"Doc will do everything he can," Sawyer promised. He indicated his bandaged shoulder with a motion of his head and then added, "He must be h.e.l.l on a toothache, if he's this good with a bullet wound."

Piper nodded anxiously but offered no reply, since none seemed called-for.

Bess appeared, letting herself in, since Piper hadn't bothered to relock the door. With Sawyer and Doc both there, she knew Ginny-Sue would be safe.

After nodding a greeting to Sawyer, Bess hurried over to stand on the opposite side of the bed from Doc. She wrung her hands, and the expression in her eyes was an eloquent plea for good news.

Doc opened his bag, took out a packet, and held it up. "Headache powders," he said. "Stir a teaspoonful into a cup of water, and we'll see if we can't get her to take it."

Bess rounded the bed, took the packet from Doc's hand, and vanished into the bathroom. She was back in a trice with the water, and Piper handed her a spoon from the tea tray Cleopatra had brought up earlier.

The rattle of the spoon against the gla.s.s roused Ginny-Sue enough to open her eyes. They glistened, too bright, and seemed to grope and struggle from one face to the next.

"Mama?" Ginny-Sue said.

"I'm right here, baby," Bess said, moving close to the child, sliding an arm around her to help her sit up, forcing cheer into every word and motion, "you've got to drink this whole gla.s.s of water right down. Doc brought you some medicine, and it's going to make you feel a lot better, real soon."

Ginny-Sue's confusion was heartrending for Piper, and she was thankful when Sawyer put his good arm around her waist, lending her strength. Almost holding her up, in fact.

The child sipped from the gla.s.s, the bitter taste causing her to wince, and it obviously hurt her to swallow. Still, though the process was a long one, she finally emptied the gla.s.s.

"What is it?" Piper whispered to Doc, when he walked over to her and Sawyer, looking solemn and thoughtful, though he'd left his bag on the night table and was taking off his coat like a man who meant to stay rather than go. "What's wrong with Ginny-Sue?"

"If we're lucky, she's got a bad cold," Doc answered, keeping his voice low. "If we're not, on the other hand, then this is probably diphtheria, and it works fast. We ought to know by morning."

Piper reached out, took one of Doc's hands in both of hers. Sawyer stood silently beside her.

"Thank you," she said softly, because she knew Doc had made a sacrifice to come here at all.

Doc's smile was genuine, if somewhat feeble. "Don't thank me yet," he replied. "The aspirin powders will bring down the girl's fever if she's just taken a chill, but if that doesn't happen, well, then we're dealing with a much bigger problem."

"Diphtheria," Piper almost whispered.

Doc nodded. "None of us can leave here until we know for sure," he said, with a rueful shake of his head. "If this is diphtheria, it'll spread like a fire in dry gra.s.s."

Piper looked at Sawyer, whose expression was unreadable, and then Doc. By then, Bess had left Ginny-Sue's side to join them.

"Did you say my girl has diphtheria?" Bess asked tentatively, going pale under all that kohl and rouge and rice powder.

"I said she might have it," Doc said, at once stern and compa.s.sionate. "How long has Ginny-Sue been sick?" Before Bess could formulate a reply-she seemed to be juggling conflicting thoughts in her mind-he turned to Piper. "Did she come down with this at school?"

"Just since this afternoon," Bess said finally. "Cleopatra said she seemed fine at breakfast."

"And at school, too," Piper added, after reviewing her memory. Even though Ginny-Sue hadn't exhibited symptoms in cla.s.s, when all the children had been busy decorating the Christmas tree, it was still possible that the illness was already spreading from one end of Blue River to the other. Edrina-Harriet-little Jeb, the new baby- She wouldn't be able to bear losing a one of them, or any of her pupils, either.

She almost swooned at the enormity of the threat, but Sawyer took a firm grip on her elbow and steadied her, kept her upright.

He guided her to one of the easy chairs near the fireplace and sat her down.

"What about my girls, and the customers?" Bess asked Doc. "Shouldn't they be told?"

"If you say the word diphtheria," Doc replied, "there'll be a panic for sure. On the other hand, we can't have those men carrying the sickness home to their own families. I'll put the whole place under quarantine before I let that happen." He paused, grim and brusque. "I just hope it isn't already too late."

From her chair near the fire, Piper watched tears gather in Bess's eyes. "We'll see that the beer and whiskey flow," she said quietly. "And those that don't pa.s.s out, well, maybe the girls can keep them here some other way."

Some other way, Piper thought, half-sick. Innocent or not, she knew what that "other way" was, and the ugliness of it nearly overwhelmed her.

But who was she to judge? In Bess's shoes, with Bess's history and lack of choices, she'd probably be no different.

Doc gave a heavy sigh, nodded in agreement with what Bess had said. He had a child to worry about, too, Piper reminded herself, his Madeline. Doc Howard's daughter was probably a large part of the reason he'd finally braved his wife's disapproval, after refusing once, and answered Piper's summons.

Unless, of course, Sawyer had forced the other man to the Bitter Gulch Saloon, at gunpoint. She didn't think he'd be above that.

The possibility made Piper sit up very straight, stiff-spined. "Did you-persuade Doc to come?" she asked, fixing her tired eyes on Sawyer.

"Now, how would I do that, with just one good arm?" he countered.

Piper raised both eyebrows, thinking of the Colt .45 her husband was wearing on his right hip, even then. "One way comes immediately to mind," she said.

Sawyer grinned. "Fortunately," he said, picking up on her meaning right away, "I didn't have to threaten anybody. I guess Doc just figured if I thought it was important enough to ride bareback to his place with a big hole in my shoulder, he ought to pay attention."

Piper scooted her chair a little closer to Sawyer's, dropped her voice to barely more than a breath while Doc and Bess conferred over by the door. "Didn't Mrs. Howard have something to say about it?"

Sawyer's grin broadened. "Oh, she had plenty to say. Told Doc she'd get on the train and head East if he set foot outside the house, never mind heading straight for a brothel, where G.o.d only knew what he might bring home. Yes, sir, she'd leave him high and dry. He said she oughtn't to make promises she didn't mean to keep, got his bag, and followed me over here. Didn't even take the time to saddle his mule."

Piper was wide-eyed. "You heard all that?"

Sawyer nodded. "I was downright proud of the man," he added.

"If I wasn't so grateful," Piper replied, "I'd have a few things to say myself, Mr. McKettrick, about you riding around on a horse in the dark of night in your condition."

"It seemed like a better idea than walking," Sawyer pointed out. "I couldn't saddle Cherokee-it's practically impossible to tighten a cinch with one arm-but he didn't complain. I put a bridle on him, led him out of the shed and over to the porch, and climbed on from there."

"I don't suppose it ever occurred to you to heed me and stay put at the schoolhouse?" Piper retorted, though she wasn't actually angry, just fearful to think of all the things that could have gone wrong. Might still go wrong.

"I'll always hear you out," Sawyer said, quietly reasonable. "You're an intelligent woman and most of the time your opinion will probably make sense. That said, if I'm not swayed by your arguments, I'll go right ahead and do whatever strikes me as the best choice."

Piper had no reply for that. She was almost too tired to think.

Doc disappeared into the bathroom then and closed the door, while Bess stretched out on the bed alongside her feverish daughter, holding the little girl close, murmuring a lullaby to her.

Though she was still worried sick about Ginny-Sue and every other child in and around Blue River, Piper went over the things Sawyer had said, oddly exhilarated by them, even in her weariness. Yes, he was letting her know that, as a husband, he wouldn't bend to the kind of pressure women like Eloise Howard exerted, but it was the word always that had really caught her attention. He'd sounded as if he expected to share his life with her-as if they'd be working out problems and disagreements years from now.

"I thought you were leaving," she said carefully. "Heading out to find Mr. Vandenburg as soon as you could ride that far."

"I might still do that," Sawyer answered, one corner of his mouth quirking upward ever so slightly. "But I've done some thinking since last night, about how close I came to losing you when it was me Duggins was after. When you bolted from the schoolhouse a little while ago, h.e.l.l-bent on storming the Bitter Gulch Saloon for the sake of a sick child, and devil take the gossip that was bound to result, I knew you were the one for me."

Piper sat stunned, stricken by hope even in this uncertain and potentially tragic situation. How was it possible for one person to contain so many powerful emotions, especially ones that were at odds with each other?

Doc emerged from the bathroom, drying his hands on a towel and glancing toward Ginny-Sue, and the woman who was holding her.

"That's quite a setup in there," he commented, c.o.c.king a thumb over one shoulder to indicate the bathroom. "Running water, hot and cold. Even a flush toilet." Doc paused then to rub his chin and reflect for a moment or two. "If I put in a bathtub over at our place, I reckon Eloise might decide I'm a pa.s.sable husband, after all."

Sawyer grinned as Doc pulled over an ottoman and sat down close to the fire, rubbing his hands together and staring into the flames.

"And if she doesn't change her mind?" Sawyer asked.

Piper nudged his foot with her own, but he was undaunted and, anyway, it was already too late to stop him from asking such a personal question.

Doc chuckled, the firelight dancing over his face. "Well, then," he answered, "I may be forced to take a pretty fierce stand."

After that, all three of them alternately dozed and talked in quiet voices.

The fire got low, and Doc built it up again.

Once, feeling restless, Piper ventured into the bathroom and inspected the gleaming porcelain bathtub, trying all the while to imagine the sheer luxury of such a convenience. No water to pump or haul up from the well in a bucket, then heat on the stove, then carry and pour, and repeat the whole process all over again. Why, it would be miraculous-even better, at least in her opinion, than a private telephone and electric lights put together.

Around sunrise, pinkish-gold light glowing cold and clear at the windows, Cleopatra returned with another tray, knocking politely at the bedroom door and calling out in a low voice, "Somebody open this door for me. I've got my hands full out here."

This time, she'd brought fresh coffee, along with cups to drink it from, and a heaping plate of cinnamon buns still warm from the oven. The aromas were heavenly.

Concentrating hard, Cleopatra nearly dropped the whole works when a small voice suddenly piped up and said, "Mama? Did I miss Christmas?"

Everyone turned toward the bed to see Ginny-Sue sitting up, pillows at her back, looking a little wan but clear-eyed and alert.

Bess, who had slept beside Ginny-Sue through the night, gathered the child close again and wept for joy. "No, baby," she said, beaming through her tears. "You didn't miss Christmas. You surely didn't!"

Doc went over to touch Ginny-Sue's forehead, and his broad smile told the story. The fever had broken.

"That's one of the finest chest colds I've ever seen," Doc said, in a jocular voice that nonetheless cracked with fatigue. "A few days of bed rest and I'll wager the little lady here is good as new."

Piper turned immediately into Sawyer's embrace, trembling a little, weak with relief. She felt his lips move against her temple. "Go ahead and cry," he told her softly, patting her back. "G.o.d knows, you've earned the right."

THERE WOULD BE no school that day, fortunately for Piper, who probably couldn't have kept her eyes open to teach. Doc gave a dime to the local newspaper boy and told him to spread the word, along with the just-printed edition of the weekly Blue River Gazette.

He and Sawyer shook hands, and Piper greeted Cherokee, who'd stood patiently at the hitching rail all night long, even though he'd come untied at some point. Stroking the horse's velvety nose, she promised him an extra ration of grain.

Then Doc headed off toward his place, doubtless girding his loins for battle as he went, and Piper and Sawyer made for the schoolhouse, in the other direction, Sawyer leading Cherokee along behind.

Piper couldn't recall when she'd ever been so tuckered out, or so full of happiness. There would be no outbreak of diphtheria, at least for the time being, and Ginny-Sue was going to be all right.

As soon as they'd reached the schoolhouse, Sawyer put Cherokee away in the shed, and Piper went along, partly to help, and partly to keep her word about the grain.

While Sawyer removed Cherokee's bridle and then proceeded to give the animal a quick brushing down, Piper plunged a hand into one of the feed sacks Clay had brought in from the ranch and held out her palm, heaping with grain.

"Watch your fingers," Sawyer warned, but he was smiling as he spoke.

Piper just laughed.

Cherokee ate delicately, for a big-jawed creature with enormous teeth, and Piper patted his head when he'd finished, and called him a good boy.

"Hey," Sawyer teased. "I'm starting to get jealous."

Piper made a face at him, but then she sobered a little. "Do you think Doc will really stand up to Eloise?" she asked.

Now it was Sawyer who laughed. Having been on the other side of the horse, he ducked under Cherokee's long neck and came up in front of Piper like a swimmer breaking the surface of still waters.

"No," he said. His voice was sleepy and low, and he still needed a shave. "I think he'll bribe her with a fancy bathtub and an indoor toilet, and she'll let him off the hook-until next time, anyway."

She felt incredibly shy, all of a sudden. Maybe it was from lack of sleep. "The poor man is a dentist," she said.

Sawyer laughed again. "Come on, Mrs. McKettrick," he said. "Let's get you inside so you can get some shut-eye."

They went into the schoolhouse, and Sawyer headed for the stove to build a fire while Piper hung up her beautiful russet-colored cloak. She'd never owned a finer garment in all her life, but she was too worn out just now to properly appreciate it.

She wandered into the bedroom, taking off everything but her bloomers and camisole in the shadowy cold, and practically dove into bed, anxious to get warm.

It was only when she caught a fleeting glimpse of Sawyer standing in the doorway that she realized she'd gotten into the wrong bed, the one she was in the habit of sleeping in.

And she was not about to risk more goose b.u.mps by getting out again.

There was a fire going in the stove, she could smell the burning wood and hear the popping, but the warmth was still far away.

"A man could misinterpret aspects of this situation," Sawyer remarked, crossing to sit down on the edge of the bed, right next to her.

She realized then that she must have dozed off for a while, because he was clean-shaven, and his skin and hair, which was damp, smelled of soap.

Piper yawned, stretched luxuriously. "Really?" she asked coyly. For some incomprehensible reason, she'd forgotten how to be afraid, how to mistrust another person's motives. If that other person happened to be Sawyer McKettrick, that is.

"Oh, yes," Sawyer replied seriously, kicking off his boots. "That could easily happen."

"What if a woman wanted to be held, for example?" Piper's voice was a little shaky now, and her heart was picking up speed with every beat. She'd only had this feeling once before, when she was much younger and speeding down a snowy hillside in Maine on a homemade toboggan.

"That could be arranged," Sawyer said, after pretending to give the prospect due consideration. "But he might be tempted to, well, persuade her a little-beyond holding her, that is."

"I guess that would be acceptable," Piper allowed, from beneath the covers.

Sawyer chuckled, and there was some shifting around, and then he was in the bed beside her-her husband-resting one hand on the curve of her hip. "It might take days," he said, his voice husky, "but I'm a patient man."

"You are not," Piper argued, as he uncovered her face and quieted her with a kiss.

It was light and soft at first, that kiss, but it soon gathered momentum.

As Sawyer kissed her, he undid the laces at the front of her camisole. "Oh, but I am," he disagreed, when their mouths parted. "Patient, I mean."

Piper slipped her arms around his neck, gasped when he opened the camisole and bared her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Stroking one, chafing the nipple gently with the side of his thumb, he nibbled his way down over her collarbone.