"What does he know?"

"He says your brother wasn't anywhere near that soddy when Troy was killed."

Madison's well-schooled features didn't betray his mounting excitement.

"Where did he see Hen?"

"He wouldn't say."

"Will he tell it to a judge and jury?"

"I don't know."

"I've got to talk to him."

"He may not agree to meet you. He's not a trusting man."

"Tell him I'll meet him anywhere, any time," Madison said. "I'll do what I can. I'll let you know."

Madison turned to go. "What do you get out of this?" he asked, turning back.

"I want to know who killed Troy."

"Why?"

"I want to shake his hand. I hated the son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h."

"You shouldn't leave yet," Rose said. "You're still so stiff you can hardly move."

"I have to go home," Fern said. "There's n.o.body to do my work. Besides, there's n.o.body to take care of Papa."

"There's not a man alive who can't get along by himself if he has to," Rose stated. "I can't describe the condition of the house we live in when I arrived at the Circle Seven. It was enough to kill rats, but the Randolph men were thriving."

"I don't imagine they'd want to live like that again," Fern said, thinking of the meticulous care that Rose took of her family.

"Wait until you meet Monty. As long as he has a full stomach, he could live in a creek bottom and be happy."

"I don't imagine I'll meet any more Randolphs," Fern replied, thinking of the things Madison had said to her in the jail. She had tried to put the entire exchange out of her mind, without success.

"You'd like Monty. He's not like Madison."

Fern was surprised at how much Rose's comparison irritated her. She'd accused Madison of nearly every shady practice she could think of, yet now she found herself wanting to defend him. Her brain must be getting soggy.

"Take this nightgown with you," Rose said.

"I can't," Fern answered.

"Of course you can. I've got lots more. They're about all a woman in my condition can wear."

Fern had to admit she had liked wearing the gown. It made her feel feminine even if she knew she didn't look it. It was a small vanity, like her hair and her lace chemise, but harmless as long as she remembered it was just an illusion.

"Okay, I'll take it, but I don't know when I'll wear it. If Papa sees it, he'll swear I've taken sick."

She wondered what Madison would think. A stupid question. If he wanted to see a woman in bedclothes, he would look for someone much prettier, much more feminine, much more fetching in pink.

She wondered if he had a mistress.

He was much too straightlaced to seduce a lady. If he was to satisfy his physical needs, it would have to be with a soiled dove, much as the Texas cowhands did when they reached Abilene after being on the trail for two or three months. She wondered what soiled doves in Boston were like. Probably a lot more ladylike than anybody in Abilene.

"You ought to have more than one nightgown," Rose said. "Pretty dresses, too. A woman owes it to herself to look her best as often as possible. It does wonders for the way men treat us."

It wouldn't do wonders for the way they treated her. No one in Abilene could remember seeing her in a dress, and they never would.

"There's not much call out here for women to look pretty," Fern said. "Men are more pleased if we're strong and hard workers."

"They like strong, hardworking women in Texas, too," Rose said, "but there's no reason we can't be both. Besides, I expect George to look attractive. Just because he keeps company with horses and cows is no reason to smell like one."

Fern laughed. "I'll. have to tell Papa that next time he comes in smelling like the barnyard.''

"You can't use reason on them," Rose warned. "They don't understand it, for all they consider themselves rational creatures."

"Don't make me laugh. It still hurts."

"Which proves you have no business leaving. How do you plan to get home? You can't mean to ride your horse."

"I've ridden a horse more than I've walked," Fern said, trying to think where to pack the pink nightgown. She had nowhere but her saddle bags, but she didn't want it to smell like her horse by the time she got it home. Not that she planned to let anybody know she had it. It would just be nice to know that it was tucked away in the bottom of her drawer.

"That may be true, but you're in no condition to ride just yet."

"I'm much stronger than you think."

"Maybe, but I can see you wince every time you bend over."

"I'll probably keep on wincing for another week, but it won't kill me."

"Are you always this stubborn?" Rose asked, her exasperation showing.

"I'm usually worse," Fern said, trying to smile. "I'm being very polite."

"d.a.m.n your politeness. I'm more concerned about your well-being."

"I'll be just fine. I've taken much worse falls and had no one to look after me. My mother died trying to have the son Papa always wanted."

"Mine died when I was twelve, but I think my father was well satisfied with his daughter."

"So is mine, as long as I do my share of the work."

"You mean as long as you act like a son." "It's not his fault," Fern said, not meeting Rose's gaze. "It's my choice."

"Why?" Rose asked, baffled. "You're pretty enough to have half the young men in Abilene wearing out the trail to your farm."

"Don't!" Fern said, so desperate to block out the words she almost put her hands over her ears. It had taken her years to accept the fact she wasn't pretty, that she never would be, and she didn't want anybody trying to tell her differently now. It would just set her up for someone like Madison to tear her down again.

"You may have gone through an awkward age," Rose said, I did myself, but you aren't in one now. I don't know any woman with a more stunning figure. I've been envying it ever since you arrived. Even Mrs. Abbott noticed."

Fern could see that Rose wasn't going to give up until she discovered why she preferred to dress like a man. It was almost with relief that she saw Madison enter the room, though she wondered why her heart started to beat so fast.

"What's this Mrs. Abbott tells me about you going back home?" he asked. "You're not well enough."

Mrs. Abbott trailed in on Madison's heels. "That's what Mrs. Randolph has been telling her for the last hour, but she won't listen."

"Maybe you'll have better luck," Rose said to Madison. "She's still in a lot of pain."

The symptoms Fern was experiencing just nowlight-headedness, shallow breath, and a decidedly uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomachhad nothing to do with pain.

"Judging from our last conversation," Fern said, "he's more likely to chase me from the house with a shotgun than try to keep me here."

She tried to calm her reaction to his presence, but she couldn't act as if he were just another man when merely looking at him made her feel faint. He was freshly washed and shaved; his hair still glistened with moisture. He looked like a newly minted penny, all bright and shiny. She couldn't understand why he was still single. If she were a Boston heiress, she'd pay someone to kidnap him for her.

"This has nothing to do with my ill-chosen remarks," Madison said. "You took a terrible fall. You shouldn't even have gotten out of bed to come to the jail."

Fern wondered why men were always thinking they could put the parts of their lives into separate little boxes and deal with one box without even peeking into the others. Even cows didn't do that. If they were depressed, they'd stop giving milk. Didn't people have the same right to be all tied together in a single bundle?

"I figured that out about a minute after I entered the jail."

Madison looked chastened. In fact, if she hadn't known it was impossible, she'd have said he looked repentant.

"That's part of the reason I'm here," he said, "to apologize. I shouldn't have said those things. I didn't mean them."

Fern was stunned. She could see that the apology cost him a great effort, but she was even more surprised at the effect on her. It wasn't just that her anger dissolved; she felt weak and weepy. It was disgusting that a few kind words, a tiny vein of decency in the man, should make her feel like crying.

She wanted to be able to be in the same room with him without arguing, but she didn't want to stand here gaping at him, wondering how he could breathe with such a stiff collar, why a man who didn't care what anyone thought of him should be so meticulous in his appearance. In a town where scruffy beards, threadbare clothes, and the smell of sweat and cow dung was the norm, he took her breath away. Even though she couldn't quite accustom herself to a man smelling of scent, she found the faint aroma of shaving cream appealing.

Jerking her mind out of its rumination, Fern said, "I have to go home. I'm behind in my work."

"If you have any intention of picking up a knife and going after those poor young bulls"

A tremulous smile appeared on Fern's lips. "I wish Reed and Pike had taken out their anger on those bulls instead of you."

"Maybe your father has taken care of it already," Rose suggested.

"Not him. The only person who ever helped me was Troy. Until Papa fired him. There's no need to look like a cat that's just been handed a bowl of cream," she said to Madison. "Papa didn't kill Troy. They just never got along. Everybody knows that."

"Then you're better off without him," Madison said. "But as for this going home today"

"I must," Fern said. "I've trespa.s.sed on Rose's kindness too long."

"It's no bother," Rose a.s.sured her. "We'd already hired the house."

But Fern knew that Rose would offer Mrs. Abbott extra compensation. She also knew that Mrs. Abbott would ask for it if it weren't offered.

Fern bent over to pick up her saddlebags. Only through a heroic effort did she prevent her face from reflecting the agonizing pain that tore through her chest when she tried to lift it. Instinctively, her gaze cut to Madison. He saw. He knew.

She left the saddlebags in the corner.

"You're not going to ride," Madison stated. It wasn't a question. It was a flat denial, and denials always got her back up.

"And how do you propose to stop me?"

"I'll take you out of the saddle myself if I have to."

Fern didn't know why she got so angry. Maybe it was the way he said it, as though she were a mere female and he could do anything he wanted because he was a man.

"n.o.body has been able to do that yet."

"I don't imagine there are too many men with the courage to try," Madison said, his look just as formidable as she thought hers was. "You've got a right terrible snarl when you want."

"Then why isn't it working on you?"

"Because I've got an even better one." A miracle. He smiled at her. "Now if you insist upon going home, I'll drive you in a buggy."

"You don't have a buggy."

"I can rent one."

"I don't want you spending money because of me.

"I'll rent the buggy," Rose said, intervening. "But you've got to let Madison drive you."

"I'd rather not."

Madison's expression didn't change, but something between them did. It was nearly tangible. Audible. Like a door swinging shut.

"If it's that difficult for you to be around me, I'll ask Tom Everett to drive you."

"It's not that," Fern protested, upset he would think she couldn't stand to be with him. Never before had her words had the power to hurt anyone. She didn't understand why it should be happening now.

"Then what is it?" he asked.

I don't like a fuss being made over me." "Then stop arguing, and I'll stop making a fuss."

Fern could see that Rose had aligned herself with Madison. There was no way she could ride home alone without giving grave offense.

"Okay, hire the buggy, but if you're not back in ten minutes, I'll leave without you."

"No, you won't," Madison said. "I'm taking your horse with me."

"Madison Randolph, don't you dare take my horse," Ferm said, but she was wasting her breath. Madison had already left, Mrs. Abbott following close on his heels. "He's the most infuriating man I ever met," Fern said to Rose. "I don't know how anybody can stand to be around him for as much as five minutes without being ready to scream."