"Rathe," she said, to distract him. But it was too late. He turned to face her, staring, shock giving way to disbelief and then anger, holding up a gun.

It dangled black and ugly from his hand. She had purchased it after the incident with Ford and Rawlins.

"What the hel is this?"

"It's a gun."

"I know it's a gun," he said grimly. "Grace, why is there a gun in your reticule?"

"Because-" She wet her lips. "Because I thought I might need it."

He looked at her. There was a strange expression on his face-worry, agitation, dread. "Why do you need a gun?"

She didn't want to tel him about Ford and Rawlins. "It's just a precaution," she assured him cheerful y. "Going back and forth to the school every day, alone-wel , I thought I should have a means of protecting myself, just in case. From robbers. And men like that sailor."

He stared.

She gave him a brave smile.

"You're teaching?" He couldn't believe it. He had forbidden it-even if, immediately afterward, they had become preoccupied with the issue of the five thousand dol ars. He had forbidden it-and she had defied him. "You're teaching?"

"Yes."

"I don't believe it!" His hand slammed down on the table, so hard that the top tilted.

"Rathe!"

"I thought I told you," he shouted. "I don't want you teaching!"

She wished she were dressed so she could stand. Instead, she could only sit up straighter, holding the covers high. "Let's stay calm. You didn't tel me not to teach. And you can't-"

"I'm tel ing you now!" he roared.

She was on her feet, sheets or no. "How dare you! You can't tel me what to do!"

"You listen to me, Grace. I can and I wil ," he cried furiously.

"I'm a teacher!" she shouted. "It's who I am, what I do!"

"You're my mistress."

She inhaled. "You don't own me."

His jaw clenched. Thankful y, he did not reply, for they both knew the truth-he did own her; he had bought her for the next year. Grace tugged the sheet around her body. "You don't own me," she repeated stubbornly.

"You're not teaching," he said. "It's too dangerous, and that's the end of that."

"You're not being fair," she said thickly, swal owing a lump of tears.

"I don't want you hurt, Grace," he responded tightly.

"I won't be hurt. I'm a woman. They wouldn't harm me."

"You are deluding yourself. And I'm not interested in any further arguments. This conversation is closed." He turned and opened the wardrobe, reaching for his breeches.

"This conversation is not closed," she yel ed.

He ignored her, yanking on his pants.

"Do you think you can real y stop me. Rathe?"

He jerked his belt together. "I've made arrangements to move your mother to the New York Frazier Hospital. It's the finest in the city, and I'm close friends with the director. She'l have special care."

She understood instantly that he was changing the subject. Now he was being thoughtful, but she didn't care; it was too late. "I'l have her moved myself."

"I've also arranged for a private nurse."

"You gave me the five thousand dol ars, remember?"

"I gave that money to you," he said. "It's for you, Grace. I'l take care of your mother."

Was he trying to buy her off? Why did he have to try and strong-arm her? Why did he have to be so damn stubborn? Her resolve reasserted itself.

She could be just as stubborn as he was-especial y when she was right, and he was wrong! Oh, she would keep on teaching, al right. She would just have to become a liar and a cheat to do so.

Rathe saw her fierce expression. "Grace," he warned, "don't even think of whatever's put that stubborn look on your face. I wil not back down on this."

To his surprise, she smiled. "Al right. I don't want to fight, anyway."

"Neither do I," he said harshly. He went abruptly to her and took her into his arms. She was stiff with anger. "Don't be mad at me, Grace. I'm only trying to do what's best for you."

She looked at him and softened.

"You know that, don't you?"

"Yes," she admitted, touching his cheek. "I do know that."

He looked at her and knew there was no way he could let her teach.

She looked at him and knew there was no way he was going to stop her.

He just could not al ow her to place herself in such danger. He loved her too much.

She just could not al ow him to dominate her. There was too much at stake.

Chapter 23.

Rathe was in love. The next few days passed in an idyl ic haze and the sun at the center of his universe was Grace. He had to restrain himself from buying her too many presents, from reaching for her too often, from tumbling her too frequently into their big four-poster bed. It was impossible. He loved to see her smile, to hear her laugh. Suddenly it was easy to make her happy. Grace was no longer fighting him. She had succumbed, and he knew it.

He stil had the twelve-carat yel ow diamond.

He was afraid to push his suit too fast and too hard. He was succeeding, wooing her into loving him. He could tel , not just because of her response in bed, but because of the way she smiled at him, and the look in her eye when he caught her unawares, watching him. Stil , he would give her more time before he asked her to marry him again.

At first, in between their sweet morning lovemaking and their luxurious afternoon picnics, he was a touch suspicious. Grace had given in so easily.

It just wasn't like her. But then he realized that, by now, he should know never to expect a specific reaction from her, that she would always be unpredictable.

If it weren't for her, he would have neglected his business affairs completely. He didn't want to leave her for a minute. But Grace was brisk and stern, insisting that he must devote a few hours each day to his vast concerns. "You don't want to be robbed blind, now do you?" she asked, hands on hips.

"No ma'am." He grinned, and a pattern was set. Every day from about ten to two he took care of his correspondence and oversaw his business interests. Grace would browse through the town, always returning with a new purchase-fresh muffins, lace gloves, a cameo pin. Once she even brought him a gift-a beautiful man's ring of onyx and gold. Rathe had been speechless. Although he had received gifts from women before, this was different -this was from Grace. He was overwhelmed.

"Do you like it?" she asked shyly.

"It's beautiful."

"I know I bought it with your money-"

He cut her off, sweeping her into his arms and hugging her fiercely. "The money I give you is yours. Thank you, Grace." He wanted to tel her he loved her, but he was afraid to reveal his innermost feelings. Of course, they weren't al that wel -hidden these days. He was wearing his heart on his sleeve.

He made a decision. He sent a wire to his folks, tel ing them that he and a lady friend would be arriving in three weeks, on the fifteenth. He smiled at the thought. Within ten days he would propose and Grace would accept, which meant that when he returned home, he would be bringing his bride. He had no intention of waiting until they got to his parents' ranch to wed. The instant Grace said yes, he was taking her to the nearest cleric and putting that ring on her finger.

He had settled into a poker game at the Black Heel after supper. Grace had shooed him out, tel ing him that she had to write some letters and she couldn't think straight with him around. He liked that. He wanted to be a distraction to her, always. Even when she was doing something else, he wanted to be there with her, on her mind...like she was always with him.

He wanted to go back to the hotel and make love to her. However, he had just started to win heavily, and he believed in fair play. Farris and the others wouldn't be very happy if he left right now. Also, he and Grace had made love al afternoon in a glade by the pond. But if he kept on thinking about it, fair play or not, he was going to quit the game.

"Rathe, hey you! You in or out? You even here?" George waved a hand in front of his face.

Rathe cursed and threw down his hand. "Out. Sorry."

"Why don't you go back to that little love nest and itch that scratch-or whatever it is." He winked, and gave Rathe a lewd look.

"Hey, listen," someone at the next table said in an urgent voice.

A silence fel as everyone, including Rathe, listened to the night. Only crickets, the whinny of a horse, and the rol of someone's carriage were discernible. To hel with it! He pushed back his chair, about to leave, when the drumming of approaching hoofbeats became clear, getting louder. A chil raced up his spine.

It was late and there could only be one possible explanation for such a group of riders.

George said, "Night riders."

"Wonder who the poor bastard is they're after," someone murmured.

Rathe was thinking the same thing, indignation and outrage boiling through his veins. Suddenly he realized that everyone in the saloon was looking at him. Another chil swept him-one of impending doom. He wasn't wearing his gun, but he did have his knife. He slowly rose to his feet. He thought, Would Ford dare ride after me?

George was standing, too. "You better get going," he urged.

Rathe gave him a wry smile. "I have no intention of running."

George's eyes widened. "You fool! It isn't you that they're after! Rathe, how could you let her do it? Didn't you know it would come to this? Rawlins has been mouthing off for days about your little redhead."

"What?"

"He's pissed she's stil teachin' the darkies," George said. "He's pissed she didn't listen to the second warning. Real pissed."

It took him a second. "Teaching? "

A look of sympathy crossed George's face. "You didn't know? She got a whole new class organized an' they meet every day from ten to two.

Rathe, I got this feelin' after hearin' Rawlins today-"

Rathe cursed and was running out the door. He knew George was on his heels and was vaguely surprised. He wasn't one step out of the doorway when the riders came gal oping by, a dozen or so big dark horses, freezing Rathe in his tracks. The instant they were past he was leaping onto his horse, urging it into a gal op, trying desperately to think of a shorter way to get back to the hotel. There was no shortcut. As he turned the corner at a gal op, he saw the mass of horseflesh come to a wheeling, stomping halt in front of the Silver Lady Hotel. Half of the riders dismounted, and as one, they ran inside.

Grace knew she had made a mistake.

She had been lying to Rathe and she felt awful. But he would not back down about her teaching. So she'd sneaked behind Rathe's back to continue meeting with the children. She wouldn't back down, either. She couldn't.

The issue was deeper than the right of the children to learn. Al en would be able to go back to teaching at least part-time in a few more weeks.

Then what was to become of her? She would be nothing but a man's mistress.

Even if he proposed to her again, how could she accept? Love wasn't enough. He was trying to force her to bend to his wil , and she wasn't even his wife. He didn't have any hold on her, especial y not a legal hold, yet he was dictating a decision that affected her entire being. It would be a miracle for them to marry without an issue arising over which he would try and railroad her again. And he would do so, repeatedly, because they did not think the same way, and it didn't look like they ever would.

Such speculation was pointless. He wasn't going to propose another time, and she should bless her lucky stars. Because there was a reckless part of her just dying to say yes!

Is this what love is? she wondered, her face buried in her pil ow. Misery and heartache and a longing so intense it eats you up inside?

She loved him so much.

She felt trapped.

One day at a time, she told herself briskly. She had an agreement-she was to stay with him for a year. Because she couldn't handle this subterfuge, she would have to confess al . And take it from there. Grace was sure of only one thing. Her being forbidden to teach was not in the agreement. That had not been clear, and as far as she was concerned, if she had known, she would have never agreed to their liaison.

She had the awful feeling that sooner or later, Rathe would find out she'd disobeyed him, and that the truth was going to set off a chain of events culminating in her leaving him. Surprisingly, tears came, bitter, salty ones. The knowledge of what she had to do was devastating. Oh Rathe, she thought, come back and make love to me and wipe away al the hurt, even if only for a few moments. Hold me as if you love me. And I'l pretend...

She raised her head. The night had grown strangely stil , when usual y the rowdy sounds of the Silver Street saloons drifted up from beneath the cliffs, fil ing the air. And then she heard it-a rumbling sound like distant thunder. Could it be rain? She lifted up on one elbow. Impossible, there hadn't been a cloud in the sky al day.

Riders.

They were rapidly getting closer.

A terrible frisson of fear accompanied by comprehension raced down Grace's spine. They had to be night riders.

Her instincts were to curl up under the covers and shake. Instead, she threw her feet over the side of the bed and sat in outraged, frightened immobility, trying to think. Who would be their next victim? It was almost impossible to believe that they could ride so boldly right down Cliff Street. What should she do?