Taking several slow breaths to calm his thumping heart, Madison slid his arm under the small of Fern's back and lifted her gingerly. Rose helped him work the pants slowly over Fern's hips.

Very slowly. The longer he held her, his face close to her stomach, the longer his hands stayed in contact with her upper thighs, the more agitated he became. Finally, with a strong pull, Rose brought the pants down to Fern's knees. Madison stepped around Fern, and with a quick pull they were off.

He clutched the pants in front of him. He only hoped his expression didn't reveal how deeply he had been affected.

"Now her shift."

"No!"

"You can't leave her in it," Rose argued.

"Yes, I can," Madison declared, adamant. "You can bandage her in or out of it, but I'm not touching it."

Rose grinned. "Don't tell me you're"

"Don't say it," Madison said, struggling to recover his accustomed gravity. "In the course of this day I have endured enough at the hands of that . . . Fern . . . to give me gray hair. I'm sorry she got hurt, but if she had let me take her to a doctor, none of this would have been necessary."

"I can't bandage her chest over her chemise," Rose insisted. She sat down on the side of the bed, her back to Madison, and began to run her hands over Fern's rib cage. Madison heaved a sigh of relief and willed his body to return to its normal state.

It was fortunate he succeeded. Before Rose had finished her examination, they heard the front door open. Moments later a heavy tread approached the room, followed by the rapid patter of smaller feet.

"What is going on here?" Mrs. Abbott demanded, bursting into the room, Ed right behind her, suspicion and outrage making her gaze dart from Fern to Madison. ''You're just in time to help Rose take care of Miss Sproull," Madison said, backing toward the door. "She's had an accident and refuses to see a doctor."

"She must be undressed," Rose said. "She may have some broken ribs."

The sight of Fern lying unconscious on the bed completely transformed Mrs. Abbott's stormy countenance.

"Poor dear. Here, let me help," she cooed as she shooed Madison and Ed out of the room. "It won't take a minute."

Much to his relief, Madison found himself outside a closed door. He turned to Ed, who looked unhappy to have had his complaint so hastily shoved aside.

"The next time I come to your door, let me in," Madison said sternly. "And there's no need for all that caterwauling and running about. What kind of man will you grow up to be if you yelp at every little thing? Why don't you act like that other little boy?" Only then did he remember the second child wasn't in the room. Madison looked on the porch. The child still played with his wagon.

"See," Madison pointed out, "he's not jumping up and down, yelling like a cowhand trying to turn a stampede."

"He never yells," Ed said.

"Admirable child," Madison said. "He'll be a captain of industry someday, just like his father."

"His father don't captain no industry," Ed told him. "His father's Mr. Randolph."

Madison stared. This little boy with black hair, black eyes, and unflappable demeanor was his nephew. He didn't know why he hadn't realized it before. The child looked exactly like Zac in that picture Ma had taken just before the war.

It gave him an odd feeling to know that this child was George's son. George had always seemed so sure of himself, so secure, so much bigger than life. This child was like another part of him, a nonthreatening part. Madison knelt down before the little boy.

"h.e.l.lo."

Madison didn't know what he was doing practically sitting on the floor, but the child intrigued him. He didn't seem the least bit afraid or particularly interested. He just stared back at him.

"You're not my daddy," he said finally.

Now Madison understood why he had stared so hard. None of his other uncles looked like George. Madison looked enough like him to be his twin.

"That's right, I'm your daddy's brother."

The little boy held out his wagon to Madison. "You want to play with it?"

"No, you keep it," Madison said, smiling at the thought of what his friends would say if they could see him sitting on the floor playing with a toy wagon. He started to stand up, but knelt back down again. "What's your name?" he asked.

"William Henry Randolph," the little boy announced with unmistakable clarity.

The shock caused Madison to sit down on the floor. George had named his son after their father.

Fern watched Mrs. Abbott tidy the room and give the bedclothes a twitch to straighten out an invisible wrinkle.

"Are you sure you're strong enough to be sitting up?" Mrs. Abbott asked. "It's a miracle you've got nothing broken."

"I'm fine," Fern replied, doing everything she could to keep the pain that racked her body from sounding in her voice.

"You really ought to lie down."

"It's better when I sit up." Each breath caused stabbing pain, but she felt as if she were drowning when she lay down. "Where is Mrs. Randolph?"

"She's seeing to her little boy. I can get you what you need."

Fern wasn't comfortable with Mrs. Abbott. The women of Abilene had disapproved of her ever since she could remember. Even now she could see a censorious look in Mrs. Abbott's eyes. It seemed to say that if Fern hadn't been out with a man all by herself, something no decent woman would do, this would never have happened. Mrs. Abbott's disapproval became even more evident when she spied the pants and shirt folded neatly on the top of the dresser.

"I wanted to thank her for taking care of me."

Rose hadn't judged Fern. There was bound to be some strain between themthey couldn't avoid it with Fern determined that Rose's brother-in-law would hangbut it wasn't a personal rejection, and that made a difference. Fern could handle disagreement. She'd faced that all her life. But the sting of rejection never seemed to lessen. After all these years, she should have been able to ignore it, but each time was like the first.

"I'll tell her you want to see her," Mrs. Abbott said, giving the crocheted dresser scarf a last straightening before she left the room. "But she may be some time. She's seeing to her family. She's a wonderful mother to that little boy, but that's nothing to the way she dotes on Mr. Randolph."

The moment the door closed behind Mrs. Abbott, Fern collapsed against the mound of pillows and let the pain take over. She would pretend it didn't hurt when Rose came in, but right now it was easier to give in and admit it hurt like living h.e.l.l.

p.i.s.s and vinegar! You're lucky you didn't break your neck. It was stupid to have run away from Madison. He hadn't said anything others hadn't said. Yes, he had.

Why are you so afraid to admit you're a female?

Usually she'd have no trouble denying such an accusation. She was expected to do a man's work, so why shouldn't she dress like one? That was the reason she gave everybody. She kept the real reason closely concealed in her heart. Yet somehow Madison had figured it out in one morning.

Or had he? Maybe he had used those words by accident. She would pretend he'd never said it, and maybe he wouldn't mention it. If he did, she would deal with it then.

But he had taken her in his arms and kissed her.

Maybe he could pretend that had never happened, but she couldn't. Even now, despite the pain from her cracked and bruised ribs, she could feel his body pressed against hers, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s crushed against his chest, his lips covering her mouth. Just thinking about it caused the panic to come flooding back.

But before the panic, she remembered feeling something else. It had been only a moment between the shock of his embrace and the onset of fear, but she remembered it very clearly. It had been excitement and pleasure, comfortable and familiar, as though she had found something she had lost.

But the joy of discovery had been swept away too quickly, gone never to return. Madison wouldn't kiss her again. Surely she didn't want him to.

A soft knock on the door was followed by Rose's entrance. Fern marveled that anyone so swollen with child could move with Rose's grace. Fern marveled even more that she could look so happy, contented, and radiantly healthy under the circ.u.mstances.

"Mrs. Abbott said you wanted to see me. Is the pain worse?" Fern smiled as bravely as she could. "At times, but it's not too bad now. Besides, I'm used to it. When you spend half your life in the saddle, you're bound to get a few hurts. I've been recovering from one thing or another most of my life."

"Are you comfortable? Do you have enough pillows? You're smiling, but there's a lot of pain in your eyes."

Fern realized that Rose must have given up her own pillows, probably those of her son as well, to make her comfortable. She couldn't not like a woman who would do that for a stranger, especially one who could be considered an enemy of the family.

"I guess I ought to be glad it wasn't worse," Fern said, trying to look cheerful, hoping she didn't look as miserable as she felt. "Troy would say it served me right for riding like a Yankee dude."

She felt a flush of embarra.s.sment rise in her cheeks. She hadn't meant to mention Tory.

"Not that I mean to say Madison rides like a dude. I'm the one who fell off my horse. How did he learn to ride like that?" she asked, curious. "I was sure he'd come out to the ranch in a buggy or a wagon. But he rode like he's spent most of his life in the saddle."

"Ask him," Rose said. "I'm sure he'd be happy to tell you. It would be a change from all the worries he has over his brother."

"I doubt he'd want to talk to me," Fern said, her gaze in her lap. "Even if I did ask him, which I won't."

Rose looked at her, a question in her eye.

"We got off to a bad start," Fern confessed. "Now we can't seem to get on the right track."

Fern hadn't realized until she felt herself relax that she had tensed, ready to defend herself against Rose's expected reproaches. She was further surprised when she felt the need to explain that everything wasn't Madison's fault. Up until this moment, she had been convinced it was.

Rose smiled. It was an easy, warm, friendly smile, one that invited Fern to relax, one that promised she would not be judged . . . even if she deserved it.

"The Randolph men are noted for their strong opinions and their willingness to state them without the least encouragement," Rose said. "You just have to stand up to them. Once they know they can't buffalo you, they're actually quite gentlemanly. Even sweet. They can positively spoil a woman."

Fern couldn't imagine Madison spoiling her. He was more likely to ignore her.

"I was going to try to show him up for a tenderfoot."

"And now you find the shoe on your own foot," Rose said. Her expression was noncommittal, but Fern could see a humorous gleam in her eyes.

Fern nodded.

"I don't know what Madison has done since he went to Boston," Rose said, "but he grew up around horses and spent three years in south Texas chasing longhorns."

She should have guessed. It was stupid to think men like George and Hen would have a brother who couldn't ride.

"If you give him a chance, I think you'll find he can be quite the gentleman."

Fern felt the constraint return. "Not with me. I mean to see that Hen hangs. Madison means to get him off."

Fern wasn't surprised to see the friendliness leave Rose's expression. A terrible sadness seemed to settle over her, as though Hen were her own child.

"I'm sorry about your cousin. I lost my mother and father, so I know how you feel. But I've lived with Hen for five years, and I know he didn't kill your cousin."

"He's killed other men," Fern pointed out. "Everybody says he's the most dangerous man in Abilene, including Marshal Hickok."

"I know. From the time he was twelve, he's had to be prepared to kill to survive. But inside he's just as gentle as George."

"I don't think we'll ever agree on that subject."

"No, I doubt we shall, but I hope it won't prevent us from agreeing on others."

Rose was making an overture; she was reaching out. Much to her surprise, Fern found she wanted to respond. She didn't know why. She never had before. Maybe because Rose was the first woman who hadn't tried to change her, who didn't try to make her ashamed of herself.

Fern was also curious about Rose. She was the only woman in a world of men. She had not only survived, she had thrived and was obviously happy. Everyone respected her. More importantly, she could be herself.

Fern had survived, but she hadn't thrived. She wasn't happy, either. She still had to fight for the little respect she got. And n.o.body liked her the way she was. Not even her own father.

But what intrigued Fern most about Rose was her own suspicion that though Rose was a very attractive woman, her apparent success owed very little to her beauty.

Fern had to discover her secret.

"Are these your clothes I'm wearing?" Fern asked. She had been uncomfortably aware of the lace-trimmed pink nightgown from the moment she regained consciousness.

"I'm sorry I don't have anything to fit you," Rose said, "but you're so much taller than I am."

"It's not that," Fern said, fingering the soft, thin material. "I don't feel right using your clothes."

"Don't give it a second thought. I have dozens of gowns. When you get to be my size, it's about the only practical thing to wear."

"I don't feel comfortable in gowns. I never have."

"I wouldn't feel comfortable in pants," Rose said. "I guess it's all in what you're used to."

"Can't I wear my own clothes?"

"Not until you're better."

"I don't think I'll ever stop hurting."

Fern was surprised she could make such an admission to Rose. She wouldn't have to anyone else. Not even her father.

What about Madison?

Maybe. It might not be so hard to admit a weakness to him. He certainly wouldn't offer her unwanted sympathy. She smiled. He would expect her to blame him. She wondered what evidence he'd produce to show it was really her fault.

That reminded her of his theory that somebody else had murdered Troy, and her smile vanished. They would always be at cross purposes. If Madison got Hen off, she'd never forgive him. If Hen died, he'd never want to see her again. The best thing for both of them would be for him to get on a train back to Boston and for her to go home and stay there.

"You can't sit there and say nothing," Madison said to Hen, his patience exhausted. "It's your neck that's on the line."

Hen didn't speak. He just stared at Madison.

"And there's no point in glaring at me like you hate me," Madison said. "You don't have to like your lawyer to talk to him." Hen turned away. He seemed to prefer looking at the wall.