"A prig."

"A what?"

"A fusser," she elaborated.

Deke bit back a smile. "Nah, I don't."

She peeked out at him from under her sleeve. "Do you realize that until coming here, I never went into public without wearing my gloves?"

He wasn't sure how that related. "Is that so?"

"I suppose you think that's absurd."

"Not if it was cold back there in Boston. Was it?"

She gave a startled giggle. "Cold? Sometimes, of course, but I wore gloves because" She broke off and giggled again. "It wasn't appropriate to proffer my hand to a gentleman if it was bare. That's why I wore gloves."

"Ah." Deke dipped his head to see her eyes. Her pupils were becoming dilated. His mouth quirked in a grin as he came to the realization that for Laura, this was loose behavior. He should have known. Talking ... her strong point. "I reckon you got cured of that notion quick in this country."

She sighed. "This country has cured me of more than wearing gloves."

"Really? Pretty different from Boston, hm?"

For a long moment, she didn't answer. Then a ragged sob tore up from her throat, and she burst into tears. Deke couldn't help but be startled. The tea was supposed to make her feel peaceful.

"Boston?" He drew her arm down. "Honey, what's wrong? Do you still hurt? Why are you crying?"

"Because," she said. "Poor Jonathan. Why did he get stuck with a mother like me?"

He circled that cautiously. Talk about out of the blue. "You're a good mother. You told me so, remember?"

"I lied." She passed a hand over her cheek and sniffed. "His diapers fell off. And that Mexican said he had colic. I didn't know what to do." She turned tear-filled eyes to him. "I didn't even know how to have him! It's a wonder he didn't bleed to death before I realized the cord had to be tied. And then, on top of all else, I left him alone so those men could steal him. How can you call that being a good mother?"

The muscles at the back of Deke's neck drew tight. "Tristan wasn't with you when you gave birth?"

She blinked. "With me?"

Anger, hot and suffocating, crawled up Deke's throat.

"He went to find mustangs. How else were we to ever get ahead?"

For some reason, it had never occurred to Deke that the man hadn't been there with her when she had his child. "He left you alone when your time was close? I thought..." He rubbed a thumb above her ear to catch a trail of tears. Her skin felt surprisingly warm, far warmer than it had earlier when they were riding. The beat from the fire, he assured himself. "Couldn't he've gone huntin' mustangs later? Jesus, was he out of his mind?"

"I'm not completely helpless," she said defensively.

"Boston, I wasn't"

"Yes, you were! You wouldn't think it was awful if he had left a Cheyenne woman."

"I sure as hell wou"

"Even I can have a baby without help. I may not be good at much else, but I did manage that part just fine. And you can't take that away from me."

Deke started to say something, then clamped his mouth shut.

"People can't help where they were born." A bruised look came into her eyes. "I know you think I'm a flubbertigibbet. And I suppose, by your standards, that perhaps I am. But I've done the best I can. It's extremely unkind of you to constantly remind me of how inept you think I am."

"Inept?"

"Useless."

"I don't think you're useless."

"Then why do you call me Boston? Because you hold me in high esteem?"

Deke ran a hand over his face. "Damn. Honey, I don't think you're useless. I think you're"

"Don't say it! It's enough just to have my baby gone and be so sick I can't go get him. I can't bear it if"

"I think you're wonderful," he inserted.

She turned a startled gaze to him, her pupils gigantic black orbs lined with amber. "You what?"

"I think you're wonderful," he repeated, and grasped her shoulders to sit her up. "A wonderful mother. And one hell of a woman."

"You do?"

"It wasn't your fault you didn't know how to tie the cord when Jonathan was born. Hell, it ain't like babies come with instructions printed on their backsides."

"No," she agreed. "I wish they did."

"As for you lettin' him get stole, what was you s'posed to do, leave the well dry?"

"I could have taken him with me while I hauled the water. Like Indian women do, on my back somehow."

"You ain't got a cradleboard," he reminded her.

"I could have fashioned something."

"And then maybe killed him when you fell in the rocks." She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, still looking unconvinced.

"You did the best thing," he insisted. "The only smart thing, which was to keep him at the cabin where he was safe. It ain't your fault comancheros came along and snatched him."

"You truly think not?"

At that precise moment, she seemed about twelve years old to Deke, her mouth still quivering, her huge eyes luminous in the firelight and filled with uncertainty. He touched a finger to the tip of her small nose. "I know it, no think to it. You was doin' a fine job of bein' a mama, and when you get your baby back, you'll keep right on doin' fine. What you don't know, you'll learn. Lovin' him like you do, that's the most important thing. The rest'll just come with time."

"As if you know anything about babies."

"I know more'n most. In an Indian village, everybody helps watch after the little ones. I was changin' moss bags before I was dry behind the ears."

"Moss bags?"

"Moss is used by the Indians for diaperin'." Searching her gaze, Deke decided most of her distress had passed. A bemused smile played upon her mouth now. He cupped her chin in his hand and tipped her face toward the ceiling. She definitely had more of a fever than he first thought, he decided. "Tell me what you see up there."

She blinked and focused on the blackness above them. "Nothing."

"You just ain't lookin' close enough."

She frowned slightly. "I'm looking, but there's nothing..."

A wondrous expression crept across her face. "Oh, Mr. Sheridan," she whispered. "Why did you wait so long to tell me they were up there! Aren't they lovely?"

Wondering what kind of images the dream medicine had conjured for her, Deke smiled and began unbuttoning her jacket. "Do you reckon you could call me Deke?"

She dropped her chin. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded to know as he drew her jacket back and began unfastening her badly soiled blouse.

Deke hesitated, wondering if maybe he was starting too soon. "I'm undressing you."

She seemed to consider that for a moment. Then she said, "Oh."

He grinned and went back to the buttons.

"For a moment, I thought..." She started to laugh and went a little limp in the spine. He grasped her arm to steady her. "You'll think I'm silly, but for a horrible moment, I thought you were removing my clothing."

Her giggle was infectious, and he chuckled. "Would I do that?"

"I certainly should hope not. It would be highly inappropriate."

He peeled both jacket and blouse down her slender arms. As he tugged the garments over her hands, she giggled again.

"Now what?"

She shook her head. "It just occurred to me that you are removing my clothing."

"I reckon I am." He unfastened the snug waistband of her skirt. "No wonder you've got a bellyache, girl. This thing's cuttin' you in two."

"I've become fat. Skinny in the wrong places, and fat in the wrong places, that's me. I suppose I should be grateful I'm no longer an ugly hag of bones." She flashed him a purely mischievous grin that dimpled one cheek. "Now I'm simply ugly. Tristan would be so pleased." She drew her fair brows together. "Not that I ever cared if my bones jabbed him, you understand. As I saw it, jabs were no more than he deserved, and for me, his lack of interest was a blessing."

Deke grasped the hem of her chemise. He could think of a number of ways to describe her, but bony wasn't one of them. When he glanced back at her face, he saw that her smile had turned wistful.

"He never really wanted me," she confided. "It was my father's money he was after all along." She wobbled slightly as she lifted a hand to snap her fingers before his nose. "The instant my father learned of our marriage and disowned me, I went from being the love of his life to bony and repulsive. It wasn't the wedding night of every girl's dreams, I assure you."

The hurt in her eyes was unmistakable, and he momentarily forgot what he was doing. He wanted to tell her how beautiful he thought she was, but now that the tea was taking hold, he doubted she would remember. Still the shock of what she had said prompted him to ask, "The man called you repulsive and bony on your wedding night?"

She gave a startled laugh. "Well, he certainly didn't tell me before our wedding night, or I wouldn't have married him, would I?"

That made sense. He guessed.

"Trust that I was not that stupid," she informed him. "Young and easily fooled, yes, but not entirely witless. And I certainly smartened up quickly enough, albeit after it was too late." She lifted her hands in a gesture of fatalistic acceptance. "C'est la vie!"

Oddly enough, Deke didn't need that translated. "That ain't how it always is," he assured her. "And Tristan Cheney was a damned fool. You're a beautiful woman, and any man in his right mind would have loved you on your wedding night the way you were meant to be loved. I sure as hell would if I got a crack at it."

"You would?"

He grinned. "You can bet your last three cents on it. There ain't a whole lot to you, but you're put together about as pretty as I've ever seen."

"Do you truly think so?"

"I truly do." He gave her a wink. "Like I said, anything more than a handful is a damned waste, anyhow. Nice, very nice."

She blinked, her expression saying more plainly than words that momentary clarity had come over her and she was wondering how the conversation had turned to something so highly inappropriate. "I beg your pardon?"

He chuckled. "Nothin'." Returning his attention to the task at hand, which was to divest her of her chemise, he said, "Lift your arms, sweetheart."

She made an effort and nearly toppled in the process. Deke caught her from falling. Then he grasped her pointed little elbow and managed, with some maneuvering, to bend her arm and work it inside the armhole, where it became trapped, her hand dangling limply at her shoulder. He moved closer, jerked the garment above her hips, and shoved his arm up the front. After some fishing, he located her wrist.

"This is like tryin' to work wet leather laces through moccasin eyelets," he muttered as he twisted her limp arm around. "Am I hurtin' you?"

She smiled. "Not at all, Mr. Sheridan. Carry on. However, I must say that I don't believe there is room in here for both of us."

Her bewildered expression struck him as funny, and he started to laugh. Since she was already in a frame of mind to giggle, she joined in. Deke wrapped his free arm around her to keep them both from toppling. When his mirth finally subsided, he still had his arm up her chemise, and hers was still bent double and stuck. He dragged his out and sat back on his heels to study the predicament.

"We gotta get it out of there. It's either that, or I have to cut the chemise off you."

She dimpled a cheek at him again. "We must get what out of where?"

"Your arm," he said, swallowing back another laugh. "It's stuck."

She looked down, regarded her twisted arm and dangling hand for a moment, and then began untying the row of tiny ribbons at the front of the chemise.

"If you could do that all along, why in hell didn't you?"

"Why in hell didn't I what?"

"Untie the goddamned thing."

She glanced down again in bewilderment. "I didn't realize you wanted me to." She flashed him another impish grin. "Besides, it's patently obvious it has laces. I should think a connoisseur of the ladies such as yourself would know his way around a chemise."

"The ladies I connoisseur with ain't usually wearin' extra wrappin'."

"My goodness. If not a chemise, what do they wear?"

"Never mind," he said with another suppressed laugh, and reached to draw the muslin down her arms. As he leaned close, he looked into her eyes and said, "You in there, Boston?"

She wrinkled her nose. "A moment ago, we both were."

He grinned. "Wiggle your arm out."