Texas Blonde

Chapter Eleven

"No, Uncle Henry, this is your granddaughter, Felicity," Richard quickly corrected, rushing to her side.

Felicity stared at the old man, half expecting him to faint as Isabel had done. But he did not. Instead, he cast Richard an irritated glance. "Of course she's Felicity! I know that! I'm not senile yet!"

Then he returned his gaze to Felicity, and the irritation disappeared. He smiled and held out his hand to her. "Come here, child."

Somewhat relieved, Felicity went to him, taking the hand he offered. It was surprisingly warm; his grip, strong and sure. She studied him more closely. He was quite old, even older than she had expected, and he looked as if he had been sick for a while. His skin was pale and slack from loss of weight. But his blue eyes-a faded version of her own- sparkled when he looked at her.

"You do look like your mother, you know. The resemblance is remarkable," he said after a moment.

"So I've been told," Felicity remarked, dimpling.

At her grandfather's puzzled frown, Richard explained. "Isabel fainted when she saw her."

Maxwell nodded his understanding. "Isabel faints quite frequently. She's a spiritless girl. Never did learn how to behave in company, so she faints when she can't think of anything to say."

So that explained it, Felicity thought, reflecting how such a habit must at times be a very useful device. But of course, she did not say so. She would have to be very careful to mind her tongue, as her father had often tried to teach her. She did not want to scandalize her grandfather or tarnish her mother's sterling memory by behaving improperly. Instead, she smiled sweetly and took the seat he offered her. He had been sitting at a small table by the window, and she sat opposite him.

Maxwell glanced up impatiently at Richard, who hovered nearby, and caught a glimpse of Josh, who still stood in the doorway. "Who's that?" he demanded.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Grandfather," Felicity said quickly, abashed at having forgotten to introduce Joshua. "This is my husband, Joshua Logan."

"Husband!" Maxwell protested. "Gordon didn't say anything about a husband."

"He forgot," Richard explained sarcastically.

Maxwell snorted in disbelief. "Well, don't just stand there. Pull up a chair, young man," he commanded, motioning Josh into the room. "Richard, open the drapes so I can see these people."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Maxwell," Josh muttered with an ironic smile that made Henry Maxwell's eyes narrow speculatively. So the old man was sizing him up, was he? Well, it was no more than Josh had expected, and he was ready. The only thing he hadn't been prepared for was Felicity's reaction to this situation. He had seen the awed expression on her face as she took in the magnificence of the Maxwell mansion. The fact that meeting her grandfather had made her forget that she even had a husband-for however brief a time-also disturbed him. But he would not let the old man see his concern. Instinct warned him that Maxwell would pounce on any weakness.

Maintaining his smile, Josh carried a chair over to the table and sat down beside Felicity, stretching his long legs out in front of him. Henry Maxwell examined them with interest and then proceeded to study Josh's face.

"That's quite a head of hair you have there, young man," he said. "What have you done to earn it?"

Josh did not even blink. "I married your granddaughter."

Neither man seemed to hear Felicity's surprised gasp. Gunmetal-gray eyes stared into faded blue ones in a silent battle of wills as the two men took each other's measure. After a very long minute, Maxwell said, "She must be just like her mother. Claire always was more trouble than any two women put together."

Felicity frowned. What could her grandfather mean? She knew perfectly well how gentle and serene her mother had been. Or did she? Before she could think to ask about it, however, Richard's voice cut into her thoughts.

"Joshua is a rancher in Texas. He owns twenty thousand cows," Richard reported. Felicity thought she heard an undercurrent of envy in his tone.

"Twenty thousand, eh?" Maxwell mused. "You must be doing well, then."

"We eat regular," Josh allowed, crossing his arms over his chest in a gesture of challenge. He decided not to point out to Richard that not all his cattle were "cows."

Tired of this male sparring, Felicity tossed Joshua a warning look and said, "I brought you a present, Grandfather. Would you like to see it?"

"A present?" he repeated, his attention shifting back to her. "Yes, I would like to see it."

"I'll go get it," she offered, and started to rise, but Maxwell motioned for her to stay still.

"Hastings will fetch it for you," he said. Another servant whom Felicity had not even noticed before stepped forward and listened intently to Felicity's instructions to fetch the red carpetbag that Mr. Logan had carried in with him.

Felicity reflected that a person could get mighty lazy living in this house.

"That's a lovely dress, my dear," Maxwell said when Hastings had gone.

"Oh, thank you," Felicity said, flushing slightly. "It's my wedding dress." Self-consciously, she touched one of the buttons at her throat.

Maxwell watched the motion thoughtfully. "I'll bet you made it yourself, too," he ventured.

"Why, yes, I did," Felicity admitted, a little amazed that he should guess.

Richard turned his head and coughed, but she barely noticed. Maxwell simply smiled. "Well, she's clever as well as pretty, Richard. I can see you have a real eye for style, my dear. Perhaps while you're here, you'll allow me to buy you a few more gowns."

Felicity shook her head, smiling to soften her refusal. "I don't need any clothes, Grandfather. Mr. Logan is very good to me. I already have more dresses than I can wear."

"Nonsense," Maxwell chuckled. "A pretty girl never has too many dresses. Besides, your friends will be disappointed if you don't come back with something in the height of fashion to show them. Indulge an old man his whimsy, will you? It has been too many years since I was allowed to buy something pretty for a beautiful young woman."

Felicity glanced at her husband. Misreading his expression, she guessed that he was displeased by her grandfather's offer. "No, really-" she began, but Josh cut her off.

"My wife is an unusual woman, Mr. Maxwell. She was brought up to scorn material possessions," Josh explained, ignoring Felicity's disgruntled frown. He really was angry, but not, as Felicity supposed, at her grandfather's offer. For the first time he had seen her beautiful wedding dress through Henry Maxwell's eyes and realized how hopelessly provincial she must appear. Why hadn't he anticipated this? Why hadn't Blanche anticipated it? They could have stopped off in Dallas for a few days to get Felicity some stylish clothes from Blanche's dressmaker. But it was too late now. He would just have to be gracious, in spite of how much it galled him to see the pity Richard and Maxwell could barely conceal. "Felicity and I had our first argument over how elaborate her wedding dress should be. As you can see, she won."

"Mr. Logan!" Felicity remonstrated, ready to point out that she hadn't even wanted a gown as elaborate as the one he had forced her to select, but he gave her no chance.

"I think you'll hurt your grandfather's feelings if you refuse his generous offer," Josh told her gently.

This left her momentarily speechless, since she had only continued to refuse because she thought Joshua disapproved. "Well, all right," Felicity finally agreed, somehow managing a gracious smile.

At that moment, Hastings returned with the carpetbag. Felicity fished inside and produced the decorated box. With a combination of trepidation and anticipation, she placed it on the table in front of her grandfather.

Maxwell gave her a long, considering look, and then he flipped open the box. He stiffened immediately. "Photographs," he said, spitting out the word as if it were vile. "I suppose your father took them."

Felicity watched the warmth in his eyes freeze solid, and for one second she gave thanks that she had included none of her father's pictures in this collection. If her father had hated Henry Maxwell enough to keep her from him all these years, then Henry Maxwell returned that hate tenfold, judging from his expression.

"No, Grandfather," she hastened to explain. "These are all photographs that I took. Some of them are of our ranch in Texas, and our friends. The one on top is our house with all our ranch hands posed in front of it."

But Maxwell wasn't looking at the photographs. He looked instead at Felicity, his eyes narrowed speculatively.

" You took these?"

"Yes, my… my father taught me how," she said, rushing on when she saw his eyes harden again. "Some people think they're pretty good. I'm pleased with them myself." Felicity gave him a tentative smile and reached out to slide the top photograph out of the way. "And this is Mr. Logan, of course," she said, pointing to the next picture.

Finally, Maxwell looked down at the pictures. He studied the one of Joshua and then picked it up to get a closer look. "When was this taken?" he asked, peering suspiciously at Josh over the top of the picture.

"That… that was the day Mr. Logan… the day he proposed to me," Felicity stammered as she recalled her own reaction upon seeing Joshua's expression in that picture for the first time. Remembering what else had happened the day she took that photograph, she felt her cheeks grow hot, but fortunately, her grandfather was not looking at her.

"I should hope he did," Maxwell remarked acerbically to Josh, who glared back defiantly. Once more the two men engaged in a silent battle of wills, which ended when Maxwell finally laid down the photograph and picked up the next one. "And who is this?" he asked with great interest.

"That's our neighbor, Mrs. Delano," Felicity explained. For the next half hour, she gave him a running account of their life in Texas as revealed in the photographs. After a while, even Richard moved closer so he could see them, too.

"These are really very good," Maxwell commented thoughtfully as he flipped back through the pictures, stopping every now and then to examine one more closely. "My granddaughter is very clever, isn't she, Richard?"

"Yes, very," Richard agreed, giving Joshua a look that was almost accusatory.

Felicity wondered what that look meant, but before she could decide, her grandfather asked her, "May I keep these for a while?"

"You can keep them forever," Felicity assured him. "I told you, they're my gift to you."

He gave her a charming smile that made her think of Richard's. "Of course, I'd like them better if there were more pictures of you in here."

"It's hard to take a picture of the photographer," she told him with a laugh.

For just an instant his eyes clouded. "You have her laugh, too," he murmured, but then he brightened again. "Well, I've kept you long enough. You'll be tired from your trip and you'll want to get settled in your room. I imagine Bellwood has had your luggage delivered and unpacked by now. Hastings won't show you where to go."

Josh and Felicity rose. "Will we see you at supper?" she asked.

"No." He shook his head regretfully. "I have a difficult time with the stairs nowadays. But come and see me again afterward, will you?"

"Yes, of course I will," she promised, and then, impulsively-much the same way she had with Mr. Gordon-she bent down and kissed her grandfather's sunken cheek. "I'm awfully glad I came," she whispered.

"So am I," Maxwell whispered back, his eyes suspiciously moist. Then he turned to Josh. "You're a very lucky man," he said gruffly, extending his hand.

"I know," Josh replied, easily reading Maxwell's envy. All his money could not buy him Felicity. Or at least Josh hoped it couldn't.

When Josh and Felicity were gone, Richard turned to his uncle. The old man was obviously smitten with the girl, but there was still the matter of her marriage to Logan. "Well, what do you think?" he asked.

Henry Maxwell sat staring thoughtfully at the door, tapping one index finger on his lower lip. "She's a lovely girl," he said slowly, and then his expression turned cunning. "Get Gordon over here right away. I want to ask him a few questions."

"About Logan," Richard guessed.

"That and some other things. And find out who makes Isabel's clothes and get them over here tomorrow morning, first thing. The poor child can't go out in public looking like that. Oh, and bring me some writing paper. I want to send a note to Alexander Evans," Maxwell added.

"Evans?" Richard asked, puzzled about how the shipping magnate fit into all of these plans.

"Yes, Evans. He belongs to that Photographic Society. I want to get his opinion on these pictures."

Josh undressed slowly, being very careful not to look over at the bed, where Felicity already lay. Oddly enough, he hadn't given much thought to how difficult it was going to be sharing a bed with her after so long a period of abstinence. Unfortunately, it was absolutely necessary that he do so. He did not dare ask for separate rooms and let Maxwell know what a sham their marriage was.

The old man had already drawn the battle lines, making it very clear that the two of them were in competition for Felicity. Maxwell would use the same cunning to win her that he had used to amass his considerable fortune. The thought made Josh's blood run cold. And then there was Winthrop. Where he fit into all of this was anybody's guess, but the little weasel had definitely intended to kiss Felicity this afternoon at the train station. If he didn't have designs on her, too, he was the only one around here who didn't. Josh would have his hands full protecting her from both of them.

Sighing wearily, Josh hung his trousers in the intricately carved rosewood wardrobe and began, from habit, to unbutton his underdrawers, but his hands hesitated on the buttons. What was he doing? The last thing he should do was climb into that bed naked. After refastening the buttons, he moved over to the shiny brass light fixture hanging on the wall and turned off the gaslight, grateful that his own experience had been broad enough to include gaslights. There were already far too many things about life in Philadelphia that were a mystery to him.

Felicity sighed in the darkness. He was going to wear his drawers to bed, as if he needed some protection from her. She waited, lying stiffly beneath the silky sheets, until she felt the bed sag under his weight. His movements were careful as he adjusted the bedclothes over him. Not even so much as an elbow brushed against her. She sighed again.

After they had lain there in complete silence for a long time, Felicity spoke. "What do you think of my grandfather?"

Josh knew she wouldn't want to hear his true opinion, so he said, "He seems like a nice enough fellow."

"I guess Blanche was right about him being rich," she remarked.

Josh only grunted.

"I kept thinking all day what a shame it was that Blanche wasn't here," Felicity continued. "She's the one who could really appreciate all this."

"She would have jumped at the chance to have a rich man buy her clothes, too," Josh said, testing her.

But Felicity did not consider the clothes very important, so she only laughed. "Yes, she would. Blanche would take him for all he's worth, too. She'll be so jealous when she finds out."

Felicity waited, but he made no response. Only the sound of his breathing broke the unnatural silence of the room. The warmth from his body seemed to draw her like a magnet, but she dared not move toward him, not when he still lay as stiff as a poker. Not when he still had given no indication he even wanted her. She heard him inhale deeply, and she listened, expecting to hear him sigh into relaxation. Instead, his breath rasped, sounding almost like a moan.

"Joshua?" she asked into the darkness.

"What?"

She sensed his wariness. "Will you… It's been so long… Will you hold me? Just hold me?" she asked, hating the way her voice sounded, like a little girl pleading for a favor.

But he didn't seem to notice. Muttering something that sounded of relief, he turned and wrapped his arms around her in one fluid motion. For a second the nearness of him almost overwhelmed her as desire burst brightly inside of her. The satin smoothness of his heated flesh, the musky maleness of his scent, the tender caress of his roughened hands stirred blessedly familiar sensations to life.

But, she reminded herself, she had only asked him to hold her. To ask more was to betray her promise to him. Even though she had made that promise under duress, she still must keep it. And so she controlled her clamoring desires by sheer force of will and lay motionless in his arms.

Josh cradled her softness to him, enduring the sweetest of torments as visions of the pleasures they had previously known danced provocatively before his mind's eye. He could feel the tension in her slight body and hear the raggedness of her breathing. He knew her desires matched his own, but he also knew she would make no demands. Not now. Not until she had consulted with her doctors, at least. After that, when she knew the truth about the empty years ahead, her demands would be different.

Pulling her closer, he buried his face in the cloud of her hair. "Go to sleep, honey," he urged, hoping that he could do the same.

The dressmaker came early. Felicity and her aunt spent the morning poring over designs and fabric swatches until Felicity's head was spinning and she no longer had a clear idea of exactly how many dresses she was having made. Too many; of that she was certain.

When the dressmaker had finally gone, Felicity found Joshua reading a newspaper downstairs in one of the parlors.

He glanced up and frowned at the somewhat dazed expression on her face. "Is something wrong?"

Felicity shook her head. "I don't think so," she said, and then smiled at her own uncertainty. "It's just that I never did anything like that before. Mademoselle Fabian had so many beautiful designs to choose from that I'm afraid I went a little crazy. Aunt Isabel insisted, though. She even made me order some evening dresses," Felicity reported, wide-eyed. "She said that Richard would be taking us out to the theater and places like that. You can't imagine how formally people here dress."

Josh's frown deepened as he considered this. So Richard was going to take her to the theater, was he?

"Excuse me," Bellwood said from the doorway. "Luncheon is served."

Josh rose to follow Felicity out into the hall, but he paused as he passed Bellwood, letting Felicity go on ahead. "Tell me, Bellwood, what does a gentleman wear to the theater in Philadelphia?"

Bellwood's inscrutable expression wavered just a bit. "Why, evening clothes, Mr. Logan."

Josh chewed on this a moment.

"Excuse me, sir," Bellwood said, lowering his voice. "I couldn't help but notice your wardrobe does not include evening attire. I could perhaps recommend a tailor."

"Perhaps you'd better," Josh allowed wryly.

"If you wish, I can call for the carriage this afternoon to take you to Mr. Maxwell's personal tailor," Bellwood offered.

But Josh shook his head. He didn't need clothes that fancy. "Just any average tailor will do," he said.

"Excuse me, sir," Bellwood contradicted. "If you want to go to the theater with Mr. Winthrop and your wife, you had best go to Mr. Maxwell's tailor and tell them you are his grandson-in-law. That is the only way your clothes will be ready on time."

Josh frowned, hating the very idea of trading on Henry Maxwell's name for a favor.

Bellwood seemed to sense his reluctance. He sweetened the pot a little. "I believe you'll find that Mr. Maxwell's tailor is also the most reasonable in town as regards to price. That is why Mr. Maxwell selected him. It is one of the character traits that has made Mr. Maxwell so wealthy a man," he added with a twinkle.

Josh shook his head in wonder at the butler. "All right, Bellwood. Call up the carriage after lunch."

Henry Maxwell fidgeted uncharacteristically with the bedclothes as he waited for his visitor's opinion. "Well, what do you think, Alex?" he demanded after several minutes.

Alexander Evans, a man who had made a fortune in the shipping business, took his time answering. He examined the photograph in his hands a while longer, his gray head bent close, and then he picked up another picture and compared the two. "They're remarkable, Henry," he decreed at last.

"What do you mean, 'remarkable'?" Henry asked suspiciously.

"I mean, they are excellent. Take the picture of this woman, for example," Alex said, showing Henry the portrait of Blanche Delano. "Look at the way she's posed."

Henry sniffed in disapproval. "She looks like a tart."

"Exactly," Alex said. "See the way her body is positioned? The way her hands are folded? The expression on her face? There's nothing indiscreet about any one detail of the picture, but the observer receives the impression of a woman who is… uh, shall we say, not averse to having a good time?"

"And these cowboys," Alex continued, finding several other examples to illustrate his point. "Most of them are young boys who are bound to be self-conscious before a camera, but your granddaughter has managed to capture their personalities in natural settings, rather than the traditional stiffly posed portrait. It's absolutely remarkable." Then he looked more closely at the pictures and frowned. "Hmmmm," he mused.

"And what does 'hmmmm' mean?" Henry asked in irritation.

"Are you certain that the little girl I saw downstairs really took these photographs?"

Henry scowled. "Don't you think she could have?"

Alex shrugged. "She's awfully young. And look at the quality of these prints. Why, the plates were prepared with the hand of an expert. There's hardly a bump or bubble visible in the whole lot. Perhaps these are really the work of her father, and she lied to you to impress you. You couldn't blame her for that," he ventured apologetically.

"Impossible," Henry decreed. "Besides, all these people are Logan's friends and neighbors. She didn't even meet him until after her father was dead. There's no way Storm could have taken these photographs."

Alex shook his head in wonder. "He must have started training her when she was in diapers, then. I've been dabbling in photography for more than ten years, and I still have trouble making a proper plate. Henry, could I borrow these pictures for a while?"

"What do you want to do with them?" Henry asked, unwilling to let Felicity's gift out of his sight.

"There's a meeting of the Photographic Society next week. I'd like to show these to the other members and get their opinions. Perhaps I'm just impressed because I've seen the photographer. I won't tell them anything about her, not even that she's a female, until they've told me what they think. Then you'll know for sure just how good they really are." Alex smiled cajolingly at his old friend.

"And if they are good, then what?" Henry asked suspiciously.

"Well," Alex pondered, "I was thinking about the Photography Building at the Exposition. We'll be displaying thousands of photographs there. No reason why hers shouldn't be among them… Although how the other photographers will feel about a woman's work being considered equal with theirs remains to be seen."

"Humph," Henry snorted. "It's early days to be thinking about all that. You said yourself, you aren't even sure how good her work is yet."

"But you will let me take the photographs, won't you?" Alex insisted. "I'll take good care of them and bring them back the day after the meeting." He gave Henry a quizzical smile. "Do I have to pledge the life of my firstborn?"

"No," Henry admitted grudgingly. "But nothing better happen to those pictures."

"Oh, I think something will happen to them, all right," Alex said, still grinning. "But it will be something very, very nice."

The next morning, Josh and Felicity were in the back parlor, the informal room where the family usually sat, when Henry Maxwell received another visitor.

"Good morning, Dr. Lowell," Bellwood greeted him.

When Dr. Lowell had been escorted upstairs, Felicity sought Bellwood out. "Who was that man?"

"That is Dr. Lowell, your grandfather's physician," Bellwood informed her.

"Would you please tell him that I'd like to speak with him before he leaves?" she asked, flushing slightly with embarrassment at delivering her first order to Bellwood. And then she wondered what such a great doctor would think of being summoned to her presence, but she was rapidly learning that to do so was the only way she got to see anyone in this house.

A short while later, Bellwood announced Dr. Lowell, a tall, distinguished man with dark hair and a full beard, and ushered him into the parlor. When introductions were complete and everyone was seated comfortably, Dr. Lowell began, anticipating Josh and Felicity's questions.

"Your grandfather seems to be doing well, but I am afraid that is an illusion, Mrs. Logan," he said solemnly.

"An illusion? What do you mean?" she asked, alarmed.

"Well, of course he is in good spirits because of your visit. I understand that he has even been out of bed…"

"Yes, but I thought that was a good sign," Felicity said.

Dr. Lowell shook his head. "I fear he has overextended his limited resources. What you have interpreted as a return of good health might in fact indicate just the opposite. His exertions may actually hasten his demise."

"Oh no!" Felicity protested, horrified that she might unwittingly be the cause of her grandfather's death.

But Dr. Lowell smiled indulgently. "Don't be unduly alarmed, Mrs. Logan," he assured her. "I only tell you this as a warning. I'm sure that if your grandfather resumes his quiet life, he will live for several more months."

"Months?" Josh echoed, unable to believe the lively man he had met the previous day had only months left to live.

But Dr. Lowell nodded sagely. "I'm afraid so."

Felicity stared at the doctor. She simply could not accept such a discouraging diagnosis. She could not believe her grandfather was really dying. "Isn't there anything you can do?" she pleaded.

But Dr. Lowell shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry. All we can do now is make his last days as pleasant as possible."

As pleasant as possible. Felicity turned that thought over in her mind. Obviously, her presence pleased her grandfather. She would give him as much of that as he desired. And she would ask him what else she could do to make him happy. And she would…

"Did you have any other questions?" Dr. Lowell asked solicitously.

With difficulty, Felicity dragged her attention back to the present. Any other questions? Suddenly she recalled the real reason she had summoned Dr. Lowell in the first place. "Yes, doctor, I… I would like to ask you something else. Something personal, not about my grandfather at all," she began with growing trepidation.

"Certainly," Dr. Lowell agreed, settling back in his chair as if prepared to stay all day and answer questions if it pleased her.

Felicity nervously twisted her hands in her lap as she searched her mind for the proper way to start. "I had a baby a few months ago," she began, feeling the prickle of tears at the memories. "He… he was…"

"The baby was stillborn," Josh supplied quietly, sparing her the distress of saying the words. "My wife had a very difficult time, and she almost died herself."

Dr. Lowell nodded his understanding. His dark eyes expressed his profound sympathy.

"What I want to know is, can I have another baby?" Felicity asked in anguish, hating the fact that she must discuss her tragedy with a stranger, but forcing herself to ignore her own pain in the hopes that this stranger might be able to help.

Dr. Lowell considered her question for a moment. "There is no simple answer to your question, Mrs. Logan. In the first place, I would need to know many more details about your labor and delivery, the condition of the child, and so on. Then I would have to examine you-"

"Examine me!" Felicity exclaimed. This was something she had never even considered.

"The hell you will!" Josh contradicted, lunging to his feet.

Dr. Lowell jumped up also, instantly defensive. "I assure you, Mr. Logan, there is nothing untoward-"

"You aren't going to examine her, and that's all there is to it," Josh declared.

Dr. Lowell seemed loath to argue the point. "Whatever you decide, of course," he said, backing toward the door. "If you change your mind-"

"We won't," Josh said, arms akimbo. Dr. Lowell made a hasty exit.

Felicity winced as the parlor door slammed shut. An examination. She wasn't sure just what an examination by a doctor would involve, having never had one before, but from Joshua's reaction, it must be quite unpleasant. How could she let a strange man look at her body, perhaps even touch it? But if that would mean she and Joshua could be together again, if it would mean they could have another child, she would endure anything. "Maybe it won't be so bad," she ventured.

"He's not going to lay a finger on you, Felicity," Josh decreed, pacing furiously around the room. "I saw the way he looked at you. Doctor or not, he's still a man, and I won't hear of it."

Felicity nodded numbly as she tried to sort out the ramifications of his statement. If the doctor couldn't examine her, then how would she ever find out if she could have another baby? She would never hold her own living child in her arms. The mere thought made her shudder. And if there could be no child, that meant she and Joshua could never make love again. How could they live together under those circumstances? And how long would it be before a young, healthy man like Joshua got tired of sleeping alone and sent his useless wife away? The possibilities were too horrible even to contemplate.

"Joshua, I… I want to have another baby," she began, fighting the sting of tears. She had to change his mind about the examination.

"Of course you do," Josh said, rushing to her side, his anger gone. "I do, too, but not if it will endanger your life," he said, going down on one knee beside her chair and taking her hands in his.

"But we don't know whether it will or not unless the doctor examines me…"

"Felicity, do you have any idea what that means?" he asked impatiently.

"I… I think so," she admitted reluctantly, not wanting to think about it.

"Are you willing to lie there, naked, and let that man put his hands on you?" Josh asked in quiet outrage at the very thought.

The idea horrified her, but she could endure it, she knew. "But what if the doctor tells me I can have another baby?" she argued.

"He won't," Josh said sadly.

"How do you know?" she insisted. "Nobody knows until-"

"I know," he insisted. "Look at me, Lissy."

Startled by his command, Felicity stared at him.

"Look at me," he repeated, his voice raw. "And then look at yourself. I'm twice as big as you are. That's what caused the problem in the first place. The baby, my baby, was too big for you, and it almost killed you. Don't you understand? Any baby I give you will be too big. No doctor in the world can change that."

"Oh, Joshua," she cried as his image blurred before her. She had known that, but she simply hadn't let herself believe it before. Hearing it again from his own lips was too awful, too final, and she did not think she could bear it.

And then his arms were around her, cradling her as she sobbed out her anguish. Somehow he lifted her and then she was in his lap, her tears soaking into his shirt. Those tears should have brought release, but instead they seemed to scald her very soul, defying even the comfort that Joshua offered.

Josh held her fiercely, silently cursing the powers that had given them each other and then snatched away their chance at happiness. As he muffled her sobs against his chest, he wondered how much tragedy one so tiny could absorb. First she had lost her father and then their child. Then came the news about her grandfather and now this. How much could she endure without shattering?

At that moment he would have given his life to protect her from even one more moment's misery. Unfortunately, no one was willing to make such a trade with him. "Don't cry, Ussy," he murmured into her hair as his hands tried to soothe her.

But his attempt to comfort only made her cry harder. "I love you so much, so very much," she cried brokenly, overwhelmed by his tenderness.

Josh closed his own eyes over the sting of tears, understanding her feelings only too well. The word "love" no longer described the depth of what he felt for her. Unable to find any words that did, he simply whispered, "I know," and held her even more tightly.

For a long time they sat like that until Felicity was too weak even to cry anymore. Then Joshua carried her upstairs and put her in bed. His tender solicitude sent new, silent tears trickling down her cheeks, but he wiped those away and ordered her to sleep.

"Don't think about it anymore," he urged as he kissed her gently. "Just rest now." With that he closed the draperies and left her alone in the darkened room.

She did not sleep and she did not forget, but after a while the pain receded enough that she thought she might be able to bear it. By evening, she had even regained her composure. She had her grandfather to consider, after all. If she wanted to make his last days pleasant, she could not spend her time weeping over something she could not change. At least she still had Joshua. That was more than many women had. Somehow they would make a good life together.

When Joshua climbed into their bed and put his arms around her that night, she whispered, "I love you. I know everything will work out."

He said nothing to disillusion her.

The thing Felicity liked best about Philadelphia was how close everything was to everything else. The first Saturday night after their fancy clothes arrived, Richard took Josh and Felicity to the Walnut Street Theater-only a short carriage ride away-to see the play Divorce.

Josh tried not to put too much significance on the play's title, even though he could not help but notice the way Richard's original warmth toward Felicity had heated up considerably. Now that Josh saw her sitting in a box at the theater, dressed in a magnificent new gown and surrounded by Richard's fawning friends, he could easily imagine what plans Richard might be making.

Any fool could see that Maxwell adored Felicity. If the old man really was dying-something Josh had a difficult time believing regardless of what his doctor said-he would doubtless leave the bulk of his fortune to his granddaughter. The fact that Richard coveted Maxwell's wealth was painfully obvious. The way he flaunted that wealth to impress Josh and Felicity proved it.

Josh glanced across the box to where his wife was sitting surrounded by the young men attracted by her beauty during the intermission. And she was a beauty, even without the embellishment of the blue silk gown. Her hair glowed under the artificial lights, shining more golden than even the jewelry her aunt had insisted she wear tonight. The stones, Isabel had said, were sapphires. They were set into an intricate filigree and flashed now at Felicity's ears and throat. But the cold beauty of the stones could not compare with the dazzling sparkle of Felicity's even bluer eyes as she laughed happily at some jest one of her admirers had made.

Like the sapphire stones which showed to better advantage in their golden settings, Felicity, too, showed well in this setting. Her dress, the color of a robin's egg, was cut low to reveal the lush curve of her bosom and cut tight to emphasize the supple slenderness of her body. The skinny little girl he had found out on the prairie was gone forever, replaced by the exquisite creature before him.

Josh reflected sardonically that he had once vowed never to fall in love with her. How idiotic such a notion seemed now as he watched perfect strangers succumbing to her spell. He had been doomed from the first moment, from the instant she had fainted into his arms. The irony of it was that his love could only bring her suffering… and possibly even death.

He wasn't a fool. He knew that the two of them could not live together for long without making love. Sooner or later it would happen again, just as it had happened once already. That time they had been lucky and Felicity had not conceived, but would they be lucky the next time? Taking her back to Texas with him might cost her life.

He did have a choice, of course. He could leave her here, to a life of luxury with Maxwell. And Winthrop. Seeing her here, dressed in fine clothes and surrounded by luxury, made him realize how easily she would adapt to this kind of life. With Winthrop. at her side, she would ease effortlessly into Philadelphia society. The thought of her and Winthrop together tore through him like the sharp blade of a knife, and the pain grew worse when he realized that Felicity would have nothing to fear from Winthrop. Any whelp that bastard begot would, of necessity, be a runt.

"Mr. Logan?" a female voice asked. He turned back to the lady sitting beside him. She had entered the box with a male companion who was now paying court to Felicity, but the lady seemed unconcerned over that fact. "I asked you about your ranch. Exactly how large is it?" She gave him a simpering smile and fluttered her fan coyly.

She really was an attractive woman, Josh noted objectively. Flirtatious, too. And she probably thought him a complete boor for ignoring her to stare at his own wife. "That's hard to say, ma'am," he replied perfunctorily. "You can cover it end to end in one day if you have a fast horse, though."

Her fan fluttered again as her eyes widened in a manner calculated to please his male pride. "Good heavens, as big as all that?" she exclaimed breathlessly. "You must tell me all about it."

At the moment, Josh could think of nothing he wanted to do less, but he obliged the lady. If he was not exactly enthusiastic, if the lady now thought him boring, too, that was her problem. Josh simply could not work up any zeal for impressing another woman, not when his own wife was so obviously making an impression of her own.

Felicity glanced up to catch Josh staring at her, his gray eyes shuttered to conceal his inner thoughts. He did not look pleased, but even frowning, he was the most handsome man in the room, especially dressed in the new evening clothes. She had hardly recognized him in such elegant attire, but then she had hardly recognized her own reflection staring back from the mirror, either. Everything about this evening was like a dream, including the group of young men who were intent on amusing her. The only thing that seemed real was Joshua's frown.

It made her uneasy, knowing as she did that he would be watching her for signs that this kind of life tempted her the way it had tempted his mother. Then she wondered if perhaps there was more to it than that. Perhaps he was a little jealous about the attention she was getting from the young men. The thought stirred her, awakening a new feeling of feminine power. Even though he had not said the words for a long time, he did care for her, he did love her. She would cling to that thought. She flashed Joshua a reassuring smile before turning back to the young man who was addressing her.

On Sunday afternoon Richard took them for a ride out to Fairmount Park. As they crossed the Girard Avenue Bridge which spanned the wide Schuylkill River, Richard gave them a running history of the development of the park. He explained that earlier in the century, the city council had become concerned over maintaining the quality of the city's water. In 1855, they had annexed Robert Morris's estate at Lemon Hill, along with thirty-three additional acres, to the existing Fairmount Water Works. From this land, they created an extensive public park which served the dual purpose of protecting the water supply and providing a natural haven for all those who lived in the city.

As they left the racket and clamor of the city behind and entered the quiet verdancy of the park, Felicity began to understand the necessity for such a place of refuge.

"And that is the Zoological Society," Richard said, pointing out a large area below them dotted with various buildings and enclosures.

"What is a Zoological Society?" Felicity asked, trying to decide if the buildings really did have bars on them.

Richard laughed indulgently. "It's a zoo," he explained. At her blank look, he added, "They keep wild animals there so people can come and look at them."

"How cruel!" Felicity said, thinking of the poor animals cooped up in cages like that.

A little nonplussed, Richard tried another tack. "But the animals are very well treated. When the weather is a little warmer, we'll go see them. Then you'll understand. Just think of all the city people who would never get to see animals otherwise."

"Do city people really need to see wild animals?" Felicity asked, interested to note that Richard had no answer.

He was silent for a long time, making Josh realize that this was the first time he had seen Richard at a loss for words. As much as he disliked Felicity's cousin, Josh understood that his dislike stemmed from the natural animosity he would feel toward any man who rivaled him for Felicity's affection. In another situation, he might not have found Richard's company so offensive. The man was certainly a perfect host and a knowledgeable conversationalist. If he hadn't been quite so handsome and charming-and quite so obviously enamored of Felicity-Josh could easily have tolerated him.

Under other circumstances, Josh might even have liked Philadelphia. Although he did not care for the congestion and noise of the city, he did enjoy the activities available in such a place. And now that he had seen this beautiful park, he could even understand why people might consent to live here.

"This is where the Centennial Exposition will be held," Richard announced triumphantly, piquing Josh's interest in the jumble of half-completed buildings and construction materials that had just come into view.

Felicity drew a blank until she recalled something Blanche had told her. "Oh yes, the fair to celebrate America's centennial," she exclaimed, peering out the carriage window. But the confusion before her gave no indication of the glorious triumph Blanche had foretold. "I thought it was going to open soon," she said.

"Well, it was supposed to open in April, but they've moved the date to May now, because of construction delays," Richard explained, giving the buildings another, more serious, inspection. Secretly, he agreed with Felicity's assessment that the fair still did not look anywhere near ready for the scheduled May 10 opening date. The first of March was already past. "Well, well come for the opening-day festivities, and you will see for yourself that Philadelphia can rise to any challenge," he said with false bravado. "They say that President Grant himself is coming to cut the ribbon."

"You mean General Grant?" Josh could not resist asking, reminding Richard that Grant was not well loved in all parts of the country.

"They say that the main building is the largest in the world," Richard reported with a strained smile. Although he was flushing slightly, he refused to acknowledge Josh's barb. "And every country in Europe will have a building displaying their industry and achievements."

As Richard continued to point out items of interest on their tour, Josh recalled Richard's previous offhand remark about coming to the opening day of the Exposition. That was over two months away. Just how long did he think they would be staying? Josh had a ranch to run, and spring was the busiest season of the year. He could not possibly stay in Philadelphia that long.

But Felicity could, he realized suddenly. She had no responsibilities calling her back to Texas. Was that what Richard had in mind? He had already promised to escort them to more plays and to concerts and all the various entertainments offered in this great city. If such a prospect impressed Josh, how much more would it impress someone as innocent as Felicity, a girl who had known no other home but a wagon before coming to Josh's ranch?

And even the Rocking L could not compete with the enticements Richard offered, as Josh well knew. No wonder Josh's mother had been unable to bear living on an isolated ranch in Texas after knowing this kind of life. For the first time, Josh was able to understand the forces that had drawn his mother away from him and his father. But understanding someone's reason for doing something and allowing the same thing to happen again were two entirely different things. If Richard hoped to lure Felicity away with his fancy city life, Josh would be ready for him.

Josh grew more ready in the coming days as Richard made good his promise and introduced them to Philadelphia society on a grand scale, a scale obviously calculated to turn the head of a poor little country girl.

"But we can't leave yet!" Felicity protested, glaring at Joshua from across the parlor. "We only just got here! Grandfather will be so disappointed and-"

"I know, but there's no help for it," Josh insisted. "I have a ranch to run, you know. There's branding and-"

"Grady and the men can do that without your help," Felicity said, growing more desperate by the minute. She knew he did not like the city. Even she could feel the smothering closeness in this place, where she had to strain her neck just to see the sky and where the stars were faint from the glow of gaslight. Loving his land as he did, Joshua must feel the constrictions even more fiercely. He did not seem to get along well with Richard or her grandfather, either, but surely staying just a little longer wouldn't hurt him. Their men could certainly handle the routine task of branding. "Please, Joshua," she pleaded, moving closer to him and slipping her arms around his waist. "Grandfather's dying! I may never get another chance to visit him. Just a few more weeks?"

Josh looked down into her eyes, overwhelmed as always by her beauty. She looked as if she might cry, but he could not let that sway his resolve. "How many weeks?" he asked, wondering if he might be able to placate her with a small compromise. A week or two longer wouldn't hurt.

Felicity's hopes soared. He was going to be reasonable. "I don't know," she began, making some quick calculations in her head. "Another month or two?"

Josh scowled in quick fury. Obviously, his small compromise was out of the question. "Only two months?" he inquired sarcastically. "How about three or four? Or why don't we just hang around until the old man's string runs out? If you're lucky, he'll leave you the house, and then you'll be able to stay here forever!"

Stung, Felicity jerked away from him. "Is that what you think? That I want to stay here forever?" she asked. Apprehension shivered over her as she recognized his worst fear come to life. Was that why he was so anxious to get her away from here? Did he trust her so little?

"It doesn't matter what you want," he declared coldly. "You're going home with me-now, and not two months from now." He turned away, knowing he was being, unreasonable and even cruel, but unable to stop himself.

Just as he had suspected, Richard had woven his spell around her. After only two weeks she was already reluctant to leave. Josh did not dare to let her stay any longer.

Felicity could only stare at his rigid back. What was wrong with him? He had never treated her like this, like a piece of property with no feelings. Even when he had been cold to her during her pregnancy, he had been considerate of her needs and wants. Now it seemed that her needs and wants no longer even mattered to him. Was this the way a man desperate to keep the woman he loved would act? She had no way of knowing, and before she could consider it further, a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Pardon me, Mr. Logan. I have a… Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am," Bellwood hastily apologized from the doorway. "I thought Mr. Logan was alone."

Felicity drew a ragged breath. "He will be, in just a second," she said, whirling in a rustle of skirts and sweeping past the butler out of the room. She needed some time alone, away from this unfamiliar Joshua, to get control of herself and to figure out how to deal with this new situation.

"I hope I didn't interrupt anything, sir," Bellwood said, his usually inscrutable face betraying a hint of unease at Felicity's precipitous departure.

Josh sighed wearily. He was grateful for the interruption. He hated hurting Felicity, even when he knew it was in her best interests. "What is it, Bellwood?"

"There is a letter for you, sir, from Texas."

"A letter?" Josh repeated, forgetting everything else for the moment. He picked up the envelope Bellwood offered to him on a small silver tray and began tearing it open. "Call my wife, will you? She'll want to read it, too."

But instead of responding to Josh's command, Bellwood cleared his throat. "Excuse me, sir, but perhaps you should read it first." At Josh's quizzical look, he explained. "I would not have brought it had I known Mrs. Logan was in the room. You see, the letter is addressed only to you and… ahem, in a woman's hand."

Josh examined the front of the letter more closely. Sure enough, Bellwood was right. The only woman in Texas he could imagine needing to write him a letter was Candace, and she had never learned to write. Alarmed now, Josh finished opening the letter. He quickly scanned the closely written sheet, and when he was finished, he swore quietly and crumpled the paper viciously into a tiny ball.

"Bad news, sir?" Bellwood inquired solicitously.

Josh started, having forgotten the butler's presence. "I'm afraid so, Bellwood," he said purposefully walking over to the grate and tossing the crumpled paper and the envelope into the flames. "Please don't mention anything about this letter to Mrs. Logan, will you?"

"Oh no, sir," Bellwood promised.

Blanche hurried up the steps, heedless of her long skirt. Candace waited at the door of the ranch house for her. "I came as soon as I could," Blanche said as she crossed the porch. "How bad is he?"

"Just some bumps and bruises, but his arm's broke for sure," Candace replied, stepping back to allow Blanche to enter the house. "I put him in Mr. Josh's room."

But Blanche needed no directions. She could hear her old friend Bill Grady swearing the moment she got through the front door. "That language could singe the hair off a cat, Billy-boy," Blanche protested cheerfully as she entered the bedroom. "It might offend a lady, too," she added with a wink.

Grady grunted. "If there was any around," he replied sourly.

Blanche shot him an offended look. "There's no call to be mean just because you're feeling poorly," she admonished him. "One more remark like that and I might just accidentally poke you in the arm."

Blanche laughed when she saw the comic way he cringed from such a suggestion. "Beg your pardon, ma'am," he muttered with mock humility, making her laugh again.

"Now that we've improved your manners, what's all this I hear about you falling off your horse?" Blanche inquired.

"Hellfire!" Grady howled. "Is that what Cody told you?"

"No," Blanche said innocently. "He had some fairy tale about how you were ambushed," she teased, but her grin faded when she saw Grady's bleak expression. "You mean you really were ambushed?"

Grady nodded solemnly. "Shot my horse right out from under me. I busted my arm when I fell. Lucky thing some of the boys were nearby. They heard the shots and came on the run, but whoever was doing the shooting got away."

"God Almighty," Blanche breathed. "Have you sent word to Josh yet?"

Grady squirmed uncomfortably. "Not yet," he admitted reluctantly. "See, that's why I asked you to come over. I need someone to write a letter for me." He made a gesture toward his splinted right arm.

"Letter! Why don't you just send a telegram!" Blanche exclaimed.

Grady gave her an exasperated look. "Because he'd think somebody died, that's why," the foreman explained. "Besides, you can't explain much in ten words. He needs to know everything that happened. He may not even want to come home just for this. Mrs. Logan's relatives are pretty important people, and he might think visiting them is more important than this."

Blanche considered that highly unlikely, but she had to agree that Josh needed to know all the details. "All right," she said, and then called, "Candace, can you scare me up some paper and a pen?" Candace did so, and when Blanche was comfortably seated by the bed, Grady began to tell her exactly what had been happening around the ranch the past few days, strange events that had culminated in Grady's ambush.

"Well now, that's quite a story," Blanche said when she was finished writing. "Joshua should find it quite interesting, but if he hollers at you for not sending a telegram, don't blame me," she warned with mock sternness as she prepared to leave Grady alone to his misery.

"I'm much obliged, Blanche," Grady said wearily. "None of the other men were brave enough to write to the boss."

Blanche nodded her understanding. Most of the cowboys were probably illiterate. The few who could read and write would not want to tax their feeble skills with such an important task. "Glad to be of help," Blanche replied. "You just let me know if you need anything else written… like your will or anything," she added wickedly.

Grady glared at her. His look warned that if he hadn't been injured, he would have made her pay for that remark.

Blanche smiled tauntingly, inwardly regretting that Bill Grady was such a short man. He was certainly a lot of fun, and he'd been a good friend through the years. If only he were a foot taller and about forty pounds heavier… if only he looked like Asa Gordon, she admitted silently, she'd be giving him more than a smile. But of course, he didn't look a bit like Asa Gordon, so she simply smiled. "I'll tell Candace to break out Joshua's whiskey for you. You look like you could use some."

Candace was waiting when Blanche came out of the bedroom, her dark face twisted into a worried frown. "What all did he tell you to write?" Candace asked apprehensively.

Blanche's smile quickly faded. Candace looked a little more upset than a broken arm or even an unsuccessful ambush would justify. Was there more to the story than Grady had told her? "Here, I'll read you the letter, and you can tell me if I left anything out," Blanche offered. When she had finished reading, she asked, "Does that cover everything?"

Candace turned away, twisting her hands in her apron. "There's more, Mrs. Delano. Something even Mr. Grady doesn't know."

The tiny hairs on the back of Blanche's neck prickled in warning. "What is it, Candace? I think Joshua should know everything."

Candace hesitated, chewing her lip anxiously for a moment before finally speaking. "You remember last year when Mr. Josh caught Ortega's bunch? There was a colored man with them…" She paused uncertainly.

"Your son?" Blanche asked, letting Candace know she did not have to beat around the bush.

"Yes, my… my son," Candace said the word reluctantly. "He came to see me a few days ago. He said he was going to pay Josh back for ruining his arm." Candace paused over a shuddering sigh. "Oh, Mrs. Delano, he said some terrible things about… about what he was going to do to Miss Felicity."

"Oh, dear Lord," Blanche murmured. "If anything happened to that girl, Josh would just go crazy."

"I know," Candace replied. "I reckon I would, too. This is all my fault. I asked Mr. Josh not to kill Jeremiah, and now…"

Blanche rushed to her as Candace's voice broke in a sob. "There, now, don't think that," Blanche soothed, putting a comforting arm around her. "It's not your fault. And you were right to ask Josh not to kill him. How could he live with that, killing his own flesh and blood? No matter what the man's done, they're still brothers."

Candace lifted startled eyes to Blanche. Few white people would acknowledge such a relationship. Fewer still would grant it any importance. "Thank you," Candace whispered.

But Blanche shrugged off her gratitude. "About those threats, do you think he really meant to hurt Felicity, or was he only trying to scare you?"

"I don't know," Candace admitted.

"Well, we can't take a chance. I'm going to add a postscript to this letter. Maybe it would be a good idea for Felicity to stay in Philadelphia for a while, visiting her relatives. That way we know she'll be safe."