Madison's entire demeanor changed. He came vibrantly alive, aggressive and combative. He practically charged her, stopping only to avoid knocking her down. Fern jumped back in surprise. "Mr. Bunch is reputed to have said he recognized my brother's horse," Madison said, a.s.suming his most intimidating manner. "Now, unless you believe horses can pull triggers, and that my brother is responsible for the actions of his horse, you don't have much of a case."

She glared at him. She had very fine eyes. Hazel with a bluish-gray tint. He wished it were still daylight. He wanted to be more sure of the shade.

"You must think everybody in Kansas is an idiot," she shot back, "just waiting for some self-important know-it-all to come tell us what to do."

She was spilling over with things to get off her chest. Not a bad chest at that. But he had to keep his mind off her body. He was here to help Hen. It was okay if he whiled away a few hours satisfying his curiosity about this quixotic creature, but the shape of her legs, the swell of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and the color of her eyes had nothing to do with that.

Fern refused to let this Randolph intimidate her. She also refused to admit he was so handsome that she had trouble remembering why he had come to Abilene. She kept telling herself she hated him, that she wanted to see him run out of town. But it would have been a lot easier if she could have closed her eyes.

"We know what to do with killers," she said. "We also know what to do with a stuffed gunny sack made up to look like a man."

"Are you going to trample me under your pretty little feet?" Madison asked. He moved closer and flashed an ingratiating smile.

"We're going to ride you out of town with a fire under your tail." She hoped she sounded fierce and confident. She felt completely unnerved.

Smiling even more broadly, Madison brought his face down until their noses practically touched. "You know, if my sister had talked like thatif I'd had a sister, that is, my family being only boys, which I a.s.sure you was a great hardship to my mother, the poor woman not really being up to handling a household of eight men, not that any female is up to handling that many men, or one man for that matter, females being delicate by nature and not given to being able to put up with the riot and rumpus of seven boys"

"p.i.s.s and vinegar!" Fern hissed. "Would you get to the point? I wouldn't be surprised to learn you win your cases by driving your opponents insane." By smiling at them, causing them to lose every thought in their heads.

But no man had ever done that to her, and she didn't mean for Madison Randolph to be the first.

"As I was about to say," Madison said, sounding injured in spite of his smiling eyes, "if you'd talked that way in Virginia, you'd have had ladies fainting away by the parlorful. And that would have made you very unpopular. It's very difficult for a woman to get in and out of her stays. And of course the first thing you do for a fainting female is to loosen her stays. But then you wouldn't know that, would you?"

"I imagine you know far more about feminine apparel than I do," Fern said, giving ground.

"From the looks of it, a sheepherder knows more than you."

Madison could tell she hadn't expected that one. He could see the anger flame in her eyes. It made the blue disappear leaving nothing but gray, like ashed coal, a cool, dull surface but burning hot underneath.

"Is there some reason why you're blocking my path?" she asked. "I'm sure your forked tongue gets plenty of exercise in Boston. It's sure sharp enough." Not bad. This woman would bear further study. Clearly there was more to her than a pair of dusty pants and a sheepskin vest. Besides, despite her clothes, she was more fun to look at than horses and cows. Maybe he'd tell her so, but only if he found just the right moment.

He smiled, genuinely this time, hoping to reduce the tension between them.

"Well, actually I was wondering if you could tell me how to find the scene of the crime."

"Why don't you ask your brother?"

"George is rather preoccupied at the moment." He knew she meant Hen. "His wife could present him with a baby any minute, and he is understandably loath to leave her side."

She looked at him as if to say I don't know what you're trying to do, but I don't trust you. Aloud she said, "The Connor place is a long way from here. The only way to get there is by horseback."

"So?"

"You'll have to ride."

"I didn't expect you would offer to carry me."

"On a horse."

"You mean I could ride a buffalo if I want? What fun you get up to in Kansas."

Fern couldn't decide whether he was being sarcastic or if this was his idea of humor. "Anybody in town can give you directions. Or take you out there if you like."

"I'd rather you take me."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to. Besides, why should I help you get your brother off.?"

"You wouldn't, but it's been my experience that at least one significant detail always gets overlooked. I a.s.sumed you'd want to be around in case I found anything."

Fern told herself she should have nothing to do with Madison Randolph, but she couldn't let him go to the Connor place alone. She didn't trust him. She respected the native shrewdness of Kansans, but she wasn't naive enough to think a big city lawyer didn't know a few more tricks than Marshal Hickok. Whether she liked it or not, she had to keep an eye on him until after the trial.

"When do you want to go?"

"How about tomorrow morning?"

"You'll have to meet me at my father's farm."

"I'll be there at nine o'clock. I know a road is too much to hope for, but you do have a path leading there, don't you?"

"Follow the south road," she said, glaring at him. "Take the left fork about a mile out of town. We're another two miles farther on."

"I suppose it's too much to hope for a mailbox."

"Why should we have mailboxes?" She knew he was having fun with her now. "Surely you don't think we can read."

Fern started walking away from him, a decided swagger to her stride. "If you're not at the house by nine o'clock, I won't wait," she called back over her shoulder. "I can't spend all day playing nursemaid to a tenderfoot. I've got some bulls that need castrating." She stopped and turned back to face him, one hand on her hip, an unmistakable challenge in her eye. "That's one job I'm real good at.''

"I guess I'd better wear a thick pair of chaps."

She wondered if he really knew what chaps were or if he'd read about them in some book.

"Until tomorrow." He waved. She turned on her heel and walked off.

Madison stood watching her for a moment, then burst out laughing. He rather thought she'd got the best of the exchange with her remark about the bulls. He'd better stay on his toes. He couldn't let it be said he'd been bested by a woman from Kansas who didn't know enough to be sure of her own s.e.x, even if he was quite positive about it. Wouldn't Freddy love that.

But Freddy and Boston seemed so far away now, almost as though the last eight years had been a dream and Texas was the only reality.

Madison shook his head to dislodge that fearful thought. He didn't know whether it was Kansas, his brothers' cold reception, or this most unusual female, but nothing had gone as he had expected.

Fern paused, the coffeepot in one hand, her cup in the other. The sound of Madison's laughter still rang in her ears. It had rung there all night, keeping her awake, aggravating her, making her wonder why he had laughed at her, making her angry that he had, making her furious that she cared.

She poured her coffee and carried it over to a heavy earthenware jar. As she stirred thick cream into the steaming black liquid, she berated herself for talking to him. She shouldn't even see him again.

But she was going to take him to the Connor place this morning.

She would have been lying to herself if she didn't admit she felt a kind of simmering excitement. She might hate the reasons that brought Mr. Randolph to Abilene, but it was impossible to hate Mr. Randolph.

"You're moving mighty slow this morning," her father said as he finished his breakfast. He drained his coffee cup and stood up. "You'd better hustle about or you'll never get your work done."

"I'll get it done." She took a swallow of her coffee and decided it needed more cream.

Of course, being from Boston, he probably thought everyone in Kansas was hardly better than a savage, that all he had to do was show up and they would release Hen automatically.

That was one expectation he wouldn't see fulfilled. Boston might be important to Bostonians, but as far as the people of Kansas were concerned, it was just another town and its citizens no different from anybody else.

The door slamming behind her father brought Fern out of her trance. She walked over to the table and sat down. She wrapped her hands around her coffee cup and stared into s.p.a.ce.

Of course all the men in Boston couldn't look like Madison Randolph. If so, every female in the country would move there.

Fern had long been aware that the Randolphs were unusually good-looking men. The ladies of Abilene had talked of little else after three blond, young, and single Randolphs had ridden in together one day four years ago. Fern wasn't too fond of blonds, but she did agree that George Randolph, who came the next year, was the best-looking man she had ever seen.

But that was before she saw Madison. When she looked into that ruggedly handsome face, it was hard for her to remember he was the villain and she was supposed to hate him. Even when he needled her.

The door opened and her father stuck his head inside. "You going to castrate those yearlings this morning?" "No. I promised to take that Randolph fella out to the Connor place."

Maybe he was just laughing at her. It would be like him. He had a real high opinion of himself. And it was more than carefully tailored clothes or the way he dressed. It was the way he walked, the way he looked about him as though he could barely tolerate being here.

Well, she had a few surprises in store for him. Nothing too severe, but Mr. Madison Randolph was going to return to his snug, comfortable, self-satisfied Boston knowing he had come up short in matching strength, skills, and wits with a mere female.

"Just yesterday you were mad as h.e.l.l he was here at all," her father said. "Why are you taking him about like a hired guide?"

"He says he's looking for evidence," Fern said, "but there's no telling what he's up to. Besides, I mean to see he comes back a mite roughed up."

"What are you planning to do?" Her father's voice sounded sharp, distrustful.

"Nothing much."

"I don't believe you," he said, his harsh gaze unchanged. "The last time I saw that look in your eyes, you slipped the Stuart boys Indian whiskey."

"They shouldn't have made fun of me."

"All they said was they hoped you never took to wearing dresses. And since you'd die before you'd wear anything but pants, I never did see what there was to get upset about."

"That wasn't all they said."

"Maybe not, but you seem to have a way of getting fellas on the prod. You gotta quit fighting with every man who shows his front in Abilene, especially the drovers and their hands. It makes it d.a.m.ned embarra.s.sing for me to have to go around apologizing for you all the time."

"You don't have to apologize for me."

"The h.e.l.l I don't. How do you expect me to sell to them if I don't, especially at my prices?"

"I don't do anything I don't mean to do."

"I know, and that makes it all the harder to convince them otherwise. I guess you're going to prod that lawyer fella whether I want you to or not."

"I just want to teach him a lesson."

"I don't trust you when you start teaching people lessons. You get one Texan mad at you, and they'll all be on your back. It could ruin me."

"n.o.body's going to ruin you, Papa," Fern said.

"Don't go too far. His brother's the one who killed Troy. This other fella had nothing to do with it."

Fern didn't respond.

"It was your idea to lead him around, so you make sure he gets back in one piece."

She still said nothing.

Sproull's expression darkened and he came a couple of steps inside the house. "Don't you let me hear of even one tiny accident."

"You won't hear a thing," she a.s.sured him. And he wouldn't. Madison Randolph would never tell anybody about what she was going to do to him.

Her father didn't look convinced, but he turned and stomped from the house.

Fern tried to ignore the fact that her father was more worried that she might do something to hurt his business than that she was going on a long ride with a stranger and that something could happen to her. In all the years she had worked her fingers to the bone to please him, taking care of his herd and his house, cooking his meals, always hoping to win some word of praise, he'd never shown a sign of affection for her. She sometimes wondered if he felt any. He's always been that way. He's not going to change now. Besides, you're partly to blame. You get furious if anyone implies you can't take care of yourself. That's what got you so angry with the Stuart boys.

Madison Randolph made her just as mad.

He looked at her as though he didn't quite believe what he was seeing. And all because she didn't wear a dress. It would serve him right if everybody in Abilene gawked at him just because he dressed like a fancy dude.

But it wasn't the way Madison looked at her that upset her. It was the way he made her feel. She didn't feel things the way she wanted, the way she'd been teaching herself for as long as she could remember. Everything felt strange and uncomfortable, and she sure as h.e.l.l didn't like it.

Her whole body felt different. She felt awkward; she felt flushed and hot; she couldn't stand still. Even her brain didn't work right. Instead of thinking of ways to put him in his place, she found herself wondering what thoughts lurked behind those black eyes, or dwelling on how very tall he was. She was a tall woman; she wasn't used to feeling small, but she did around Madison Randolph.

And that wasn't all. Instead of concentrating on ways to get rid of him, she found herself wondering how long he was going to stay in Abilene, what he liked to do for fun, what he thought of the young ladies of Boston, if he was married or engaged.

But it was useless to wonder about Madison Randolph. Whatever he was really like, he wouldn't stay in Abilene longer than he absolutely must.

Fern got up to throw out her cold coffee. It only took a minute to wash her father's breakfast dishes and put them away. She usually ate a good breakfast, but this morning she had no appet.i.te. That was something else she could blame on Madison. She picked up a brush and began working the tangles out of her hair. It was a waste of timeshe intended to pin it up under her hatbut it always helped her to think.

She wondered how he meant to get from town. A buggy, most likely. She'd probably have to saddle his horse for him. She doubted he could do it himself. But he had to ride to the Connor place, and she had no intention of letting him choose his own mount.

If he apologized, she'd mount him on Blue Wind. The mare had a mouth like leather, but even a Sunday school teacher could ride her. If he acted like he had the day before, she would saddle Shorty. He would start bucking just about a minute after Madison got in the saddle. Not very hard, but enough to toss a tenderfoot like Madison Randolph over his head. It would give her a great deal of pleasure to see him lying in the dust.

But what if he really got hurt?

She wanted to hurt his pride, not his body. She couldn't blame him for wanting to get his brother out of jail.

Through the window she saw her father round the corner of the barn. He was taking pork, b.u.t.ter, and eggs to sell to the drovers who arrived every day from Texas starved for fresh food after two months on the Chisholm Trail.

He jumped down from the wagon and stuck his head in the door. "Don't spend all morning hanging around waiting. If he doesn't show his front inside of ten minutes, get on with your work."

"He'll show up," Fern said. "His kind never misses an appointment."