"I've been wondering something, Mrs. Hawkins," he said, breaking the silence.

Sarah gave up pretending to sleep. "What's that?"

"Where did you live before you got married?"

Before Swift Elk, before Eugene, before the terrible accident that took her parents' lives, before her father's fateful decision to emigrate from Pennsylvania to the Dakota Territory, she'd had a fairly normal, calm life. "Philadelphia."

"Do you miss it?"

Sarah considered whether she did. "I miss not living in fear more than I miss my childhood home. But a dream's an important thing, don't you think?"

"Yes. Was it your dream to come west?"

"My father's. He was a newspaper man. Over the years, he'd seen so many stories of the great adventures men had out west. He'd always longed to move here.

"We weren't a large family. There were only my parents and me. I had an older sister, but she died before I was born. My brother died in the war. Two years ago, when my father retired, he was ready for a change, an adventure. He bought a tract of land outside of Yankton."

She looked at Mr. Taggert. "My parents were so excited. They were going to realize a dream they'd held their entire lives. I was nineteen at the time. We rode the train out from Philadelphia to St. Louis, a city my father had always wanted to see. They spent some time gathering the provisions they'd need to begin their ranch. And then the accident took them."

"What accident?"

"They were trampled by a runaway freight team on a busy road. They died instantly."

Mr. Taggert sucked in a sharp breath of air. "Aw, honey. I'm sorry. Why didn't you go back home?"

"There was no home to go to. And I met Eugene then, at their funeral."

Mr. Taggert said nothing for a long minute. "Did you love him?"

Sarah sighed. The truth was, she didn't love him. Marrying him had simply been a practical decision. "Perhaps I could have. In time." Had things been different. Had he been different.

She looked over at Mr. Taggert. He was lying on his side with his head propped up on his hand. Her eyes had acclimated to the darkness of the moonlight. She could see there was no humor in his eyes. Nor l.u.s.t. Only something that might be interpreted as fierceness.

"I'm not like any of the men you've known, honey. Not a d.a.m.ned one of them."

Life had broken faith with her, but this man had not. Not yet. "Good night, Mr. Taggert."

"Good night, Mrs. Hawkins."

Late in the afternoon of the next day, they descended into a wide, shallow valley. In the distance, several large, white buildings stood in regimental precision around a parade ground. Cattle and horses dotted the pastures surrounding the complex. Fort Laramie. At last. Sarah pulled a long draw of air into her lungsa"her first easy breath in days. She straightened her gloves and pulled the cuffs of her sleeves down over her wrists. Mr. Taggert's alert gaze followed her movements. She forced a surface expression of calm.

They stopped outside the Officers Headquarters building. Mr. Taggert dismounted, then came around to help her down, his touch brief and entirely proper. "Would you like to come in with me? I'll just be a minute."

"Thank you." She shook her head. "I'll wait here."

When he disappeared inside the building, she took a look around. Heat shimmered in waves, distorting the dirt path around the grounds. No exercises were being conducted at the moment, perhaps due to the searing temperature. Nonetheless, soldiers moved around the buildings, busily seeing to their duties. A couple of women swept their porches. In shady side yards, children played a game of chase.

The office door banged shut. Sarah looked up to see Mr. Taggert following an officer who hurried over to her. "Mrs. Hawkins! Can it really be you? What a great pleasure to meet you and see that you are whole and hearty. Several of the men now a.s.signed to us here were involved in your search. They feel their inability to recover you was the greatest failure of their careers. They were close to the devils who took you until that late spring storm swallowed the trail."

"I thank you and your men for their labors on my behalf, sir."

"Heavens, here I'm prattling on and I haven't even introduced myself. I'm Colonel Miller. Logan says he's escorting you to Cheyenne. Would you do my wife and me the great honor of being our guest while you're here at the fort?"

Sarah sent a quick look to Mr. Taggert. Would he try to stop her from staying with the Millers? What did it mean that he had claimed her? He said nothing, but gave her a small smile of encouragement. "I'd like that. Thank you for your hospitality."

"Very good. Very good indeed. I'll just take you over to the house then and introduce you to the missus."

They walked down the dirt road that led to the row of officers' homes. Before they could even approach the front steps, a woman stepped outside. She smoothed her hands over invisible wrinkles in her starched ap.r.o.n as she smiled a welcome to the trio. "Logan Taggert! What brings you out our way? Is it time for trading once again?" She took his hands and leaned forward for a kiss. Logan gave her cheek a quick buss.

"It is. White Bull is bringing some goods in for me to look at. Then I'll be accompanying Mrs. Hawkins to Cheyenne."

Mrs. Miller's eyes widened. "Mrs. Hawkins?" She took hold of Sarah's hands and studied her features a little too critically for Sarah's comfort. "This is a miracle." Her eyes misted up. "Truly a miracle. We'd heard you'd been recovered at last. What a terrible tragedy. Colonel, I insist they stay with us."

"Not me, Mrs. Miller," Logan declined the offer. "I need to ride out and see if White Bull has gotten in yet. I'll bunk down with the men in the bachelors' quarters. But I would request that you take good care of Mrs. Hawkins." He set Sarah's satchel on the top step, then paused in front of her on his way back to the horses.

Sarah felt a little panicked that he wouldn't be near at hand. Strange. She hadn't felt anything like that since her parents' deaths two years earlier. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

He smiled at her. "You will. If you like, you can come to the trade with me. The women of White Bull's village produce beautiful pieces of beadwork clothing."

She didn't want him to leave, even as much as she feared he would stay. Anyone near her was in danger. She wondered if Eugene's enemies could find her here, and if they did, would they be foolish enough to try something? They hadn't found the papers at Fort Buforda"maybe they'd given up. He stood close to her, close enough that if they whispered, the Millers would not be able to hear them. "Mr. Taggert, I don't know why you came with us, but you saved my life. I cannot find sufficient words to thank you for your selflessness."

"No thanks are needed." He stood silently before her, his pale eyes watching her.

"I cannot further delay you from reaching your intended destination." Finding his eyes too disturbing, she looked at his throat. "I shall have no trouble getting to Cheyenne on my own from here, I'm quite sure."

He leaned toward her. "Honey, you are my destination. Now, go on with Mrs. Miller. Get yourself to bed early. And sleep tonight. There are no stars to stare at inside a house, and nothing to worry about here anyway. You're safe." This last he whispered for her ears only.

He waved to Mrs. Miller, then picked up the reins to take their horses to the livery.

"I'll just walk with you a bit, my boy," Colonel Miller said. "You weren't by any chance on the stage from Fort Buford that we've been expecting?"

"We were. It was. .h.i.t by Indians. Did you know Chandler's running a stage between Deadwood and Cheyenne? What's being done about that? He's causing trouble for every white man, woman, and child in the entire regiona"and any pa.s.senger who thinks he's safe on Chandler's stages."

"What happened? Were there other survivors?" A breeze pulled around the corner of the house, m.u.f.fling the rest of their conversation.

"Oh, my dear! You were on that stage?"

Sarah nodded, seeing again the blackened carriage, the burned body of the driver. She closed her eyes, absorbed the feel of the breeze, forcing herself to block out yet another memory. If she were invisible, the wind would blow right through her. She imagined herself disappearing, in little pieces, until she was no more substantial than a spiderweb.

An arm settled about her waist, startling her. "Come inside, dear." Mrs. Miller smiled at her. "I have a new Harper's Bazaar just in from New York. Well, it's several months old, but it's new to me! Why don't we have a cup of tea and see what fashion statements we could make? I'll put some water on for a bath. You can soak off the trail dust while I wash your clothes."

They moved up the porch and stepped inside the cool foyer of the Millers' home. Sarah drew a breath and released it slowly, relieved to have walls around her once again. "I don't want to be a bother, Mrs. Miller."

"Nonsense! I am happy you're here. We have so few visitors." She smiled as she led the way back to the kitchen at the rear of the house. "Being an army wife, I know the hardships we face out here. If we don't help each other, who will?"

In the kitchen, a small stack of mail sat half opened on the table. She pushed the fashion journal toward Sarah, chattering about the exciting new designs while she bustled about, putting a kettle on to boil, drawing a screen around a tub, filling the tub with cold water, fetching a towel, soap, and a change of clothes for Sarah to borrow. When the preparations for the bath were finished, she made a tray of sandwiches and a pot of tea.

"Come to the sink, dear. We'll just let you freshen up a bit before eating our snack; then you can have a long soak in the water. I'll get your room readya"I'm sure you'd like to rest before supper."

Sarah moved to the wash basin that held a pool of tepid water. There was no way to hide the marks on her hands and lower arms, souvenirs of her stay with Swift Elk. She hardened herself to Mrs. Miller's inevitable reaction and began drawing her gloves off her hands. The older woman made no sound. Sarah unb.u.t.toned her cuffs and turned her sleeves up, aching to dip her hands into the water and splash it across her face. She looked at Mrs. Miller, who kept her gaze on her face and did not appear to notice the burn marks dotting her wrists, the scars from tethers kept too tight, the lash marks that striped her hands.

Sarah picked up the bar of soap and rubbed at her hands and nails, then scrubbed her face. Mrs. Miller smiled and handed her a towel. "There, doesn't that feel better? There's nothing like a quick wash-up to restore a person's equilibrium after a long journey. I bet you're starving. Let's sit and have a bite."

Sarah followed her to the table.

"I've known Logan since he first came down from Defiance. He's grown into quite a fine young man, but don't you dare tell the colonel I said that. He's turned the head of many an army wife. Occasionally, he's graced us with his presence at a couple of our dances. While he was kind to all of us poor unfortunates stuck out here on the wretched frontier, he's never singled one of the women out. Never until you. It does my old heart good to see that he's found someone special."

Sarah yearned to tell the colonel's wife about her predicament, but she feared the way she would react. How did one tell a proper army wife that a trader had claimed her, had bought her from her Sioux husband? Doubtless she would think Mr. Taggert had taken liberties with her. She might even put her out of her house, leave her to find lodging elsewhere. In the end, she decided to say nothing.

"Mr. Taggert and I are just acquaintances. We only met a little over a week ago. I can't imagine that he could have formed such an attachment to me. I certainly hope he hasn't. I'm in no position to consider changing my circ.u.mstances. I would not be a fit wife for him."

"We'll see, my dear. We'll see. Now help yourself to a sandwicha"or four. You need to store up energy for the journey to Cheyenne."

Sarah felt her stomach tighten at the thought of being back on the open prairie, traveling without cover. Any vehicle they used, even with an army guard, would be easy prey. She fingered a tiny sandwich that had been cut in quarters. "How long does it take to reach Cheyenne from here?"

"By horse, it takes about three days. By stage, it takes a little over a day. There are several stopping points between here and Cheyenne. They don't stop for overnightsa"they just pause long enough for a quick bite and a new team of horses every fifteen miles or so. It's tedious in the extreme, but quick. The next stage won't be coming through for another few days, though, so you'll have plenty of time to recuperate. You've had one ordeal after another, my dear. I'm glad you'll be here to let me fuss over you!"

Chapter 6.

Logan whistled as he walked down the road toward the colonel's house the next morning, his arms full of the supplies he and Sarah would need for their trip down to Cheyenne. They wouldn't be leaving for several days, but he thought Sarah would be less fretful if she knew he'd acquired what they needed for the journey. He still had to pick up a couple of saddles, but he could do that at any time.

A unit of men was forming on the parade grounds, preparing for a detail. He adjusted his load and when he looked up, he noticed Sarah's Indian pony tied up outside the colonel's house. Sarah stood next to the colonel and his wife, wearing her bonnet, her coat draped over an arm.

Logan deposited his supplies in the gra.s.s near her. "What's going on?" he asked as Sarah and Mrs. Miller finished embracing.

"I'm going to Cheyenne, Mr. Taggert." She held her chin high, but the grip she still had on Mrs. Miller's hand would probably leave a bruise. She looked tired. He wondered if she'd eaten last night, if she'd been able to sleep at all. He hadn't. He'd tossed and turned.

Logan looked at her, then at the column of men forming nearby. "No. I'll take you in a couple of days, as soon as I'm finished with the trade I came to do."

"The colonel has a unit of men riding out this morning. I'll be leaving with them."

He frowned. "What's the rush?"

"I have business to see to that cannot wait. I will find a way to repay you for the horses, Mr. Taggert."

"I don't care about the horses. I said I'd get you to Cheyenne, and that's what I aim to do."

"I'll be safe with the colonel's men."

"I can keep you safe."

A group of civilian men rode by. One shoved his hat farther back on his head and grinned at Logan. The hairs rose on Logan's neck as he flashed back to the first time he'd met that particular frontiersman three years earlier.

He'd been traveling between a couple of his trading posts in southern Colorado when he stopped in Poncha Springs for a steak and a whiskey, his mind on starting a friendly game of poker.

The steak was good and the whiskey smooth, but the game was a horse of a different color. One by one, the cowboys and vaqueros folded, leaving only Logan and the man sitting opposite him.

It was a hot night. No breeze stirred the stench in the dimly lit saloon. Even through the haze of smoke, Hugh Landry's hazel eyes were focused, unblinking. Skinner, they called him. His forehead was slick with sweat. His brown moustache was bushy and growing into a month's worth of beard. A cigar was clamped in the corner of his mouth, each exhalation adding to the gray fog in the room.

Three hundred dollars sat on the table between them. Logan knew Skinner only had twenty-five dollars left. He bet a hundred, intending to end the game. Skinner looked at Logan, his eyes narrowing as he weighed his next move. Logan rested his hand near his holster.

"You know I'm all in, but I can meet your bet."

"With what?"

Skinner reached for something beside his chair. Logan drew and c.o.c.ked his gun, the clicks loud in the now quiet room. Skinner held perfectly still. Logan shook his head. "Not you," he said to Skinner. "Youa"" He nodded to the man on his right.

The man lifted Skinner's old parfleche. The beadwork was mostly gone, leaving skeletons of strings and knots behind. It was stained a dark color from wear and time. The man looked at Logan, then at Skinner. The room was absolutely silent as he reached his hand inside the pouch and withdrew a fistful of black hair and skin. He couldn't get it out of his hand fast enough. He turned the bag upside down and dumped the rest of its contents on the table. Five scalps. One with baby fine hair that might have been cat fur.

"I got twenty-five dollars cash," Landry said. "And I can get a hundred and twenty-five for these. Will you take it?"

Logan unc.o.c.ked his gun, but kept it near at hand on the table. "Where'd you get them?"

"Took 'em off a Cheyenne family. Easy as pie. Even had a pa.s.s at the squaw a time or two before I finished her."

Skinner. Jesus H. Christ. "Not interested in a bunch of hair. You got a horse?"

Skinner's eyes narrowed. "The horse ain't on the table."

Logan looked at the pile of money. "Then I guess you're out."

Skinner cussed. He took his twenty-five dollars back. "You can have the G.o.dd.a.m.ned horse."

"And the cash. Your horse ain't much better than a mule, but I'll take him and the cash." Being horseless would, at the very least, slow the b.a.s.t.a.r.d down, keep him from attacking another Indian family for a while.

"Done. Let's see what you got."

Logan showed his hand, a straight flush. Skinner threw down his flush. The room erupted in noise. Someone clapped Logan on the back. A crowd gathered to see the scalps and hear Skinner's story as Logan took up his winnings. It was all Logan could do not to lose his dinner.

And now the b.a.s.t.a.r.d was here, fixing to make a journey with Sarah. Logan sent the colonel a dark look. "Tell me he isn't riding with them."

"He requested safe pa.s.sage to Chugwater."

"He doesn't deserve safe pa.s.sage. He's a G.o.dd.a.m.ned scalp taker."

The colonel's face tightened. "I'll thank you to remember women are present, Logan. And Mr. Landry doesn't do that in this territory."

"You know as well as I do that he doesn't care if he takes an Indian, Mexican, or black-haired white man's scalp. And he ain't too particular where he does his scalpin'."

Mrs. Miller put an arm around Sarah. "You're scaring the poor child, Logan. Enough of that talk."

"She should be scared." He looked at Sarah. "You aren't leaving."