"No. Not her. The sister. Mary Francis."

"She won't be allowed in here, even if you request it. I told you Joshua has said only officers and--"

"The clergy. She'll be allowed in." And it would be his way out.

Ryder released Florence but kept his face close to the bars.

"Listen to me, Flo, if you still want to help, I have a plan." Florence Gardner wasted no time. She called on Mary the following morning after breakfast, ostensibly for the purpose of having company on her daily walk. She extended her invitation to everyone and hoped for the best.

Rennie excused herself because of her work. Moira wanted to be with her grandchildren. Florence sensed that Mary would have refused if it had not been left to her.

"It's good of you to humor an old lady," she said, as they left the shaded porch of the officers' quarters.

"I know you really didn't want to come." Mary considered making a denial, then thought better of it. She appreciated Florence's directness too much to offer one.

The other woman would have seen right through it. Florence raised her parasol and encouraged Mary to do the same.

"You don't want to burn that fair skin of yours."

"The sun feels good," Mary said, raising her face to a clear blue sky.

"It's hard to believe that Christmas is almost upon us."

"Spoken like a true Yankee," she said.

"I'm from Georgia. Come Christmas Day what we got was mostly rain. The air was so humid at times you could feel it like a blanket against your skin. I appreciate these arid climes, I can tell you."

"You've been here long?"

"My son was assigned here five years ago. I came out with my daughter-in-law and my grandchildren about six months later. Joshua wanted to be certain the Indian problem was in hand. When most of the hostiles were placed on reservations he thought it was safe enough for us."

"And was he right?" asked Mary.

"There's been trouble recently with the Chiricahua. Geronimo led some of his warriors and their families off the San Carlos reservation.

They've been raiding ranches and mines in and around Mexico."

"Colter Canyon?"

Florence had led Mary to the outside perimeter of the fort, taking her behind the buildings to where they were seen by the patrolling guards but still had considerable privacy. She nodded politely to one of the guards and then continued on, twirling her parasol with the flair of a coquette.

"Colter Canyon," she mused, sparing Mary a swift glance.

"That depends on who you ask. Me or everyone else."

"I'm asking you," Mary said bluntly.

"Then I don't know." It wasn't the answer Mary was expecting.

"I don't understand," she said.

"Neither do I," Florence told her.

"That's my point. Everyone else here thinks they have the answer.

I'm the only one who's certain there are things left unexplained."

She noticed that Mary was deep in thought now, mulling over the cryptic reply. A passing guard eyed the younger woman appreciatively and she didn't even notice. Florence waited for him to move out of earshot.

She halted Mary's progress by placing a hand on her forearm.

"He wants to see you," she said lowly.

"He's in a better position to explain than I am." Mary's heart slammed against her chest. Her parasol began to slip through nerveless fingers before she caught it.

"Mr. McKay knows I'm here?" Florence watched her reaction with interest. There was a light flush on Mary's cheeks that hadn't been there a moment earlier. The forest green eyes, so ineffably sad the evening before, were bright now, alive with interest and intelligence.

Ryder had been right about her, Florence thought, she would go to him.

"He couldn't very well ask to see you if he didn't know you were here, now could he?" Mary's mouth flattened. She deserved to be taken to task for asking stupid questions, that didn't make it any easier to hear.

"Can you arrange it?" she asked.

"Or should I speak to the commander myself?"

"I'll arrange it, dear.

But it will have to be tonight. My son's already out in the field, and I don't expect him back until after dark." Florence could see that Mary was disappointed and that pleased her. It was better that way.

Mary would be more eager then and perhaps less cautious. Florence was counting on that.

"Of course you'll have to wear your habit," she said offhandedly. Mary was taken aback.

"My habit? But why?" Florence frowned, "Is that a problem?

Ryder told me you're a nun. I mentioned that you weren't wearing a habit when I met you, but he said that wasn't unusual." The rush of heat to Mary's cheeks annoyed her. She had no patience for her own reaction to the memory of her meeting with Ryder.

"Did he tell you what I was wearing when I first saw him?" she asked stiffly.

"No," said Florence.

"But judging by the very pretty frnck you have on, I'd venture that it was quite lovely." Mary burst out laughing. The hearty lively sound fairly exploded from her. When she saw Florence take a step back in astonishment, she laughed even harder. The patrolling guards paused in their steps and sought out the source. The sound was infectious, and quite without knowing what was funny, they found themselves caught up in it, smiling widely and chuckling under their breath. Florence discovered her own shoulders were shaking as she was swept up in Mary's laughter. Across the compound Ryder McKay stood by the window of his cell, poised and patient, all of his senses alert.

The very air around him seemed rent by the vibration of Mary's clear voice. He felt the tide of her laughter washing over him.

His mouth parted as he sucked it in. The sound had substance, and where it touched his tongue he tasted freedom.

Chapter Five.

Harry Bishop lost his balance. The stool he was sitting on seemed to slip out from under him when Sister Mary Francis walked into the guardroom. He grabbed it awkwardly before it hit the floor and managed to come to his feet with a minimum of teetering. The apologies that were forming in his mind simply remained there because his gaping mouth was incapable of speech. Harry Bishop was a Boston native and a parochial schoolboy for grades one through eight. He considered the years spent under the tutelage of Father O'Donnell and the Sisters to have been his true introduction to Army discipline.