But most disturbing of all, she wanted him to notice her. Not the way other men noticed her. She wasn't interested in showing him how well she could rope or ride or perform any of the dozens of other skills she had worked so laboriously to master. If not that, what? She found herself tugging at her shirt, unsatisfied with its fit. She even felt dissatisfied with her pants. She would have to see about getting some more. These were old and worn.

She wondered what he thought of her looks and found herself pulling the brim of her hat lower. She hadn't really looked at herself in the mirror for months, maybe years, but she knew that sun and wind had turned her skin unbecomingly brown.

He probably didn't think of her as a woman at all.

She began to fidget. She was tired of standing about doing nothing. She wasn't used to it. She wasn't used to being ignored either. She wasn't used to being upset, and she wasn't used to feeling inferior. She wasn't used to worrying about what somebody else thought about her, and she wasn't used to worrying about what she looked like.

"I've got to be going," she said. "You're just wasting your time."

He turned in her direction, his gaze gradually focusing on her. "Do you dislike truth on principle, or do you dislike it because it doesn't fit your prejudices?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, stung by his accusation.

"You don't care about anything except seeing my brother hang. Not what happened that night, why Troy was here, or if there might be another explanation for what was found."

"I do care," she protested, knowing her protests were useless. He would believe what he wanted. "And what makes you so certain your brother didn't kill Troy? You can't say he never killed anybody."

"Hen wouldn't have gotten into a fight if he'd meant to shoot your cousin."

"But he'd threatened to kill him."

"I know, but everybody will tell you Hen never shot anybody who wasn't trying to steal our cows or hurt someone in our family."

Fern opened her mouth to contradict him, then realized that the only instances she had ever heard about were exactly as he said.

"You have no evidence," she said Madison's confidence did not waver. "I know Hen didn't kill your cousin. So I asked myself who might want to kill Troy and have Hen hang for the murder? It would have been easy to arrange. George says everybody knows Dave Bunch pa.s.ses by here on his way home. Somebody wanted him to hear the shot and see a horse that looked like Hen's."

"You're making this up," Fern said, beginning to feel a terrible pressure inside her. It made her furious to think Hen might escape punishment for a cold-blooded murder.

"n.o.body could see inside that cabin, not to shoot a man in the heart with a single shot. You could empty two guns in there without hitting anybody. On top of that, the body was stiff. According to Dave Bunch, he went straight to town for Marshal Hickok as soon as he knew Troy was dead. That would mean they got back here in about an hour. If Troy had been killed by the shot Dave heard, the body would still have been warm. That means Troy was killed earlier, probably somewhere else, and then brought here. The shot Dave heard was fired into the air."

"That's preposterous," Fern protested. "You've twisted everything so it will look the way you want it to."

"No, I'm just looking at the facts. You and everyone else a.s.sumed my brother killed your cousin and you just slapped him in jail. If anyone had bothered to look before half the town trampled this area under dozens of hooves and footprints, I bet you would have found a clear set of prints for a fourth horse, the horse ridden by the killer."

"n.o.body's going to believe a word of this," Fern said, confident that the men she knew would believe Dave Bunch over Madison Randolph. "They'll know you're lying."

But Madison pressed on.

"Somebody was already looking for a way to kill Troy when he and Hen had that fight. That was simply the opportunity he needed. Who else had Troy been fighting with? Who disagreed with him, distrusted him?"

Her father.

He and Troy had had dozens of arguments, many of them witnessed by half the town. Worst of all, her father had fired Troy about a month before the Randolph herd reached town. Troy had gotten a job with Sam Belton selling farmland to homesteaders, but he had let everybody know he had a score to settle with his uncle. If people started to listen to Madison, suspicion would turn to her father. And he didn't have any witness to his whereabouts all that night and part of the next day.

"You're just trying to throw up a smoke screen," Fern said, "to confuse people so they won't know what to believe."

"Who are you trying to protect?" Madison demanded. Fern tried to appear confident, but she couldn't. Her father was all she had in the world. She knew he hadn't killed Troy, but if Madison started telling people about his theories, they would begin to remember that her father hadn't been very interested in trying to find Troy's killer. She had to stall Madison until she could warn her father.

''I'm not trying to protect anybody," Fern insisted. "And I'm certainly not afraid of anything you say."

"I can see it in your eyes," Madison replied. "You're so afraid your teeth are chattering."

"I'm not afraid," she shot back. "I never have been."

"Then why are you so afraid to admit you're a female?"

Fern stared at him, flabbergasted. She didn't even move when Madison advanced on her, not stopping until he was only inches from her.

"You've got a body that men must pant after. You tease us by parading about in pants, but your clothing also forces us to keep our distance."

Fern stepped back; Madison stepped forward.

"Are you too ignorant to know you drive men crazy, or do you dress like that because you like to see us with our tongues hanging out?"

Fern's mouth opened, but no sound came out.

"I don't know what kind of woman you'd make, but you make a d.a.m.ned sorry man."

The attack was so sudden, the words so unexpected, that Fern found herself unprepared for the impact. It went straight through the armor of years, penetrated the hard veneer she showed to the world, and exploded the dark veil she had kept drawn over a secret so painful she'd locked it away even from herself. And now she sensed it there, waiting, obscure still, but frightening.

"You know you're more dangerous in pants than a dress." He stalked her as she retreated before him. "You can go where other women can't, cause havoc other women never dreamed of."

I don't . . . I never"

"But there's a problem," Madison said.

He was so close she could feel his breath on her skin. She held her ground, determined she wouldn't run away. She didn't want to admit he frightened her, but he was so close he was practically touching her. It made her limbs go weak.

"I'll bet no man has ever held you in his arms and kissed you."

I don't want anybody to kiss me," Fern protested. I wouldn't let"

"For all your teasing and tempting, the other women are way ahead of you. They know what it's like to feel a man's embrace."

She felt his arms go around her. She fought against the tightening band, but she was powerless to keep it from closing around her.

"They know what it's like to feel the pressure of a man's body against their own, to feel his touch on their skin."

The circle closed around her until it crushed her against him. The shock of such intimate contact aroused the deeply buried memories, black and frightening recollections that blurred Madison's face.

"They know what it's like to be kissed."

Madison's lips took Fern's in a gentle, lingering kiss. A small part of her was aware of his gentleness, of the willing response of her body, but the terror in her mind blocked out everything else. Fighting with all her strength, Fern tore loose from Madison's embrace. With a m.u.f.fled sob, she pulled herself onto her horse and galloped off, her eyes so filled with tears she couldn't see where she was going.

Chapter Five.

"Stop!" Madison called. But even as he shouted after her, he ran toward his horse. He knew she wouldn't come back. At this moment, he was the last person on earth she wanted to see.

He cursed his uncertain temper. He had become so annoyed with her refusal to even try to look at the facts of Troy's murder that he had spoken in irritation, meaning to shock, but not to injure. But somehow his words had penetrated her defenses and found some unsuspected pain, some deep wound. In order to keep the wound hidden from the world, perhaps even from herself, she had virtually denied she was a woman.

She probably couldn't remember the last time she'd cried. He was certain she had never run away from anyone. He was equally certain she would never forgive him for being the one to make her do so now. He had expected her to be furious at him. The look of shock and fear before she'd leaped on her horse had stunned him. He'd never expected her to cry.

He really did think she would make a better woman than a man. He really did think she'd like being kissed once she let down her defenses, that the young men of Abilene must have been panting after her for years without having the courage to tell her so, but he had no right to force himself on her. Certainly not to hurt her feelings.

He hadn't meant to. He was beginning to admire her courage, her willingness to accept the consequences of her actions, even in an odd way her social rebellion.

But taking her into his arms had nothing to do with growing admiration. It had more to do with her long, shapely legs, well-rounded bottom, and the tempting mound of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She exercised an attraction over him that flew in the face of his beliefs about himself.

Even more bewildering, she seemed to act like a lightning rod to some ambiguity hidden deep within himself.

He should leave her alone. He had hurt her, and she would want to recover in private. He could apologize to her when they both felt more composed.

But he never slowed his stride. It took him a moment longer to mounthe had never learned to fling himself into the saddle as she hadbut Buster reached full stride in just a few seconds. It was a lot like riding to the hounds, with Fern the terrified fox. Only the terrain was flat and brownthere were few trees, no fencesand it was far more important that he catch up with her than any fox.

But it wouldn't be easy. Her mount ran like the wind, and she rode with the unconscious skill of someone who had lived in the saddle practically from the time she was able to ask for her own pony. But Buster was a strong horse, long-striding and blessed with plenty of stamina. Her cutting pony would soon tire, and then he would overtake her.

The taste of her kiss, tinged with the flavor of coffee, lingered on his lips. The faint aroma of fried ham and strong soap clung to a shirt softened and worn thin with wear and washing. He could still feel the firm softness of her body as he'd held her close.

Every part of him had absorbed something of her, and it left him shaken and confused.

Fern looked back. When she saw him in close pursuit, she whipped her pony across the shoulders, turning him away from the trail into open country.

Here the prairie became dangerous, deceptive. Folds and dips opened up before them without warning. She led Madison over ground that had been criss-crossed by streams, carved and chiseled as the water of countless thunderstorms sliced across the earth, gouging a path through the soil, wearing away the soft stone. Up banks, down ridges, around bends, over muddy streambeds they went, Madison exerting all his strength to coax the maximum speed from his mount, calling upon all his horsemanship to keep up with Fern.

But as Buster's powerful strides closed the distance between them, Fern started taking terrible chances. She would throw her pony on its haunches and turn at a full gallop before Madison could get his own mount slowed down enough to turn and follow her. She would leap a dangerous ravine or scramble up a treacherous bank. Never.in his years in Texas had Madison experienced a ride such as this, not even the time bandits had caused him to flee for his life. He had a tremendous admiration for her riding ability, and he'd tell her so if he survived this mad chase.

It didn't take him long to realize that Fern wasn't heading back to the ranch. She was taking him into rough country, far to the east of Abilene. He had to keep up with her. Though this was no time to be considering such things, he knew his pride would chafe under the necessity of admitting he had been outridden by a woman and left to find his way back to town.

Just as he thought the chase would go on forever, Fern turned to look over her shoulder. At the same moment, her pony stumbled going up a small rise. Fern catapulted from the saddle and over the edge of a stream bank onto the stones below. Her body skidded for about five yards before coming to a halt.

She didn't move.

Madison flung himself from his horse before it stopped. He leaped down into the creek and, slipping on loose rocks and jumping a sluggish trickle of water, raced to the motionless Fern. He slipped his hand inside her shirt next to her neck. A pulse, strong but rapid, relieved his most immediate worry. She was alive. But the fall had knocked her unconscious.

Now she lay helpless, probably injured, miles from home. And it was because of his temper. If only he hadn't stopped her in the street last night; if he hadn't forced her to take him to the Connor place; if he had kept his opinions to himself . . .

He stared at her lying unconscious and felt heartsick. Despite her bravado, she was a lonely young woman, injured by something in her past, terribly afraid of it, and touchingly lovely in her vulnerability.

He had to get help. He probably shouldn't move her, but he couldn't leave her lying in this streambed. He carefully checked her arms. Neither seemed to be broken. It seemed odd to be examining a woman's limbs. With Fern unconscious, it was almost as if he were taking advantage of her. For the first time since he had met her, he was grateful for her male attire. Even on this deserted prairie, many miles from another human being, he would have been reluctant to raise a woman's skirts, even to make certain she had no broken bones.

Her legs weren't broken, but what about her collarbone or ribs? Madison hesitated. Nothing in his experience had prepared him to examine females. Still, he couldn't move her until he had made at least a partial examination. Unb.u.t.toning her shirt, he was shocked to find she wore a chemise of fine lawn trimmed with lace next to her skin. It was so delicate, so utterly feminine, it seemed incongruous alongside her sheepskin vest. Clearly, Fern was not happy in her a.s.sumed role. It must have taken some terrible experience to make her hide behind an impersonation so foreign to her nature.

Slipping his hand inside her shirt, Madison ran his fingers over her lower ribs. He couldn't tell for certain, but he didn't think any were broken. He wasn't nearly so quick when the examination brought his hand into contact with her breast. He found himself unable to concentrate on her bones. The soft give of her breast was much more compelling.

Her sheepskin vest was a better disguise than he had suspected. Who could have guessed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were so full, so firm? He felt heat flood through his body like water through a sluice gate. Not even his most intimate moments with Lillian Claiborne had caused his body to respond so quickly. And there was no woman in the world more feminine and alluring than Lillian.

Madison cursed himself for his lack of self-control. He ought to be thinking of getting her to a doctor, not her breast, her skin, or the soft curve of her lips. He s.n.a.t.c.hed his hand from her body. Still muttering under his breath, he quickly reb.u.t.toned her shirt.

It worried him that Fern hadn't regained consciousness. He also worried about the bruise forming on her forehead. He hadn't seen it at first, but it had darkened quickly. He didn't know how many other bruises might mark her body. And he couldn't find out. Not here. He had to get her home to her father.

He knelt down and slipped one hand behind her back and the other beneath her legs. She didn't weigh as much as he had expected, but carrying her along the rocky streambed and up the steep bank to the prairie above proved a difficult task. He was thankful to find a cattle crossing.

Madison quickly discarded the idea of mounting her on her own pony. He was a good horseman, but he couldn't support her and control two horses. Straining his every muscle, he lifted her into his saddle and mounted behind her. Breathing deeply from his exertions, Madison put his arms around her, leaned her against his chest, took up the reins, and urged Buster forward with a squeeze of his knees.

Her horse followed of his own accord.

Madison didn't dare move out of a fast walk. He had no idea how a jarring trot might affect a concussion or broken ribs. He also worried that she might have suffered an internal injury. As the minutes rolled slowly by, he wondered why he'd never bothered to learn more about the human body. If you're going to make a practice of driving people into a blind panic, you ought to be prepared to deal with the consequences.

But he hadn't done it intentionally. He had been so worried about Hen, so hopeful of finding another explanation for what happened the night Troy Sproull was killed, he hadn't given any thought to how his words would affect Fern.

Yet now, as she leaned against him, her breath even, her pulse strong, he asked himself what could have caused this strong-minded woman to hide her femininity under men's clothes. He wondered whether she was covering herself up because she was ashamed of herself, or because she didn't want to attract male interest. Either way it didn't make sense.

If she had done it to avoid attention, she had made a tactical error. He couldn't imagine a more surefire way to attract the attention of cowboys starved for feminine companionship than to dress in pants.

The longer he rode with her in his arms, the more his awareness of her body increased until he could think of little else. Worried as he was, his own body responded to her nearness, to the feel of her warmth pressed against him.

Never before had he been so acutely aware of a woman. Their bodies touched along most of their length with nothing but thin material preventing their flesh from coming into contact. There were moments when Madison felt that even that hardly counted. The heat generated between them might burn away this fragile barrier at any moment.

He rode with his arm around her middle to hold her in the saddle. Every time she fell forward, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressed against his arm. Despite trying to concentrate on Fern's possible injuries, his entire consciousness focused on the feel of her breast. And his body trembled from waves of pure l.u.s.t.

Nor could he forget the shapeliness of her calves or the gentle curve of her thighs. Never had he been so intimately familiar with the body of a woman he couldn't fully see or touch, and it imposed a severe strain on his self-control. He kept imagining what she would look like without her clothes. Just the thought caused him to grow so hard he ached.

An hour ago he had thought of her as an amusing curiosity, someone with whom he might while away a few dull hours. Yet now she caused him to writhe on the spear of his own desire.

It disgusted him that his physical nature should so easily gain control over his brain. It horrified him that at times he had wished he hadn't any control at all. He had observed enough of the animal side of men's nature to know it often caused him to do things that had a calamitous effect on his life and career. It was a matter of principle with him that he never let this happen.

His relief when the Sproull farmhouse came into view was almost physical.

''h.e.l.lo in there," he called. "Anybody home?"

No one answered. He rode up to the house and peered in through the window. No one was inside. He rode over to the barn, circled it, calling all the while, but no one answered.

Her father wasn't home.

He couldn't just toss her on the bed and ride off. Even if her father came back soon, Madison didn't know if she would let him take care of her. He had to take her to Abilene.

But even as he turned Buster toward town, he felt the warmth stir in his limbs once again. He cursed. He didn't know what it was about this woman that affected him so strongly, but the sooner he put some distance between them, the better. <><><><><><><><><><><><> Madison had almost reached the outskirts of Abilene when Fern groaned and stirred awake. When she twisted around to look up at him, he could see the pain in her eyes.

"Don't move," he said when she tried to wriggle out of his arms. "You've been hurt."

"What happened?" she asked, still struggling to escape his embrace.