After having lived so many years alone, Deke was accustomed to worrying about nobody but himself. To suddenly have the responsibility of a wife and child seemed a frightening burden. As much as he had taught Laura, she still had much to learn. She would be next to helpless if anything happened to him. Looking over at her, Deke traced the features of her sweet face with concerned eyes. Had he found the one woman he was fated to spend his life with? Or had he made a selfish decision that could end up costing Laura untold suffering? To even ask himself that question nearly broke Deke's heart. But he loved Laura and the baby too much to ignore the doubts that nagged him. Given time, he could train her well, and eventually she would be able to make her own way, evading pursuers, living off the land, until she could reach a town and help. But what if fate intervened and there was no time?

Even though it was too late now to change things, guilt became am ache within Deke. He thought of when he first met Laura, how quickly he had begun to care for her. She was so beautiful and sweet and fine, the kind of woman a man like him could rarely hope to have. Yet Laura had fallen into his hands. And selfish bastard that he was, he had made the most of the circumstances, railroading her into a relationship she had abhorred. Now, even though she had accepted things and Deke felt sure she loved him, he still couldn't guarantee her the things a woman should be able to take for granted, security at the top of the list.

Where had his head been? Deke asked himself. Up his butt, he guessed. For a woman who had lived through all that Laura had, security was vitally important. One husband had already abandoned her. She trusted Deke to be there for her when she needed him. He had sworn he always would be. Now, when he looked at the harsh realities, he realized it was a promise he might not be able to keep.

He tried to absolve himself. He hadn't started any of this, after all. And even if he hadn't married Laura, they would still have been faced with the same dangers, namely trying to make it safely back to Denver. Ah, but it was after they reached Denver that he had to think about. Her father might have answered her wire, and there could be money waiting for her there. If Deke hadn't married her, he could have used that money to put her and the baby on a stage for Boston. As unhappy as Laura might have been back East, as unhappy as she might continue to be if she were to return there, at least she and the baby would be safe. Deke couldn't guarantee the same if they stayed with him in Colorado.

Stop it! he told himself. What's done is done. You love her, she loves you. This is how it was meant to be. Somehow, someway, things will work out.

As they rode ever closer to Denver, Deke clung to that hope. Things had to work out. He couldn't even contemplate Laura and the baby ending up in the hands of a bastard like Francisco Gonzales.

At first light the next morning, Black Stone and his warriors prepared to take their leave and head back into the foothills. The farewell between him and Deke was emotional, for neither knew when they might next embrace, if ever. Both battled tears, then lost the fight.

"You know the song in my heart," Black Stone said in a tight voice.

Deke stepped back and crossed his extended arms so they might clasp each other's wrists, symbolic of eternal unity. His Cheyenne brother did likewise. As each applied a grip, strength surged between them and seemed to bolster each of them.

Seeing the worry in his brother's eyes, Deke said, "You've come with us too far as it is, Black Stone. I doubt we're more than three hours out of Denver right now. If I can't hold my own for that short a distance, I'm a pitiful excuse for a man."

"Ah, yes." Black Stone's eyes danced with laughter. "Very pitiful, that is you."

"Besides, we might come across whites over the next rise. You know it, and I know it. The time has come for us to go our separate ways."

"Always, the time seems to come."

Tears slipped onto sunbaked cheeks to be chased away by the dew-kissed morning breeze, leaving only salt trails to tell the tale. Deke felt no shame. This man walked within him in secret places no other would ever journey, not even Laura. He and Black Stone shared memories, some joyful, many sad, some that still rankled to this day. In that moment, both recalled their first parting, which had begun with a fistfight and ended with bitter farewells. A foolish thing, to have lashed out at each other so violently. But the rift between them had cut deep, making them both bleed, and the loyalty of a lifetime had not been easily severed. It had taken anger to cut those ties, and love to mend the wounds. Now, years later, they were parting yet again, wiser and less judgmental, accepting one another's differences, loving each other in spite of them. It was as it should be. But it was also heartbreaking.

"You know where my soul walks," Deke told him softly. Releasing Black Stone's wrists, he pressed a fist over his heart. "I am one with the People."

"And I am one with you."

With that, Black Stone leaped onto his pinto. He hesitated there for a moment, tall and regal on his mount, his black hair drifting across his chest to touch the self-inflicted scars from his Sun Dance. He looked to Laura, his obsidian eyes expressionless. During the journey, he had not spoken a word to her. He did so now, and with a simple eloquence that brought a lump to Deke's throat.

"Wife of my brother, sister of my heart, I honor you." With that, he raised a fist skyward. "My heart will sing words of you, always. My children will be told of the whiskey-haired woman who is my sister, and they will pass those words on to their children. A hundred winters from now, the People will speak of you, and say only good things. I am Black Stone, your brother, and forever your loyal friend."

He wheeled his horse, raising a funnel of dust that concealed his departure. By the time the air began to clear, he and the other warriors had diminished to toy figures, their cries floating back to Deke and Laura on the wind.

"What did he say to me?" Laura asked.

"That he loves you," Deke whispered shakily.

Before embarking on the final leg of their journey into Denver, Deke strapped Tristan Cheney's gun belt around Laura's hips and gave her his extra Colt revolver, fully loaded. Clearly unaware of the danger they might yet face, Laura grinned and patted the gun.

"Think I can hit anything with it?"

Deke didn't force a smile. The time had come for Laura to fully understand what they might be up against. "At very close range, yes. And that's all that matters." He held her gaze for an endless moment. "Just in case there's trouble, Laura, I want you to save two slugs."

Her smile faltered. "For what?"

Deke swallowed. "If something happens to me" He broke off and looked away. "A temple shot is quick. There's no pain. Take care of the baby first. Then yourself." He dragged his gaze back to her. "It's a terrible thing to even think about, I know. But I want your promise you'll do it before you let the comancheros take you."

The blood dropped from her face. "The comancheros?" She glanced uneasily around. "They aren't still a threat? Not after all this time."

"Probably not. But we did spot tracks yesterday, and they looked fairly fresh. Shod and unshod horses traveling together."

He could see by her expression that she remembered what that meant. "Do you think it could be the same group? That they might attack us? And if they do, you're asking me to shoot my baby?"

"I'm not sayin' it'll even happen, honey. I'm just preparin' you for the worst. A bullet in the temple'd be a mercy." He swallowed and searched for words he wished he didn't have to say. "Remember the day I left you and said I was gonna lead them three Mexes off our scent?" At her nod, he added, "Well, I didn't. I killed 'em."

Her pupils dilated, but otherwise she showed no reaction.

"Anyhow, it could be that Gonzalesaccordin' to Black Stone, he's their leaderit could be he wants revenge, and when his kind takes revenge, he lashes out at whoever's handy. You and Jonathan ... well, you'd be his whippin' posts if somethin' happened to me, the only ones left for him to take out his anger on. And it'd be bad, Laura, real bad. Worse than just bein' used hard and sold, like they mighta done before. You understand?"

At last she nodded.

"The two cartridges? They're just for in caseif somethin' goes wrong, that's all." Deke tried to smile. "I don't mean to scare you." He bent to give her a quick kiss, then touched a hand to Jonathan's dark head where it rested on her slender shoulder. "You ready to ride?"

Making a visible attempt to regain her composure, she said brightly, "I'm ready for a bath, that's what. In a great huge tub of hot water. With scented soap!"

Deke's heart caught at her show of bravado. By her pallor, he knew she comprehended the possible danger and that she was now as worried as he was. As he walked toward his horse, he couldn't help but wonder if she didn't secretly wish she could slip into silk after that bath. Her world in Boston had not been rife with danger at every turn, and she wouldn't be human if she wasn't thinking about that right now, if not for her own sake, for Jonathan's. As he swung onto his horse, he asked, "You miss them hot baths, do you?"

She lifted an elegant amber eyebrow as she settled herself into the saddle and reached for her horse's reins. "You aren't about to tell me I won't be able to indulge in hot baths at your ranch, are you?"

"No. Water's cheap."

She dimpled a cheek at him. "Then yes, I miss hot baths."

"There anything else you miss?"

"A real bed?"

Deke relaxed and chased away his doubts. "I can promise you one of them, too." After a moment, he managed a genuine smile. "Quick as I can, I'll build you a houselike them you see in the city. We'll even have us one of them rooms folks don't never use, a parlor, I think it's called. And a room just for eatin' with one of them mile-long tables."

She giggled at that. "If you're hoping to drown your new mother-in-law in her soup, you're in for a disappointment. My mother passed away years ago."

"I can live without fat ladies drownin' in their soup if you can live without three-fork supper parties."

"I always detested three-fork suppers, sirrah, so I shall be a very happy lady."

"Sounds to me like you've come down in the world, Boston."

She leaned back and took a deep breath of the morning air, as if to savor its taste. "By whose measuring stick? Just look at this glorious morning!"

Two hours later, despite the warmth of the summer morning, Deke felt a chill slither over his skin. Death hung on the breeze, waiting, circling like a vulture. He couldn't say how he knew that. He only knew it was so. When he breathed in the air, it filmed his nostrils and tasted of metal at the back of his tongue. All the hair on his body prickled with dread.

The chilling sensation had begun to drift around him about thirty minutes ago, vague and almost unnoticeable. But Deke had experienced the feeling too many times to ignore it. Soon the electrical heaviness in the air seemed so thick, he could scarcely breathe. He slowed his horse to ride abreast of Laura, watching for any movement on the surrounding hillsides, alert for any warnings from Chief, who padded along at right flank, his bristles already standing, his bone abandoned someplace behind them on the trail. Deke knew the dog would never drop his bone without reason, and by its absence, he guessed Chief felt death in the air, too.

Animal instinct? Deke guessed maybe so. Or a trait that had been trained into him by the Cheyenne. Either way, it was a sixth sense most folks didn't have, one that some people would say wasn't quite human. Inhuman or not, Deke was glad he had it. Instinct had saved his life more than once, and now he had two lives far more precious than his own to worry about. He began to watch for someplace to hole up, natural cover to guard his back so he might outwait the enemy, whoever it was, and force them to come at him head-on.

No such luck. When the first rifle shot rang out, the closest thing Deke saw that would provide cover of any kind was a large boulder. He felt the bullet whiz past his face a split second before the sound ripped through the air. Laura's horse reared in reaction. Deke's, trained to ignore noise, flinched but remained steady. All in one movement, Deke grabbed Laura's gelding's bridle and dropped to the ground between their mounts, jerking Laura down with him as he went. Caught off guard, she stumbled and fell. For a horrible moment, Deke was afraid she or the baby might be injured by her horse's flashing hooves. More shots rang out, which only increased the animal's panic.

While trying to hold both horses steady, Deke helped her to gain her feet. "Stay between the horses! Grab a stirrup strap in each hand."

While she did so, Deke positioned himself at the animals' heads so he could guide them. He hoped to make it to the boulder, using the breadth of the horses to shield Laura and the baby from rifle fire. To do that, he had to keep the animals broadside to the snipers. Deke's own body was an open target, but he couldn't think about that, not now.

"Keep your head down, Laura!" he barked.

She ducked and fastened gigantic amber eyes on his. "Oh, God, Deke!"

The boulder. To Deke it looked as if it were a hundred miles away. He slogged backward toward it, glancing over his shoulder to gauge the distance, feeling as though his feet were mired in mud. Another shot rang out, and Deke's stallion screamed as it lunged forward onto its knees.

From that moment on, things seemed to happen before Deke could move. His black, propelled by the force of the slug, fell toward Laura, throwing her and the baby into the other horse. Another rifle shot rang out. Deke sprang between the huge animals and heaved sideways with his shoulder, using all his strength to keep his fatally injured mount from rolling. At the last instant, Laura regained her balance and scrambled out of harm's way, shoving frantically against her own horse in her panic.

To Deke it seemed they made it through one narrow escape only to confront another. With his horse down, Laura and the baby were completely unprotected. Releasing her mount, he hooked an arm around her waist and dove for the dirt, doing his best to protect Jonathan from harm as they landed. Then, going up on one elbow and knee, he crab-walked toward the rock, dragging Laura and Jonathan along beneath him. Reality shrank to a deafening cacophony, the gutshot horse screaming, the infant squalling, Laura sobbing, Chief adding to the din with snarls and barks. Another shot rang out. Deke's lungs whined for breath. A few more feet. He only had to pull them a few more feet.

Another report split the air, and dirt geysered only inches in front of their heads. Deke hunched his shoulders around Laura, tightened his hold on her waist, and heaved forward with all his might. Three more feet. He could feel Laura digging in with her elbows and toes, trying her best to propel her own weight. Two more feet. Lead peppered the ground all around them. Deke knew their luck couldn't hold. With a strength he hadn't realized he possessed, he made a final, desperate lunge for safety. Chief scrambled for cover behind the rock with them, whining and sniffing each of them. Deke shoved him away and pushed up to peer over the rock.

His rifle. His goddamned rifle! It was still in the saddle boot, his cartridges and spare cylinders for the Colts in the saddlebags. The injured horse was throwing its head and trying futilely to get to its feet. Its screams were horrible. Deke drew his Colt and took careful aim, praying a well-placed head shot would put the thick-skulled animal out of its misery. The report of a rifle and a spray of granite sent Deke diving for cover again before he could pull the trigger.

"You miserable sons of bitches! If you won't let me shoot him, you do it!"

"We will send you to hell with him, my gringo friend," a voice called back. "Simply show yourself again, eh?"

"Gonzales!" Laura cried. "I'd recognize that voice anywhere."

The poor horse let out another piercing shriek. Hearing it in such pain, knowing it was gutshot, Deke cursed under his breath. Gonzales didn't have an axe to grind with the stallion. Yet he was happy to let it die a slow, agonizing death to exact some small measure of revenge. That was exactly why Deke had cautioned Laura to save back two rounds in the Colt, because men of Gonzales's ilk had no mercy. He would be just as senselessly vicious with a woman and child.

Deke inched his head back up to peer over the boulder again. The rifle. He stared at its varnished stock, aware of his blood rushing in his ears. He had to reach his Henry. Without it, he couldn't hold off the comancheros, and Laura and the baby would die. Or worse. He started forward. Laura grabbed his arm.

"No! If you go out there, you'll be shot!"

"Cover me!"

"CCover you?"

Deke rolled out from behind the rock. "With the revolver!" he called back, yelling to be heard above the injured horse's screams. "Keep the bastards busy."

Deke really didn't expect much help from Laura's quarter, and he was more than a little surprised when he heard the Colt bark. He dove into some brush, then glanced back, his surprise turning to amazement. She was returning the comancheros' fire, and doing a damned fine job of keeping herself protected while she was at it. He had known grown men to piss their pants when up against far better odds. Yet there was Laura, inching her head up, taking careful aim. The Colt barked again.

Despite his sense of urgency, Deke felt a swell of pride. Hot damn, she was something. Though why he should feel proud, he didn't know. Her grit wasn't his doing. Boston, born and bred, maybe. But the steel in that girl's spine was pure Coloradan.

The Colt's effective range was only fifty yards, but at least Laura's fire would keep the renegades' heads down for a few minutes. That was all the time Deke needed. Parting the foliage, he focused on his Henry again. At a distance of six to seven hundred yards, an ordinary marksman could put two out of three balls inside a ring two feet across with that Henry. The rifle was also capable of putting out five accurate rounds in as many seconds. If Deke had a brag, it was that he was no ordinary marksman. The Henry wouldn't turn him into a one-man army, but more than a few of those comancheros would eat lead if he could get his hands on it.

There was no way around it. To reach the Henry, he had to cross that open area to the stallion.

"Two bullets!" he called back to Laura. "Save the last two. Promise me!"

"Just get the rifle, Deke! Let me worry about me, for heaven's sake!"

Her return fire ceased for a moment, and Deke knew she was pulling cartridges from her gun belt to reload. Bless her heart. Rifle fire began to pepper the ground in front of the rock. Deke waited to leave the brush until he heard the Colt's report again. Then he sprang forward into a run. Three scrambling steps, a dive for the horse. The Colt barked each time his feet hit the dirt. He couldn't have asked for better backup. The poor horse grunted and whinnied when Deke's body slammed into it. He hooked an arm around the saddle to grab the Henry's stock. With a mighty jerk, he dislodged the rifle from its boot, jacked the lever, pressed the barrel against the back of the stallion's skull, and pulled the trigger. To hell, Deke might very well go, but one of the sins he burned for would not be allowing a helpless animal to suffer. The loss of one rimfire cartridge wouldn't mean a difference between life and death for Laura and the baby.

The bastards.

Laying the rifle aside, Deke drew his knife, took a bracing breath, and then raised himself to slash wildly at the saddlebag strap. He couldn't waste time trying to dislodge the bag that was pinned under the dead horse. Luckily, the bag on top was the one holding his cartridges.

Luckily? Deke nearly laughed. At himself for thinking the word. At life because it was such a bitch. At long last, he had someone to love. Two someones to love. Something to live for. And those miserable excuses for men out there were trying their damnedest to snatch it all away from him.

He rolled onto his back, thankful that a bullet hadn't found him while he was partially exposed. The sky stretched above him, and around him loomed a sudden, eerie silence. Laura must be reloading. Please, God, let her be reloading! Jonathan wasn't crying now. Chief had stopped barking.

Fear clutched Deke. He scanned the bushy hillside behind the boulder. What if some of the comancheros had circled around and come in on them from behind? What if, at this very moment, Laura and the baby were dead?

Deke shoved up on an elbow. "Laura!"

In answer, her Colt spat lead. Relief shot through him. Doing a belly crawl, he slithered back toward the brush, the Henry and saddlebag tucked under one arm so he might use his other hand to haul himself over the ground. When he reached the protective shelter of the boulder again, it was to find Laura crouched over the cradleboard, gun in hand. Deke wanted to tell her right then what a hell of a woman he thought she was, but there was no time. He tossed the saddlebag in her direction and took up a firing position. "While I'm emptyin' one weapon, you reload the other," he said through clenched teeth. "That way, we can keep up a steady return fire. Get all the spare Colt cylinders out and handy."

"Are you all right?"

Deke jacked a cartridge into the Henry. "I'm fine. Just reload!"

With that, he pushed up, sighted in along the sweeping barrel, and fired at the first man he saw.

One comanchero, on his way to hell.

Deke whipped back down behind the rock, jacked a cartridge in, and sprang onto his knees again to shoot. Ah, the beautiful sound of his Henry. A leg wound this time. Deke wasn't proud. Down to operate the lever action. Back up. The odds were pitiful. He knew it. But he'd fight with all he had. For Laura. For the life they might have made together.

Seeing Deke in action filled Laura with awe. Oh, she had always known he had a dangerous, deadly side. But never, not in her wildest imaginings, had she envisioned him like this, every movement measured and precise, his eyes glittering with murderous intent, the muscles in his face drawn taut. He and the Henry worked together as if they were one. Where she had fired wildly, Deke did not. At such a distance, he didn't hit his mark with every bullet, but he always came close.

Laura worked feverishly to keep him supplied with weaponry, and soon she forgot everything but the lethal rhythm. Reloading the Henry, slapping it into his capable hands. Reloading the Colt, holding it at the ready. He scarcely spared her a glance. When he wasn't shooting, he was scanning the hillside behind them. Laura realized that he feared the comancheros would circle around behind them. If that happened, not even Deke would be able to hold them off.

As frightened as she was for Deke and herself, Laura's biggest fear was for Jonathan. Her baby, her sweet, precious baby. For the first time in weeks, she wondered what in heaven's name she was doing in this godforsaken land where death was as commonplace as breathing. It was no place to raise a child.

Please, God. Protect my baby. Please, God, don't let him die. Get us out of this. Please, get us out of this. The prayer became a litany in Laura's mind. With numb determination, she tried to do her part to save her son, reloading Deke's weapons with mechanical precision, not allowing herself to think beyond that.

"Son of a bitch!"

Laura followed Deke's gaze and saw two men zigzagging down the opposite hillside. They hit the draw and rolled. Deke fired at one and hit him. With amazing speed, he pumped the lever action again and got off another shot. Then he cursed furiously under his breath. She knew why. The second man had gotten across the clearing. Now the enemy could come at them from both front and rear. Fear filled her. A horrible, cold, crawling fear. Her gaze shifted to Jonathan. Bundled into his cradleboard, all he could move was his head and little fists. He was crying, but Laura couldn't hear him. It was as if everything around her had been reduced to one element, terror.

She saw Deke look at the Colt on her hip, and she knew what he was thinking. If the comanchero took cover on the hillside above them, which he'd surely do at any moment, he would be able to pick Deke off. She and the baby would be left alone.

A wild urge to run struck Laura. But there was nowhere to go, no escape from this madness that had become her and Deke's reality. The look in his eyes nearly broke her heart. He glanced at the hillside again, then dragged his gaze back to the baby. She guessed that he was afraid she might not have the courage to take her child's life, and he wanted to spare her the horror of having to do it if he could.

"No!" she cried. "Not until you're dead, and they're right on top of me! I'll do it if it comes to that! I swear I will. But not until there's no hope."