Fern could practically see the pit yawning at her feet. She knew she ought to turn the conversation to another subject. She should get down and walk back to town if necessary. But she didn't.

"Why?" she asked.

"Abilene might never discover that a swan has been masquerading as an ugly duckling. More importantly, you might never discover it."

Fern looked away. She didn't want Madison to see the pain in her eyes.

"Don't," she pleaded. "I know what I look like."

Madison took her chin in his hand and gently, so as not to cause her any pain, turned her face until she was forced to look straight at him.

"You don't know what I think you look like."

"Please." She tried to turn away, but he wouldn't let her.

"I see a young woman who's hiding from herself, from what she is and what she wants to be, because she's afraid, afraid to admit she's pretty because it'll force her to confront something that frightens her."

"Stop!" Fern cried out, wrenching her chin from Madison's grasp.

Madison pulled the buggy to a stop. He took Fern by the shoulders and turned her to face him.

"It would be cruel to let you go on believing you're ugly and unwomanly."

"Just because I choose to wear pants"

"If I thought you believed in yourself, I wouldn't say another word about your pants," Madison said. "But I don't want you to wear them out of fear."

"I don't. I"

"You're afraid a man might want to kiss you, so afraid you try to pretend you're unattractive."

"Don't be absurd. I"

"But I know better, and I intend to make you believe it."

"How?" she asked fearfully.

Gently drawing her to him, Madison lifted her chin until she had to look at him. "By making you believe I want to do this."

Then, ever so gently, he feathered a kiss across her lips.

Fern's breath stilled in her lungs; her heart beat erratically. The universe stood still, stranding her somewhere between heaven and h.e.l.l.

She nearly dissolved under his touch. No man had ever shaken her determination, yet Madison nearly destroyed it. Never had she wanted so much to give in.

His lips felt warm and soft as they brushed her own like two pieces of silk. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin. The chill of excitement caused her to welcome the sun's heat. The next instant she felt so hot she thought she might faint.

Madison's'lips enticed her to join him in a tentative kiss. Her breath caught in a gasp when the tip of his tongue left a velvety trail of moisture on her lower lip. She felt paralyzed, unaware of anything in this vast open s.p.a.ce except Madison.

Just as she started to pull back, Madison's hold tightened and he drew her into a kiss that was much more than the brushing of lips. Fern felt pa.s.sion, need, desire, a sudden urgency that made the day seem suddenly too hot and dangerous. This was no longer a languorous kiss of two people exploring each other. Nor was it a kiss of idle curiosity, a kiss motivated by the desire to make her feel good about herself. It was a kiss filled with the promise of a pa.s.sion that would last more than a day.

Frightened, Fern drew back, her breath uneven, her eyes wide and uncertain.

"You deserve to be kissed often," Madison murmured. "You deserve to know you're a very desirable woman. Is that what Troy did? Is that why you're the only person in Abilene who has anything good to say about him?"

The bubble burst, and Fern felt herself floating toward h.e.l.l. She removed Madison's hands from her arms.

"No," she said, drawing away from Madison. She fought down the fear that always enveloped her when a man touched her, even by accident. She only had to remain calm until she could tell him to stop, tell him to never touch her again.

"Will you tell me why?"

"No."

"You will someday."

She shivered. Her will seemed to shake. She fought to regain control. She had to tell him to leave her alone, and she had to do it now. I can't accept your invitation," she told him.

"Why?"

"I don't want to go. But it's not just that." She didn't look at him. She couldn't. "I don't want you to touch me or kiss me. I don't want any man to do that. Not ever."

Madison didn't know whether he was more shocked by his own actions or by Fern's words. He had invited her to the party on a sudden impulse. Her refusal piqued him. He might have kissed her to tease her, but it had turned into much more than that. He might have wanted to shock her into seeing something about herself, but he was as shocked as she.

He had been swept away by a strong yearning that had nothing to do with shocking or teasing. It had to do with a feeling that there was more to her than a sheepskin vest and Spanish spurs. Somewhere buried inside was a woman no one knew, not even Fern.

Her refusal upset him quite a lot. He had suspected she was trying to keep her distance from him, but he never imagined she might mean it to become a permanent barrier. It never occurred to him until now that he would care.

But he did.

Fern had been awake for some time. But rather than get up, she lay in bed, listening to the sounds of the house, letting her thoughts wander at random.

She tried to keep them from wandering to Madison, but he seemed to fill every corner of her mind. He had become an obsession that had taken over her life and would not be banished.

She didn't dislike him anymore, but that didn't make it easier. In fact, it made things worse. She could have hated him with a flaming pa.s.sion and it would have died a natural death when he left town. She might have thought of him from time to time, much as she occasionally thought of accidents or natural disasters, but that would have been all.

Now she liked him. It shocked her to admit it, but she couldn't help it. She did.

It was an odd kind of liking. It wasn't easy or comfortable. It was like something that had invaded her life. She had no control over it. She could shout at him, argue with him, call him every name she could think of, and know all the while she didn't mean it. She could urge him to go back to Boston and never come back, but she didn't mean that either.

Just the thought of never seeing him again caused a kind of panic. What was there about this man that made him different from all others? What had he done to become unforgettable?

The only answer that made any sense was completely unacceptable. She wouldn't allow any man to be that important to her. These feelings would go away if she could just put him out of her mind.

But how could she put him out of mind when the feel of his kiss still lay on her lips like something tangible?

All her life she'd thought of men as compet.i.tors. She had had nothing but contempt for women who swooned over their touch, who could think of no greater purpose in life than to attract their attention.

Now she understood, at least enough to know it wasn't just his kiss, magical as it was. Madison's willingness to fight for her, his determination to protect her, had staggered her almost as much.

But he believed she was attractive; he was determined to make her feel pretty. And that went beyond the realm of the credible. No man, not even one as quixotic as Madison, would do all that for nothing. He must have some ulterior motive.

Maybe he was setting up a flirtation. Maybe after being surrounded by countless fawning females, he was bored. Maybe he thought of her as a charity case. Much like Prince Charming, he would enliven her dull life for a few weeks. A little flattery, some attention, a few stolen kisses, and he could go back to Boston patting himself on the back for having given her a few precious moments in the sun.

It had to be something like that. A man like Madison Randolph couldn't be seriously interested in a woman like her.

Could he?

She experienced his kiss all over again, felt the wonder, the excitement, the wonderfully healing sincerity. No matter what Madison might have felt when they first met, or what he would do in the future, that kiss had been real. She could feel it.

But what did it mean?

She didn't know now, but Madison wasn't one to keep secrets. She would know soon enough.

In the meantime she needed to get out of bed. Rose was already up. So was Mrs. Abbott. She couldn't tell what they were saying, but it was easy to tell who was speaking. Mrs. Abbott's voice was stem and sharp. She always seemed to be complaining, even when she was just talking. Rose's voice was soft but firm. She didn't speak as often or as long as Mrs. Abbott, but her words were heeded.

Fern wondered what it was like to be Rose and command so much respect and admiration. She knew it didn't just happen, but it seemed so effortless.

It wouldn't have happened if Rose had gone about wearing pants and doing her best to act like a man. She's a strong, determined woman, but she's totally fminine.

But even as Fem thought somewhat regretfully of the years she had spent learning to disa.s.sociate herself from anything feminine, the thought of men wanting her, l.u.s.ting after her body, of a faceless man ripping open her dress, touching her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, covering her neck and shoulders with his hot mouth, holding her body down with his weight, petrified her. She didn't want that. Never. She might have to give up all thought of marriage, but she couldn't face that.

Her good mood completely destroyed, she decided to get up. Just as she started to throw back the covers, she heard someone ride up to the house. A furious knocking a few moments later brought an immediate response from Mrs. Abbott.

"Mr. Sproull, you know better than to be banging on a lady's door this hour of the morning. We're not even dressed yet."

Her father! Fern's body stiffened. He had come to get her. Madison and George were away. There was no one to stop him this time.

Chapter Twelve.

"I don't care," Baker Sproull replied. "You got my daughter in there, and I want her."

"She's sound asleep," Mrs. Abbott told him.

He wouldn't care about that. It rubbed at Fern's pride to know that strangers showed more concern for her than her own father did.

"Nonsense," Sproull said. "There's nothing wrong with that girl. You're just coddling her."

"I must remind you that I have guests staying in my house," Mrs. Abbott said, the full weight of her disapproval in her voice. "You must remain outside."

Fern imagined that her father must be attempting to force his way past Mrs. Abbott. She wondered how long the woman could keep him out.

"Get out of my way, woman. My daughter's inside, and I mean to have her outside." ''You'll do nothing of the kind until she's recovered," Mrs. Abbott replied. "She was so weak when she returned yesterday she had to be helped into bed."

Fern knew that her father expected no more than token resistance from Mrs. Abbott, but he had underestimated her if he thought he could wave her aside. After the way she'd objected to Madison visiting Fern in her bedroom, Fern imagined she would vigorously oppose any man's entering her house before she and Rose were properly dressed. Her form was lean and her height only moderate, but Fern imagined that Mrs. Abbott would be a difficult person to dislodge from any position she decided to occupy.

"You've ruined her already. She won't be good for anything unless I beat her."

"Mr. Sproull," Mrs. Abbott expostulated, "you can't mean to strike that girl. I don't approve of the way she dressesno decent woman could approve such attirebut to speak of beating her . . ."

"Used to work wonders."

Fern thought of the numerous times her father had taken a strap to her. It hadn't knocked the nonsense out of her. It had only caused her to erect more barriers between herself and the rest of the world. Unfortunately, her father couldn't see that.

"You won't do any such thing in my house," Mrs. Abbott declared. "You try it, and I'll have the marshal on you faster than you can"

"If you can wake him up after staying up half the night gambling," Sproull said. "Now let me pa.s.s. I mean to have my girl, and I mean to have her now."

Fern started to get out of bed. Mrs. Abbott couldn't stand against her father for long. Fern wasn't terribly fond of the woman, but she had taken good care of her. Most of her scolding was no more than motherly concern.

"Mrs. Abbott, what is the meaning of this uproar?"

Fern froze. It was Rose. Fern couldn't let her father bully Rose, not after all she had done for her. And especially not in her condition. If anything were to happen . . .

"This is Mr. Sproull. He's come to"

"So you're Fern's father," Rose said, her voice heavy with censure. "It's about time you showed some concern for your daughter. I had expected you before nightfall the day she arrived."

"A little fall is no call to go chasing after Fern," Sproull said. "I expected her home in time to fix my dinner."

Fern could hardly believe her ears. Her father's voice had lost so much of its bl.u.s.ter he sounded almost apologetic.

"If you had bothered to inquire, you would have found she was in no condition to fix your dinner, or perform any other ch.o.r.es."

"I never spent a day in bed in my life."

"Not all of us are as fortunate as you."

"People like to cosset themselves. Makes them feel important."

"I'm sure you're right, but Fern was quite badly injured."

Fern began to worry about her father's temper. He wasn't used to opposition, especially from women. He used to get livid when Troy argued with him.

"Well, she's had time to get over it."

"Not at all. I should have thought you would have realized that when she couldn't mount her horse."

"That came from lying about in bed for so long. Let her stir about for an hour or two and she'll be good as new."

"I'm afraid I disagree with you. She needs several more days before she will be able to resume even a limited number of her former duties."

He didn't like being contradicted, either. Nothing made him madder. That was what had caused the last fight between him and Troy.