Texas Blonde

Chapter Seven

"I wish I had my camera," Felicity said wistfully, resting her chin on her updrawn knees and gazing longingly at the way the clear, blue Texas sky canopied the rolling prairie.

Josh stretched out on the blanket, carefully avoiding the remains of their picnic, and propped himself up on one elbow. "Why?" he asked, smiling as he watched the gentle breeze tease at her hair. He had, in fact, spent most of the four days since his wedding smiling. He could not remember ever feeling so content.

"Because this tree is absolutely beautiful," she said, indicating the huge cottonwood under which they sat. "With the creek behind it and my handsome husband in front of it, the whole thing would make a wonderful photograph."

"With me in front of it!" Josh repeated in amazement, and then he saw her teasing grin. With a growl, he reached out and grabbed her, dragging her across the blanket and into his arms.

"Mr. Logan! Someone will see us!" Felicity warned, laughing and squirming against him in a mockery of her words.

"There's nobody within miles of this place," he argued, using his tongue to tickle her neck. Still, he knew she was right. Someone just might come along. He would have to restrain himself. Sighing with resignation, he pulled back slightly so he could see her face. To get his mind off what her glittering eyes were suggesting, he said, "Why would you like to take my picture again?"

A little startled at the question and more than a little breathless from his nearness, she hesitated a moment before replying, not quite certain she wanted him to know the true reason. The fact was that she adored him, and she would never be able to take enough photographs of him.

"You take a very good picture," she hedged, "and now I think I even know how to get you to smile," she added with another grin. All she had to do, it seemed, was be there. He smiled at her all the time now, a smile that indicated he was delighted with her. She basked in the glow of that delight, thrilled beyond measure that she pleased him as much as he pleased her. Their married life had thus far consisted of passionate nights during which she learned things about her body she had never even suspected and things about her husband she had never dreamed. Those nights alternated with days like this one, days so idyllic she sometimes thought she must be imagining all of it. Never in her life had she been so happy or felt so secure. All the shadowy fears that had followed her across the plains of Texas were gone now.

"I'd like to have a picture of you, too," he said, settling her more comfortably in his arms and inhaling the sweet woman-scent of her body.

She laughed at the idea as she reached up to stroke his cheek. "Why do you need a picture? You see me every day."

Josh shrugged, unable to explain his reasons since he did not understand them himself. Instead he teased her. "So when you're old and fat, I can remember why I married you."

"Ohhhh!" she cried, trying to punch him, but he smothered her struggles and planted a kiss on her outraged mouth.

"Yes," he mused when she again lay still in his arms, "I'd like to have a picture of you looking just the way you look right now."

"That might be a little tricky…" she said softly, rubbing her nose against the whiskery point of his chin.

He grinned wickedly. "Not as tricky as the photograph I'd really like. What I'd really like is a picture of you just when you call me 'Joshua.'"

Felicity gasped at this reference to their lovemaking, still the only time she ever called him by his given name. She should not have been shocked. From the things he had said to her in the few days since their marriage, she should have realized that he was liable to say just anything, no matter how outrageous. But she had learned some tricks herself in those few days. "Well," she said, pretending to consider the possibility, "I had been thinking that Cody could take a wedding portrait of us…"

"What!" Josh shouted before he noticed the teasing twinkle in her eye. "You little…" He wrestled her to the ground and tickled her until she screamed for mercy.

"Stop! Please! I can't stand it!" she shrieked, and finally he let her go, pulling back and turning partially away from her as if he were affronted.

"A wedding portrait," he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest indignantly.

Struggling to regain her breath and her composure, Felicity could not even manage to sit up, so she lay there limply on the blanket, laughing at his pique. "We really should have a wedding portrait made," she ventured after a while, trying to sound perfectly serious. "A traditional one, I mean," she clarified when he cocked an eyebrow at her.

He thought this over. "We could go to San Antonio. There's a studio there. It's not far, and we could stay a few days. It could be our honeymoon," he suggested. He still felt a little guilty for not taking her on a wedding trip, but he simply could not afford to be away from the ranch for any length of time during the spring. Ortega would be acting up again and…

"This is my honeymoon," Felicity corrected, instantly sobered, "and I like it just fine. I don't want to go to San Antonio or anyplace else."

"Not even New Orleans or St. Louis?" he said, trying to tempt her. "We could go in a few months, stay as long as you like____________________"

"I told you before, I don't want to go anywhere," she insisted, unaware that he was only baiting her.

"Why not?" Josh taunted, more than willing to hear her repeat her reasons. They had had this discussion last week, before the wedding. He did not think he would ever tire of it.

"Because," she said, sitting up again, "I've traveled all my life, and now that I have a real home, I want to stay here." Besides, she added silently, for the first time in my life I feel truly safe, and as long as I'm here, in your home, no one can be following me. But she didn't say that aloud. Instead, she said, "Anyway, I've been to San Antonio, and I don't-"

Josh silenced her with a kiss, a joyous, grateful, happy kiss. "I'm glad you like it here," he said when they were both breathless.

Felicity reached up and tenderly brushed a lock of silver hair off his forehead as she wondered why such a simple thing should please him so much. The answer came to her with surprising clarity: because of his mother. Hadn't Blanche warned her that he did not trust women because his mother had deserted him? No wonder he was glad that she liked his home and never wanted to leave it. She only wished she could assure him that she would never do what Amelia Logan had done, but he did not like to talk about her. At one point during their "honeymoon" he had started to tell her about his mother, and he had been quite relieved to learn that Blanche had already done so. He never mentioned the subject again, although he told her many other things about himself.

"I like your ranch very much, Mr. Logan," she said with a smile, coming as close as she dared to reassuring him.

"I own it all, you know," he said, pulling her back into his lap. "A lot of ranchers don't bother to file on their land. They figure the cattle is the only important thing, but my father always said that the land was what mattered. It would be here long after we're dead and gone. They'd only let him file on a few sections at a time, so he staked his claims in a checkerboard pattern so nobody could hedge him out until he could claim the rest."

Felicity nodded, acknowledging her father-in-law's cleverness and marveling at her husband's pride in his heritage. "He left you quite a legacy," she remarked, thinking of how little her own father had accumulated in his life in spite of all his hard work.

"And we'll have it to pass on. It will be here a hundred years from now, and Logans will still own it," Josh said, his eyes shining with this vision of the future.

But Felicity only half heard him. She was still thinking about her father. Gideon Logan had his memorial, but Caleb Storm had left nothing except the knowledge he had passed along to her. If she let that die… "Joshua, will you bring me out here with my wagon someday soon so I can photograph this place?"

Josh's attention snapped quickly from the future back to the present. His smile was slow and lazy. "I'll do anything you want when you call me 'Joshua.'"

Knowing she had made a tactical error, Felicity tried to slip out of his grasp, but she was too late. He was already drawing her close to his chest. "We can't-" she began, but once more he silenced her quite effectively.

His kiss was long and lingering. With his tongue, he explored the sensitive recesses of her mouth, and with his hands he stroked her body to quivering response. Felicity clung to him, savoring anew his strength and power, thankful beyond words that such a man had chosen her as his wife.

When he lifted his mouth from hers, she was literally panting, but her breath caught in outrage when she saw the teasing glint in his silvery eyes.

"Mrs. Logan!" he remonstrated. "What are you doing? We can't possibly make love out here in front of God and everybody. Someone might come along and see us…" His voice trailed off as he pretended to quail under the ineffectual thrashing Felicity was giving him.

"Oh, stop, please! I can't stand it!" he begged in a high-pitched wail apparently intended to be an imitation of her own voice.

"You are a wicked, evil man," Felicity decreed, giving him one last shove which he pretended sent him sprawling across the blanket.

"Yes, I am," he replied, capturing her hand and pulling her down beside him.

And I love you madly, she thought, but she did not say it aloud. She was still uncertain how he would react to such a declaration, and she did not want to do anything to spoil this wonderful moment. "Humph," she muttered instead, pretending to pout.

"Now," he said, settling her comfortably in the crook of his arm and leaning over so he could watch her lovely face. "Tell me the story about the little boy who was so scared of the camera he threw up."

"Not again!" Felicity moaned in protest. She had told him a dozen humorous anecdotes from her previous life, but he seemed to enjoy this particular one out of all proportion to its levity. Perhaps his enjoyment hinged on the way she always blushed when she told it, she suddenly realized, noting the way he grinned as she felt her cheeks growing hot. "Well, there was this little boy…" she began with long-suffering.

When, much later, Josh and Felicity drove their buggy into the ranch yard, the men had just returned from their day of work. Josh lifted his hand in greeting as they passed the group clustered near the corral in conversation, but so engrossed were they that they barely looked up to return the greeting.

Felicity noticed that Joshua was frowning when he reached up to help her down from the buggy. "Do you think something is wrong?" she asked, painfully aware that the idyll they had enjoyed all day had suddenly ended.

He forced a smile. "Probably nothing serious. I just want to go see what Grady and the men are talking about," he said, reaching behind the buggy seat and pulling out their picnic basket. "Here, take this over to the house. I'll be along in a minute."

Reluctantly, Felicity did as he bid, watching apprehensively as he strode over to the group by the corrals. She waited inside the house for a few minutes, until she heard him approaching the front porch. She recognized his voice and Grady's in conversation, but Grady's voice sounded odd, as if he were agitated about something.

Unable to stand the suspense any longer, Felicity hurried to the door and threw it open. Josh stood at the bottom of the porch stairs with his back to her as he faced Grady. From the look on Grady's face, they weren't discussing the weather. She heard the name "Ortega," and her apprehension prickled into fear.

"Ortega's men have never been this organized or this serious," Grady was protesting. "It seems like whoever is taking the cattle is trying to wipe you out."

"But you said the men you chased were Mexicans," Josh insisted.

"Yeah, and I think one of them might've even been Ortega, but the one who spotted us was a colored man. From the way they followed him, I think he might be the leader now. They picked up and ran like they knew where they were going, and then they disappeared into thin air. Ortega's men would've just headed on back across the border to wait for next year, but I'll bet my hat that these fellows will be back tomorrow."

"I'm telling you, Josh, whoever is behind this knows what he's doing and isn't likely to be scared off." Grady looked like he had more to say, but he caught sight of Felicity standing in the doorway, and cleared his throat. "Evening, Mrs. Logan," he said, letting Josh know that they had an audience.

Felicity smiled a greeting at Grady, but her eyes were on Joshua, who turned the moment Grady spoke her name. She watched in amazement as his worried frown vanished behind an appreciative smile. "Evening, Mrs. Logan," he mimicked, his gray eyes taking her in from head to foot and back again as if he hadn't spent the whole day with her and was starved for the sight of her. He started up the steps, pausing just a moment to tell Grady, "We'll talk about this after supper." Neither Josh nor Felicity even heard his reply.

"Did you miss me?" Josh inquired roguishly, slipping an arm around her waist to guide her back into the house.

"Terribly," she confessed with only a slight exaggeration, hoping her smile did not look as strained as it felt.

"You can show me how much later," he whispered, making her blush and wiping all thoughts of Ortega temporarily from her mind.

For the first few minutes of the evening meal, Felicity sat serenely at the end of the table opposite her husband, surrounded by the golden glow of contentment. Her marriage was working out even better than she could have hoped. In spite of the fact that Joshua had spent practically every waking moment with her for the past four days, he hadn't gotten bored. If anything, he seemed more eager for her than ever. And when they were alone, right after supper…

Felicity's thoughts snagged on the phrase "after supper." That was when Joshua was going to talk to Grady about the rustlers. Her serenity shattered as she recalled Grady's insistence that these were no ordinary rustlers. What would this mean to Joshua… and to her?

Sure enough, immediately after supper, Josh and Grady went off alone. Restless, Felicity pulled her shawl from its peg by the door and wandered out onto the porch. Wrapping the soft folds of the knitted shawl around her, she breathed in the scent of spring. Soon the bluebonnets would bloom and the grass would green up, an outward sign of the new life that had already begun for her. She really would get Joshua to take her out so she could photograph the ranch, and not just their picnic spot either. During the past few days, he had given her a complete tour of his land, and she had seen several other excellent possibilities for shots. And she would get Cody to help her make a wedding portrait. A traditional wedding portrait, she corrected mentally, smiling at the memory of Joshua's earlier suggestion on the subject. Cody would be thrilled to help, even if she and Joshua were respectably posed.

Absorbed in her plans, she did not at first identify the strange noise that teased at the fringes of her consciousness, but after a few minutes, the odd sound drew her attention. Listening intently, she distinguished it from the sounds the men were making in the lamplight bunkhouse and the murmur of conversation drifting over from where Josh and Grady stood near the barn. It was a muffled keening, so muffled that Felicity had a difficult time locating it. When she did, she was stunned to discover it came from Candace, who sat huddled in the shadows at the end of the porch.

"Candace, what is it? What's wrong?" she asked in alarm, kneeling in the dust beside her.

Candace straightened immediately, using her good hand to scrub away the tears. "Nothing; I'm fine, miss," she said, although her voice was still husky from weeping. The white from her bandaged hand gleamed in the darkness, reminding Felicity of her accident.

"Is it your hand? Is it hurting you? Maybe we should soak it so it doesn't get infected," Felicity suggested. She had been surprised to see the bandage on Candace's hand the day after the wedding. Candace had brushed aside Felicity's concern, though, explaining that she had carelessly cut her hand on broken glass and that it wasn't serious. Now Felicity wasn't so sure.

"Yes, yes, it's my hand," Candace agreed too quickly. "You're right, I'll soak it." She began to rise, and Felicity helped her get to her feet.

"What were you doing out here in the dark anyway?" Felicity asked, suddenly realizing how odd it was to find Candace not only weeping, but sitting on the ground to do it.

"Acting like an old fool, I guess," Candace said, laughing unconvincingly.

"I'll walk you back to your cabin and help you get some water boiling," Felicity offered, taking Candace's arm, but the other woman shook her head.

"Don't be silly," she said with all the authority of Joshua Logan's mammy. "Besides, your husband's coming. He'll want to see you now," she added, gesturing to where Josh was walking toward the house, having left Grady at last. "You go on now," she said, patting the hand Felicity had placed on her arm.

Reluctantly, Felicity began to turn from the black woman, but Candace suddenly grabbed her hand, restraining her for one last moment. "You tell Mr. Josh to be careful when he goes after those rustlers, you hear?" she whispered urgently.

"Yes, yes, I will," Felicity replied as a shiver of fear danced up her spine. Before Felicity could say more, Candace slipped silently away into the darkness.

"Who were you talking to?" Josh asked as he approached.

"Candace," she replied, trying to banish the sound of fear from her voice.

"Ahhh," he said, a smile in his voice. "And what plots were you making out here in the dark?"

"We were just wondering what plots you and Grady were making out here in the dark," she replied, forcing herself to match his bantering tone.

"Nothing very mysterious," he replied, slipping an arm around her shoulders and directing her toward the front steps. "That bandit Ortega is back stealing my cattle again, and we're going to go after him."

"But Grady said…" she began, pausing when she realized she wasn't supposed to know what Grady had said.

"Has Grady been talking to you about this?" Josh asked, his displeasure obvious.

"Oh no," she assured him. "I just overheard what he was saying to you this afternoon about how he didn't think-"

"Well, he's wrong," Josh interrupted as they mounted the porch steps. "Grady's worse than an old maid, always seeing trouble that isn't there. We'll just go out and chase them off, and that will be that. The worst part is that I'll have to leave you. I may be away for several days. I guess our honeymoon is officially over," he said with regret, but before Felicity could register the pain the thought of his leaving caused her, he added, "Will you miss me?"

This was the second time today he had asked her that question, and this time he really looked as if the answer was important. "Of course," she said, feeling the anguish of separation already.

"Then come in here and show me how much," he challenged with a provocative grin, drawing her toward their bedroom.

"Mr. Logan!" she chided him, feeling the delicious tingle of anticipation quivering inside her. "It's too early to go to sleep."

"Oh, we won't be going to sleep for a long, long time," he promised, shutting the bedroom door behind them.

"Is it very dangerous?" Felicity asked the next morning, watching Joshua pull a change of clothing from a dresser drawer.

He turned back to face her, an amused smile on his face. "Not very," he said, carrying the clothes over to where he had his bedroll spread out on the huge mahogany bed. "We chase Ortega every year. It's like a game. He tries to steal as many of my cattle as he can before we notice, and then we run him off back across the border."

"Only this time you're going to try to catch him, aren't you?" she asked. Candace had told her about Ortega. In years past, things had been exactly the way Josh explained, but this year was different. Grady had once jokingly remarked that usually Josh lost more cattle to wolves than to the Mexican, but that was no longer true. This year Ortega- or someone-was stealing cattle in earnest.

"I always try to catch Ortega," Joshua said, but Felicity knew his words were as much a lie as the unconcerned expression on his face. He was trying to protect her, to keep from frightening her, and that frightened her more than anything.

Then she remembered Candace's request. "You'll be careful, won't you?" she asked, moving across the room to stand beside him. She hugged herself to keep from reaching out to him. If she did, she was afraid she would cling and start to cry and beg him not to go. She loved him so much that the thought of losing him was more than she could bear.

He straightened from the task of packing his bedroll and turned toward her. "Of course I'll be careful," he said, lifting one long finger to touch the furrow between her brows. "Now, don't look so unhappy. You'll ruin that pretty face."

Felicity consciously relaxed her frown, at least on the outside, taking some small comfort from his compliment. He was always complimenting her. He thought she was pretty. He thought she was beautiful. He liked the way she smelled and felt and tasted. Everything about her seemed to please him, especially when they were in bed together. And the quarrels had stopped, just as she had hoped.

If only he would talk to her, really talk to her. When she had asked him last night to tell her what was really going on, he had laughed off her concerns and kissed her, making her forget all about her worries, at least for the moment. She should have been grateful that he seemed to like her so well, that he seemed so pleased with his choice of a bride. Instead she tortured herself by wondering how he really felt about her. He might like her, but he couldn't possibly love her, not the way she loved him, not if he was going to put himself in danger.

With a small, anguished cry, she flung herself at him, no longer able to contain her emotions. Wrapping her arms around him in desperation, she bit down hard on hex lip to keep from weeping. Men hated it when women made an emotional scene. Her father had warned her of that. But even though she did not say them aloud, her mind screamed the words, "Don't go!"

A little surprised, Josh hesitated only a moment before returning her embrace. As always, he marveled at how tiny she felt in his arms. Because of the enormous importance she had assumed in his life, he somehow expected her to have grown larger.

He ran his hands up and down her back to smooth the tension from her body. She was soft and warm beneath his touch. In the five days since their marriage, she had never once initiated physical contact. He found the fact that she had now unbearably arousing. Wants and needs mingled until they were indistinguishable.

"I have half a mind to tumble you before I leave, Lissy," he murmured into the silkiness of her hair.

A familiar ache throbbed deep inside her in instant response. She smiled against his chest despite her terror, thankful that he still wanted her even though he was determined to leave her. To bait him, she pulled back slightly, puckering her smile into a disapproving frown. "You already did, right before breakfast," she reminded him.

He glared at her in mock exasperation. "Well, now that I think about it, seems like I remember something of the kind. Or at least, my mind does. Other parts of me have forgotten completely," he teased.

"Mr. Logan!" she goaded, using her last weapon.

"I warned you about calling me that," he growled, sweeping aside his bedroll with one hand and yanking her down onto the bed with the other.

A brief but blissful time later, they lay sated in the tangle of her petticoats. His head rested contentedly on her breast as she idly stroked the silver of his hair. "Joshua?" she whispered.

"Hmmm?" he murmured, nuzzling the still-stiff peak of her breast through the thin calico of her dress.

She tried to stop the words but they came out anyway, of their own volition. "I'm so afraid!"

His head came up instantly, his expression worried. "Of what?" he asked, even though he had a pretty good idea he already knew the answer.

Felicity swallowed, trying desperately not to cry. "I've lost everyone I ever… cared about," she began, not quite willing to use the word "love" yet. "First my mother and then my father and now…"

"You're not going to lose me," he promised vehemently, rising up on his elbows to loom over her. "Not when I've only just found you." He pressed his mouth to hers, determined to stop this conversation. After a long, sweet time, he raised his lips from hers, satisfied that he had distracted her from her fears.

Those emotions that he did not understand roiled inside of him, threatening to erupt in declarations he had no intention of making. He was certain it was only this intense physical desire he felt for her, along with his need to protect her, that reduced him to a sentimental idiot. His reactions were only natural. She was his wife, after all.

He forced himself to grin down at her, and then he ran a hand playfully along her bare hip. "Good Lord, woman! If you don't leave me alone, I'll never get packed. Grady's liable to come looking for me if I don't get out there soon!"

Josh rose reluctantly, knowing that this time he had to wipe out Ortega and his gang once and for all. The ranch that had always meant so much to him took on added importance when he thought of Felicity and the family she would give him. He must preserve his heritage for them. And when he thought of the bandits as a present danger to Felicity's safety, his blood ran cold. Even the usually unflappable Candace had cautioned him this morning about leaving a guard at the ranch to watch over his bride.

Felicity let him go, but she noticed that his smile did not quite reach his eyes. Her answering smile was wan and couldn't erase the shadows from her own eyes, but she managed to help him reassemble his bedroll.

She did not cry until he was out of sight.

"Mr. Josh?" Candace called to him from the barn doorway.

"Over here," he replied from where he was saddling his favorite horse, the Appaloosa he had ridden the day he first found Felicity.

Candace paused at the entrance to the stall and watched him tighten the girth. She waited until he looked up. "Mr. Josh, you be careful now," she said.

For a moment Josh had the disconcerting impression that she was actually wringing her hands in apprehension. But of course, Candace had never been apprehensive in her life. She was only rubbing the bandage on her cut hand. He frowned, wondering briefly if the injury was really more serious than she had claimed. How unlike her to be so careless with broken glass. And how unlike her to caution him to be careful, unless she was teasing. Except she wasn't teasing.

"Candace," he chided her good-naturedly, "I've chased Ortega a dozen times. Are you afraid I'm getting careless in my old age?"

But Candace did not smile at his banter, as he had expected her to. "There's somebody new with him this year. I heard you and Grady talking about him last night."

"So that's why you were sneaking around in the shadows," he tried again.

She still did not smile. "Grady said he's a colored man. You have to look out for him, Joshua," she warned, stepping closer so she could lower her voice.

"Why? Who is he?" he asked, more disturbed by her uncharacteristically furtive manner than by her words.

She hesitated, as if still undecided about what to tell him. "His name is Jeremiah, and he's… he's my son."

"Your son?" Josh echoed incredulously. A thousand questions flooded his mind, but before he could voice any of them, she was speaking again.

"Yes, my son. I had him years before I came here with your parents, back when I belonged to your grandfather. Jeremiah was three when I came here. They wouldn't let me bring him, so I left him with my mother. But he never forgave me for leaving him, and now he wants to take it out on you…" Her voice trailed off as she realized she was only confusing him with her explanations.

"How do you know all this?" he asked after a moment of consideration.

Candace lowered her eyes, unconsciously rubbing her bandaged hand again. "He came to see me the night you got married…"

Suddenly everything fell into place. "Did he do that to your hand?" Josh demanded.

"No! That was an accident," she assured him.

"He was the man Hankins saw in town, wasn't he?" Josh continued, undaunted.

Candace nodded, unwilling to trust her voice.

That explained everything, why Hankins had said the man resembled Candace, why he had been asking about her, why he had not shown himself to anyone else… and why he had seemed so dangerous. "Did he threaten you?" Josh asked gently, instinctively placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"No, I don't think he means to do me any harm. He wants to hurt me by hurting you. He thinks…"

"He thinks what?" Josh insisted when she did not continue.

"He thinks that I loved you more than I loved him," she said, her voice an agonized whisper. "Because I stayed here to raise you instead of going back to Virginia when…"

"When my mother left," he finished for her. "My God, the man must be crazy. If he wanted revenge, why did he wait all this time?"

But Candace had no answer. "Just be careful. And Joshua…"

"Yes?" he asked, more disturbed than he wanted to admit at seeing her so upset.

"If you can… unless you have to… don't have his blood on your hands. Turn him over to the law. Please, for my sake," she begged, clutching at his vest.

He nodded, patting her shoulder reassuringly. He had no desire to kill Candace's son, no matter what the man may have threatened. "For your sake," he promised.

"How many of them do you see?" Grady whispered.

Josh squinted into the field glasses and scanned the scene below one last time. "I count six," he said. "Here, you take a look." He passed the glasses to Grady and glanced back over his shoulder. The rest of his men were still out of sight. Good. They had been lucky, he thought, spotting the smoke from the rustlers' branding fire. Now it seemed their luck was holding.

"Six of them and six of us," Grady confirmed. "I only see that one guard."

"Well then, let's back off this ridge before they spot us," Josh said. As he crept back under cover of the brush, he could not seem to erase the memory of that one guard from his mind. Even if he had not known the black man was Candace's son, he would have suspected they were related. They shared the same regal bearing, the same proud carriage. The man called Jeremiah sat his huge bay gelding with an arrogance that even generations of slavery had not been able to breed out of him. He cradled his Winchester rifle with an assurance that said he knew exactly how to use it, too. He would, Josh understood instinctively, be the most dangerous member of the gang.

When Josh and Grady rejoined the rest of their men, Josh quickly gave them a description of the area and the position of the rustlers. "They've got about a hundred head down there, and only one guard that we could see."

"Pretty gutsy, if you ask me," Grady muttered. "That Ortega's slipped his leash for the last time."

"This is our chance to make sure of that," Josh said. "Now, here's the plan."

As the other men rode into position, Josh found himself wondering how Felicity was making out back at the ranch alone. Not that she was really alone, of course. He had left Gus and Cody with her. Between the two of them, and Cookie and Candace, his wife was well protected, or as well protected as common sense, raw courage, and blind devotion could make her. Cookie and Candace would provide the sense while Gus and Cody would supply the rest. Still, in spite of the fact that he himself would soon be riding into a running gun battle, he could not help worrying more for her safety than his own. In one blinding moment of insight, he recalled his father's admonitions about trusting- and loving-other people. For the first time in his life he understood the reason behind it: Human life was simply too fragile. When Josh thought of how easily one careless shot could snuff out Felicity's life, he shuddered.

But no careless shot was going to come near her, he reminded himself, drawing his pistol to check the loads.

Against his will, he remembered the frightened look in her blue eyes when he had strapped the gun on earlier that morning. The memory warmed a place in his heart that had been cold for a long time. Suddenly he was in an almighty hurry to get this little matter settled so he could go home again. Home to his wife.

Josh and his men rode in with guns blazing. Although it was virtually impossible to hit anything when shooting from a galloping horse, they fired to frighten the cattle into a stampede. And stampede they did, right toward the man called Jeremiah. Josh caught a glimpse of the bay gelding rearing in surprise before the action close at hand demanded his attention.

The two Mexicans who had been working the branding fire were running toward their horses, shooting as they went. Josh reined up, taking a bead on the stocky one he identified as Ortega. He felt the gun buck in his hand and saw a crimson stain burst on the bandit's shirt. Above the thunder of the cattle and the roar of gunfire, Josh heard a shrill cry, but the man did not go down. Instead he turned and dashed for the tethered horses.

Grady had run down the other man, knocking him to the ground where he lay either unconscious or dead. Josh was just spurring his horse to go after Ortega when someone shouted, "Mr. Logan, look out!"

Ducking automatically, he felt the whine of the bullet speeding past his ear. Turning, he saw one of the other Mexican bandits careening from his saddle, his rifle clattering to the ground, his chest spouting red from a mortal wound. Beyond him Josh saw one of his men signal that he had scored the hit, and Josh swiftly waved his thanks. When he turned back, Ortega had disappeared.

Cursing, Josh jerked on the reins once more, guiding his mount to follow the path of the stampede. The roar of gunfire had now died away to an occasional shot. He quickly realized that the fight was all but over, the rustlers routed.

All that was left to do now was gather up the survivors.

But there was only one survivor Josh was interested in at the moment, a black man on a bay gelding who had vanished before the rampaging herd. Riding headlong into the cloud of dust churned by the frantic hooves of one hundred frightened animals, Josh squinted against the grit that stung his eyes. As the thunder from the herd faded, another sound swelled before him, the piercing scream of an injured animal.

The dust swirled around him like a reddish fog, and Josh slowed the Appaloosa, approaching carefully, his pistol aimed and cocked. Slowly, the bay materialized, thrashing and trying desperately to rise on his two ruined forelegs. Without thinking, Josh raised his Colt and put a bullet through the animal's brain, ending its misery. Only then did he recall the animal's rider and the danger he might have put himself in with this simple act of mercy.

But no answering shot rang out. No scramble of movement betrayed the rider's presence, and another, very unsettling thought crossed Josh's mind. In all his years of ranching, he had only once seen a man trampled to death. It was a sight he would never forget. Apprehension lifted the hairs on his neck as he nudged the Appaloosa into motion again and began to scan the area for the dusty red splotch that would mark the end of Candace's son.

His horse whinnied, warning him even before the dust cleared and he saw the body. Miraculously, the man was whole, his lean length sprawled on the dusty ground like a giant rag doll that had been discarded by an even more gargantuan child. But he was still. Too still.

Josh leaped from his saddle and raced to the body, searching for any sign of life. With practiced hand, he raised one dark eyelid and saw not the white of a rolled-back eyeball but the deep brown of a living iris.

Feeling foolish, he also felt relief. For reasons he could not define, he did not want to go back and tell Candace her son was dead, no matter what the man might have done both to him and to her.

Jeremiah groaned, reminding Josh that he might still pose a danger if he were to come around while still armed. Josh pulled the pearl-handled Colts from the hand-tooled leather holsters and then patted him down for other weapons. He retrieved a deringer from a vest pocket and a Bowie knife from a boot. He was stuffing the weapons into his saddlebag when Jeremiah groaned again and opened his eyes.

"Don't move," Josh warned, his own gun trained on his captive. "Your right arm's probably broken and you might have other injuries."

Jeremiah blinked several times, trying to focus on Josh's face, shook his head once, and then tried again. Automatically, he lifted his right arm to wipe the dust from his eyes, but the effort made him moan in agony. "You're right about that arm," he muttered, using his left hand to clear his vision. He glanced down at the injured arm and quickly averted his eyes at the sight of it lying at such a crazy angle.

"I took your guns," Josh said as he watched the dark gaze settle on him at last.

Jeremiah's eyes narrowed as he suddenly realized his predicament. His left hand swooped to his vest pocket.

"I found that one, too," Josh said. "And the knife in your boot."

Josh saw the tension of his captive settle into a cautious wariness. Brown eyes watched as Josh lifted his Stetson and wiped the moisture from his forehead with his sleeve.

"You're Logan, aren't you?" Jeremiah said.

Josh settled the hat back on his head, realizing that his silvered hair must have revealed his identity. "That's right."

"Do you know who I am?"

Josh nodded. "Candace told me. You're her son. That's why you're still alive."

The brown eyes narrowed speculatively. "Is that all she told you?" he asked skeptically.

Josh frowned, wondering what Jeremiah could be up to.

"She told me how you threatened to get back at her through me, if that's what you're wondering. Don't worry, I know enough about you that I'm not going to let you go."

But Jeremiah shook his head slowly. "There's one more thing that you might find interesting," he said, his lips curling back into a feral grin. "You see, she forgot to tell you who my father was." Ever so slowly, he raised his left hand and loosened the chin strap that had held his hat on through the violence of his fall. With equal slowness, he grasped the brim of that hat and lifted it from his head.

Josh gasped at the sight of hair as silver as his own glinting in the sunlight.

"Your mother used to tell me that I favored him," Jeremiah taunted. "She used to tell me lots of things, about how that black bitch stole him from her. About how she'd sneak into his bed at night and-"

"No!" Josh shouted in horror, hardly aware that he had even moved and startled to feel Jeremiah's throat beneath his hand. For one crazed moment he longed to choke the life out of him, to silence the ugly lies forever.

And they were lies. Oh, he had known about his father and Candace, known that he sometimes went to her cabin at night. The boy Josh had hated the thought, but the man Josh understood how something like that could happen. Now everything was confused in his mind. There were so many things he did not understand. Like why his father had allowed Candace to become his wife's maid when Candace had already borne him a child, and why that child had been left behind, and why…

Jeremiah's strangled cries and the pain of the fingernails of Jeremiah's good hand clawing at him brought Josh to his senses. Josh instantly released him, thrusting him away in disgust. "Get up," he said, no longer caring whether the man he now knew was his half-brother had any internal injuries or not. "I'm going to take you into town and lock you up for the circuit judge. I'll let him decide whether you hang or whether you just rot in prison."

"Do you see anything, Candace?" Felicity asked. The black woman stood at the front window, staring out into the darkness.

"No," Candace replied with a weary sigh. "It's foolish to watch for them. They might be gone a week or more. They might not even be able to find Ortega at all." But Felicity noticed that in spite of her words, Candace did not forsake her vigil.

Resisting the almost overwhelming urge to join her at the window, Felicity resolutely resumed her sewing. She would have preferred an activity that occupied her mind, but reading was out of the question. She had already tried it and found she could not concentrate on the words for worrying about Joshua. In desperation, she had picked up her latest sewing project, a violet-sprigged calico dress. Felicity was making it up in the wrapper style known as the "Mother Hubbard." Not only was that type of dress comfortable and practical, but it would easily expand to accommodate a growing pregnancy, as Candace had pointed out to her when making the original suggestion.

Felicity's hands stilled as she glanced down and tried to imagine her stomach rounded with Joshua's child. Joshua's child. Longing stabbed through her, piercing her heart. How very much she wanted his child. She might, in fact, already carry his seed. Instinctively, she laid a hand protectively over her imaginary babe. Whatever would she do if Joshua did not come back? The violet material in her lap blurred before her eyes.

"It's all right, honey," Candace assured her urgently, brushing the fabric onto the floor and taking Felicity into a comforting embrace. "Don't cry. Everything's fine."

Only then did Felicity realize that she was crying, shaking with silent sobs and blinded by a flood of tears. She smothered those sobs against Candace's shoulder, clinging tightly to the solace she offered.

"He'll be fine; you'll see," Candace crooned, rocking her as if she were a small child.

But Felicity heard the uncertainty in her voice and pulled away. "You're scared, too, aren't you?" she accused, terrified anew by the knowledge.

Candace smiled wanly. "Only because both my boys are out there and because they're fighting each other."

Both her boys? What on earth could she mean? Before Felicity could ask, the front door burst open.

"They're coming," a jubilant Cody reported.

"Is Mr. Logan all right?" Felicity demanded as both she and Candace surged to their feet.

"I can't tell for sure, but I counted six horses and six riders, so they must all be fine," Cody said. "They'll be here in another minute." With that he ran back outside. Candace and Felicity swiftly followed.

"Here, put this on," Candace ordered, placing a shawl around Felicity's shoulders. Felicity barely noticed, just as she had barely noticed the evening chill. Her shivering was from anticipation, not the cold.

Cody and Gus had lighted lanterns out in the yard, and Felicity strained to see the riders as they rode into the wavering brightness.

Josh climbed wearily from his saddle. "I'll take care of your horse, Mr. Logan," Cody said, but Josh only half heard him. His attention was focused on the front porch of the house. He could see Felicity silhouetted against the open door. Without conscious awareness, he handed his reins to Cody and headed toward her.

He knew the moment she recognized him. Her joyful cry carried across the ranch yard to him, and then she was running down the stairs in a flurry of skirts. His own pace quickened as he tried to close the enormous space between them. Never had it taken so long to cross the yard. By the time he reached her, he was almost running in his urgency to hold her close.

Felicity threw herself into his arms, clinging with all her strength. Only by physically touching him could she be certain he was truly here, truly all right. Drawing a ragged breath, she inhaled his musky, masculine scent. Convinced at last that he was safe, she lifted her face to ask one of the many questions she wanted answered, but his mouth came down on hers, silencing her quite effectively.

Josh drank in the taste and feel and smell of her, tempering the fierceness of his embrace with difficulty. He had a wild urge to crush her, to pull her into himself so they could never be separated again. Even when he had routed the rustlers and delivered them safely to jail, he could not forget the two who had evaded capture, two men who might yet wreak their vengeance on Felicity. But she was safe now. The relief he felt over that staggered him.

He trailed his lips across her cheek and buried his face in the softness of her hair, content to just absorb the sweetness of her for another moment.

"Mr. Josh?" Candace's voice cut into his happiness, reminding him of other, less pleasant matters. He lifted his gaze to where she stood just behind Felicity. She was cradling her injured hand protectively as if afraid he might somehow injure it again.

"He's alive," Josh said, reluctantly relinquishing his hold on his wife. "We'd better go inside."

Felicity tried to move away, but he did not release her completely. Keeping one arm possessively around her, he led her toward the house. She tried to read his expression in the shadows. "Who's alive? Who are you talking about?" she asked, but neither Josh nor Candace seemed to hear her question. For a minute she thought he might be annoyed with her for rushing out to meet him like that. She recalled that her father had always warned her against public displays of emotion, but then she also remembered that Joshua had been the one to kiss her, not the other way around. And he certainly didn't seem too eager to let her go, not from the tender way his hand was caressing her waist. She slipped her own arm around him and decided to wait until they were in the house to ask any more questions. From the tension vibrating between him and Candace, she might not need to ask any questions at all. Instead she would just listen.

When they were all inside, Josh carefully closed the door behind them.

"Did you talk to him? Did he say anything?" Candace asked, still cradling her bandaged hand.

"Why didn't you tell me who he was?" Josh asked, turning on her, his gray eyes stormy with anger.

"I did!" Candace insisted. "I told you he's my son!"

"Your son!" Felicity said, but they still did not hear her.

"You didn't tell me who his father was," Josh accused, planting his hands on his hips and approaching her menacingly.

"Oh no!" Candace cried, her voice a howl of agony. Felicity watched in horror as Candace's beautiful face crumpled and her magnificent body cringed before his wrath.

"Stop it!" Felicity screamed, throwing herself between the two antagonists. Glaring a warning at her husband, she led Candace's quivering body to the large wingbacked chair and forced her down into it. Only then did she realize that Candace was weeping, silently and shatteringly, the same way Felicity had wept for Joshua only moments before. Just as Candace had comforted her, she now comforted her friend, crooning the meaningless phrases of solace.

Then she turned back to Joshua, who still retained a measure of his fury. "What is this all about?" she demanded.

Her question seemed to wake him from some sort of trance. He stared at her for a second as if he had never seen her before, and then she watched the anger almost visibly drain from him. He sighed wearily, pulled off his battered Stetson, and ran one large hand over his face as if to wipe away the vestiges of some bad dream.

"One of the rustlers is Candace's son," he explained.

Candace made a choking sound at this, and Felicity patted her soothingly. "Her son? How…?"

But Josh anticipated her questions. "He was born before my parents married and brought Candace out here. They wouldn't let her bring him along, so he stayed behind on my grandparents' plantation. When my mother left us and went back to Virginia, she wanted Candace to go along, but she refused. My father gave Candace her freedom so she could stay here and take care of me." Josh recited the story woodenly, but his mind was racing, remembering arguments two decades old. His mother's voice screaming, "You don't care anything about the boy! You just want to take care of his father!" and Candace's heated reply, "And you don't care about either one of them!"

He shook off the memories and continued his story. "From what he said, my mother told him some ugly things about Candace, about how she didn't want him, that she preferred to stay here and raise me. He hates her. He hates both of us."

Felicity listened, comprehending only pieces of the story. "How did he get mixed up with Ortega's gang?"

Josh shrugged. "I guess he found out that Ortega robs me, and wanted to help." But he wasn't looking at Felicity. He was watching Candace. Her tremors had stilled. "Why didn't you tell me who he is?" he asked her again.

Candace slowly raised her head, managing to salvage some semblance of her usual dignity. "I didn't think he would tell you. I thought… maybe… there was a chance that even he didn't know…" That was foolish, of course, she realized. Hadn't he said something about having Logan's blood? "Who would have told him?" she wondered aloud.

Josh made a disgusted noise. "I don't suppose anybody had to tell him. His hair is as white as mine. As white as all the Logan men." Candace flinched and lowered her head again as a new sob shook her. "But as for telling him, I think my mother must have. She probably took great delight in it, too, from what he said."

"Tell him what?" Felicity asked, afraid that she already knew and hoping someone would tell her she had misunderstood.

Josh glanced back at her as if he were surprised to see her still standing there beside Candace. He gave that weary sigh again. "Candace's son is also my half-brother."

Felicity gasped at the pain reflected in his gray eyes. Every instinct cried out that she go to him to help ease the suffering she knew he was experiencing, but Candace needed her, too. Josh's statement set Candace to weeping anew. Felicity thought her heart would break at the sight of the invincible Candace shattered into a thousand pieces.

"But you said he's alive," Felicity remembered in an attempt at reassurance.

"Yes," Josh confirmed, moving purposefully over to the cabinet Felicity knew held his liquor supply. To her surprise, he pulled out two glasses. "We were lucky to spot the rustlers this afternoon. They were changing the brands on some stolen cattle," he explained as he filled the two glasses with whiskey. "We surprised them. Two got away, Ortega and one other. I wounded Ortega, but I don't know how badly. One rustler was killed. Another was wounded and one was captured unharmed. Jeremiah got caught in the stampede. He came out with a broken arm, but he'll live. We took the three of them to jail. The town marshal is holding them for the county sheriff. They'll be tried for rustling."

After taking a long swig from one of the glasses, he took the other over and handed it to Candace. "Here, drink this," he said, his voice gentle, all traces of his former anger gone. Felicity helped Candace's trembling hands carry the glass to her lips.

"We set his arm as best we could," Josh continued in that same gentle voice. Now he was speaking as if he were comforting a child. "It was a bad break and his right arm. I doubt he'll ever use a gun again."

Candace raised her head, her dark eyes intently studying his face. Then, as if she had read some secret message there, she nodded. "Thank God," she whispered.

Felicity had many more questions to ask, but she did not want to burden Candace further. She should wait until she and Joshua were alone. First of all, she must make sure Candace would be all right. When her glass was empty, Felicity took it from her and handed it back to Josh. "I think you'd better go to bed now," she advised the black woman, adopting Josh's gentle tone.

Candace rose willingly from the chair and followed Felicity obediently. "I think you ought to sleep here in the house tonight. Do you want me to stay with you for a while?" she asked, leading Candace into the yellow bedroom.

But Candace balked in the doorway. "No!" she said, straightening abruptly and drawing back. "I won't sleep in there. That's her room."

"Her?" Felicity asked, turning to Josh for explanation.

"My mother slept in there," he replied.

Another mystery. Another question to ask when they were alone. "Well, then…"

"I don't need any help, Miss Felicity. I can manage fine now," Candace said, and when Felicity looked back at her, she saw that it was true. The old Candace was back, her dignity slightly tattered but firmly in place. "I'll sleep in my own bed. You see to your husband." Her dark eyes sought Josh one last time. "I'm sorry," she whispered just before she whirled and left the room.

"Oh, Joshua!" Felicity cried in an agony of indecision. For all her bravado, Candace really did need her, but one look at her husband told her he needed her, too.

"Come here," he commanded hoarsely. He opened his arms and she obeyed, gathering him to her as if she could absorb his anguish.

"There's so much I don't understand," she said against his shirtfront.

"I know," he breathed into the silken cloud of her hair. "I'll explain it all to you… tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" she asked, but his strong arms reached down and lifted her high against his chest.

"Yes, tomorrow," he affirmed, carrying her into their bedroom. "Tonight I want to forget it all."

She tried to protest, but his mouth on hers silenced her for the second time that night. Much later, when they lay in sated exhaustion, she had forgotten all her questions.

True to his word, Josh told her everything the next day, or at least as much as he knew, reciting the story about his mother with the same emotionless detachment he had used the night before. Felicity's heart ached for the boy he had been and for the pain he still endured because of the way his mother had abandoned him. Of course he gave no outward indication that he still felt any pain, but that revealed more to Felicity than outward anger would have. Her love for him grew until she thought she might burst from holding it in. Silently, she vowed to do everything within her power to make the rest of his life happy.

In the morning, Candace appeared and went about her duties as if nothing untoward had occurred. If her eyes were haunted, neither Josh nor Felicity acknowledged the fact, not to her and not even to each other.

The three of them tiptoed around each other all day, and by the next day life had resumed its normal routine. It was Sunday, and Josh and Felicity had just sat down on the front porch swing to enjoy the pleasant spring day when they saw a lone rider approaching. The rider was the town marshal, and he was coming fast.

"Afternoon, Josh," he called, slowing his horse to a lope as he approached the house.

"Afternoon, Henry," Josh replied warily, rising from the swing and moving toward the steps to meet him. "What brings you out this way on a Sunday?"

From the marshal's expression, Felicity knew he was not paying a social call. He nodded to her and wished her good afternoon also. She returned his greeting apprehensively.

"I got some bad news for you folks," he explained unnecessarily. Felicity saw Josh stiffen. "Those rustlers got away late last night."

Josh swore under his breath. "Come on inside. Felicity, get the marshal some coffee. He looks like he could use a cup."

Felicity nodded and hurried off toward the kitchen. When she returned, the two men were seated in the front room and the marshal was speaking.

"… I didn't even know they were gone until this morning. Thank you, Mrs. Logan," he said, accepting the cup she offered and taking a large swallow before continuing. "The two who got away sneaked back and broke them out. They tied up my deputy and locked him in a cell. When Billy from the hotel brought over their breakfast this morning, he found Mike trussed up like a Christmas turkey. I sent word to the sheriff and put a couple men to work tracking them. Then I came on out here. Figured you'd want to go after them yourself."

Josh nodded, and Felicity could see he was already making plans. The thought of him going after the rustlers again, especially now that they had good reason to want revenge, sent the blood rushing from her head. She sank down heavily on the settee next to the marshal.

"I'll get my men together," Josh said. He started to rise, but the marshal stopped him.

"Josh, there's one more thing you should know. The colored man? The one named Jeremiah? Well, he calls himself Jeremiah Logan, and he's wanted. He had some… uh, trouble with a white woman back East," the marshal explained discreetly, giving Josh a significant look.

"Why in the hell didn't you tell me that?" Josh exploded. "I would have left some men in town to guard him."

"I just found the Wanted poster late last night," the marshal said defensively. "I guess I should have put on some extra guards, but I didn't want to tell anybody about it. You know how folks are. I was afraid of a lynching."

Josh lunged to his feet and began to pace the room. "Better a lynching than letting them get away," he pointed out caustically.

Marshal Watkins shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "We'd better get going if you intend to catch them," he said to change the subject.

A very short time later, Josh and the men rode away with the marshal. Felicity stood on the porch watching them and trying not to cry. Joshua had barely had time to give her a quick kiss. Heaven only knew how long he would be gone and what might happen to him while he was away.

"It's all my fault," Candace murmured from behind her.

Felidty turned to find the black woman standing in the doorway, staring bleakly at the departing horsemen. "It's not your fault," Felicity assured her. "You didn't know this would happen." Moving to Candace's side, she laid a comforting hand on the older woman's arm, but Candace did not even seem to feel it. She just continued to stare.

"It is my fault," she repeated. "I made Joshua promise not to kill him. If he was dead, then you'd be safe."

"Me?" Felicity said, a little puzzled. "I'm perfectly safe. It's Joshua and the men who are in danger."

At last Candace's troubled gaze turned to Felicity. "But if they don't catch him this time, he'll come back. Next time, he'll go after you. He told me he would. He said when he'd taken everything Joshua had, he'd come back after his woman."

Felicity shuddered involuntarily as Candace described her worst fear. Now someone really was chasing her, and this time he had a name.

That night she had the nightmare again, the nightmare that had haunted her dreams in the weeks after her father's death. She was running and running, but she couldn't run fast enough. He was right behind her, calling her name. She didn't dare look back for fear he would catch her. But he was getting closer and closer until she could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck. Then he called her name and his huge hands grabbed at her. That was when she would awaken with an anguished cry and find herself safe in a tangle of bedclothes, soaked with a cold sweat and panting in terror.

When she awakened alone in the big bed she usually shared with Joshua, she felt more bereft than she had ever felt when she had been totally alone on the prairie. Hugging his pillow to her for comfort, she prayed for his safety and waited for morning.

One day stretched into another to form the longest week of Felicity's life, and then Josh came home again. Saddle-sore and weary, he reported their failure. Ortega and Jeremiah and the others had escaped back across the border.

Asa Gordon walked slowly down the street toward the small house. He could see a woman hanging clothes in the side yard. The place was neat and tidy and the sheets spanking clean in the bright May sunlight. He paused at the edge of the yard, a respectful distance away. "Excuse me. Are you Mrs. Daniels?" he inquired.

The woman turned, her head cocked warily. After a second, she reached up and removed several clothespins from her mouth and smiled. "Yes, I am," she said, coming closer. "What can I do for you?"

Mrs. Daniels had the cheerful, contented look of a happily married woman. Asa knew from experience that such women did not take kindly to an easy, flirtatious manner, nor would she appreciate a personal remark. If she had been a widow or even if she had the pinched look of a woman starved for attention, he would have turned on the charm. Instead, he removed his hat and maintained his respectful pose. "My name is Asa Gordon, and your neighbor, Mrs. Samuels, said you might be able to help me," he began. Mrs. Samuels, poor woman, fell into the "pinched" category. Some outrageous flattery had garnered him Mrs. Daniels's address. "You see, I'm looking for my…" He let his voice trail off as something on her front porch caught his eye. "Good heavens, is that a geranium in that pot?" he asked in amazement.

Mrs. Daniels let her gaze follow his to her front porch. "Yes, it is. I brought it here all the way from Tennessee. I've been nursing it along for ten years now. It blooms every year," she told him proudly.

"That's quite an accomplishment," he said with a reminiscent smile. "It reminds me of my mother. She used to grow them back in Pennsylvania." That was a lie, of course. The only thing his mother had grown back in Pennsylvania had been him, and she'd done a poor job of it. Between her gin and her "gentleman callers," she had paid scant attention to her son. But Asa took no time to dwell on bitter memories. Instead he embellished the lie. "She had red ones and white ones and sometimes even pink ones." His gaze seemed focused on the distant past, but he was really studying Mrs. Daniels to gauge her reaction. He had won her confidence. A happy housewife might have been put off by a comment on her nonexistent beauty, but she was easily swayed by compliments on her flowers.

"Oh, but you're not here to talk about my flowers," she chided him playfully. "You said you were looking for something."

"Oh yes," he said sadly, as if reluctant to recall his true mission. "Not something, but someone. My brother…half-brother, really. His name is Caleb Storm. I understand he and his daughter were through here several months ago. He's a traveling photographer and-"

"Yes, I remember," Mrs. Daniels said. "We had our picture made, our whole family."

Asa nodded encouragingly. "That's what Mrs. Samuels told me. She said you'd spoken with the girl, my niece, at some length."

"Yes, I did," Mrs. Daniels said, but her helpful smile was fading into suspicion.

Asa gave her his sad grin again. "I know you're wondering why a man has to inquire strangers to find his own brother," he said, voicing the doubts he could easily read on her face. "The unfortunate truth is that my brother and I had a falling out several years ago. It was over a young lady, the young lady whom he eventually married, Felicity's mother," he explained, surprising even himself. Every time he told this story, he invented a new detail. This one was the best yet, giving the tale a poignancy that was bound to touch Mrs. Daniels's heart.

"A few months ago his father, my stepfather, passed away," Asa continued, acknowledging Mrs. Daniels's murmur of sympathy with a distressed glance. "He left my brother a legacy, and I'm anxious to see him claim it. Not for himself, of course, but for the girl. She's all that's left of poor Claire…" He let his voice trail off and reached up to rub his eyes, as if the memory of poor Claire were more than he could bear.

"Of course. I understand completely," Mrs. Daniels hastily assured him.

Asa cleared his throat and made a visible effort to get control of his emotions. "I've heard the girl looks just like her mother, the same blond hair and blue eyes…" he ventured, hoping to verify the description he had of Felicity Storm.

"Oh yes," Mrs. Daniels said enthusiastically. "She's a lovely little thing, or at least she would be if she had some decent clothes. The poor child was dressed in rags, if you'll pardon my saying so," she reported indignantly.

Looking pained, Asa said, "You see why I'm so anxious to find her. Did she say anything that might give me a clue as to where they were heading next?"

Mrs. Daniels thought this over. "I don't think so. In fact, I got the impression they would be staying around here for a while. I was mighty surprised when they just up and left. They shouldn't be too hard to find, though. Nobody would ever forget seeing that wagon."

Asa was hard-pressed not to groan at that ingenuous remark. The fact was that nobody had seen that wagon at all, not for at least five months. Instead he smiled gratefully. "Thank you for your help, Mrs. Daniels. Take good care of that geranium."

"I will. I'm only sorry I couldn't have told you something. Good luck!" she called after him.

Luck, Asa reflected bitterly, would not be nearly enough. If he was ever to find Felicity Storm and her father, he would need a damn miracle.