"You wouldn't do it justice." Ryder sipped his wine.

"It's a remarkable vintage."

"And completely wasted on you," Mary said.

"You asked for that to be spiteful."

He couldn't disagree. Recalling that he'd promised to do better, he put the glass aside. Petty revenge really did have a bitter taste, he decided. Getting to his feet, he went to the fireplace and laid a log on the meager fire the housekeeper had laid. After brushing off his hands he began removing the mustache, side-whiskers, and hairpiece that Mary had carefully applied. He gave them to her to put in her reticule, then took out a handkerchief and began to wipe away the face paint and grease-pencil lines. The front door opened and closed, and there was a hushed exchange in the hall before the pocket doors to the parlor were parted. The housekeeper gaped when she saw Ryder standing at the mantel, removing the lines from his face, and Mary on the settee critically eyeing a helmet of hair on the end of her fist.

"It's all right, Mrs. Shanahan," Wilson Stillwell said.

"I.

know these people." He gave her his hat and coat.

"Nothing to drink for me," he said when he saw the bottle of wine Ryder had ordered.

"Just bring a glass. I can see my nephew has already made a good choice." He stepped inside and closed the pocket doors behind him.

"Ryder," he said shortly, nodding once.

"Unexpected hardly describes your presence here."

"Wilson," Ryder said with equal terseness. He finished removing the face paint and stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket.

"This is Mary McKay."

Mary made quick work of thrusting her chestnut wig into her reticule.

Her cheeks were flushed as Wilson Stillwell made a stiff bow in her direction.

"Senator," she said, injecting warmth into her voice.

"I'm pleased to meet you."

"McKay?" Stillwell said, not returning her sentiment.

"I understood you were one of Jay Mac Worth's .. ." There was a slight pause.

"Daughters," he finished. Mary's eyes narrowed, and she raised her chin a notch.

She understood that hesitation because she had heard it before when people wanted to make certain she knew that they knew she was a bastard.

"She's my wife," Ryder interjected.

"Wife? When did this happen?" Wilson Stillwell had a sternly grave face that darkened slightly with displeasure. In spite of that, his austere visage was handsomely molded and his blue eyes glittered like ice chips.

"It doesn't matter," Mary said, coming to her feet.

"We haven't come for your blessing or even your approval. We've come for your help. If you can't offer that, then we've already wasted too much time. Yours and ours." The senator seared Mary with his brilliant blue eyes for a moment, studying her stiff back and proud stance. He raked his hair back in a gesture that was reminiscent of one Ryder frequently made and nodded slowly, appreciatively.

"You have a lot of your father in you," he said in the manner of giving a compliment.

"Go on. Sit down. If I've offended, then I apologize." He glanced behind him.

"Where's Mrs. Shanahan with my glass?" he asked of no one in particular. He pointed to the unfinished glass of wine on the tray.

"Are you going to drink that, Ryder?" Ryder shook his head.

"Help yourself."

"Indeed," Wilson Stillwell said deeply.

"You certainly did." He sat in the chair that Ryder had recently occupied and looked from his nephew to Mary and back again.

"I was at the fort when you made your escape," he said.

"I even stayed a week to see if they would apprehend you. When it became clear Gardner's men weren't up to it, I left. I told the general you wouldn't stay in the territory, but even I couldn't have predicted this." He raised his glass to his sternly set mouth.

"An explanation seems in order." Mary held her breath, wondering if Ryder would comply. The request was reasonable. Something in the way it was stated made it seem less so, however. Jay Mac had never suffered fools gladly, and Mary suspected the same was true of the senator, yet there was a distinction in their manner that widely separated the two men. Jay Mac did not shy from confrontation, neither was he deliberately provoking. She wasn't certain the same could be said for Wilson Stillwell. Mary listened with half an ear as Ryder gave his uncle a review of the events that had led to their visit. She watched the senator take in the information while revealing little of his thoughts. When the housekeeper arrived with the glass, he sent her out with a dismissive wave of his hand, never taking his eyes from Ryder, for all appearances mesmerized but reserving judgment. She could not recall ever having seen a political cartoon of the senator.

His handsome, even features did not lend themselves well to caricature.

There was no single attribute that could be easily emphasized except perhaps the eyes, and it would be difficult to capture their piercing brilliance in a black-and-white line drawing. Wilson Stillwell was a little better than average height, his posture and demeanor adding inches in the perception of others if not in fact. His hair was brown and would have been nondescript if it weren't for the threads of iron gray at his brow and temples. His mustache and side-whiskers were both neatly cropped. As Ryder had noted, his uncle was not given to any excess the public could see. Although his build was on the lean side, his shoulders were broad, and they gave him the effect of sturdiness and dependability. He asked sharp, incisive questions of Ryder.

Mary had no trouble imagining that the senator could hold his own in a debate.

"So you've been in Washington a little more than twenty-four hours," he said. He reached for the black lacquered cigar box on the table at his side and removed a cigar. He drew it under his nose once, more out of habit than to appreciate the aroma, then cut off the tip and lit it.

"And you're only now getting here." He drew on the cigar deeply, then exhaled slowly, with obvious relish.

"Are you going to tell me what caused the delay?" Certain that Ryder would say he wasn't convinced he should have come at all, Mary did not allow him to answer.

"We were gathering evidence to present you," she said.

"It was important to us that you know Ryder's innocent."

"I think I know something about my nephew's character." Which, Mary realized, was neither an endorsement or an indictment. She did not take issue with the statement, preferring to get to the heart of their findings at the War Office.

"We're convinced we know who orchestrated the raid at Colter Canyon,"

she said with quiet confidence.

"Your help now could be invaluable." One of the senator's brows rose.

He looked through a haze of blue-gray smoke at Ryder.

"Is that right?" he asked.

"You know? And that's why you've come here?"

"Yes, sir."