"I see," Ott said mildly. Across the waving prairie, Cynthie could just make out the shape of thecottonwoods that lined the little creek near her home. She hoped they couldtravel the distance without Ott saying another word. She stared at the trees, willing them to grow closer.

"How's that little boy of yours?"

Cynthie let out a slow breath.

"Fine. Fine." She tried to smile.

"Hard on a boy growing up with no father," he

said.

"I'd be proud to help if I could. You know, I could take him riding orfishing or something. How old is he now, about five?""Four," she corrected."Louie and Peter spend a lot of time with him.""That's good," he said and fell silent again.Cynthie went back to watching the trees. She could make out the trace of green leaves like a light wash of color on the sketchy branches. The ranch

buildings were dark shapes in the foreground. They were almost there."Mrs. Franklin," Ott began. Cynthie actually jumped. He hesitated as ifuncertain exactly what to say. Finally he cleared his throat and spoke.

"I'll be over in a week or two with the last payment I owe you.""Thank you, Mr. Ott." That last payment would be reason to celebrate.There would be no more need to deal with Reuben Ott. Oh, how Cynthie wished her late husband had never loaned him that money.When Ott pulled the wagon to a stop in the ranch yard, Louie was there tomeet them. He had worried about Mrs. Franklin, leaving as she had withoutexplanation. He knew something unusual had happened in town or she wouldn't be riding home with her least favorite neighbor. He greeted Ott and gave hera quizzical look as he helped her down from the wagon."Mr. Ott was kind enough to give us a ride," Cynthie explained."I'm glad to be of help to you and your cousin," Ott said.Louie took in the large man struggling to sit up in the back of the wagon.He cast his boss another questioning look.

Cynthie wanted to get rid of Ott before she explained anything to Louie.

"Please help Mr. Sutton inside." More softly she added, "He can't see."

Winn had barely managed to sit up in the wagon. His head ached so bad it was hard to hold it up. He was sure the world would be swimming in front of himif he could see it. Right now, he was not exactly certain which way was up.

Strong arms caught him before he hit the wagon box, and with their support,he managed to get his feet on solid ground. He was surprised to discoverthat such strength belonged to so short a man, a good ten inches shorter thanhis own six foot four.

' "Do you need a hand?" he heard Ott ask.

"Louie can manage, I'm sure," replied Mrs. Franklin.

Winn tried to straighten and take more of his weight himself, not wanting toprove the lady wrong. He heard her dismiss the neighbor and call for someonenamed Peter as Louie slowly guided him away.

"Rough ride?" Louie asked.

"Not too bad, just long." Winn resisted the urge to hold his hand out infront of him.

"Three steps up and there's a porch post by your right shoulder." They wentup the steps slowly and Winn found the post. He leaned on it a moment,resting his head. Smaller feet tapped quickly up the same steps and Louiemoved out of the way, keeping a supporting hand on Winn's arm.

He heard a door open.

"Bring him into my father's room, Louie. We can worry about sheets and

things later."

Louie was already leading him forward. Winn followed cautiously, expecting to hit a wall or knock over some piece of furniture with each step.

Finally his knees b.u.mped the side of a bed. He lay down gratefully and felt

the strong hands lift his legs onto the bed."The lady won't want boots in her father's bed." It was Winn's lastconscious thought before pa.s.sing out. He didn't realize he spoke it aloud.

"Way ahead of you, son," Louie said, pulling off one boot and then the other, let ting them drop to the floor. He helped Cynthie cover him with a blanket then walked behind her out of the room.

Now that his hands were free, Louie removed his hat and smoothed back his thin gray hair.

"Do you want to tell me who he is?" he asked his boss.Cynthie looked at her foreman. He was only slightly taller than she but hehad a way of ma king people forget that. Even approaching sixty he waspowerfully built. The look he gave her said, "You're the boss, but..." Itwas obvious he hadn't bought the cousin story.

Cynthie sighed.

"He's injured and needs someplace to stay for a while."

"And you happened into him on the street?"

Cynthie laughed.

"No. If you must have the whole story. Dr. Gordon sent for me. He asked me

to look after him."

"And Doc decided you'd be an expert," Louie added.

Cynthie's chin came up and Louie recognized the stubborn light in her eyes.

"That's right," she said.

Louie knew when to quit.

"Don't try to do everything yourself. Call on me and Peter. That boy has

more patience than anyone I ever knew."

Cynthie smiled.

"Thanks. For now, send Greg up to the house. He can help me get some things

ready for Mr. Sutton."

"Yes, ma'am." He started to leave but turned back.

"The cousin bit was a good idea."

She smiled as she watched him close the door.

Hours later, Cynthie sat down at the small writing desk and turned up the

lamp. The house was quiet. Greg was tucked into his bed upstairs.He hadn't been happy about being called away from Peter and the horses buthad helped her eagerly when she had explained about the new houseguest. In his excitement, he had had trouble keeping his voice at what his mother considered an acceptable level.

She needn't have worried. Winn hadn't stirred since he arrived, but he might

awaken in the night and need something. Fearful that she wouldn't hear him from her room upstairs, she had brought down a blanket and planned to spendthe night in a chair in the front room.

Now she took white paper from a drawer and dipped the pen in the ink.

She wrote the doctor in New York who had tried to save her father's sight,

hoping with each stroke of the pen that he would know what might save Mr.

Sutton's.

Winn awoke with the uncomfortable feeling that he wasn't alone. Had he heard

some small sound, or was

it his imagination? He blinked, trying to adjustto the darkness, and remembered that the darkness didn't go away. d.a.m.n, hewould be glad when this pa.s.sed!

He heard something again, a small sigh, he thought. "Is someone there?" he asked. There was a shuffling noise, and a floorboard creaked. It seemed odd that his visitor didn't identify himself. He felt a p.r.i.c.kle of alarm.

He felt more helpless right now than he could remember ever feeling."Who's there?" he asked again."Greg," a small voice answered.Winn smiled. The tiny sound, the hesitancy to answer and the shuffling feet all fit together to form a picture of a little boy. He thought he couldremember Mrs. Franklin mentioning a son, but he wasn't sure. So much of his memory seemed to be hazy.

"I'm Winn," he said, reaching his right hand toward the sound."It's nice to meet you, sir." A very tiny hand tried to shake his large one."How do you do?" The child giggled."Are you Mrs. Franklin's son?" Winn asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and coming cautiously to a sit ting position. His head hurt but it was a clear sharp pain with little of the groggy feeling.

The effects of the laudanum were wearing off.

He hadn't heard an answer to his question but he felt the boy climb up beside him on the bed. He guessed that Greg had either nodded or shaken his head.

"Is your father around?"

"No," came the reply.

"He's dead."

Winn was startled by the matter-of-fact tone and wished he could see the

child's face.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Do you have a daddy?" Greg asked.

"No, I'm afraid mine's gone, too."

"Yeah," the child said as if that was to be expected.

"This is my grand daddy's room but I'm afraid he's gone, too." The child wiggled around on the bed until his legs were free to swing against the side.

He set up a rocking motion that threatened Winn's sense of balance."Maybe you can help me with something," Winn began. He was suddenlyuncertain how to ask this. He brought a hand down instinctively to still onesmall knee. He cleared his throat.

"I need to relieve myself but I can't see. Can you help me?"

Greg was silent for a moment.

"You need to go to the outhouse," he said, delighted that he had figured it