm not sure that I could live without you. I'm not even sure that I would want to..."

For a moment his gaze held mine, then he lowered his head, plunging his hands into the thickness of my hair and tilting my mouth up to meet his. Eyes dark with desire, his fingers bracketing my jaw, he stroked the pad of his thumb across the swell of my lower lip, then slanted his mouth over mine. I moaned, the muscles in my stomach tightening with aching need as the kiss deepened, and he slid his palm down my back to press my body closer to his own. Finally lifting his head, he allowed me to read the naked hunger in his eyes--the same hunger that moved like waves of heat through my blood.

"I've missed you so much." I felt tears escape down my cheeks.

"Missed you, too." He lowered himself to the ground with me still in his arms. "Thought of you gettin' on that train--it pullin' outta the station with you on it--was more'n I could take. Probably woulda climbed on board at the last minute an' made a fool outta myself, beggin' ya not to go."

"I was hoping that you would--and afraid that you wouldn't," I confessed.

"Rate yer usin' up them nine lives, figure I oughta be somewhere close enough to keep an eye on ya," he said lightly.

"I love you." Cupping his nape, I pulled his lips closer to mine. "Always have--and I always will."

"Caitlyn..." His voice dropped a husky, seductive note as his mouth slid down the curve of my throat, the silky moustache tickling--raising goosebumps on my arms that had nothing to do with the freezing winds outside. "Cat..."

Then his lips were on mine, firm and demanding, his tongue ravaging my mouth as I opened to him--accepting, giving, drinking in the heady nectar of deep, passionate kisses. He lifted my hair out of the way, savoring my nape...moving to the indentation behind my earlobe.. then down to the rapidly beating pulse in the hollow of my throat...and I crawled into his lap, facing him.

Touching my tongue to his collarbone, I tasted the salty-sweetness, then nuzzled his throat, my hands moving over his chest beneath the open shirt. Sucking in a ragged breath, he fumbled with the top two buttons of my borrowed henley, and the baggy garment slipped to expose my right shoulder. His mouth was hot and wet against my skin, and I melted into him, arching my back in a shameless plea for more as I whispered his name. Burying my fingers in his hair--the storm of desire building inside of me--I was lightheaded and lost in a sweet madness...nothing existed for me except this moment in time and Hank Lawson. I had never known a man--never imagined the gentle scrape of a beard against the tender skin of my shoulderblade...but as he covered the bared area of my upper back with soft kisses, I knew that the only place that I wanted to be from now on was lying in Hank's arms.

Drawn to him in the same way that the moon pulls on the tides, foam breaking against the shore, swirling across the sand in its race for freedom...being pulled inexorably backward into the undertow of the next cresting wave--I was subject to a power that could never be denied. A power that I no longer wanted to deny.

"Ya got any idea how much I need you?" he whispered roughly, tracing my cheekbone with the tip of his finger.

Shaken to the core by the urgency of my desire, I raised my eyes to his and waited, not sure how to answer.

With my shins resting on the ground on either side of Hank, the shirt that I was wearing had ridden up, and he lightly stroked my lower thigh as his mouth again claimed mine. Slipping one palm beneath my hips, he shifted me forward so that my pelvis fit snugly against the hard evidence of his arousal, the heat from his body searing mine through the thin layers of fabric that separated us. I closed my eyes, my breath catching in my throat as the need to close that short distance--to take him deep inside of me--began to outweigh the last of my hesitation and fear.

At that same moment, he lifted me by the waist--calling on all of his willpower--and resettled me on the blanket an arm's length away. Pupils still dilated with passion, he gave me a weak smile.

"Might hafta go roll around in the snow to cool off."

"I may need to go out there with you." I swallowed hard, my body throbbing in silent protest against the distance that he'd put between us.

"Afraid we'd be startin' this all over...after what Gabe did," he confessed.

"Somehow I don't think so..." My eyes went involuntarily to his lips.

"Not scared any more?"

"Not of you."

"Maybe you oughta be," he admitted ruefully, trying to shift into a more comfortable position on the floor of the cave. "Least for the next few minutes."

"The only thing that scares me is the thought of losing you," I whispered.

"I'm not goin' anywhere... Not 'less ya go with me," he promised softly. "Night of yer party, when I was standin' in that doorway watchin' you dance--wantin' ya so bad I could taste it and knowin' yer bags were already packed--it was all I could do not to scoop you up and carry you off to my room."

"That kind of juicy scandal would have had the town talking about us for years." I reached for his hand, smiling as I imagined the expression that would have been on peoples' faces if I had disappeared up the staircase of the hotel in Hank's arms.

"By Church the next mornin' yer name woulda been Cait Lawson." He leaned forward and brushed his mouth against mine in a light kiss. "No harm done."

"Let me see if I have this right." I giggled. "The plan was for you and Reverend Johnson to hold loaded shotguns on me and force me to make an honest man out of you? For him to protect your virtue?"

"Preacher's a pretty risky shot, since he's been blind," he bantered, kissing me again. "Was countin' more on my powers of persuasion...bein' able to get ya to see things my way by dawn."

"You were, were you?"

"Ya'd said yes, we'd be snuggled up in a warm bed 'bout now, actin' like newlyweds, 'stead of sittin' here in our underwear, freezin' to death," he grumbled playfully.

"There's something to be said for the way that you fill out a pair of longjohns," I teased, my eyes flickering over his broad chest and down to his trim waist and hips.

"Keep lookin' at me like that, and my hands and mouth are both gonna be places they got no business bein'," he warned softly.

"Is that a threat or a promise?"

"Play with fire, little girl, an' yer liable to get burnt." His low smoky voice rippled along my nerve endings.

"Not so little," I objected huskily.

"That's for sure." His eyes traveled down to where the over-sized henley hid my breasts. "Not everywhere. Better fasten up that shirt 'fore it slides the wrong way--or yer liable to spill right out."

I raised my fingers to the wooden buttons, then hesitated, my gaze locking with his.

"Fasten it, Cait," he whispered, reading the indecision in my face. "Now."

Slipping the remaining two buttons free, I shrugged my shoulders, allowing the garment to drop down around my waist. I'd never wanted a man before. Never felt anything close to this burning need that I had to belong to Hank...to learn the sweet secrets that he could teach me--that would make the two of us into one. Despite the cold--despite the fact that we had no right--hunger, too long denied, demanded its fill.

Hank groaned, his gaze locking on the pearl and ruby locket, then sliding down to my breasts. Grasping a handful of hair at my nape, he drug my head back, parting my lips...searching...while he stroked and teased one eager bud. I gasped when his mouth found my breast, his tongue tracing teasing, wet swirls around the tender peak--then his lips closed and he began to suckle greedily. I cried out his name, burying my hands in his hair, holding him there--wanting more.

Then I felt him yank the shirt back up to cover my breasts, and he held it there, clutched in his fist. "Tell me to stop," he demanded harshly.

"No," I breathed, shaking my head in refusal.

"Bad as I want you, this ain't the right place." His voice was raw with desire as he struggled to master his emotions. "Not for makin' love to a woman you wanna marry and be with for the rest of yer days...not her first time."

"Hank...I..." My eyes filled with tears.

"Damn it, woman...hush." His mouth claimed mine--telling me without words that he loved me--wanted me...with a need much greater than my own.

When he finally lifted his head we stared at each other for a long moment. "I better go take a walk."

"You'll freeze, going out into a blizzard dressed like that!" I frowned, watching as he put on only his coat, boots, hat, and gloves.

"Cold air will do me good--an' I won't be gone long." Hank removed enough of the brush at the cave entrance so that he could squeeze through. "Bout time to bed down for the night anyways."

Realizing that not only was he giving us time apart, he was offering me a chance to take care of my needs in private, I hobbled to the rear of the cave and emptied my bladder, washed my hands and rinsed my mouth. Locating a shallow depression in the ground where the dirt mixture held more loose sand, making it slightly softer, I lined it with the piece of oiled leather from Hank's bedroll, then spread the blankets.

I was snuggled inside their warmth when Hank returned a few minutes later and rearranged the barricade. I watched him pile more logs on the fire, then stretch out on the ground. His head resting on Hurricane's saddlebags, he wore only the long coat and his boots as protection from the cold, his hat tipped over his eyes to shut out the firelight.

"What in the Sam Hill do you think you're doing?" I asked quietly.

"Thought ya were already asleep." He set the hat aside.

"That really doesn't answer my question..."

"It's late. Gonna try to catch myself a nap."

"Come here," I requested, reaching out my hand.

"Need something?" He walked around the firepit and sat down next to me.

"That seems to be a pretty well established fact by now." I caressed his lean cheek. "But since you're packing a pistol, I don't think that you're in any terrible danger."

"Lost the battle to you a long time ago." Hank grinned.

"We shared a quilt at Ruby's when it wasn't half this cold." I opened the blankets to him. "It makes no sense whatsoever not to share a bedroll now."

"Figured it might not be considered polite to just climb in bed with the schoolmarm without an invitation." He winked, taking off his boots and then adding his heavy coat to the top of the blankets for extra warmth. Curving himself against me spoon-fashion, he pulled the edges of the covering together around us.

"For future reference, exactly how much of an invitation do you usually require?" I teased.

"Behave yerself--or yer gonna be wearin' the print of my hand on that pretty little backside," he threatened lightly.

"In that case, I would have no choice but to shoot you down like a rabid coyote." I sighed in mock regret.

"Probably nail my hide to the wall." His voice held amusement.

"And mount your head over my mantle."

"Ya got no reason to ever be afraid of me," he reassured me gently. "Used to threaten my girls with the back of my hand, but I never hit one of 'em. Never even spanked Zach. Got a temper too much like Far's...and when he started in beatin' on me, he didn't know how to stop."

"I'm sorry," I whispered, feeling an overwhelming sadness for the boy who had always come up lacking--no matter how hard he tried--and for the lonely bitter man that he had become, carrying those scars well into manhood.

"Happened a long time ago."

"It should never have happened at all." I linked my fingers with his as they rested against my abdomen and snuggled more tightly against his warmth.

"Lotta folks would say what's 'tween you'n'me never shoulda happened."

"And what would you say?" I turned my head, looking over my shoulder at him.

"That I ain't never been much of a prayin' man, but out on that trail today--Somebody besides me was holdin' them reins." Hank's voice sounded shaky, and he swallowed hard. "Givin' me one last chance to stop bein' such a damned fool."

We were silent for several minutes, and then he sighed as his arm tightened around me. "Wouldya try to be still?" he ordered gruffly. "I ain't had a woman in more'n three months. Not since the day I woke up with you sittin' beside my bed at the clinic. An' I ain't made outta stone."

Embarrassed, I lay cuddled against him, but the harder that I tried to fall asleep, the more wide awake I felt with each passing moment. From the sound of Hank's breathing, I knew that he was having the same difficulty, and after what felt like half an hour had passed, I turned over to face him, still lying in the circle of his arms.

"Wanted to hold you like this right from the start--soon as I brought ya in here," he admitted softly, brushing my hair away from my face.

"So why didn't you?" My blood raced with a fierce awareness of his body pressed close to mine.

"Knew if I touched you, I was gonna have an even harder time lettin' go."

"If you weren't such a big old hardheaded mule, you would have known that I didn't want you to let go." I rested my head on his shoulder. "You would have realized that I wanted you to hang onto me just as tightly as you possibly could."

"Ya weren't such a stubborn little hellcat, you coulda told me." His free hand trailed lazily up and down my back.

"My teeth were chattering too hard."

"Likely story."

"So what's your excuse?"

"Shoulda been listenin' to my heart, 'stead of my head." He met my gaze, allowing me to read the truth in his eyes.

"Is it still snowing?" I curled into him.

"Hard enough ya could get lost five feet from yer own front door," he admitted.

"It sounds like we won't be headed home by morning."

"Got beans and jerky in my saddlebags...everything we need to get by, however long it takes. No need to worry."

"I'm more concerned about Beth and Zach--and what they must be thinking," I confessed. "And I'm worried that she may lose her job when the town finds out that they've been alone."

"Mighta gone to Sully for help. May even be stayin' there. But even if they're not, Michaela'll probably be willin' to say they were--after what happened to you."

"You look so different now." Reaching up, I ran my fingers through his cropped curls. "No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to get used to it. I still miss seeing you with your hair blowing around your shoulders."

"It'll grow," he promised softly.

"When I walked into that jail, and I realized that it was you standing there--not Erik--my heart dropped right through the floor."

"Whole time Jake was cuttin', I kept thinkin' about how bad you'd wanted my hair long and back to the right color for that weddin' picture," he admitted, his arms tightening around me.

"I don't care any more whether or not we even have a wedding picture." I felt a tear spill over and trickle down my cheek. "All I want is you."

"You've got me." He used the pad of his thumb to wipe away the moisture.

"From the very first time that I saw you, I couldn't seem to keep my eyes off of you." I lightly stroked his chest and hard, flat stomach. "Now I can't seem to keep my hands off of you either."

"Ya know...lotta women I meet--they seem to have that same problem." He grinned wickedly, his breath whooshing out into full laughter as I dived on top of him and started to tickle his ribs.

"Just for the sake of clarification--should the newspaper headlines read Cait Lawson--or Caitlyn Adrianna McShane Lausenstrom ALSO KNOWN AS Cait Lawson--when I have to kill all of those shameless hussies?" I demanded, giggling as he rolled me underneath him and held my hands together over my head.

"No woman's ever made me want her the way I want you," he swore softly, his lips tasting mine. "An' never will."

The kiss lingered and deepened--and when he released my hands I wound my arms around his neck, savoring his welcome weight. Propping himself on one forearm, he trailed kisses teasingly down the column of my throat, his breath soft and warm against my skin.

"When I came to Colorado, I was dead inside. I felt like only half a woman." My words came out in a whisper, as my heartrate increased. "But with each day that passes, I want and need you more."

"Then I think we best go see the preacher and get a ring on yer finger real soon." A smile crinkled the corners of Hank's Texas Bluebonnet colored eyes. "Cause yer already 'bout as much woman as I can handle."

"You really haven't--slept with--a whore since the day you were shot?" I asked curiously.

"Don't do much good to be scratchin' the wrong itch."

"That makes me sound like a chigger," I grumbled.

"Seems fittin', considerin' how deep I got you burrowed down underneath my skin." He chuckled. "Warm enough?"

"The last time that I recall being warm was sometime in July of l873." I pretended to ponder a date. "On the 8th, I think. But I do thank you for asking."

"Oughta started feelin' warmer by now, with us tangled up together in the same blankets." His left hand slid downward over the curve of my hip. "But yer still cold as a block of ice."

"I beg your pardon!" I tugged his head back down and kissed him soundly on the lips. "You take that back!"

"Or what?"

"Or I might have to prove you wrong."

"That's a promise I mean to make you to keep." He tangled his fingers in my hair. "Sooner or later."

"You won't have much trouble convincing me." My eyes met his.

"Even dressed in my socks and shirt, yer still the most beautiful woman between here and China," he whispered. "You know that?"

"In which direction?"

"All of 'em."

"Spoken like a man who once failed geography." I gave him a severe schoolteacher's frown.

"Musta been crazy, thinkin' I could ever learn to live without you." Hank shook his head slightly at his own folly.

"There's something that you really ought to know before you definitely make up your mind that you want to marry me," I said with mock seriousness. "In case you haven't noticed this yet, I tend to have a mind of my own."

"Woman without fire ain't worth spit." His lips curled into a smile. "I like 'em smart and sassy."

"Then you do realize that this won't always be smooth sailing? Given how much alike we are, no matter how much I love you--or that you love me--we're bound to occasionally hit stormy weather?" I continued with the same pretended solemnity.

"Good thing I put in six months as a sailor."

"Good thing Daddy owns quite a few really big ships..." I brushed a dangling lock of hair out of his face. "A rowboat may be too small for our tempers."

"Thought he farmed an' raised horses?"

"Actually, he does all of those things."

"Any more secrets ya wanna tell me?" He cupped my chin with his palm, tilting my face toward his.

"I love you," I whispered. "Have I ever told you that?"

"Mighta heard ya say it once or twice...don't mind hearin' it again," he teased, his eyes moving slowly over my face. "It's late. Nearly midnight... You still not sleepy?"

"Not a bit." I traced the curve of his lower lip.

"Can't sleep, guess we'll hafta find some other way to pass the time," Hank breathed, lowering his mouth to capture mine.

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