"Mr. Sheridan?" she croaked.

He seemed amused by her formal address, and his brows lifted slightly, bold slashes above his unnervingly light eyes. "Who else?"

"I've been ill?"

His jaw ticked. "You could say that. Real ill."

"For how long?"

"Close to a week."

Laura moaned. "Oh, no... My baby."

"Your baby's fine. He's with my sister-in-law Star, Black Stone's wife. I saw him just a few minutes ago, and he's gonna get fat as a little butterball, the way he goes after the" He broke off and rubbed his nose. "Anyhow, here in a couple of hours, Star'll be bringin' him over for a visit."

"A visit?" Laura echoed shrilly. "He's here? Jonathan's here? And he's all right?"

"Right as rain."

An indescribable joy filled Laura. "You're sure? You wouldn'tlie to me."

His mouth tightened. "I ain't gonna claim I never lie, Laura, 'cause I'd be lyin'." He chuckled at the joke, then shrugged. "But I try not to make a habit of it." He reached to touch her cheek. As he withdrew his hand, the tension seemed to ease from his shoulders. "You're holdin' your own. No fever."

"You've been caring for me?"

His mouth curved in a slight smile. "Hell, no. I turned you over to all them comancheros and went huntin'." He hesitated. "Actually, I tried to pawn you off on my mother once we got to the village, but you got in such a stir at seein' an Indian, she could only care for you when you was asleep."

The thought of being touched by some Indian woman made Laura's skin crawl. "II hope I didn't unintentionally offend her."

"She's got a tough hide. I was the one tempted to wring your neck. Until I got rested up, anyhow."

"I kept you from resting?"

"Let's just say you gave it your best shot."

She searched his face. "You saved my life, didn't you?"

"I did what needed doin'. Whether or not you lived wasn't up to me."

"Thank you."

He looked away as if her gratitude made him uncomfortable. When he brought his gaze back to her, he said, "You ready to try them legs?"

Laura wasn't sure she had the strength. "To go where?"

"For a walk. I figured you might be wantin' tohow'd you put it that time?commune with nature?"

"I'm surprised you remember." Thin and tremulous, her voice didn't sound like her own. But, then, her body didn't feel as though it belonged to her, either.

"I got a good memory. Hell, after bein' around you all this time, I got so many big words tucked away in my head that once I find out what they all mean, I'll talk fancier than you do."

Laura glanced uneasily at a flap she presumed served as the teepee doorway. "Aren'taren't there Indians out there?"

"You could say that."

"H-How many?"

He pursed his lips. "I ain't counted heads, honey. A hundred and fifty, maybe more."

"Oh, mercy. II believe I'll just stay here. Thank you all the same."

He chuckled at that. "You can't hide in here. Besides, most of 'em already saw you when I brung you in."

"They did?"

"And only one went for your scalp." He grasped her arm to help her stand. "Come on outside. The air'll do you good, and I'll fight all of 'em off."

Laura didn't appreciate his joking about something she found so horrifying. "The onewho tried to"she reeled to her feet"take my scalp, you stopped him?"

"Yep."

Laura didn't trust her legs and clung to his arm. It was the oddest sensation, as if her mind were separated from reality by a thin veil of transparent cotton. The simplest thing, such as curling her fingers or making her foot move, took all her concentration.

"After your walk," he said, "it'll be time for you to eat a bite. I got some stew simmered up. My mother offered to fix it, but..." He caught her from falling. "Well, you'll soon learn she ain't much of a cook."

Laura didn't care about eating. "You said Jonathan will be brought to me soon?"

"For a visit."

"Why for only a visit? I want him now."

"Honey, you're too weak to tend him. As soon as you're strong enough, I promise."

Honey, weak, promise... Laura focused on the words as they came, not quite assimilating their meaning before more pelted her. She nodded, alarmed at how quivery her legs felt. Drawing back the hem of her skirt, she was surprised to see that she was even wearing her shoes. A walk, to commune with nature, after which she would eat stew. Only, her legs didn't feel as if they meant to cooperate. If this was a crazy dreamwhich it surely must be because one didn't awaken from a week's illness still wearing one's shoesthen she wanted to wake up. A walk through a Cheyenne village, to commune with nature, with Deke Sheridan as her escort?

"Mr. Sheridan, I'm not at all certain I can make it by myself." And if she couldn't? Maybe his intention was to assist her. The thought helped clear the cotton out of her brain. Deke Sheridan, her personal nursemaid? Wild laughter welled in her chest, but by the time it worked its way up her throat, it had turned to panic. "Perhaps I should wait a bit."

"Don't you need to go?"

"Yes, but I can't let you..." Laura realized what she was saying and blushed. "Mr. Sheridan, please. There are some things a lady simply doesn't talk about."

He gave a low laugh. "Fine. We won't talk about it. I'll just help you do it."

She was too weak to draw her arm from his grasp. "I beg your pardon?"

He slewed his dark head around, his eyes alert to her every expression. "Laura, trust me. We'll figure somethin' out once we find a bush."

Trust him? This had little to do with trusting and everything to do with Dear God, she had been ill for a week? During which time he had been forced to care for her because she had refused the ministrations of his mother. She took a step forward and her leg folded. He looped a strong arm around her waist to catch her. Laura leaned into him, feeling strangely ... safe was the word that came to mind, but she quickly discarded it. Deke Sheridan was the last man on earth to make any woman in her right mind feel safe.

Bearing almost all of her weight, he helped her to the teepee entrance and shoved aside the flap so they could exit. Fading sunlight slanted into Laura's eyes, momentarily blinding her. When her sight returned, she gasped. Everywhere she looked, there were Indians and teepees. Women hovered over small fires, unarmed warriors reclined on fur pallets. She shrank against Deke and clutched his shirt.

"What if they try to attack me?"

"They won't. Welcome you, maybe." He bent to see her face. "If that happens, let me do the talkin'. Okay? There's things you gotta know before that tongue of yours starts wigglin' at both ends."

"They could understand me?"

"Some of 'em."

"What things must I know? Are their customs so strange I can't even speak to them?"

"As soon as we talk, you can speak to 'em all you want."

A squaw straightened from over her fire as Laura and Deke passed her camp. The woman fixed Laura with a piercing gaze. Long, black braids. A dark face that looked like cured hide. A leather dress covered with animal teeth and beads. She held her stirring spoon as though she were thinking about thumping someone with it, namely Laura.

A dozen other dark heads turned, and Laura saw hostility in each set of black eyes. "They hate me."

"They don't. You just look funny, and they're studyin' you."

"I look funny?"

"Here, darlin', you're the odd one out."

"Are you certain that's all it is?"

"I'm certain."

A little boy of about seven came running up to them. He had the thickest head of ebony hair Laura had ever seen, and it hung well past his shoulders. Dressed only in a string and loincloth, he was shamefully naked to Laura's way of thinking. And dirty. His skin was dull with a coat of dust.

Hunching over, he gripped his bony little knees and peered up at Laura's face, his black eyes dancing with mischief. "Scoote Nipe Equiwa!" he cried. Then he began to stagger about as though he were drunk. "Scoote Nipe Equiwa!"

"What's he saying?"

"Your new name," Deke informed her with a low laugh. "Whiskey woman. The story has it that you was once normal-haired and normal-eyed. Until a trader pried you open and poured you full of whiskey. So full it turned your eyes a funny color and came spillin' outa your scalp. The reason you're so pale is because that much whiskey'd make anybody look peaked."

Laura's legs nearly buckled. She reeled in the circle of Deke's arm, fairly certain she would fall if not for his support. The little boy giggled with delight, backed up a few paces, and began jabbering loudly, his finger pointed at Laura. "Scoote nipe t'kar-chi, whiskey legs! Ni-ne-e-meh', look!"

Children came running from every crack, or at least it seemed so to Laura, all of them taking up the chant, which Deke translated for her. Whiskey legs. Look! The story told by Many Stomachs is true! See how she walks!

Laura felt like a lone granule of sugar in a village full of ants.

Very cute ants. All of them with great, round, black eyes. Hair so ebon, it flashed blue in the sunlight. And giggles such as Laura had never heard, from deep in their bellies, ringing around her. If she had closed her eyes and not listened to the words, she might have thought they were white children.

They were certainly as curious as white children. As Deke led Laura to a narrow, aspen-lined stream that coursed crookedly through a thick copse, the imps followed along as a noisy escort. Angling left, Deke helped her to a fallen log, then gently lowered her onto it.

"There you are." He turned away and yelled, "Weh-petheh, go!"

The children shrieked and scattered. Within seconds, nary a sign of them could be seen. Shaking his head, he shifted his attention back to Laura.

She braced her hands on her knees, feeling as though she had just run five miles without pausing for rest. She was shaking and panting and sweating. It was disgusting.

"Can you hang on to the log?" he asked.

Laura blinked, uncertain what he meant for an instant, then awash in humiliation as understanding dawned. "Iyesthe log. Of course."

Deke jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. "I'm gonna go back over yonder on the other side of that brush and have me a smoke. When you're done, all you gotta do is holler."

She nodded, too embarrassed to articulate a reply.

When she'd finished, she shook as though she were palsied. Leaning forward to brace her hands on her knees again, she dragged in great drafts of air. Slowly but surely, the heart-pounding fatigue lessened, and her vision sharpened. She stared at two damp circles that had formed on her bodice. Her breasts were leaking? How could that be?

Several possibilities slammed into her brain. She shoved them all away. What mattered was that she still had milk. After a week of illness, it was a miracle. A miracle! She would hug the joy of that close and not allow herself to think of how it had come to pass.

With weak fingers, Laura unfastened her blouse and chemise only to discover she was wearing a She stared in bewilderment, then plucked curiously at the blue chambray halter that hugged her breasts. What on earth? It was the strangest garment she had ever seen, clearly fashioned from one of Deke's shirts, original shoulder-seams intact, sleeves and collar detached, the body cut away to form a scooped neckline in front and sheared off to hit just below her bosom. The soft material was neatly tucked with darts to fit snugly around her midriff and firmly support her fullness, joined by three buttons between her breasts.

She plucked at the neckline to examine the neat little stitches that bound the edge. Someone with a very skillful hand had fashioned this to her exact measurements.

Laura closed her eyes and bit her lip. Dear God! She pictured Deke Sheridan drawing the chambray around her, and she wanted to die. She knew as surely as she knew her own name that he must have been the father of this creation, at least in part. Even if his mother had done the sewing, she couldn't have been the one who tried the garment on Laura for a proper fit.

The images that crawled through her head were so abhorrent to her that she groaned. Pulsing fire crept up her neck and seared her cheeks. How dare he take such liberties? She'd never be able to face him again. He would smirk; she just knew it. She could only wonder that he hadn't already.

The realization that he hadn't gave her pause. He had behaved as if nothing untoward had occurred, as though he had never set eyes on her naked body, let alone touched her.

There was nothing for it. She had to take her cue from him and pretend the same. This last week never happened. She had been ill. He had cared for her because there had been no one else. Now she must pick up the shreds of her dignity and proceed from here.

Acutely aware that Deke Sheridan lurked nearby, waiting for her to call for him, she quickly refastened her clothing. Her task completed, she eyed the stream with longing, but she was far too weak to rinse her face. What must she look like? With searching fingertips, she touched her hair and discovered it was drawn back into a smooth braid that hung loose between her shoulder blades. Deke had brushed her hair? She hadn't the faintest recollection of it, but supposed he had.

What else had he done for her while she slept? Still aware of how loosely her blouse fit her, and curious as to why, she felt under her arms and found that triangular insets of muslin had been neatly stitched into the seams to provide more room. On the heel of that, she also discovered that the more generous waistband of her skirt was due to the addition of a leather-thong button loop.

It seemed that Deke Sheridan might have done everything for her this last week, even going so far as to alter her clothing. Laura swallowed. Everything? She couldn't bear to think of it. She needed to call him. She couldn't sit here on this silly log forever, after all. But oh, God, she didn't want to face him.

Chapter 14.

*"Laura, you okay?"

She stiffened and glanced up. "Yes, fine." It took her a moment to gather enough composure to add, "I'm ready to go back now if you've finished smoking."