Logan studied her beautiful brown eyes, struck by the fierceness of her defense. He pulled his hand free and wrapped it about her shoulders, drawing her closer to his side. "Thank you," he whispered. She had reached out to him just now. And she had let him hold her last night. It was a start.

After hearing the story of her first husband, Logan knew theirs had been no real marriage at all. Eugene Hawkins, or whoever the h.e.l.l he really was, had used her to fund his trip west. He'd never intended for his resourceful bride to follow him to the wilds of the Dakota Territory.

Logan had asked Sheriff Declan to look into her husband. He had a sneaking suspicion that Eugene had been mired in the corruption he'd uncovered before his deatha"he was not the b.u.mbling innocent his wife believed him to be. Not for the first time, he regretted the b.a.s.t.a.r.d was already dead. He'd have liked to kill him personally. Slowly. Painfully. Drawing from him blood for every injury he'd done Saraha"through intent or ignorance.

The evening wind had calmed to a slight breeze, stirring cool air around the dusky sky as Logan secured their camp at the end of the day. The fire was banked. The horses were tied to a corral line. He turned around and saw his wife standing there in her boots and nightgown, a blanket over her shoulders. Her thick, white-blond braid was pulled forward over one shoulder. She stopped all motion when he looked at her. He wondered if she was even breathing, because he wasn't.

He moved toward her, his stride stiff, his every sense locked on her. The evening's pastel orange and pink colors bathed her face and hair, a wash of color that made her skin glow. He looked at her mouth, imagined it against his, imagined her opening for him, giving herself to him even as he gave himself to her.

"Do you need help getting into the bed? You'll have to climb up there." He pointed to the chair beside the table.

"I don't need help."

He held still as she moved past him to the wagon. Her blanket brushed his arm. He caught the faint scent of her, fresh and sweet-smelling. He forced himself to go to the river's edge. He took his time with his evening routine, wanting to give her plenty of time to get settled before he joined her.

When he returned to the wagon, he untied the rear section of the canvas, folding it back so that the bed was exposed to the open air. The June evening was long. They could lie together and watch the darkening sky.

Inside the wagon, he changed into a fresh set of clothes that he reserved for wearing to bed. He hadn't worn a nightshirt since his childhood and didn't intend to start now, but he couldn't join Sarah wearing only his drawers. Besides, the night was cold. He took up his pistol, rifle, and knife, setting them at the foot of the thick mattress while he climbed up. He took the outer half, preferring to keep Sarah somewhat sheltered by the interior of the wagon. She moved stiffly to the far side of her half while he arranged his weapons in easy reach.

He sat on his edge of the bed, facing the open end of the wagon, his legs folded. "Sarah, come and sit next to me. We'll watch the sunset."

He looked so boyish sitting on the edge of the mattress, facing the night. Carefree. She looked beyond him, to the prairie and the sky that met it at the horizon. To the east, where night was gathering, the sky had turned gray. To the west, the sky was a vibrant orange, the clouds shades of pink, vermilion, and apricot.

She couldn't resist his request. She crawled over to one side of him and sat cross-legged as she drew her blanket over her nightgown. Birds were sounding their nesting calls. The gra.s.shoppers were growing quiet, their noisy clatter replaced by chirping crickets serenading one another. It seemed the world was settling down, but she knew that was an illusion. It was just a change in shifts, from day hunters to night hunters. The open, endless prairie was vast and lethal.

Logan watched the changing colors, listened to the changing sounds, felt the cool night breeze with rapt attention. She looked again at the land surrounding them, trying to see it from his eyes. She knew what was out therea"coyotes, wolves, and snakes. Humans more dangerous than any animal. She shivered.

"Cold?" Logan asked as he adjusted her blanket. Frosty air chilled her foot. She moved to cover herself again, quickly, before he saw the scars on the bottom of her feet. Too late. He grabbed her wrist and stopped her.

"What is this?" he asked, staring at her foot.

She tried to move so that her feet were together, folded away from him, but he took hold of her ankle. "Let me see your feet."

"No. Please. Please don't look at them."

"Show me your feet." His voice brooked no argument. She moved so that the soles of her feet faced him. She watched the prairie, wishing the sun was setting faster, wishing for the cover of darkness.

He lifted her feet and put them in his lap. She held perfectly still as he brushed his hand over the puckered, seared skin. "Christ. What did they do to you?" He touched her other foot. She couldn't feel much of his stroke. He gripped a foot in each hand, her terrible scarred feet. His eyes watered. "What did they G.o.dd.a.m.n do to you?" he asked again, his voice a harsh rasp.

She swallowed, fixed her gaze on her knees. "I tried to run several times that first month they took me. I ran anytime I could, though every time they found me and beat me. I had heard some of the women talking about a unit of soldiers that was searching nearby for me. The warriors feared I would escape and bring the soldiers back upon them. They had the women burn the bottoms of my feet so that I couldn't run."

He swallowed hard. "Do they still hurt?"

"No. I can't feel much of anything there." He was pressing her feet against his chest, so tightly that his knuckles were white. She could feel the heat of his body warming her cold soles, feel the drum of his heart. Then, in one swift movement, he caught her up, moving her to his lap. He drew her blanket over her, wrapping her tightly in the fabric, covering her feet, binding her against any resistance. His arms were like steel bands around her. She waited for the panic to overtake her, the wash of nausea, but it never came. Instead, she felt shielded, protected from everything outside the sphere of his control. She relaxed a bit in his hold.

His chin rested on her head. "I'm sorry. I'm so G.o.dd.a.m.ned sorry." He drew a ragged breath that she felt from his throat down to his lungs. "I don't know how you survived."

Logan struggled to squash the rage building within him. Her husband had been a selfish b.a.s.t.a.r.d and a greenhorn, too ill-equipped to deal with the realities of life in the territories. He'd done nothing to protect her. He had, in fact, exposed her thoughtlessly to the war brutalizing the plains.

The thing that terrified him was that he knew the scars on her feet and hands were not the worst of the ones she bore. He had to find a way to control his unbounded rage, else she would not feel safe to show him the rest of her wounds.

"Sarah, honey, I cannot undo what was done. None of it. But I can promise you that your life with me will not be one of pain. I will put your happiness before my own. I will share my world with you. I will make amends with my family so that you have a family. I live for the day that I see joy in your eyes." He pulled away and looked directly into her face. "I live for that day."

Sarah stared up at him, rendered speechless by the vehemence in the rigid planes of his face, the tears on his cheeks. A sob broke from her. She wrapped her arms around his chest. He understood. He was possibly the only person in the world who could have understood, she thought. Her ear rested against his heart, which beat like a druma"in a solid, deep rhythm. She let it flow into her, a balm for her ragged spirit. "Logan, don't let go of me."

His arms tightened. "Never."

"I'll try to be the wife you need me to be."

"You already are. Honey, you already are."

Sarah woke the next morning to the warm coc.o.o.n of the feather mattress, pillows, and heavy quilts. Only her face was exposed to the cold morning air. She could see her breath in the morning light that filtered through the wagon. She squirmed deeper into the covers. Logan was gone, but the s.p.a.ce where he had been was still warm. She rolled into his side of the bed lazily.

She heard a crackle of fire, caught the scent of wood smoke and coffee. She breathed it again, a moan of enjoyment involuntarily breaking from her. She lifted her head. Logan had opened the tailgate table and was preparing breakfast. Cubed potatoes were sizzling in a pan over the fire just off to the side of him.

She leaned up on her elbows and looked down at him. He grinned up at her. "I didn't mean to wake you. I was trying to be silent so that you could sleep as long as possible."

Sarah couldn't speak, could barely breathe. She had long since lost faith in anyone's ability to be kind to someone else, but Logan had an endless well of kindness and patience. He stood before her in his denims, his cotton shirt open but tucked in. His canvas jacket hung loosely on him. He wore no hat. His blond hair was cut raggedly as if he'd trimmed what he could with his straight razor. His beard darkened his hard jaw.

He stole her breath. And her heart. He'd wanted this marriage. He wanted the intimacy granted a husband and wife. It was the only gift she had to give him. And though he was so deserving of that and more, she didn't think she could open herself to physical intimacy. Even for Logan, the man who stood like an archangel between her and the world, cooking her breakfast.

He read in her face the words she couldn't speak. He came closer to her and reached up to take her hand. "Give us time, Sarah. It's all I ask."

Tears filled her eyes. She gripped his hand tightly, finally offering him a nod.

Chapter 10.

Nearly a week later, Sarah could feel Logan's increasing tension as they made their noon stop. He'd kept them to the low valley by the river, using the land and trees for cover. She took the horses to the river, two by two, watering them and letting them feed on the rich gra.s.ses along the bank while Logan moved to higher ground, searching their back trail.

His expression was shuttered when he returned. He moved about, performing the routine midday ch.o.r.es of refilling their water buckets, giving each horse a measure of oats, helping her make lunch. They had rested barely a half hour when he hooked the team up and secured their ponies behind the wagon.

"What is it, Logan?"

"We're being followed." He studied her. "There's an old ridge of granite boulders about two miles from here. It will give us better cover than we have here."

"Are they Indians?"

He shook his head. "White men." He helped her up to the front bench. "If we don't make it to the rocks before the shooting starts, I want you to get in the back and stay low."

He shouted to the team, encouraging speed with a snap of the reins. The wagon lurched forward. Sarah held on to her seat, terrified their headlong pace over the rough terrain would bounce her from the bench. A few minutes later, a long, low range of boulders came into sight. Logan charged straight for the natural bulwark, pulling up only when they were inside the ring of boulders. He set the brake and leapt off the bench.

"Take the ponies through the boulders," he ordered as he unhitched the wagon team. He reached under the bench and pulled out his rifle and a box of cartridges. He handed Sarah her gun belt. "Shoot anyone who comes through there unless I tell you it's clear."

She led the ponies down a narrow path into a small clearing. Knee-high gra.s.s filled the s.p.a.ce within another ring of granite boulders that were taller than a two-story house. An ancient scrub pine stood off to one side, growing thick and wide. Sarah released the horses, letting them wander and feed. Logan was right behind her with the wagon team.

He paused beside her. Cupping the back of her head, he drew her close and pressed a fast kiss to her forehead. His eyes met hers. "If anything happens to me, you are to go to my father at the Circle Bar. I have written to him about our marriage. He knows of you."

Sarah nodded. "I will."

His hand tightened on her neck. "Swear it to me."

"I swear it."

Logan released her. He c.o.c.ked his rifle as he slipped through the narrow path. The ground thundered with the approach of several riders, men she hadn't even seen trailing them.

"That's far enough." She heard Logan warn the riders who had been after them.

"You there, you traveling with a woman?"

"What's it to you?"

"She's wanted by the law."

"What for?"

"Claim jumpin'."

"You the law?"

"No, friend, we're the wronged. She took our property and we want it back."

"You mean those bogus land deeds? Deeds to land that the Sioux own?"

"They won't own it for long. Give us the girl and the papersa"we'll let you live."

Logan laughed. "Don't have them. We gave them to the sheriff in Defiance. Why don't you go see if he'd be willing to oblige you? Course, he may not have them either. Think he was sending them by special courier down to Sheriff Bennett in Cheyenne."

"Well then, I reckon we got ourselves a standoff. There's three of us and one of you. Who do you think's gonna win?"

"I gotta tell you, my money's on me," Logan answered confidently.

"I say we just shoot him and get the girl," one of the men said to the other riders.

Sarah peeked around the boulder. Three men sat on their horses several yards in front of Logan.

"Yeah. We need her for leverage. I don't want to tell the boss we lost her again. And I for one don't want no sheriff in on this."

"Relax. Bennett thinks she's a forger. I talked to him when I pinned up the wanted poster."

Their voices carried as if they stood in the ring of stones, their debate amplified despite the distance. Without warning, gunfire erupted, ricocheting off the rocks with sharp, whining barks. She stumbled back into the shelter of the clearing. The horses ran in circles, trying to find their way back out. She took her hat off and flapped it gently to keep them from charging down the opening.

A movement at the top of the rocks caught her attention. A man knelt up there, preparing to leap down to a lower boulder, pistol in hand. He straightened to make the jump. Suddenly his arms flew out to his sides, his gun dropped, clattering over the boulders. He tumbled forward, an arrow between his shoulder blades. Sarah slapped her hand over her mouth to keep herself from screaming.

A Sioux warrior shouted. He leapt from boulder to boulder, dropping down into the ring of rocks. Reflexively, her hand went to her gun. She drew it, her hands shaking. Her legs grew weak. She watched the ridge of boulders, looking for the other braves she knew would be there. She pressed the hammer back. She was shaking so terribly that she doubted she would hit her target.

The shooting had stopped out front. Her heartbeat was pounding in her ears. The warrior was tall, almost as tall as Logan. He wore his hair parted on the side, his ponytails bound in red cloth. He had a strong nose, high cheekbones, and a square jaw. He pushed his way through the horses. He bent and sliced the scalp from the man he'd killed. Straightening, he looked right at her, the patch of hair and skin dripping blood in one hand, his bloodied knife in the other. His face wasn't painteda"he hadn't expected to be doing battle today.

She gasped a deep breath, feeling the wash of fear flooding her body, hot and cold. Time folded back on itself. This was just like what had happened outside her small cabin a year ago. The warrior who'd appeared then had been the first to push her to the ground, the first of seven. Then he'd smashed Eugene's head in with his tomahawk and sliced off his scalp.

The warrior before her now moved forward. She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. She lifted her gun and pointed it at him. Even holding it with two hands, she couldn't keep it steady. He stopped where he was, a.s.sessing her. Without taking his eyes off her, he wiped his knife on his leggings, then sheathed it. He pushed the scalp into a pouch. Hands free, he started toward her again.

Waves of nausea fed the fear within her. Never again. He held up a hand to her. A b.l.o.o.d.y hand. If she shot him and missed, he would brutalize her before killing her. She turned the gun on herself and pulled the trigger.

She heard the click even as two angry male voices shouted, "No!" and "Sarah!" She was jerked around, into the hard wall of a man's chest. Logan. She knew his scent before her mind could even register that it was his arms holding her like steel bands. He took the gun from her hand and tucked it into his waistband.

He pulled back, his hands tight on her arms, his face a mask of terror. He was shouting at her, his white teeth flashing. His hands patted her arms, her shoulders, her neck, her head. Over and around, searching for a wound. He took her upper arms again and pushed her back, looking over her blouse and skirt. He drew her forward, folded her into his arms. His breathing was ragged. She could feel him shaking. His hand cupped the back of her head, pressing her face into the strength of his shoulder.

Slowly, sounds began to return to her. The warrior said something as he stopped beside them. She felt the pressure of his hand on Logan's shoulder, then he was gone. Logan stroked her back, his iron grasp slowly easing. She felt the deep breath he drew. He kissed her forehead.

"That is Chayton." His words rumbled through his chest, against her ear. "He is like a brother to me. He will not harm you. Nor will he let harm come to you." He drew back, cupping her face with his hands. "He will protect me and mine as I do him and his. It is his band that we go to visit."

Logan kept his arms wrapped around her, drawing a ragged breath. A chill swept through him. He'd almost lost her. By the grace of G.o.d, she'd fired the empty chamber he'd told her to keep the hammer against. She was cold. He rubbed his hands up and down her arms.

He didn't want to leave her side, but needed to clean up out fronta"especially knowing that Chayton had probably taken their scalps as well. "Wait here for me. I need to take care of a few things."

Logan led the wagon horses through the pa.s.s. Chayton was there, waiting solemnly. He held three b.l.o.o.d.y scalps. The bodies, including that of the man Chayton had killed in the inner pasture, were nowhere to be seen.

"I regret frightening your woman. I am thankful she didn't shoot me. I did not expect her to try to shoot herself."

Logan lifted his hat and ran a hand through his hair. "She was held as a captive of Swift Elk's band. They did not treat her well. She is still recovering from her wounds."

"She was the one known as Yellow Moon."

"Yes."

"We heard Swift Elk was enraged that she left him."

"I have paid him her bride price."

Chayton nodded. "That is good. He is a fearless warrior, but his hatred of your people has twisted his mind. I am surprised she survived. But I am glad she did." He grinned at Logan. "Laughs-Like-Water feared you would never find the mate you sought. She has sensed the loneliness in you for a long while. Is Yellow Moon the wife of your heart?"

Logan studied Chayton. "Yes."

"That will make my wife happy."

"Chayton, on my way out, I crossed paths with a man who is dangerous for your people. A bounty hunter who takes Indian scalps for money. His name is Hugh Landry, but they call him *Skinner.'"

Chayton's face hardened. "If I see him, he will die."

"He and his men have buffalo guns." Logan looked at his friend. "Maybe it is time to move your people to the agency." Chayton's life was bittersweeta"his family gave him great joy, but the future his people faced meant an end to the way they had existed for years beyond remembering. His chief had decided to keep the band out of the agencies, fearing the horror stories about starvation and abuse and even ma.s.sacres perpetrated against those who had surrendered.

"Laughs-Like-Water is pregnant. Would you have me take my family to the agency where they will starve us? They will take my gun and horses so that I cannot hunt. They will tell me and my wife to grow plants in the soil, but they will not give us seeds or tools. They will want us to grow plants where there is no water. They will feed us rancid meat. We will not be able to hunt to take skins for our tepees. And even if they allowed us to keep our guns and to hunt, they have killed all the buffalo. What would we hunt? The earth weeps with the destruction your people have wrought, and you would have me put my family in their hands?"