To Piper's surprise, Clay chuckled, though it was a raspy sound, not really an expression of amus.e.m.e.nt. "Sawyer's himself, all right," he a.s.sured her. "Always is, no matter what. And he won't shoot anybody who isn't fixing to shoot him, no matter how delirious he might be."

"How can you be so sure?" Piper persisted. She hated guns. These were modern times, for heaven's sake, and they were not the Old West but the new one.

"I know my cousin," Clay replied matter-of-factly. "We grew up together, he and I. He's been shooting almost as long as he's been riding horses, and he showed a unique talent for it from the first."

Again, Piper shuddered. "You're saying that he's a-a gunslinger?"

"I'm saying he's good with a gun. There's a difference."

"But what if he's a criminal? You've said it yourself-no one is sure, including you, that Sawyer isn't an outlaw."

Clay held the pistol carefully but competently, keeping the barrel pointed toward the floor as he pa.s.sed her, leaving the cloakroom. "Even if he is an outlaw," he replied easily, "he wouldn't shoot anybody down in cold blood. He's also a McKettrick, after all."

Piper was exasperated. The McKettrick family had their own distinct code of ethics, hammered out by the patriarch, Angus, and handed down to his sons and their sons after them, but it seemed obvious that Sawyer might not subscribe to that honorable philosophy, given his secrecy about his vocation. On the other hand, Clay trusted his cousin enough to hand over his own badge, and that was no small matter.

Clay carried the pistol to Sawyer's bedside and came back, intent on the next task. "I'll see to my cousin's horse," he said, "and unload the supplies."

Doc Howard showed up while Clay was outside, and the two of them carried the bedstead and mattress, still roped together, into the schoolhouse.

The bed wasn't very wide-it probably belonged to either Edrina or Harriet-but there was no room for it in front, so they took it into the teacher's quarters. Piper fussed and hovered like a hen chased away from its nest, but Clay only said, "You can't sleep on the floor," and proceeded to set the thing up in the little s.p.a.ce available-crosswise at the foot of the bed where Sawyer lay, sound asleep.

It made a T-shape, and Piper figured that T stood for trouble.

"You'll be quite safe," Doc added, in fatherly tones, after helping Clay a.s.semble the second bed. Sawyer's eyelids fluttered, but he didn't stir otherwise. The pistol rested, a daunting presence in its own right, on the night table. "Mr. McKettrick here is an invalid, remember."

An invalid? Piper thought. Sawyer had gotten out of bed without help just that morning, visited the shed where his horse was kept as well as the privy, and returned to the schoolhouse with enough strength to drink coffee and eat breakfast.

"Safe?" Piper challenged, folding her arms. "By now, my reputation must be in tatters."

"n.o.body knows Sawyer's here," Clay reasoned, unwinding the rope that left a deep dent in the middle of the bed. "I haven't said a word to anybody but Dara Rose. She sent some things for you, by the way, staples, mostly, and a book she ordered from back East. Says she'll read it when you're finished."

Piper thought of her cousin with both grat.i.tude and frustration. If only Dara Rose were here, too. As a respectable married woman, she could have defused any gossip by her mere presence.

Doc wouldn't look at Piper, though it took her a moment to notice, and when she did, she saw that his neck had reddened above his tight celluloid collar. He'd told Eloise, of course-his wife would have demanded an explanation for his leaving the house when everyone else was staying home, close to the fire.

"Doc?" Piper prodded suspiciously.

"I've sworn Mrs. Howard to secrecy," he said, but he still wouldn't meet her gaze.

Some things, like a mysterious man occupying the schoolmarm's bed, able-bodied or not, were simply too deliciously improper to keep silent about, especially for people like Eloise Howard. Bess Turner, by ironic contrast, wouldn't say a word to anyone-Piper was sure of that.

She groaned aloud.

"It's too late anyhow," Clay observed lightly, straightening after he'd crouched to tighten a screw in the framework of the bedstead. "If there's damage to your good name, it's already been done."

Piper flung out her hands. "Well," she sputtered, "thank you very much for that, Clay McKettrick. But why should you worry? You're not the one who'll wind up an old maid and maybe even lose her job!"

He chuckled and shoved a hand through his dark hair. "I reckon it's a certainty that I'll never be an old maid," he conceded. "But you probably won't, either. There aren't so many women way out here that men can afford to be choosy."

Doc Howard closed his eyes, shook his head.

Piper would have shrieked at Clay if it hadn't been for Sawyer, placidly sleeping nearby. She didn't want to startle him awake-he might grab for his pistol then and shoot them all.

"Choosy?" she fired back, in a ferocious whisper.

Doc Howard put a hand to each of their backs and steered both Clay and Piper out into the schoolroom. "Now, Clay," the dentist said, in a diplomatic tone meant to pour oil on troubled waters, "any man would be proud to have a lovely woman like Piper here for a wife. Piper, Clay's going to pull his foot out of his mouth any moment now and apologize for the thoughtless remark he just made."

Clay did look sorry. Deflated, too. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded," he said. "I do ask your pardon." When Piper just glared at him, not saying a word in reply, he sighed miserably, turned and headed outside, ostensibly to bring in Sawyer's trunk and the things Dara Rose had sent in from the ranch.

Doc smiled and touched her upper arm. "There, now," he told her. "Matters are rarely as bad as they seem."

Piper opened her mouth, closed it again, remembering childhood counsel. If she didn't have something nice to say, she shouldn't say anything at all.

"I'm going back in there to check the wound and change the bandages," Doc said, leaving Sawyer himself completely out of the equation, it seemed to Piper.

She busied herself building up the fire. Clay carried in a crate filled with supplies, and she spotted not only the promised book, one she'd been yearning to read, but a bag of coffee beans, tea leaves in a tin canister, several jars of preserves, two loaves of bread, and even part of a ham, with the bone intact, so she could make soup later.

Piper said nothing.

Clay, resigned, went out again, lugged a sizable travel trunk over the threshold and on into the little room that now contained two beds instead of one.

As if she'd consider sleeping in such close proximity to a man, an armed stranger, no less, of dubious moral convictions.

Spending another night on the floor wasn't a happy prospect either, though, so she put that out of her mind, along with thoughts of Sawyer McKettrick.

Doc and Clay conferred again, and soon came out of the bedroom, single file. Doc's hands were wet from a recent washing-he must have used the basin on Piper's bureau-and he was rolling down his sleeves, shrugging back into his coat to make his departure.

Most likely, he would go straight home and tell Eloise that the problem of sleeping arrangements over at the schoolhouse had been solved. Now the teacher would have a bed of her very own.

Inwardly, Piper sighed. Doc, having only the best of intentions himself, mistakenly believed that everyone else was the same way.

"I'll tie Cherokee behind the sleigh and lead him out to the ranch," Clay told Piper. "That way, you won't have to worry about feeding and watering him if it snows again."

"Thank you," Piper said crisply. This, it seemed, was Clay's version of appeas.e.m.e.nt, at least in part. "When will you be back?" The question was addressed to both Clay and Doc Howard.

"I'll get here tomorrow if it's at all possible," Doc promised.

"Soon as I can," Clay said, in his turn. "Dara Rose tells me the baby's dropped a little, says it means we'll have another daughter or a son anytime now, so a lot depends on how she's feeling."

"Maybe Dara Rose would be safer in town," Piper said, fretful again as she thought of her cousin way out there on that lonely ranch, heavily pregnant. "Closer to Doc."

"I'm a dentist," Doc reminded them both.

"You've delivered babies before," Piper said. It was true; she herself knew of two different occasions when he had served as midwife.

"Only because I didn't have a choice," Doc answered.

"I've brought a few colts and calves into the world," Clay put in, affably confident. "It can't be all that different."

Piper had had enough male wisdom for one day. As much as she dreaded their leaving, a part of her couldn't wait for both Clay and Doc to make themselves scarce. Naturally, that meant she'd be alone with Sawyer again, but he slept most of the time anyway.

"Tell Dara Rose I'm grateful for the things she sent to town for me," she said moderately. "Especially the book."

Clay smiled. "She wrote you a letter, too. It's in the box somewhere."

The news heartened Piper, and at the same time made her regret that she hadn't antic.i.p.ated this and prepared a letter of her own, to send back with Clay. "I hope to see all of you at the Christmas program, if not before then," she said.

Clay looked dubious. "I'll do my best to bring the girls in for the party, if the weather allows, but I can't see Dara Rose making the trip."

"No," Piper agreed sadly. "I suppose not. She's well, though?"

Clay smiled. "She's just fine, Piper. Don't you worry." His eyes lit up. "Tell you what. If Sawyer's better by then, I'll bring both of you out to the ranch Christmas Eve, after the program, and we'll all celebrate the big day together. I'll even see that you get back to Blue River before school takes up again after New Year's."

"I'd like that," Piper said, cheered. The prospect of spending time with her cousin and the children, holding the baby if it had arrived by then, and, yes, taking long, luxurious baths in Dara Rose's claw-footed tub, complete with hot and cold running water, renewed her.

A few minutes later, after bringing in more water and firewood, Clay and the doctor left.

Piper watched them go through the schoolhouse window, Sawyer's buckskin gelding plodding along behind the team and sled. The sky had gone from blue to gray, she saw with trepidation, but she kept her thoughts in the present moment, since worrying wouldn't do any good.

Emptying the crate Dara Rose had filled for her took up a happy half hour-there were notes from Edrina and Harriet, as well as a long, chatty letter from their mother-and Piper, feeling rich, made herself a pot of tea, lit the lantern against the gathering gloom of a winter afternoon, and sat down at her desk to read.

Dara Rose gave a comical account of ranch life, especially in her current condition, a.s.sured Piper that she had nothing to fear from Sawyer McKettrick, and related funny things the children had said. Between the approach of Christmas and being virtually snowed in, Edrina and Harriet had an excess of energy and bickered constantly, settling down only when Clay reminded them that St. Nicholas paid attention to good behavior and dispensed gifts accordingly.

By the time she'd finished reading the letter through for the first time, Piper was both smiling and crying a little. She'd miss Dara Rose and the children terribly if she went back to Maine, she reminded herself silently. They were all the family she had, after all, here or there.

Still, in Maine she wouldn't be the schoolmarm who'd housed a half-naked outlaw, as she would be here in Blue River. She could get another teaching position and eventually meet a suitable man and get married. Finally have a home and children of her own.

A hoa.r.s.e shout from the bedroom startled her so much that she nearly upset her cup of tea. Alarmed, she bolted to her feet and hurried in to investigate.

Sawyer sat up in bed, breathing hard, his eyes wild, his flesh glistening with perspiration even though the room was fairly cold, being far from the stove. He was holding the pistol in his right hand, and the hammer was drawn back.

For one hysterical moment, Piper thought the shooter must have returned, maybe crawled in through the high window, but there was no one else in the room.

She kept her gaze on the Colt .45 in Sawyer's hand. The barrel was long, and it glinted evilly in the thin light.

"Don't shoot," she said weakly.

Sawyer came back to himself with a visible jolt, blinked a couple of times, and, much to Piper's relief, set the gun aside on the night table. "Sorry," he said. "Guess I must have been dreaming."

Piper lingered in the doorway, waiting for her flailing heart to slow down to its normal pace. Doc had done a good job of replacing Sawyer's bandages; they looked clean and white against his skin. "Are you hungry?" she asked. "Dara Rose sent a lovely ham, and some preserves, too."

He blinked again, then gave a raw chuckle. "You keep asking if I'm hungry," he said. "Why is that?"

"You haven't eaten since breakfast," Piper said, a little defensively. "It's almost suppertime now."

Sawyer looked surprised, and she could tell he was wondering where the day had gone. "It is?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.

"Did Clay bring me any clothes?"

She nodded. "Your trunk is right over there," she said, pointing it out. "Shall I get you something from it?"

He considered the offer. "I'll do it myself," he said. "The way I figure it, the more I move around, the better off I'll be. Besides, I need to go outside again."

"Your horse is at the ranch," Piper told him. "Clay took it with him when he left."

He grinned. "I know that," he said. "This trip isn't about the horse."

She blushed.

Sawyer swung his legs over the side of the bed. Though the quilt covered his private parts, she couldn't help noticing that he wasn't wearing trousers.

She backed quickly out of the bedroom, followed by the sound of his laughter.

She didn't speak to him or even glance in his direction, minutes later, when he came out of the bedroom, but she knew he was dressed this time, instead of wrapping his upper body in a blanket.

She busied herself heating water-she was desperate for a bath, and planned on locking herself in the cloakroom with her small copper tub later on, when she was sure Sawyer had gone back to sleep-and then sliced Dara Rose's fresh-baked bread and some of the ham, placing the food on plates. She opened a jar of peaches and added those, as well.

Sawyer returned and, forgetting, she looked his way. Saw that he'd strapped on a gun belt when he got dressed. The handle of the Colt .45 jutted beneath his coat, which was shorter than the ruined one, and just as well made.

"Supper," she said, gesturing toward his full plate, which she'd already carried over to the desk, along with a knife, fork and spoon.

Sawyer nodded in acknowledgment of the one-word invitation, closing the door behind him. "I see there's another bed in the back room," he said. "I was going to offer to sleep on the floor so you wouldn't have to, but I guess that won't be necessary."

Piper was at once touched and fl.u.s.tered by this statement, and turned her head so he wouldn't see that in her face. She wasn't about to discuss the second bed, because she didn't expect to sleep in it, but she kept that to herself, too.

"Clay insisted it would be safe to let you have your pistol back," she said, recalling the look in his eyes when he'd awakened from whatever nightmare he'd been lost in and immediately grabbed the gun, prepared to fire. "I don't mind telling you that I'm not convinced it was a wise decision."

Sawyer smiled wanly at this, made his way to her desk, and stood there, looking bewildered. He was wondering where she planned to sit, and she hastened, plate and silverware in hand, to one of the students' places and sat on the bench.

Looking relieved, and singularly worn out from getting dressed and making the long slog to and from the outhouse, he said he'd like to wash up before he ate.

With a nod of her head, she indicated the basin she'd already filled with warm water and set on top of a bookshelf, along with a bar of soap and a towel. While Sawyer cleansed his hands and splashed his face, she began to eat. The ham and bread tasted especially good, after a couple of days of boiled pinto beans, and just the sight of those lovely peaches, picked in the autumn from Clay and Dara Rose's own orchard and put up in their kitchen, made her mouth water in antic.i.p.ation.

Sawyer dried his face and hands with the towel. "I could use a shave," he said, as he returned to the desk and sat down to have his supper.

"Maybe tomorrow," Piper replied. The stubble on his chin made him look like the rascal he probably was, but she didn't find it unattractive. She probably should have, though, she thought. Particularly since they were shut in together, the pair of them, and almost certainly raising more of a scandal with every pa.s.sing day.

And night.

"I'll buy you a new cloak," Sawyer said, out of the blue.

Piper stopped eating, delicious though the food was. "I couldn't accept," she said hurriedly. "It would be improper."

He grinned. "We're way past what's proper already, wouldn't you say?"

It was all too true. Piper colored up again. "You needn't remind me," she said.