"I'm saying that I want no part of this lawsuit. What happened between Tommy and me is over, and I want to forget about it."

Her father reared back. "What crazy talk is this? Next you'll be telling me you forgive him."

Meg glared at her father. "Maybe I do."

Her father shot to his feet like a popped cork, and everyone started talking at once. Soon they were all on their feet, even Mama.

"Now, Henry, you promised..." Mama tugged on Papa's sleeve.

Meg seethed. "And I am not damaged goods!"

Mr. Barnes's eyebrows shot up. "Good heavens! Are you saying you broke the code of maidenly modesty?"

That got her father's attention, and he looked as puzzled as she did. "Maidenly what?"

"I was simply asking if your daughter and Mr. Farrell had engaged in-"

"Certainly not!" Meg exclaimed. The very idea. She and Tommy had shared, at most, a couple of chaste kisses. "I just want to forget about the wedding-"

Mr. Barnes cleared his throat and straightened his bow tie. "Don't forget that the wedding took a healthy chunk out of your father's finances." He reached for a piece of paper. "The wedding dress alone cost-"

The door to the office sprang open, and Barnes stopped reading. All four heads swiveled toward the newcomers. Papa pulled his watch out of his vest pocket, a not-so-subtle reminder of the differences between the two families.

Tommy's father entered the office first. Robert Farrell gave Mr. Barnes a curt nod, but didn't as much as glance at Meg or her parents.

A thin man with a saucer-size bald spot on his crown, he was the physical opposite of her father. Papa was tall and round as a rain barrel, while Mr. Farrell was a good five inches shorter and thin as a measuring stick. It was as if by some mutual agreement the two men had decided to look as different in appearance as their personalities and philosophies dictated.

Behind him, Tommy slinked into the office as cautious as a minnow swimming through shark-infested waters. Meg couldn't help but feel sorry for him. But it was the tall man walking in last who commanded her attention. She recognized him at once and suddenly couldn't breathe.

Oh dear God. This can't be happening.

Barnes cleared off three more chairs and quickly introduced his clients to Tommy's lawyer. "I'd like you to meet Mr. and Mrs. Lockwood and their daughter, Meg."

Grant Garrison pulled off his derby and tucked it beneath his arm. His tailored dark trousers and frock coat made him look even taller and leaner than Meg remembered. Thick brown hair fell from a side part and tapered neatly to his collar.

He shook hands with her father and took her mother's offered hand in his before releasing it. He then turned his handsome face to Meg and locked her in the depths of his golden-brown eyes. He picked up the gloves she didn't know she'd dropped on the floor. As he handed them to her, his fingers brushing hers, a corner of his mouth quirked upward.

"We meet again."

Grant had attended many meetings with opposing counsel, but he'd never witnessed anything quite like this. If the raised voices weren't bad enough, Mr. Lockwood's habit of pounding the desk with his fist as he spoke was downright annoying.

The only thing Grant could compare the meeting to was a Boston labor riot from which he'd been lucky to escape with only a slight wound to the shoulder. The way things were going, he doubted his luck would hold a second time.

With each booming eruption of Henry Lockwood's voice, the windows rattled and the beaded lampshade on Barnes's desk shook like it was about to explode.

The defendant's father responded in kind, his voice thinner but no less virulent.

The lack of alarm, surprise, or even disapproval on the women's parts suggested that such outrageous behavior was not unusual and, indeed, quite normal for the family patriarchs.

Things were different in Texas, that was for sure, but never had Grant imagined having to deal with such unbecoming behavior. His ears were already ringing. Mr. Lockwood had a voice like the biblical bulls of Bashan.

Since Mr. Barnes had called the meeting, it was his job to restore order. When he failed to do so, Grant stood and positioned himself between the battling twosome. Enough was enough.

"Gentlemen!"

The two men glowered at each other but thankfully fell silent. Their heaving chests and daggerlike glares suggested the reprieve was only temporary, and a second round was imminent.

"If you would kindly take your seats, we will get started," Grant said in a voice usually reserved for a biased jury.

Lockwood looked about to argue, but his wife tugged on his coattail, and he lowered his generous bulk onto the chair next to hers.

Only after order had been restored did Mr. Barnes read the charges lodged by his client. He then folded his hands on his desk and cleared his throat.

"Mr. Garrison, would you care to comment?"

"Thank you," Grant said. He was still standing and decided to remain so for security purposes. Holding on to the lapel of his frock coat gave him a feeling of control. "While I have nothing but sympathy for Miss Lockwood..."

Pausing, he leveled his gaze at her and almost lost himself in her bold regard, her turquoise eyes as unfathomable as the deepest ocean. She sat perfectly composed, feet together, hands on her lap, chin up. She certainly didn't look like she needed his sympathy. Nor anything else, for that matter.

He averted his gaze and continued. "The fact is that my client was pressured into asking for Miss Lockwood's hand in marriage and-"

Lockwood popped up from his seat-a regular jack-in-the-box. "That's absurd!"

"Papa, please," his daughter pleaded. "Listen to what the man has to say."

"We'll have a chance to present our side in due time," Mr. Barnes assured him.

Lockwood's mouth puckered, and he looked about to argue. Finally, at his wife's urging, he lowered his bulk onto the chair again with a silent scowl, arms folded across his ample chest.

Grant continued. "My client is willing to pay a reasonable sum to cover expenses but not the exorbitant fee listed in the complaint. Furthermore-"

Once again Lockwood sprang to his feet. "Considering the mental anguish Tommy put my daughter through, ten thousand dollars is more than reasonable."

Mr. Farrell leaped up, and the two men faced each other like combatant soldiers. "Now see here, Lockwood-"

"No, you see here!"

"Gentlemen." This time Mr. Barnes took charge by pounding his desk with a brass paperweight. "If you would be so kind as to take your seats, you'll both have a chance to speak at the appropriate times."

Grant waited for the men to comply before continuing. "The defendant wishes to make it clear that he never meant to hurt Miss Lockwood. But the truth is that he was forced-"

"Forced, my foot," Mr. Lockwood shouted. "He sneaked behind my back and damaged my daughter!"

Meg's hand flew to her throat, and her protest escaped in a strangled whisper.

"Henry!" her mother said sharply.

"It's true, and you know it."

Cheeks blazing, Meg rose from her chair and glared at her father. "How...how could you?" she sputtered.

Feeling sorry for her, Grant quickly restored order. "Would you care to make a statement, Miss Lockwood?"

Shooting him a look of disdain, she appeared about to say something, but after a quick glance at her father, she abruptly changed her mind. Whirling about in a flutter of skirts, she stormed out of the office, slamming the door so hard that the lamp on the desk shook.

Miss Lockwood's departure relieved Grant of any hope that the dispute could be brought to a quick and civil conclusion.

Six.

"Do hurry, Meg, or we'll miss the train," Amanda shouted as they hurried around a horse and carriage and dashed down the narrow, dirt-packed streets of San Antonio toward the train depot.

"I am hurrying!" Meg retorted. It was overcast and cold that late afternoon in November, and the threat of rain hung precariously in the air. The streetcar driver had told them that the town clocks were set to train time, but neither she nor her sister could imagine anything so perfectly synchronized.

They raced past rows of single-story adobe buildings. Clay waterspouts jutted out from beneath flat roofs, and the fenced yards were filled with goats, chickens, and brown-faced children.

Twenty thousand people called the city home, but the crowded streets around Market Plaza suggested many times that number.

Balancing an armload of gaily wrapped packages, Meg followed Amanda past stalls of hand-tooled leather goods, bright shiny jewelry, and colorful shawls called rebozos. Booths were strung between mule-driven wagons and the Spanish mission. Mexican vendors vying for Christmas shoppers outshouted each other, and trail-driving cowboys traded stories with charros, their Mexican counterparts.

An artist seated behind an easel was painting the portrait of a young Mexican woman dressed in a bright-blue peasant dress. A man sat cross-legged on a blanket selling clay pots, and three men played guitars while another sang. The music could hardly be heard above the cries of the vendors.

Hurrying to keep up with her sister, Meg couldn't help but cast an envious gaze at the twirling dancers. Colorful skirts made them look like flowers caught in a whirlwind. Normally at this time of year she would be putting last-minute touches on her gown for the winter ball. However, no one had asked her to go this year, and the thought of sitting out the dance at home filled her with dismay. But that wasn't the only reason for her depressed mood.

Why, oh why had she allowed Amanda to talk her into traveling to San Antone? On a shopping spree, no less? Her feet hurt, her head ached, and if she had to look at another ostrich feather or peacock plume for her sister's hats, she would scream. It was just her luck to belong to a family that did everything in excess.

"If you hadn't spent so much time pondering velvet ribbons, we'd be on the train by now," she huffed, her breath coming out in white plumes.

"Oh, stop complaining, Meg. Here I thought I was doing you a kindness by inviting you to spend the day shopping instead of moping around."

"I was not moping around!"

Fine, maybe a little. She felt guilty for giving Amanda a bad time. It wasn't her sister's fault that she felt out of sorts. At home, she couldn't go anywhere without people stopping to stare. Two-Time was no longer divided only by time-the pending breach-of-promise lawsuit was now the talk of the town. Everyone had an opinion, and more than one fistfight had broken out because of it. Half the town sided with Tommy; the other half, with her.

"Oh, look," Amanda called. "The clocks were right. The train hasn't left yet."

"Thank God," Meg muttered. Her feet couldn't hold out much longer.

The uniformed conductor motioned them to hurry with a wave of his hand. White teeth flashed against his ebony skin as they neared. "All aboard," he called as if to encourage them to run faster.

No sooner had they stepped onto the train than the door closed behind them with a whoosh, followed by a high-pitched whistle.

Stretching her neck to peer over her packages, Meg followed Amanda down the narrow aisle in search of empty seats. The train was packed with weary-looking shoppers, harried young mothers, and distracted businessmen.

"Over here," Amanda called.

Just as Meg slipped past a man standing in the aisle, the train started with a lurch, forcing him to bump into her.

The packages flew out of her arms and into the lap of a male passenger.

Regaining her balance, Meg murmured a quick apology and reached for one of the packages that had spilled. She lifted her gaze and was greeted by an all-too-familiar face.

"Mr. Garrison!" she gasped, pulling her hand back as if from fire. What was Tommy's lawyer doing here?

Grant handed her the package, and the surprise on his face faded into amusement. "Miss Lockwood. Fancy meeting you."

Amanda grabbed the package out of Meg's hand. "Do you two know each other?" she asked, struggling to reach the overhead baggage rack.

Mr. Garrison nodded. "We've met a couple of times."

Cheeks blazing, Meg picked the remaining packages off the floor and struggled to place them on the iron-rod shelf above her head.

"Let me help you with those." Mr. Garrison stood, his commanding height making it necessary for him to remove his hat. His arm brushed against hers as he reached up to place the paper-wrapped boxes on the baggage rack.

He moved with an air of authority that gave no heed to the swaying motion of the train. In short order, all their parcels were stacked neatly overhead.

Pulse skittering, Meg sat. She pulled off one glove and then the other, laying both across her lap. She then untied her cape and let it hang loosely over her shoulders.

Mr. Garrison took his place directly opposite her and donned his hat.

Since Amanda was looking at her rather strangely, Meg felt compelled to make introductions.

"Mr. Garrison is Tommy's lawyer," she said and added, "This is my sister Amanda."

He acknowledged Amanda with a polite nod and doffed his hat. "A pleasure."

Amanda lowered herself onto the seat next to Meg. "Isn't this a conflict of interest or something? You two being seen together?"

Mr. Garrison waved off her concern with slight shake of his head. "Not unless we discuss the case, which I have no intention of doing." His congenial expression did nothing to conceal the warning in his voice.

"Nor I," Meg assured him, inclining her head. It was bad enough that this man had been privy to her most intimate garments. She certainly didn't want to think about the embarrassing scene that had followed. Did he think she was damaged goods too?

"Ah, for once we're in accord." His intriguing smile made Meg's heart do a funny flip-flop. Or maybe it was simply the motion of the train.

A young lad with jet-black hair shuffled along the aisle hawking newspapers. "Read all about it," he called above the clickety-clack of the wheels on the railroad tracks and the drone of voices. "Stage attacked..."

Mr. Garrison reached into his pocket. "I'll take one," he called with a raised hand. The boy handed him the paper in exchange for a coin. "Keep the change."

The boy's grin practically reached his ears. "Thank you, sir."