The Silver Heiress

The Silver Heiress Sarah Winn

Hard Shell Word Factory

The Silver Heiress

Sarah Winn

2

Thanks to my loyal, fellow robins, Lauren Rittenhouse and Terry Herbin. Copyright 1998, Sarah Winn ISBN: 1-58200-027-1 Published 07/98 Published by: Hard Shell Word Factory PO Box 161 Amherst Jct. WI 54407 [email protected] http://www.hardshell.com All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. These characters are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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Chapter One Territory of New Mexico -- 1886 Victoria Chandler stepped down to the depot platform. She made sure her skirt was free of the train steps before looking about for her father. Miss Pritchard, her paid traveling companion, followed her, giving crisp orders to the porter about the removal of their hand luggage. A tall, slightly built man wearing wire-rimmed spectacles approached them. He doffed his bowler hat to display thinning hair. "Miss Chandler? Miss Pritchard? I'm James Dinsdale, Mr. Chandler's chief clerk. He sent me to meet you." "He didn't come himself?" Victoria asked, fighting to keep a scowl from marring her features. "Mr. Chandler wanted to come, but the new crusher at the refinery is being tested today, and he felt he had to be there. You know how he is about business," Mr. Dinsdale said in an apologetic tone.

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As she nodded curtly, Victoria pressed her lips tightly together to control her anger. She certainly did know about her father and business. A new crusher, whatever that was, would definitely be more important to him than his only daughter whom he hadn't seen in four years! He should have meet her when she returned to their family home in San Francisco. Instead, he'd sent orders for her to travel on to this godforsaken part of the country. Why did he want her here if he didn't have any time to spend with her? "Is this all of your luggage?" Dinsdale gestured to the valises and hat boxes piled around them. "No, there are three large trunks in the baggage car," Miss Pritchard said. "If you'll give me the claim checks, I'll be happy to see to those for you," Dinsdale said. Miss Pritchard dug into her purse for the checks as two burly men in rough clothing arrived and gathered up their luggage. Mr. Dinsdale suggested that the ladies might like to wait inside where it would be cooler and then rushed along the platform toward the baggage car. Victoria found no relief from the heat inside the small clapboard station. She took a lilac scented handkerchief from the pocket of her traveling suit and dabbed at the dots of moisture on her forehead. Stepping to an open window, she looked at the dusty main street of Lordsburg and wondered who had chosen its totally inappropriate name. On their way from San Francisco, they

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had passed through many towns just like this one, wooden buildings clustered around the railroad tracks with no apparent reason to be there. At least she knew why this town existed. Precious metal--silver--rested in the nearby mountains and her father, T. J. Chandler, owned much of it. His determined efforts to acquire it had given her a life of luxury, and after her mother's death, a lonely childhood. She flicked her handkerchief toward the window. "Will you look at this poor excuse for a town. There's not one decent shop in sight." "With all the clothes you brought, you won't need to go shopping for a long time," Miss Pritchard replied with the patient little smile she often wore when speaking to Victoria. "And where am I going to wear my beautiful new dresses. I should have stayed in New York, and had my debut like Aunt Chloe wanted, or in San Francisco with Richard and Melissa. I can't understand why father insisted I come here." Her head moved so vigorously as she spoke that a strand of her curly hair popped free and fell on her neck. Victoria tried impatiently to push it back into the fold of hair that ran along the back of her head. "He said in his letter that he wanted you to see the new house he's built," Miss Pritchard said.

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"That house! Why in the world has he spent a fortune to build a mansion in the middle of a desert?" "I'm sure an important man like your father has a good reason for everything he does, and it's not your place to question those reasons." Victoria glared at Miss Pritchard. The woman couldn't seem to remember that she was no longer Victoria's teacher, but now her employee. A commotion in the street drew her attention to a road-coach stopping in front of the station. Large enough to be a public vehicle, the coach had a shiny black exterior, a team of four matched grays, and a large golden "C" painted on the door. It looked quite out of place among the freight wagons and buckboards that populated the street. A wagon loaded with her trunks followed behind the carriage. Victoria told Miss Pritchard their transportation had arrived, and they left the station. Once they were settled in the coach, Mr. Dinsdale called to the driver and the vehicle jerked to a start. Victoria glanced out the window. Mounted men armed with both pistols and rifles formed lines on either side of the coach. "Are they with us?" she asked Mr. Dinsdale. "Yes, Miss. You'll be perfectly safe. No need to worry."

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"But I thought the Indians had been subdued." "They have, mostly. The Army is chasing down the last renegades now. Your father is, however, one of the richest men in the Territory, so he doesn't take chances." "I see," she murmured, and tried to interest herself in the passing scenery. Tuffs of stiff grass and dark green creosote bushes dotted the flat land around them. They moved toward low hills that looked similarly covered. Just as I expected, a desert. She glanced across the coach at her traveling companion and suppressed a laugh. The heat had finally melted Miss Pritchard's rigid Bostonian backbone, and the woman had slumped sideways into an uneasy nap. The thick cushions pushed her pointed straw hat into a rakish dip over her face and the bouncing of the coach made her head bob up and down. In the more than two years Victoria had known her, this was the first time she'd ever been amused by the woman. When Miss Pritchard first came to the Hartford Academy for Young Ladies, some of the girls said she came from a prominent family that had lost its fortune through bad investments. The sympathy Victoria felt for her quickly faded. As the social graces teacher, Miss Pritchard made it her mission in life to constantly watch and reprimand her students. Slouching, foot dragging, talking too loudly, laughing, or any trait she deemed unladylike brought sharply worded criticism. Victoria had almost fainted

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when Aunt Chloe told her Miss Pritchard had been hired to accompany her on this cross-country journey. She began to worry about how long she would have to stay here in New Mexico. She definitely needed to be back in San Francisco by the start of the social season. After all, she was nearly nineteen and didn't have a single proposal to her credit. Not that she had ever lacked for male attention at parties or cotillions, but the close supervision of either teachers or her many New York relations had prevented any romantic developments. It would be difficult, however, to manage her entrance into San Francisco society without her father's help. Her brother, Richard, as consumed by business interests as their father, would have a perfect excuse to avoid social functions now that his wife, Melissa, was expecting their first child. Why didn't her father just hire men to manage his empire, while he lived in the comfort and safety of the city? She glanced over at Mr. Dinsdale. He looked just like the kind of clerk her father always hired, a man who would take orders, never assert himself, and let T. J. Chandler make every decision. Her father should be enjoying the money he had worked so hard to acquire. Somehow, she must persuade him to return to San Francisco for his sake as well as hers.

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Then she smiled at her own foolishness. He must be planning to do just that. He had to know it was time for her to find a husband, and that suitable candidates couldn't be found in this wild country. Most likely he didn't trust Aunt Chloe or Richard to attend to such an important matter. She would have to wait until he had time...but he was always busy. She could wither into a dried-up spinster, just like Miss Pritchard, while waiting for his help. Heaven forbid! A loud cracking noise--like thunder--exploded, and the coach lurched forward with a burst of speed. Victoria reeled against the cushions. Miss Pritchard jerked awake with an unladylike squeal. Outside, men's voices raised in coarse shouts, the driver's whip popped, and those reverberating explosions sounded again and again, coming ever closer. "What is it?" Victoria shouted at Mr. Dinsdale, but the man seemed paralyzed with fear. "Indians!" Miss Pritchard shrieked. "Indians!" The coach moved faster and lurched and bounced so violently that Victoria had to fight to stay on the seat. A horse--or a man--screamed. For a moment, the coach seemed completely air borne, then tilted crazily on its side, and Victoria's temple cracked against a padded post. She plunged into murky confusion. A terrible weight pressed down of her. She could hear a wheel spinning wildly and soft groans. Then other voices spoke excitedly, but she didn't understand their words.

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The weight, pressing so unmercifully against her, lessened. She opened her eyes. Mr. Dinsdale's lifeless face hung above her, then disappeared. Another man leaned into the coach and reached toward her. He wasn't an Indian, but he didn't look like one of the guards either. His clothes and the bronze color of his skin were different. He pulled on her arm until he could get both of his hands under her and then dragged her along the floor of the coach toward the open doorway. Another man, standing on the side of the coach, bent down and continued lifting her until her body could be shifted into the arms of the first man, who had jumped down to the ground. As she stared at the man curiously, he gently laid her on the ground and began to examine her arms and legs with firm squeezes. He turned her slightly and poked at her bustle. Then he started to pull up her skirt. "What are you doing?" Victoria gasped and slapped at his hands. A sudden squawk drew her attention. Miss Pritchard, her hat gone and her upswept hair pulled loose so that it stuck out from the side of her head like a grotesque bush, staggered toward them. "Leave her alone!" she shrieked. Her face twisted into a mask of fear and outrage. Another man casually pushed Miss Pritchard backward, causing her to stumble and fall over Mr. Dinsdale's crumbled body. Incredibly, the man looked down at her billowing petticoats and thrashing

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legs, encased in knee length drawers, and laughed. Before Victoria could recover from that shock, the man bending over her whipped her skirt up and deftly untied the drawstrings that held both her bustle and her ruffled petticoat in place. Then he pulled her to her feet, leaving a semi-circle of stiff ruffles on the ground. She looked around in frantic disbelief. Men rifled through the trunks strapped to the wagon. She saw her beautiful new dresses, even petticoats and more personal articles, held up for inspection. Other men pointed rifles or pistols at the guards who lay or sat on the ground. One of the guards, with a growing red stain on the front of his shirt, groaned as a bandit bent over him and began going through his pockets. The two horses hitched nearest to the coach were down, their legs thrashing, their screams terrible to hear. The acrid smell of burnt gunpowder filled the air. Victoria stared at all this in amazement. Who were these men? Didn't they know who her father was? How dare they treat T. J. Chandler's daughter like this! The man who had removed her bustle shouted to his companions. He spoke in a foreign language. These men must be Mexicans! They hurriedly mounted their horses, many of them carrying stolen articles from Victoria's luggage. A man came toward her leading a riderless horse. Did they expect her to ride it? Is that why her bustle had been removed?

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She tried to pull away from the hand that guided her toward the horse. "I can't ride that! I have to have a sidesaddle--a lady's saddle!" Two burly men lifted her up and plopped her into the saddle. As her legs were pulled on either side of the horse and her feet crammed into the stirrups, her skirt rose shamefully to her knees. Before she could pull it down, one of the men grabbed her wrists and roughly bound them to the saddle horn with a piece of rope. A mounted rider grabbed the reins of her horse and yanked it into sudden motion. She squealed in fright and clung to the saddle horn as she looked back at the dead and wounded members of her father's caravan. Surely someone would help her. No one did. The riders left the road and moved into the arid countryside. Victoria had never been astride a horse before. Without the security of a knee firmly locked around a leaping horn, she feared slipping from the saddle. The pace of their travel and the rough terrain caused her backsides to pound on the leather so hard that she had to lock her jaws to keep her teeth from rattling. When the horses finally stopped, she slumped in grateful relief. The man who had first pulled her from the coach came to untie her hands and lift her down from the horse. Short and stocky, with a droopy mustache, he seemed to be the leader of these bandits, as Victoria had decided they must be. He left her standing among the milling horses as he called instructions to the others.

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Then he turned back to her and extended a large leather bound canteen. When she made no move to accept it, he lifted the vessel to her lips. As the water began to run down her chin, she opened her mouth and gulped greedily. "Bueno," he said. Victoria wiped her chin with the back of her hand. "Where are you taking me?" He shook his head. "Do you know who my father is?" She reached toward him, stopping just short of grabbing his vest. "He's a rich man. He'll pay you a lot of money if you take me to him. Do you understand? Money--a lot of money?" The man suddenly smiled broadly. A gold tooth gleamed from beneath his shaggy mustache. "Si, papa pay!" he said as he nodded vigorously. "I'm being kidnapped?" Victoria's eyes widened in both surprise and indignation. He pointed to a spot of ground several feet away. "Sit, no talk!" She again opened her mouth to speak, but he grabbed her arm and gave her a vigorous shove in the direction he had indicated. Victoria walked to the spot and sat, wrapping her skirt around her legs, and hugging them toward her chest.

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They had stopped in a depression between two hills that shielded them from the afternoon sun and made the air cooler. Hobbled nearby, the horses grazed on sparse patches of grass. Most of the men sprawled in the shade. Some pulled their hats over their eyes as though they intended to nap. A young man, no more than a teenaged boy, moved among them and passed out flat corn cakes from a cloth bag. He came to Victoria, smiled shyly, and extended one of the cakes with a grimy hand. She shook her head briskly. She certainly wouldn't eat one of those dirty things. In an hour or so, the camp began to stir. The leader, Victoria had heard him called Eduardo, approached with a coil of rope in his hand. She quickly scrambled to her feet. Before she could move away, he wrapped one end of the rope around her waist, knotted it securely, and began to pull her along after him. He led her reluctant figure a short distance from the others and stopped in front of some large boulders bordered with scraggly bushes. After uncoiling several feet of rope and letting it fall to the ground, he pointed at Victoria then at the bushes. "You go!" She realized he meant for her to relieve herself behind the bushes while tethered by the rope like a dog on a leash. She took a deep breath and her fists automatically rose to her hips. Before she could tell the man that she would not be treated like this, he grabbed her upper arm and shook her until her head bobbled. Then he pushed her toward the bushes as he yelled, "Pronto! Pronto!"

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Victoria briefly considered refusing to obey, but she did need to relieve herself, especially if they were going to start riding again. She was sure her father would have mounted a furious search for her by now, so the best way to help herself would be to slow these brigands down. She went behind the bushes and stayed there until a sharp tug on the rope forced her into the open, where the man angrily grabbed her arm and began to pull her along. He led her to the horses and boosted her into the saddle. Using the end of the rope still around her waist, he again tied her hands to the saddle horn. As the torturous riding started, Victoria struggled to hang on to the saddle and ease her painful bouncing against it. She feared the men who had captured her and the desolate country they were traveling through, but she didn't allow her thoughts to dwell on her fears. Instead she focused on her father, who at this very moment would be racing to her rescue. He may have left her in the care of servants for long periods of her childhood, and he had required her to go back East for schooling, but he had always demonstrated his devotion by making sure she had the best of everything. She knew he would never stop searching for her, and his vengeance against the men who were mistreating her would be terrible to behold.

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The sun beat down on her unmercifully. The bodice of her traveling suit became soaked with sweat. She longed to remove the long-sleeved jacket to gain some relief from the heat. The skin on her cheeks began to burn and feel tight. She knew her face must be turning red, for at the second rest stop, Eduardo pulled her small, peaked hat from her head and replaced it with a large-brimmed, straw one. He also removed the rope from around her waist, apparently realizing she wouldn't dare try to escape in this wilderness. They rode at a grueling pace until darkness made it dangerous. When they stopped, the boy again brought the dirty corn cakes. This time Victoria ate hers. Then she fell asleep with her head resting on her knees. Too soon, Eduardo jostled her awake and dragged her back to her horse. They rode slowly in the limited light from a half-filled moon, stopping at regular intervals, but only to rest the horses. Victoria had never been so tired. She wanted to scream at these heartless men that she couldn't go on, but knew they would ignore her. They continued the pattern of riding for several hours and resting for short periods until the sun shone brightly again. Finally, they stopped in a steep-walled canyon and Victoria sighed in relief

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when she saw the horses being unsaddled. The leader threw a blanket on the ground and pointed her to it. She gratefully lay down and quickly fell into a dreamless sleep. "Senorita, senorita." Victoria became aware of a soft voice above her. She opened her eyes. The boy, Juan, squatted beside her holding a canteen. She tried to sit up and groaned. Her back and arms were sore and her head ached. Intent on helping her, he set the canteen down too quickly and it tipped over. A gush of water shot onto the ground. Eduardo suddenly appeared over them, shouting angrily. Juan grabbed the canteen before more of the precious liquid escaped. Victoria quickly sat up without aid. Juan poured a few swallows of water into a tin cup, gave her one of those large, flat, corn cakes and a small piece of dried meat then scrambled away to distribute this meager meal to the rest of the camp. Victoria allowed herself one angry glare up at Eduardo, before she began to gnaw on the hard, salty meat. She would certainly enjoy telling her father all about that man. When she finished eating, she tried to do something with the wisps of hair straggling around her face and neck. Some of her hair pins had been lost. She gathered the ones that remained and tried to

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brush the tangles from her freed hair with her fingers. Glancing up, she saw several of the men staring at her. Her hair had always attracted attention. Even she wasn't sure what to call its color. As a child, it had inspired her father to call her his "new penny." At school, her friend's had referred to her as a strawberry blonde. The texture, wiry waves turning into finger curls, added to the hair's novelty. She'd spent long hours forcing it into the smooth upswept styles currently in vogue. At least she didn't have to bother with curling irons to achieve the fashionable ringlets around her forehead and neck. Even if she understood that her hair was the reason for the men's rude staring, it still made her uneasy. She quickly twisted her hair up on the back of her head, shoved the pins in to anchor it, and slapped the straw hat over it. She told herself to ignore these uncouth men, but then, not more the ten feet away, one of them stood up and turned his back toward her. She heard water gushing, and before she could avert her eyes, saw the puddle of liquid collecting near his feet. Trying to hide behind the floppy brim of her straw hat, Victoria squeezed her eyes tightly shut. She wouldn't cry! She wouldn't!

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Thomas Hawkins stopped in the doorway of T. J. Chandler's outer office and groaned silently. He'd managed to bluff his way past the armed guards who surrounded the Chandler refinery, but how would he get through the mob of men who filled this room? Hard-eyed cowboys and sharp-eyed dandies crowded around a nervous man with a white bandage on his forehead. They all shouted their insistence on seeing T. J. Chandler at once. A wave of hopelessness swept over Hawk. He'd never get ahead of these men. He should have known that every con man in the territory would descend on Chandler when they heard about his daughter's kidnapping. They smelled big money and were trying to get a share--just like him. But damn it, this was his last chance. If he didn't get money somehow, the ranch and everything he'd worked for would be lost. Something sharp poked Hawk's leg. A boy, no more than twelve years old, elbowed his way around him. "Mr. Dinsdale, it's here, the telegram from the Army." The boy waved an envelope in his hand. "I waited for it, just like you said." A door in the far end of the room opened and a man stepped out. "Give it to me!" He was of average height, on the portly side, with mutton chop whiskers that were heavily streaked with gray,

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but he had an aura of power and authority. As he strode into the room, the men who had been loudly clamoring stepped back in respectful silence. The boy extended the envelope. "Yes, sir, Mr. Chandler." Chandler ripped it open and hastily scanned the message. "Can't cross the border? They do it all the time when they're chasing Apaches. Isn't my daughter more important than a bunch of ragtag Indians?" He threw the message down in disgust. "General Miles says he'll forward my request to Washington. To hell with that, I'll make my own damn request to Washington. Dinsdale, take this down--" "You could become a grandfather before you get any action out of Washington," Hawk said loudly. Chandler whirled toward him. His fists clenched and his eyes flashing fire. "Who the hell are you?" Even though he was a head taller and at least twenty years younger than Chandler, Hawk fully expected the man to throw a punch at him, so he braced himself. "I'm the man who can get your daughter back."

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Chandler huffed with disgust. "You and every other penniless drifter in this territory." He started to turn away. "I'm not a drifter," Hawk said. "I own a ranch up near Magdalena. Just give me five minutes of your time. If I can't convince you that I know what I'm talking about, I'll leave without another word." Chandler stared into his eyes, as if looking into his very soul. Then he pulled a heavy gold watch from his vest pocket and snapped it open. "All right, five minutes and not one second more." As he turned and started back toward his office, the other men in the room came out of their polite trances and began yelling and pushing to claim Chandler's attention. He shoved his way through them. Hawk moved in his wake, shoving just as ruthlessly, not wanting to lose any of his precious time. As soon as the office door closed behind them, Hawk started talking. "My name's Thomas Hawkins. Like I said, I've got a small ranch up north." "Homestead?" Chandler asked, with a trace of derision in his voice.

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"Yes, but I've driven cattle all over this part of the country. Made a lot of trips into Mexico. I'm sure your daughter was taken by men working for Miguel de Luca. She's probably on her way to his ranch right now." "It hardly takes a genius to figure that out, Hawkins. A lot of people on this side of the border know what that lunatic's been saying and doing." "Yeah, but how many of 'em have spent a week spying on his ranch?" Seeing the look of interest in Chandler's eyes, Hawk pressed his advantage. "Lots of cattle stolen in Texas end up on de Luca's land. Four years ago I was hired by some Texas ranchers to go down there and see if they could get some of those cattle back. I hid out and watched everything that went on, then I put on a suit and rode up to his front door, pretending to be a cattle buyer. He invited me in and served me one of the best meals I've ever had." "I never heard of a raid on his place," Chandler said. "That's because I advised the ranchers against it. There were at least fifty armed gunmen guarding de Luca's valley. It's a long way from the border, and all the people in that area think he's God's right hand." "If you couldn't get cattle out, how in the hell can you get my daughter?"

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"It takes a lot of men to move cattle. A bunch of drovers going toward his ranch, just like a troop of soldiers, would be seen by the locals who'd warn de Luca. A small group of men, who know where they're going, could get there without being seen." "What good would a small group be against fifty armed gunmen?" "I don't plan to shoot it out with anybody. I'll have some men start a diversion away from the house, then I'll sneak in and get the girl out before anyone knows what's going on. With any luck, nobody will get hurt." Chandler frowned at him. "And without that luck, my daughter could be shot." "Yes, sir, that's always a possibility. But I swear to you, they won't get her without gettin' me first. You've gotta think long and hard about what'll happen if you do pay the ransom. Every two-bit bandit on both sides of the border will take aim on you and all the other mine owners in this territory. You'll all have to send your families somewhere else to live." Chandler began pacing and pounding one fist into his palm. "I'd like to wipe that bastard off the face of the earth, and I can do it! If the U. S. Army won't go, I'll hire my own army." "It won't work." Hawk had to speak loudly to be heard over Chandler's ranting. "De Luca would know you were coming and hide the girl, or something worse. There'd be so many guns

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waiting, it'd be a bloodbath. Then the governments of both countries would get into it. Besides, it'd make de Luca look important. That's what he wants. My way would make him look like a fool." Chandler pushed a shock of graying hair from his forehead. "You're asking me to gamble with my daughter's life. You don't understand what kind of woman she is. She's spent the last four years in one of the most exclusive finishing schools in the East. Before that, she lived a sheltered life in San Francisco. I'll never forgive myself if something happens to her." "Mr. Chandler, I don't have any children, so I won't say I know how you feel, but you've got to face the facts. Something's already happened to your daughter. She's been kidnapped and dragged across the desert by a bunch of murdering bandits. You don't even know for sure if she's still alive. I sure as hell wouldn't pay a dime to the man who had done all that to one of my children." Chandler stopped pacing and stared at Hawk. His flushed face drained of color. "I haven't received a demand for ransom, just that idiotic letter about 'liberating the oppressed.'" He sat down at his desk and held his head in his hand. "You could be right. She may be dead already. God in heaven, what am I going to do?"

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"There's a good chance she's all right. The men who took her will have orders to keep her safe. Delaying the demand for a ransom is de Luca's way to put more pressure on you. Send me down there, let me find out what's going on. I won't make a move, if I think it's too dangerous." "How many men will you need?" "No more than ten." "I have a lot of good men working for me." "I don't want miners. I was in Fort Sumner selling cattle when I heard about the kidnapping. That town's full of Texas drovers who can stay in the saddle for eighteen hours at a stretch and shoot straight if they have to. I left my foreman there. A telegram from me, and he'll have the men I need on a train in a few hours." "Surely you don't think my daughter can stay in the saddle for that long?" "No, sir, although she must be doing some rough traveling now, but I've got a plan that will make her trip back easier." "You've obviously given this a lot of thought, Mr. Hawkins. Why are you so interested in helping me and my family?" "I need money just like those yahoos outside, but I'm willing to earn mine."

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"How much money are we talking about?" Hawk took a deep breath. "Ten thousand dollars. I'll need some expense money up front. You can pay the rest after I return your daughter." "That will cover you and the men you take with you?" "Yes, sir." "I could hire any drover in Texas for fifty dollars a month. Why do you need so much?" "If de Luca catches any of us, we'll be killed on the spot. I don't want the kind of fool who'd take that risk for fifty dollars going with me. I'm only offering to do it because a hundred and sixty-five acres aren't enough land in this territory to make a decent ranch. "So what'll it be, Mr. Chandler, play de Luca's game or teach the son-of-a-bitch a lesson?"

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Chapter Two Victoria lightly tapped Juan's arm with her fan as she pulled away from him. "Let me catch my breath, you silly boy. I can't dance every minute." Not knowing if Juan had understood her, she unfurled her fan and waved it in front of her face, hoping he'd get the message that she needed to rest. Usually too shy to even speak to her, tonight's dancing had given him an excuse to be almost daring. Although, he still expressed his desires with his pleading-puppy eyes rather than speech. She rushed up the several steps to the veranda where Don Miguel and Consuela sat watching the dancers. "I must have danced with every man here. I've got to rest," she said and fanned herself vigorously. Consuela smiled up at her. "All the caballeros think you are muy bonito." Victoria had learned enough of their language to understand that. Anyway, Consuela frequently teased her about attracting young men. Victoria merely smiled back and lowered herself into a chair, being careful not to lean back and crush her bustle.

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Don Miguel rose and refilled her glass with wine punch. As he leaned toward her with the glass, he glanced down at his son who had stayed in the yard with the other guests. S " i, you make our Juan yearn for his manhood." Victoria wasn't used to Don Miguel teasing her, and her cheeks grew warmer. She looked away from his deep brown eyes and took a long sip of the refreshing punch. Then she remembered her determination to get information from him tonight and again met his gaze. "This is a very nice party, Don Miguel, but you haven't said what you're celebrating." "I celebrate life," he pointed toward the guests, "good friends," and then toward the tables still laden with food, "and a full belly. What more important reasons could there be for a celebration?" "I thought you might have an announcement to make tonight." She looked at him hopefully. He shrugged. "I have no announcement, except for the toasts I made wishing everyone good health." Victoria's exasperation with the man started to build. "I thought you might have completed your negotiations with my father." "Aha!" he exclaimed as though she hadn't been asking him this question almost every day for the last three weeks. "Always you worry about the negotiations. Do you doubt your father's love?"

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"Of course not, but I don't understand why it takes this long to pay a ransom." Her agitation increased the speed of her fan. "This is a business matter. Ladies should not concern themselves with such things." "Since this business matter involves my freedom, I'm very much concerned." "You sound as though you are in a prison." He gestured to the yard full of swaying dancers illuminated by flickering torches. "This does not look like a prison to me." ` Victoria sighed and looked to Consuela for support. As usual, the woman gave a helpless shake of her head then looked up at her husband with adoring eyes. The couple exchanged smiles that spoke of their deep devotion, and Don Miguel extended his hand. "If our honored guest would excuse us, perhaps I could have another dance with my beautiful wife?" "Of course, go ahead." Victoria nodded, then smiled back at the middle-aged, strikingly attractive couple in their old-fashioned Spanish-styled clothing. When not on one of his political tirades, Don Miguel was most charming. And Victoria had been very well treated once she'd survived that horrible trek through the desert and arrived at this comfortablehaciendo. Still, she worried about her father, and wanted to get on with her own life.

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But what could she do? She had to wait for the men to complete this silly game they played. Seeing his parents dancing, Juan rushed up to the veranda, extended his hand, and looked so beseechingly at her that Victoria expected to hear him whimper. She drained her glass of punch and allowed Juan to take her hand and lead her back to the dancing. They hadn't danced long before one of the older men cut in. Victoria couldn't help finding the dark eyes and flashing smile of the caballero exciting, even if he were nothing more than ranch hand. After a dozen more dances and several glasses of punch, she said goodnight to her hosts and retreated to her bedroom. The maid, Lupe, followed her. As Lupe helped her prepare for bed, Victoria began to giggle over her ridiculous situation. She had just attended a ball and now sat in her comfortable bedroom with a maid catering to her every need. She ate all her meals with the de Luca family and had her own clothes and jewelry that Don Miguel's men had brought for her. She was a prisoner here, yet lived as comfortably as she would in her father's home. In truth, she probably had as much freedom here as she would with her father. Lupe held her hands up and looked at Victoria with an alarmed expression, apparently thinking she had done something to cause Victoria's mirth. Victoria shook her head and tried to regain her

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serious demeanor. She couldn't possibly explain. Having a maid who spoke no English was such an inconvenience. Good thing Don Miguel spoke English as well as he did, or Victoria would be confused most of the time. Even though the man had silly ideas about taking the Territory of New Mexico away from the United States, she did admire some things about him. He commanded the respect and loyalty of his people, and showed great devotion to his family. Of course, he'd sent his teenaged son on the dangerous raid that captured her, but Victoria guessed that must have been some strange Mexican rite of passage. She got into bed and snuggled into the soft feather mattress, delightfully relaxed. No need to worry, her father would undoubtedly pay the ransom. She should make the most of this experience--probably the greatest adventure of her life. Victoria awoke to the sound of loud voices and running feet. She rubbed her sleep-filled eyes. Had the dancing started again? No, these voices didn't sound happy. Her door flew open, and Don Miguel stood framed in the square of light. He was struggling into or out of his jacket. Victoria didn't know which.

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She sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest. "What is it?" "There is a fire. Some buildings away from the house. Do not leave this room!" He closed the door, and she heard him shouting for Juan. Lying back against the pillows, Victoria considered getting up and seeing exactly what was happening. But Don Miguel had told her to stay there. Obviously, he didn't want her running about in the middle of the night, and she felt so sleepy. The voices grew distant. The fire must be well away from the house. She closed her eyes and drifted toward sleep. A loud explosion sounded and light flashed so brightly that it penetrated her closed eyelids. The bed trembled beneath her. Her eyes flew open in terror. In eerie silence, she stared at swirling smoke and dust. Bits of plaster fell around her, but she didn't hear them fall. The curtains over the window on the outside wall hung in tatters. A small tongue of flame licked at one of the shreds of cloth. A large, black monster hovered outside the window. He pulled on the iron grillwork that covered it. A ragged hole appeared in the wall. Moving through the smoke and falling debris, the monster--no a man all in black--entered the room and moved quickly toward her.

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Her hearing returned to the sound of her own screams. His hand roughly pressed over her mouth. "Shut up! Your father sent me!" his voice rasped in her ear. A light flashed from the other side of the room, and she saw Juan's thin figure in the open doorway. He clutched a rifle with both hands and pointed it toward the bed. She saw the arm of the man in black move up. He held a pistol. "No!" she shouted and reached for the arm. The pistol spat fire and Juan fell back, clutching his shoulder. His rifle clattered to the floor. Victoria screamed again and a blanket was thrown over her head and wrapped tightly around her body. The man lifted and carried her away from the bed. "Here, take her!" he grunted. "What do you want me to do with her?" a second man asked. "Run like hell!" She landed across a shoulder and was jostled as that man began to run. In a short time his chest heaved from exertion, and he passed her back to the other man, even as they continued to run. Victoria felt pinched, pounded, and bruised. She remembered the man saying her father had sent him. Surely her father would never have agreed to subject her to this kind of treatment!

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The men passed her between themselves again, then strong arms turned her upright, and pulled her against a hard wall of muscle. A horse began to move beneath her. Victoria struggled to push the blanket away, so she could breathe. "Be still, damn you!" a harsh voice commanded. Victoria pulled her arms tightly against her body and prayed as she had never prayed before. Over the sound of pounding hooves, she could hear gun fire and urgent shouts, but the folds of the blanket muffled the sounds. She couldn't tell how close they were. When the Mexicans attacked her coach, she'd been stunned to near insensibility. Now she was fully aware and terrified. The race continued, and soon all she heard were the horse's hooves and her own ragged breathing. The pace changed and the horse seemed to be picking its way through rough terrain. Finally they stopped. Strong arms gently lowered Victoria, until the rocky ground cut into her bare feet. The blanket fell away, and she found herself standing in front of the tall man in black. He stared down at her for a moment, then seemed to notice the way her body trembled beneath her thin nightdress, and draped the blanket over her shoulders. Victoria grabbed and pulled it tightly against her shivering body. She couldn't stop staring at his face.

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He pulled off the dark bandanna tied around his head and began to wipe his grimy face. "It's only lamp black, Miss Chandler." The moonlight turned sun bleached streaks in his hair to ghostly shades of silver. "Did--did my father really send you?" Victoria managed to say through her shivering. "That's right." "Why didn't he just pay the ransom?" she asked in a high-pitched voice. "Would'a been a sight easier, wouldn't it?" Victoria turned to see a shorter, older man wiping a large pocket handkerchief over the part of his face that showed above his bushy black beard. Then she realized there were other men and horses milling about or just arriving in the small clearing surrounded by jutting boulders. The tall man walked around the horse he and Victoria had ridden and approached the others. "Did everybody make it back?" he asked. "Yeah," several voices answered. "What happened to you, Clark?" "I caught one in the arm. Ain't bad, went clean through." "Can you ride?"

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"Sure, no problem." "I mean really ride, no lagging. If you can't, it'll be better to hide out around here for awhile." "Don't worry, I'll keep up. Sure as hell ain't gonna stay around here." "All right, men, we got out of that valley easy. Now comes the hard part, gettin' outta Mexico! You know the plan. Saddle those fresh horses and get outta here. Stay on the road until you get to the cut-off, and don't try to hide your trail too soon. We've got a little time while de Luca's men round up their horses, but after that, the only chance you've got is to stay ahead of the hounds. The people around here think he's some kind of hero, so every farmer's a likely enemy." "We know, Hawk. You've told us often enough." "Hey, before we go, don't we get to see the little lady who caused all this ruckus?" The man stepped back to Victoria's side of the horse and gestured for her to come forward. She shook her head. He came closer, placed his hand in the middle of her back and began to push her forward. "These are the men who risked their lives to rescue you, Miss Chandler. You might want to say thanks." Clutching at the blanket and still trembling uncontrollably, she faced eight of the grimiest and most threatening looking men she had ever seen. She couldn't speak.

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"Huh, 'cept for that hair, she don't hardly look worth the trouble," one of them said. "Why don't you pull that blanket off and let us see the rest of her?" another suggested. Hawk interrupted the murmurs of agreement. "You boys better remember what a mean bastard T. J. Chandler is before you do anything to make his darling daughter mad. Now quit this foolin' around and get on the trail." "How do we know you're gonna get her back safe and sound, Hawk?" "'Cause I wanta be paid just as bad as you do. So you boys draw de Luca off my tail, and we'll all meet at Chandler's place for the biggest payday any of us have ever had." The men began to move with purpose and Hawk turned back to Victoria. "We've got to get started too, Miss Chandler." "You--you don't expect me to travel dressed like this, do you?" she asked. "I brought you some clothes." He moved to a canvas covered bundle hidden behind some nearby boulders and began to pull out articles of clothing. "But those are men's things!" she protested. "Very good, Miss Chandler! Now you go behind those rocks, put these on, and try to look like a man." He added a neatly folded strip of white cloth to the clothes he held out to her. "Use this to

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wrap your--ah--chest." When she continued to stand and stare at him in amazement, he took a step toward her. "Do you want me to help you?" "No!" she gasped, reached for the clothes, and dashed behind the rocks. She waited until the other men and horses had left the clearing before she pulled off her nightdress. In the dim light and with shaking fingers, it wasn't easy to wrap that piece of cloth around herself so that her chest would look flat. She had to try it several times, each time pulling the cloth more tightly, until her breasts ached, and she found it difficult to take a deep breath. She finally tucked in the end of the cloth, put on the long sleeved, scratchy undershirt and a coarse cotton shirt. The britches bagged around her waist and fit snugly around her hips, but the length was about right. Even the scuffed boots fit. Had her father given that man her shoe size? He couldn't have known she'd be treated like this! As she stuffed her hair under the battered hat, the man the others had called Hawk said, "Hurry it up, Miss Chandler." She found walking awkward. The boots felt heavy and stiff on her feet, and the thick fabric of the trousers swished between her legs.

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Hawk stared at her critically. "You better loosen that belt a notch. Let the pants ride down some." He had also changed to a plaid shirt and denim work pants. With the inky lamp black wiped from his face, she became aware of his features for the first time. The wide forehead, prominent cheekbones, and clearly defined curve of his jaw reminded her of the heroes pictured on the covers of western novels. With his lanky frame and broad shoulders, he was quite handsome, but she didn't like the way he stared at her. The intensity of his gaze made her pulse race. He walked behind her, still looking her up and down. "Come 'ere, Jack." The older man stopped packing gear and walked over to them. "Do you think she'll get by?" Hawk asked. "Them little curls on her neck sure don't look very manly," Jack answered. Hawk pushed lightly on her arm. "Sit down on this rock, Miss Chandler." As she did so, he pulled the hat from her head. "I gotta cut your hair." "What? No!" Victoria tried to jump to her feet, but a heavy hand on her shoulder kept her down. She wrapped her arms around the back of her head. "I won't let you do it! I won't!"

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He took hold of her wrists and pulled them forward as he squatted in front of her. "Listen now, your hair will grow back, but my hide won't. You'd never be able to keep up with the others. My plan for getting us outta Mexico depends on you being able to pass as a boy," he spoke in a soft, husky voice. Victoria wasn't soothed. "I don't care about your stupid plan! I don't believe my father sent you. He'd never allow this." "Come hold her hands, Jack." "Hell, Hawk, I ain't much for manhandlin' women." "If you don't do it, I'll have to hog-tie her. We don't have time to argue about this." "Aw, shoot!" Jack spat out and grabbed hold of Victoria's arms. "Hold still!" Hawk commanded as he stepped behind her. "I've got to use my knife. You keep thrashing around and you'll get cut." He pulled a handful of her hair straight out from her head. She felt another tug and heard the scrape of a knife blade passing through hair. Now afraid to move, Victoria sat with her head down and listened to the horrible sound again and again. Jack squatted in front of her, holding her wrists.

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Tears streamed down her cheeks. "I hate both of you! You're mean and cruel! Father should have paid the ransom." "I guess he'd rather pay men to rescue you, than to steal you," Hawk softly replied. When Jack finally released her, Victoria sprang for the hat that had been dropped on the ground, and hastily crammed it over her head that felt unnaturally light. "Are the horses ready?" Hawk asked. "Gotta tie down one more pack. Uh, what're you gonna do with that?" Jack pointed to Hawk's hand. Hawk looked down at the tangled strand of copper-colored curls he still held. Then he glanced at the girl huddling against a nearby boulder with one hand curled around the back of her neck and her shoulders pumping in silent sobs. He was right to cut her hair. They'd be traveling in populated areas. An American woman with reddish-blond hair would stick out like a jug of corn squeezin's at a church social. So why did he feel like a low-down skunk for doing it? He dropped the hair as though it were aflame, and with the toe of his boot moved it toward other tresses on the ground. "I'll throw some dirt over this. Then let's get outta here," he muttered.

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She wiped at her tears with her sleeve, and glared at Hawk as though he'd just hacked off an arm instead of hair. He avoided her hostile stare, even when he lifted her onto a horse. After he mounted and moved a few steps ahead of her, he looked back to see if she followed. She sat hunched over and clutching the saddle horn. Her lips puckered into a pout. Rather than risk another tantrum from her, he reached to take her reins and led her horse through the dark jumble of rocks. He'd known from the very beginning that getting this spoiled, rich girl back to her father safely would be the hardest part of this job. If she had any sense at all, she'd have known anybody breaking into her room at de Luca's was trying to rescue her. The way she'd screamed and fought had surprised him so badly that he almost let that kid get the drop on him. Good thing the boy had been scared, or Hawk would be filling a shallow grave by now. He hadn't expected her to be so damn good-looking, either. If the other men had seen her in that see-through nightdress, like he had, they might have refused to go along with his plan. Thank goodness for Jack. His age, plus his attachment to that widow back in Magdelena should stem his interest in the Chandler girl. Hopefully, his presence would keep Hawk from making a fool out of himself over her.

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It didn't seem fair that a girl as rich as Victoria Chandler would also have a delicately beautiful face and a ripe body to lure poor men who could never hope to win her. But this wasn't the first time Hawk had faced life's unfairness. He'd just keep reminding himself that returning this little lady safely to her father would save his ranch. That meant more to Hawk than a hundred beautiful women. They finally came off the rocky trail he'd been following to foil possible pursuers. Hawk wanted to pick up their pace, but glanced back at the girl and saw her head bobbing and her body swaying in near sleep. That just proved he'd been right in thinking she couldn't have kept up with the other men. He let his horse drop back closer to hers, so he could catch her if she toppled over. As streaks of pink and gold began to show on the eastern horizon, Jack pulled his horse up beside Hawk's. "Ain't it about time to make camp?" he asked. "We haven't covered much ground yet," Hawk replied. "Well, it's almost light, and the little lady is about to fall out of her saddle." Victoria's head snapped up, and she blinked her eyes. "She's probably feeling all that wine she drank at last night's party," Hawk said. She looked over at the two men in surprise. "Were you watching us?"

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Jack grinned slyly. "Yes, ma'am, we watched fer three days. That's how we knowed which room you'd be in." "Give me the reins of the pack horse, Jack, and you ride over and check out those trees. Looks like that's all the cover we're gonna find around here." Soon they dismounted in a grove of cottonwood trees. Hawk pulled the saddle from Victoria's mount and dropped it on the ground near her. He pointed at the roll of canvas tied to the back of it. "That's your bed, lady." She stared at him as though she hadn't understood what he'd said, then glanced around nervously, turned, and walked away from him. "Hey, you stay here!" Hawk called. "Can't I just...." She pointed at a clump of nearby bushes and her cheeks reddened. "Oh, yeah," he said and chuckled self-consciously. By the time she returned, Hawk had lined up all three saddles in a small clearing. He went ahead and spread her bedroll while she stood and watched him. Turning her saddle upside down, he pointed at the padding that normally rested against the horse's body. "You can use this for a pillow," he said. She wrinkled her nose and frowned.

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"You'll get used to it." He pointed toward the canteen propped beside the saddle. "That's yours, but go easy on the water. There's hardtack and jerky in that bag over there." "I just want to sleep." Keeping all her clothes on, she sat rather timidly on the bed roll and looked over at him. "Did my father really send you?" Hawk huffed in disgust. "Didn't you hear me tell the other fellas that we'd meet at Chandler's place?" She looked relieved, until her brow furrowed again. "Are we going to ride through the desert?" she asked in a plaintive voice. "That's the only way to get back to the U. S.," he said. A look of such dread came over her face that he wondered if she'd survive another trek across the desert even at a snail's pace. Then she turned her back to him and stretched out on the bedroll.

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Chapter Three Victoria awoke with the late afternoon sun in her face. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up and arched her stiff back. "I'll be damned!" Jack said. "Look'a there." He grinned foolishly as he stared at her head. Hawk, who sat nearby cleaning a pistol, looked up and frowned. Victoria's hand flew up to her hair. Without the weight of her long tresses, floppy curls had formed all over her head. "She makes a mighty poor boy, don't she?" Jack said, and laughed. "Just keep your hat on when we get around people," Hawk said, looking like he'd just bitten into a crab apple. She continued to finger the curls. "Where are we going, anyway?" "East, into Chihuahua, where de Luca isn't such a big man. Then we can take a nice easy ride up to El Paso and get the train back to Lordsburg." "Why didn't we go with the other men?" She still didn't know if she should trust this ruffian. "With you along, I figured we couldn't outrun the greasers."

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She'd never heard the term "greasers" before, but felt sure it was something nice people didn't say. "I still don't understand why Father didn't pay the ransom. I could have gone home in a carriage then." Victoria stuck her lower lip out, so irritated with her situation that she didn't care if she did look petulant. Hawk raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure of that? Old de Luca might have given you to that skinny son of his. The boy plainly wanted you." "Juan is very sweet and he's only fifteen years old and--" She remembered the recent scene in her bedroom. "You shot him!" Her voice rose to a near squeak. "He may be dead!" "He was pointing a rifle at me," Hawk said, and snapped the chamber of his pistol into place. "I didn't have a choice, and don't start crying again. Get something to eat. I've gotta give you a ridin' lesson. I can't lead your horse for you when we leave here." His voice dropped to a mumble as he continued, "I didn't expect you to know much, but I thought you'd at least know how to handle a horse. Don't they teach anything useful in those fancy schools back East?" Victoria stiffened her neck. "I can ride perfectly well side-saddle."

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"What's the saddle got to do with using the reins? It can't be that different," he said in a disapproving tone. "I didn't know you wanted me to take the reins. The Mexicans wouldn't let me," she snapped back at him. "We're rescuing you. Can't you get that straight?" he bellowed at her. "I've seen very little difference between the two experiences," she answered just as loudly. Their angry exchanges were interrupted by a snort of laughter from Jack. Victoria glared at him. "Good thing you don't have to teach her how to ride, ain't it?" Jack said with a smirk. Hawk turned back to Victoria. "Can you mount by yourself?" She looked away, reaching for her canteen. "I can with a mounting block." He made a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a growl. "Do you see one of those around here?" She ignored his rude question and concentrated on raking her fingers through her curls, trying to get the hair back from her face.

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"There's a comb and some things your father sent in your saddle bags," Hawk said in a surly voice. Victoria tried to reach for the leather pouches beside her saddle in a dignified manner, but knowing how her father loved to surprise her with gifts made it difficult to hide her excitement. She rifled through one side. Nothing there but a shirt, underdrawers, some socks, and handkerchiefs. She opened the other side impatiently--a Turkish towel, a plain brown comb and hair brush, a small framed mirror. She ripped open a waxed paper parcel--a tooth brush, tooth soap, and a bar of soap. Was that all he'd sent? Her fingers touched a folded piece of paper. She opened it and saw her father's bold handwriting: Dearest Daughter, If you are reading this missive, it means my prayers have been answered, and you are safe from the monsters who abducted you. Mr. Hawkins has assured me he will do nothing to place you in further danger. I wanted to send more items for your comfort, but this is all he would allow.

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I pray for your swift return. With all my love, Your adoring Father Victoria sighed and blinked back a tear. How could she ever have doubted her father's love. It was only that surly Mr. Hawkins who kept him from sending her something really special. She picked up the bar of soap and sniffed. Lilac--Papa hadn't forgotten how much she loved that scent. "Is there a basin or something I can use to wash up in?" "Wash?" Hawk asked in a harsh voice. "That water is for drinking only. You waste one drop of it on washin' and I'll--" Victoria stared at him as she waited for the end of the sentence. With a visible effort, Hawk calmed himself and resumed speaking softly, "I'll take the canteen away from you, and give you a drink only when I think you need it." Victoria found the calm threat more intimidating than his blustering, and decided to suffer his boorishness in quiet dignity. "All right, Mr. Hawkins, I won't wash." "And destroy that letter before we leave here." "Why?" She wanted to keep the sweet memento.

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"It won't help your disguise if someone finds it." "The letter says you aren't to do anything to place me in danger," she replied and narrowed her eyes in an accusing manner. "I don't intend to, but I can't speak for the Mexicans." Victoria glared at him one more time before fixing her attention on an examination of her new hair cut in the small mirror. They stayed under the cover of the trees until the sun dipped toward the horizon. In the fading light, the men saddled the horses and packed the gear. When they were ready to leave, Hawk held the reins of Victoria's horse and watched as she stood beside the animal and apprehensively eyed the empty saddle. "Put your left foot in the stirrup, grab the saddle horn with your left hand, the back of the seat with your right hand." To Victoria, the stirrup seemed impossibly high. Balancing on her right leg, she raised her left foot toward it. Her toe didn't slip into the stirrup, so she reached for it with both hands and inadvertently leaned against the horse. The animal shied, Victoria lost her balance, and with a squeal, fell backwards landing on the seat of her pants.

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Hawk steadied the horse and got Jack to take his place holding the bridle before starting toward Victoria. "Are you hurt?" "No!" Her bottom smarted terribly, but she scrambled to her feet before he touched her. She attacked the stirrup again. This time she kept her left hand on the saddle horn and managed to get her foot firmly into the loop. "Now push with your leg, pull with your arms. As you come up, shift your right hand up to the saddle horn while you swing your right leg up and over," he said, with exaggerated patience. Her leg wasn't strong enough to lift her. "Pull with your arms!" Hawk said. She tried and succeeded in suspending herself in an awkward position half-way up the horse's side. Large, warm hands pushed firmly against her buttocks. Leaping away from this intimate contact, she landed in a nearly prone position across the horse's back with the saddle horn pressing into her middle and her right leg caught on the horse's rump. "Swing your leg over. Now feel for that stirrup. Push your heel firmly against it. All right, try it again." "What?" She looked down at him in disbelief.

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"Get down and try it again!" he ordered. "How?" "Do what you just did backwards. Only do it more smoothly." She stared down at him, wanting to refuse, but afraid of what he might do if she did. "Don't you--" her cheeks grew hot, "--touch me where you did before." He exhaled loudly. "You're a boy, remember? Boys who can't mount by themselves get shoved." He no longer pretended patience. Her lips tightened in fury, but she started to dismount. "Push up with your left leg, raise your body some," Hawk snapped. Her right leg didn't quite make it over the horse's back, and Victoria had to inch it over, as she pushed and pulled and hung on all at the same time. Finally, her right foot touched the ground, and after a struggle to get her left foot out of that stirrup, she stood with hunched shoulders and waited for Hawk's comment. "At least you didn't fall off." Not waiting for further instructions, she started to remount. As she tried to pull herself up, the muscles in her left leg cramped painfully, but she gritted her teeth and doubled her efforts. Hawk

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caught her leg just below the right knee and gave her a boost that sent her into the saddle in an upright position. She waited fearfully for his next command. He looked up at her with a sour expression. "This horse has had about all the lesson he's gonna stand still for," Jack said, as he hung on to the bridle with both hands. "Yeah, I guess we should take pity on the horse. Pass her the reins." Hawk pointed his finger at Victoria. "But you sit there, just sit there, until we get mounted." At first, he made her ride behind Jack and the pack horse while he watched her. Being anxious to prove herself, she kept her back straight and held the reins just as her riding instructors had taught her. Hawk finally let her gallop ahead for a short exhilarating dash, then they settled into a steady walk as the twilight faded to full darkness. As the hours dragged by, Victoria thought the rescue was harder on her than the abduction had been. Being responsible for her own horse didn't allow her to slump over the saddle in a daze of fatigue. The country they traveled through grew more barren with each mile, but in the faint moonlight, it seemed crowded with strange and sharply hostile plant life.

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The moonlight cast threatening shadows. Victoria had to stay alert, lest she start at one of those shadows and spook her horse. Just when she began to congratulate herself for successfully handling these perils, something, a slithering snake or long-eared jack rabbit, darted across her path. Her horse jerked to a stop, took the bit in his teeth, and started to run. Victoria pulled on the reins as hard as she could, while fighting to stay in the saddle, but the pinto galloped unchecked. Hawk swooped in beside her and grabbed the reins. He yanked hard while softly chanting, "Whoa, whoa." The horse slowed to a trot, then stopped, but continued to snort and stomp his hooves. Hawk patted and talked softly until the pinto calmed. "Are you all right?" he finally asked Victoria. She inhaled deeply, exhaled with a rush of air, and nodded. "Well, watch what you're doing. You're supposed to be guiding the horse, not the other way around." She'd been about to thank him for saving her life, but, after that nasty remark, she grabbed the reins and turned the now docile horse toward Jack.

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She forgot about pride in her horsemanship and made sure her horse followed closely after Jack, letting his passage clear the way for her. Victoria's arms and shoulders began to ache from fatigue, and she longed for, and just as desperately dreaded, the rest stops. Then she had to face dragging herself out of and back into the saddle. At least the Mexicans had helped her mount. During a rest stop, when the call of nature made it necessary for her to move away from her companions, Victoria used a mesquite branch to scrape the ground ahead of her. She scoured the spot of ground she had selected with particular care before lowering her backside toward it. The fact that Hawk and Jack were far less concerned about their privacy, both merely taking a few steps away and turning their backs, irritated her greatly. Of course, the Mexicans she had traveled with before had behaved just as crudely, but these men were Americans and her father's employees. She expected them to treat her with more respect. Too embarrassed to mention their behavior, she pretended to be unaware of it. In time, she even began to envy their anatomical efficiency. As the sky turned gray, Hawk waved them to another stop. Victoria slid from her mount, found a boulder large enough to lean against and slumped down to the sandy ground. It seemed just moments later when Hawk shook her shoulder.

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"Time to go, Miss Chandler." She stared up at him, barely able to focus her eyes. "We'll rest during the hottest part of the day," he added. When she didn't move, he grabbed her upper arms and pulled her to her feet. He followed as she staggered to her horse, and without comment, caught her around the waist and lifted her into the saddle. The sun glared down on her when they finally took shelter in a smallarroyo. Victoria fell asleep as soon as she stretched out on the bed roll. Hawk shifted his shoulders, trying to find a more comfortable position on the rock wall his back rested against. He guessed he should be grateful to the discomfort for keeping him awake. Glancing around their campsite, he saw that the sun had climbed above the edge of a rocky wall and was now fully beating down on Miss Chandler. As he wondered if she wasn't hot, she twitched a shoulder, grunted, and sat up, squinting against the glare with an expression of confusion. Holding her hand up to shade her eyes, she spotted Jack sleeping peacefully under a sheltering ledge, stood, grabbed the edge of her bed roll with one hand, and gave the saddle a yank with the other. The

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saddle moved about two inches. With a disgusted sigh, she took her canteen, left the saddle where it was, and dragged the bed roll to a shady spot. Hawk moved his feet, thinking he'd get up and help her with the saddle. She whirled toward him. "Why aren't you sleeping?" "It's my watch." She sat down on her blanket and took a sip from her canteen. "What are you watching for?" "Anything that comes along." Her eyes opened widely. "Do you think they're following us?" "We probably would've seen 'em by now, if they were, but you never know what you might run into in country like this." She worried her lower lip with her teeth. The teeth sparkled against her rosy lip. "Have you worked for my father long?" He'd become so caught up in looking at her mouth that it took a few seconds for the question to register. "Ah--I don't work for your father. I just took this job." "Why?"

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"I need the money. I own a small ranch--too small. I gotta have more grazing land." Not that it was any of her business. "Have you always been a rancher?" Why was she getting so friendly all of a sudden? "No." "What did you do before?" "Anything that came along." "Well, why did my father hire you?" Did that mean she thought her father shouldn't have hired him? "I know this country. I've driven cattle through here. Are you questioning my ability to do this job?" "Don't I have a right to?" Her lips set into a prim line. Hawk had to unclench his teeth to answer her. "I got you away from de Luca, didn't I?" "I meant I have a right to know about you. But now that we're on the subject, didn't it occur to you that I could have been killed, when you blew up my bedroom?" Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared.

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"It occurred to me, but I couldn't figure any other way to get you out of there. You were so cozy with the de Luca's that the only time you were alone was when you were asleep." Who was she to accuse him when she had openly danced and drank wine with her father's enemies? She glared at him. "Don Miguel and his family treated me very decently. I couldn't be rude to them, could I?" "Heavens to Betsy, no!" Hawk said, with mock horror. "Never be rude to kidnappers." "You don't understand how it was," she said in a tone she might have used on a dimwit. "I have to agree with you on that." Jack suddenly pushed up the hat that covered his eyes. "I'm glad to hear you two agreeing on something! Now will it break anybody's back if I get some sleep?" He jerked onto his side and pushed his hat around to cover his exposed ear. Victoria looked genuinely embarrassed over disturbing Jack's sleep. Hawk found that hard to believe after the way she'd just talked to him. Jack was just another of her father's hired hands. It's a wonder she didn't tell him he could sleep when she wanted him to.

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Instead, she quietly stretched out on her bedroll, and turned her back to Hawk. She doubled her arm under her head and reminded him of the saddle. Should he take it to her? Naw, she'd probably criticize the way he did that, too. He stared at her back, following a line down from her shoulders toward her slender waist then up sharply over the smoothly rounded curve of her hips. He didn't know what to think of this woman. He'd known she'd be trouble. Rich people always were. He'd expected her to be afraid, maybe even hysterical, but not so damn feisty. Oh, well, he could handle an angry woman better than a crying one. He'd just go on making her mad, if that's what it took to keep her going. Sounds of the men stirring about their rude camp awakened Victoria, but she continued to lie with her eyes closed. She knew the sun had gone down by the clammy, almost cold, feel of her sweaty body, but dreaded the added pain movement would cause her sore muscles. She felt a light tapping on the sole of her boot. "Time to get up, Miss Chandler." She cracked her eyelids and saw Hawk touching her foot with the toe of his boot. The brute is kicking me! "I'm awake," she said, as she yanked her foot away.

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She sat up more quickly than she'd intended and her sore muscles screamed a protest. As she rolled an aching shoulder, Hawk dropped the leather pouch that held their dry food beside her. "You better eat something," he said. "That stuff just makes me thirstier." "If you're thirsty, drink. We have extra canteens." "You do, well, why didn't you say so?" Tears of frustration rimmed her eyes. "But we don't have enough water to waste on tears," he said. "I'm not crying!" She quickly dashed the back of her hand across one eye. "Good!" Jack, who was tying his bed roll to the back of his saddle, asked, "You two gonna start that bickering again?" "I'm not the one who's bickering," Victoria replied, with a toss of her head. "Don't you know nothing, Jack?" Hawk sneered. "Ladies like Miss Chandler never bicker." "How would you know what ladies do?" she said. Jack laughed harshly. "Well, whatever you're doing, little lady, you're getting better at it."

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She turned on him, intending to let him know she wasn't going to take any insults from him either, but it occurred to her that she really had been bickering. Of course, she'd been provoked, but still, a lady shouldn't bicker. Miss Pritchard would certainly disapprove. She remembered the last time she had seen her teacher. The woman had risked her life to come to Victoria's aid, just as these men were risking theirs. "Jack," she called to the man, as he trudged toward the horses with a saddle over his shoulder, "and Mr. Hawkins, if I've been rude to either of you, I'm sorry." Both men turned to stare at her in surprise. She smiled playfully. "Maybe I'm just trying to act like a boy." Jack grinned back at her. "A boy as sassy as you are would get his backsides tanned, fer sure!" Hawk just stared at her suspiciously. Victoria again rode behind Jack through another monotonous night. After the sun rose, she waited expectantly for Hawk to select a spot for their camp. She finally asked when they were going to stop. "Soon," he replied.

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The sun blazed hotly before Hawk reined in near a small butte. "You two wait in the shade. I'm going to ride ahead." After he left them, Victoria turned to Jack. "Where's he going?" "There's supposed to be a water hole around here somewhere." "Supposed to be?" Good Lord, were they lost? "When you dead reckon your way across a desert, you don't always come out exactly where you want to." After that remark, Victoria was too anxious to sleep. She sat in the shadow of the butte, nibbled on one of the flat biscuits called hardtack, and frequently scanned the horizon. She had assumed these men knew exactly where they were going. Mr. Hawkins acted like he knew everything. Now, he'd probably gotten them lost in the middle of nowhere. If he had, she'd certainly give him a dressing down. If he ever found his way back to them. The man had a most irritating nature, but she had to admit, with the right clothes and manners he could be quite presentable. The broad shoulders tapering down to lean hips would display a well tailored suit to great advantage. With a decent haircut and a proper hat, his chiseled features would

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make him most handsome. Of course, even dressed up, he'd probably smirk and say something rude or disrespectful. Too bad he wasn't the strongsilent type. When he finally appeared in the distance, she and Jack mounted up and rode out to meet him. "Did you find it?" Jack called as they drew near. Hawk held up his canteen and grinned. "You want a drink of fresh water?" Victoria closed her eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks, then pulled her horse into line and followed the men toward a clump of rocky hills. After riding for almost an hour, Hawk had them dismount and led the horses up a narrow trail and down into a ravine. Finally, she saw a spurt of water gushing from a cleft in a rocky wall and flowing down to form a small pool. Hawk pulled Victoria aside as the horses rushed to the water. Moving to a spot undisturbed by the animals, she knelt beside the pool, dipped a handful of water to her mouth, and watched enviously as Jack leaned over and completely immersed his head. He came up shaking water from his beard and smiling with pleasure. Soon he and Hawk led the horses away to keep them from foundering. Victoria continued to kneel beside the pool and dribble water up to her sweaty face and neck until the horses were unsaddled, then she spread her bedroll and stretched out. Dead tired from

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riding all night, but so hot and sticky that she couldn't relax, Victoria twisted and turned a number of times before drifting off to sleep. After a couple of hours sleep, Hawk relieved Jack. He checked the horses and looked down the trail. The sun had dipped behind the top of the ravine, making the shadowy depths cooler. Miss Chandler lay sprawled on her pallet, one leg bent out to the side and her neck crooked in a funny angle. Poor thing, she didn't look a bit comfortable. He admitted a grudging admiration for her. She could handle her horse decently, and her mounting ability improved daily. He knew from the little grimaces she made that pulling herself up on a horse caused her pain, but she didn't whine about it. For a spoiled, rich girl, she had a lot of spunk. He noticed the dark circles under her eyes. He'd been driving her hard for the last couple of days. No reason why they couldn't stay here for the night and give her a chance to rest. The sun had brought out a sprinkle of freckles across her nose and cheeks. They gave her a little-girl look, but there was nothing childish about her body. He remembered the way her breasts

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had stood out against the thin material of her nightdress the first time her saw her. Better not think about that. Hawk ran his fingers over the stubble of beard on his chin. Maybe he'd shave. Yeah, he could even heat some water. He'd still have his gun handy if he needed it. Trying to make as little noise as possible, he lit the fire and got the water started. By the time he'd gotten out his razor and a cake of soap and taken off his shirt, the water was hot. He poured some into a basin, made lather from the soap, and rubbed it on his face. Bending over the basin, he tried to catch his reflection in the shallow water as he scraped the razor down his cheek. "You can use my mirror." He jumped in surprise, almost cutting himself. When did she wake up? Without waiting for a response, she reached into her saddle bag, grabbed the mirror, and brought it to him. "Ah--thanks," he muttered. She pulled out a little wire stand in the back, and stood the mirror on top of the boulder where he had the basin of water. "This is really a shaving mirror, anyway." She continued to stand and stare at him.

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Having her watch made Hawk nervous, and he eased the razor down his cheek carefully. "I didn't know you had a razor with you." "Ah--I'm not like Jack. I like to be clean-shaven." She turned away but remained beside him. He used the opportunity to hurriedly scrape the whiskers from his chin. "Some people cut hair with razors." Was she gonna start griping about her hair again? "I'm not a barber." "I could tell that from the way you cut my hair." "Look, I'm sorry about cutting your hair, but Ihad to do it." "I'm not arguing about that, but it's uneven all along my neck." She grasped the ends of her hair between two fingers and held it against her neck to show him the jagged edges. "Can't you fix that?" He stared at her in disbelief. "You're asking meto cut it?" "Just even it up. You finish shaving, then I'll show you what I want done." So that's what she was after. He should have known she wanted something. "It'll dull my razor." "You have a hone stone. I heard you use it."

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She'd keep after him until she got what she wanted. "All right. But give me a little privacy, so I can shave my neck without cutting my throat." She quickly went back to her bedroll and delved into the saddle bags. Hawk hurriedly finished shaving and splashed water on his face. She must have been watching him, for as soon as he padded his face dry with the tail of his shirt, she rushed back to his side, carrying her comb. "Let me show you what I'm talking about." Turning her back toward him, she put the comb under her hair and pulled it out so the hair stood away from her head. "Do you see what I mean?" He leaned toward her neck, caught a longer strand of hair between his thump and forefinger and sliced it off. As he reached for another, he became aware of a faint, sweet aroma, almost flower-like. It didn't seem possible after days on the trail that she could still smell sweet. He leaned closer until his nose almost touched one of the floppy, russet curls on top of her head. The scent grew stronger. He returned to the job at hand and cut several more uneven wisps of hair. "How's that?" he asked. Once again, she worked the comb through her hair and twisted her head from side to side trying to see as much as she could in the little mirror. Then she pulled the comb out from the side of her

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head, letting curls fall away until only a stub of hair remained in the comb. "Cut this," she commanded. "Are you sure?" She nodded curtly, so he cut. As he waited for her to comb through her hair again, he studied her profile, the straight nose that ended with a slight upswing, the delicate jawline and rounded chin, the cheek that would fit so perfectly in the palm of his hand. He realized she'd said something and saw that she'd found another piece of hair she wanted removed. Forcing himself to concentrate, he cut more wisps until her hair formed a curly cap that framed and emphasized her heart-shaped face. She picked up the mirror and moved it from side to side, examining her hair. "Doesn't it look better?" she asked. He nodded. She looked perfect. Then he saw bits of coppery hair lodged in the hollow just above her collar bone. He leaned over to blow at them and his lips seemed drawn to that inviting spot. Her hand fluttered up to touch his chest. She looked at him with wide eyes and slightly parted lips. Tender rosy lips.

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"Danged, if I ain't seen everything now!" Jack sat on his blanket with his arms propped on his bent knees. His look of surprise quickly turned into a lopsided grin. "Every time I wake up, you two are into somethin' different. I'm almost afraid to go to sleep." Hawk held up the razor and tried to grin. "She asked me to cut it this time." How much had Jack seen? "He just fixed the mess he made before," Victoria said. Hawk's pulse raced. Did she know how close she'd come to being kissed? God, he hoped not. Jack nodded his head. "Hawk's always been proud of the quality of his work." "Aw, shut up," Hawk muttered. He stepped aside to avoid the wiry pieces of hair Victoria began brushing from her shoulders and back. "You gettin' ready to travel?" Jack asked. "I've decided we'll stay here tonight. Let the horses graze." "Might as well cook some grub, then." Jack stood and stretched. "Then I can wash-up, can't I?" Victoria's eyes sparkled excitedly. "Yeah, go ahead." Hawk gestured to the basin he'd been using. "But don't throw the soapy water in the pool. People hafta drink from that."

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Like a child on her way to the candy store, Victoria dashed over to get her saddle bags, returned to grab the basin and ran behind some concealing boulders beside the pool. In the shelter of the rocks, she removed both her shirt and undershirt and used the towel to brush away the bits of hair that caused her neck and shoulders to itch. She dipped a basin of water, then stared down at the wrapping around her chest, knowing it would feel so good to bathe the sweaty flesh under it. She craned her neck so she could peep around the rocks and toward their camp. Both of the men seemed busy around the campfire twenty yards away. The late afternoon shadows deepened into twilight. It'd be safe to bare herself here. Working quickly, she knelt beside the basin, unwound the strip of cloth, and used a corner of the towel to bathe and rinse her skin. A welcome chill kissed her moist flesh, causing her nipples to harden. The soft scent of the lilac soap surrounded her. As she slowly dried herself, she remembered the cooling flow of Mr. Hawkins' breath against her neck and the strange look that came over his face. His eye lids had half-closed and he hardly seemed to know what he was doing. Maybe he'd been embarrassed about being caught cutting a woman's hair. But hadn't he gotten that look before Jack awoke?

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For just a moment, she'd believed he intended to kiss her. That couldn't have been. He'd made his dislike of her plain enough. She'd obviously misinterpreted the situation. "Miss Chandler?" His voice sounded near--too near. She slapped the towel over her chest and covered it with her hands. Was he right behind her? She dared not turn and see. "Somebody's coming," he in a low voice. "Be sure you're dressed like a boy before you come back to camp." "What? Who?" She heard his footsteps crunching away from her. With trembling fingers, she wound the cloth around her breasts. Had Don Miquel's men found them?

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Chapter Four Victoria ignored the undershirt, slipped on the outer one, and stuffed it into her trousers. She heard Hawk call out a greeting in Spanish but didn't hear a reply. He'd told her to be sure she looked like a boy. She checked the front of her shirt--it was flat. What about her hair? Wetting her hands, she ran her fingers straight back from her face, trying to plaster the hair down and took a quick look in her mirror. Did that make her look more like a boy? After stuffing her grooming supplies back into the saddlebags, she hesitantly stepped from behind the rocks. A long-eared donkey and a short man wearing a large straw hat were outlined against the firelight. Hawk seemed to be welcoming him to their camp. Why would he do that? Victoria slowly walked toward them. Hawk gestured to her and said something in Spanish. The little man turned, looked at her, and nodded his head. Victoria nodded back. "Curly, this is Senor Varga. I've asked him to join us for supper. Take his donkey down to the pool for a drink."

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Was Hawk talking to her? Scowling at her, he pointed emphatically toward the donkey. Victoria took several steps toward the donkey. The little man gave her a near toothless smile and passed her the lead rope. She gave the rope a little tug. Nothing happened. She yanked. The donkey must have been thirsty, for he suddenly darted forward, almost knocking Victoria down before he led her to the pool. Feeling foolish, she stood, held the rope, and wondered how much a donkey was supposed to drink. One of the horses whinnied. The donkey lifted his head and brayed so loudly that Victoria almost dropped the rope. "Curly, take the donkey over and tie him near the horses," Hawk called. He was calling her "Curly!" She turned to glare at him, but the donkey took off toward the horses and pulled her along. After she tied the beast, Victoria slunk over to the campfire. "Does our guest speak English?" she asked and smiled at the old man. Hawk smiled back at her. "Not a word." "Why are you calling me that ridiculous name?" she asked, finding it difficult to keep smiling. "That's your new name. Don't you like it?" Hawk grinned wickedly.

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"I certainly do not." She stopped smiling. Hawk spoke to the Mexican and the old man laughed. Then he replied to Hawk, lifted his hand toward his head, and twirled a finger. "What did he say," Victoria demanded. "I told him you didn't like your nickname, and he said it suits you." "Huh!" Stalking over to her blanket, she sat down. He seemed to delight in finding ways to irritate her. Hawk continued to chat with the old man in what seemed casual conversation, but from time to time he raised his voice in a question, and the man would point in one direction or another as he answered. Victoria surmised Hawk was getting directions of some kind. They had hot food that night--only beans and bits of stewed, dried beef, but it seemed a great luxury to Victoria. She let her hardtack soak in bean juice until she could cut it with a fork. Jack even opened a small tin of sugar to put in their coffee. A few days of traveling through the desert had made her appreciate life's simplest pleasures. After they'd eaten, they sat around the fire for a while. Hawk and the Mexican did most of the talking, but whenever Jack or Hawk had anything to say to her, they used that cursed nickname

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freely. Knowing they enjoyed her discomfort over the silly name, she tried to pretend it didn't bother her. Finally the old man nodded all around, said, "Buenas noches," and went to bed down near his donkey. "Your first night as a boy came off pretty well, Curly," Hawk said as Victoria stretched out on her bedroll. "That is the most unoriginal name you could possibly have come up with," Victoria couldn't resist saying. "Just try not to flounce around so much when we use it," Hawk said with a sneaky grin. "What do you mean by 'flounce around'?" Victoria asked, genuinely puzzled. "It's a way you have of twisting your body when you get mad. Doesn't look very manly," Hawk replied. "I do not. Do I?" Victoria looked at Jack for confirmation. He covered his mouth with his hand and dipped his head. Without saying good-night, she rolled onto her side and pulled the blanket to her chin.

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The next morning, the old man finished his coffee, thanked them profusely, and rode out of the ravine on a small donkey. As soon as he was out of sight, they broke camp and got underway themselves. As Hawk led them out of the hills, Jack called out, "Ain't that town the other way?" "I want to hit the road well south of there," Hawk said. She urged her horse to catch up with Hawk's. "Are we going to a town?" "It's just a village called Santa Maria. We need corn for the horses." They reached a rutted, dusty road and turned the horses north. Victoria found it much easier to manage her pinto on a road in the daylight, and began to feel as though they were on a pleasant jaunt in the country. Then she saw a two-wheeled cart, pulled by a burro, ahead of them. "There's a wagon up there. What are we going to do?" she asked. "Ride past it. Just keep your hat on and act natural," Hawk said. Not at all sure how one acted "natural", Victoria kept her eyes fastened on the road ahead and let her horse plod along. They had to pass the wagon in single file, because of the narrow road. As they did, Victoria couldn't resist glancing over at the cart. A man walked ahead, leading the burro,

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while a woman and two fat-faced children sat in the wagon. All of them looked at Victoria curiously. "Those people stared at us," she told Hawk, when able to ride beside him again. "They always stare at gringos," he said. They passed other travelers without incident. In the late afternoon a few, red tiled, roof tops appeared on the horizon. Hawk slowed his horse and turned to speak to Victoria. Jack spurred his mount and joined them. "Dammit, look'a there!" he said. Following his gaze, she saw the line of spindly poles with a wire passing between them. A telegraph line ran from the west toward the village. Hawk swore under his breath. "They didn't have that when I came through here before." "What do ya wanta do now?" Jack asked. Hawk looked up and down the road, his brow wrinkled in thought. "It's too late to cut across country. A lot of people have seen us. Give me the pack horse and you two ride ahead and straight through. I'll stop for the supplies." "Won't that look funny?" Jack asked.

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"Can't be helped. I want you two to get through. If I don't catch up, you'll know there's been trouble." "How can there be any trouble?" Victoria asked. "Surely Don Miguel couldn't telegraph messages about me. There must be some law in this country." "You're probably right, but just to be safe, you stick close to Jack, and don't stop in that town." With a nod, Jack started to ride at an ambling pace and Victoria fell into step behind him. As they drew nearer, and she saw how small the village was, just a row of buildings on either side of the road, she felt sure there would be no danger. They began to pass small adobe houses, then the road widened into a square crowded by a jumble of people, animals, and carts. From stalls around the edge of the square, the backs of carts, and piles on the ground, produce, baskets, blankets, and clothing were being displayed. Sellers loudly called out for buyers attention. Many sellers appeared to be packing their unsold merchandise, and shoppers rushed about haggling over last minute purchases. Children scampered among the adults and a number of dogs, yapping excitedly, raced after the children. Jack slowly worked his horse through any available path as merchants held up their wares and loudly tried to attract the stranger's attention.

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Victoria's pinto grew jumpy and difficult to control. She couldn't keep up with Jack. Two young boys engaged in a scuffle. One of them fell to the ground, and rolled directly in front of her horse. She pulled on the reins sharply, and the horse reared and snorted in fear, as it thrashed its front legs in the air. Victoria panicked, grabbed for the saddle horn, and lost the reins. If a quick-witted merchant hadn't grabbed the reins and roughly yanked the horse's head down, the boy on the ground would surely have been trampled. Angry men and women gathered around her horse and loudly rebuked Victoria. She hunched over the saddle and stared down at the stormy faces surrounding her. Jack had to dismount and work his way back to her. When he tried to take control of her bridle, the crowd turned their anger on him. A milling knot of shoving, shouting people surrounded them. Hawk arrived, having tied his horses at the edge of the square and pushed his way through the crowd. Asking questions in halting Spanish, he seemed sympathetic to the villager's complaints and tempers began to cool. A man in the dark suit of a caballero pushed through the crowd. "What's going on here?" he demanded.

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Turning, Hawk smiled. "I'm glad to see someone who speaks English. My Spanish ain't too good." Then he gestured at Victoria. "The boy lost control of his horse in the crowd, but as near as I can tell, no real damage was done." "I am alcalde of this village. I will be the judge of that," the man replied sternly, then turned and spoke to members of the crowd. He seemed too young to be a village official, but he spoke with arrogance and the people responded to him with respect. He turned back to Hawk. "It was unwise for that boy to ride his horse through these people." "I agree," Hawk nodded amiably, "but you know how boys are. They hate to admit they can't do something. He got ahead of me back on the road, or I would have stopped him." "What is this boy to you?" "He's my kid brother. I'm trying to make a rancher out of him, so I brought him along on this trip. We've been down to the Figueroa ranch to look at some cattle." The alcalde looked skeptical. "Senor Figueroa did not have any cattle that you liked?" "We may work out a deal." "You will please come to my office to discuss this matter." Victoria couldn't tell if this was a request or a demand.

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"Look, we're anxious to get home, and I've got these horses to tend to. I need to buy some corn for 'em. Can't we settle this here and now? If some damage has been done, tell me what it is,." Hawk said. "It would be better if these people were not angered more. Please step to my office for a short time." The alcalde gestured toward an adobe building across the square. "I will have men take your horses to the stable. Jose, Ramon!" Two young men, one with a repeating rifle across his arm and the other with a pistol strapped to his hip, immediately moved forward. The crowd made room for them, but neither man seemed ready to attend to the horses. Instead they stood watching the trio of Americans as though expecting them to make some dangerous move. Victoria nervously watched for Hawk's reaction. She was afraid he might resist these orders. While a look of irritation came over his face, he maintained a relaxed stance and spoke in a reasoning tone of voice. "Why don't I leave my brother and hired hand to look after the horses? You and I can settle this between ourselves." "They were involved in the incident. They should come also," thealcalde replied.

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Hawk huffed disgustedly. "All right, if that's the quickest way." He took hold of Victoria's arm, pulled her from the saddle, and the three of them followed the cocky, youngalcalde across the square. His large office contained a desk at one end and a number of chairs facing it. Evidently, municipal business of the village took place here. "Will you sit down, please?" Thealcalde gestured to chairs near the desk, and seated himself behind it. Taking a sheet of paper and a pen from a drawer, he carefully removed the stopper from an ink bottle. "Your names, please." "What's the point of all this?" Hawk sounded decidedly irritated. "If damages have been done, just tell me what they are." "Please, Senor, I am my government's official representative in this district. It is important that I keep records so there can be no questions later. It is for your protection as well as my own." Hawk sighed in resignation. "My name's Thomas Jones, this is my brother Curly, and my hand Jack Smith. The alcalde wrote industriously. "From where do you come?" "Do you mean where are we coming from or where are we going?" "Where is your home?"

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"A ranch near El Paso." "How long have you been in this country?" "A couple of weeks." "I believe you said you visited the Figueroa ranch. Which Figueroa was that,Senor Jones?" "I don't know the man well enough to call him by his first name, but I believe it's Alonso. He's got a big place about a day's ride from here." "I know the man you speak of. How long were you with him?" "We spent two nights there." "Strange that I do not remember seeing you pass through here on your way." "Do you see everyone who rides through here?" The alcalde smiled. "Of course not." The young man with the rifle over his arm entered the office and spoke briefly to thealcalde. "Ramon says your horses are safe in the stable," thealcalde translated. "I understood him," Hawk said, "but I don't see why this delay is necessary." The other young man, Jose, entered a back door and leaned casually against the door frame. Ramon had taken a

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similar position at the front door. "We have had a report," the alcalde continued, "of a raid on a large ranch in the State of Sonora." "That's west of here isn't it? We were to the south, so I can't help you on that," Hawk replied. "The report stated the raiders were norteamericanos." The alcalde smiled again. "You could have come from the west." Hawk's expression hardened. "A lot of my countrymen travel through Mexico,Senor. Do you plan on arresting all of them?" "This is not an arrest. I merely need time to make inquiries." "How much time?" "A few hours, perhaps. Unfortunately our village is so small that I must ask you to wait in our jail." "What?" Hawk leaped to his feet and Jack quickly followed. Victoria heard a sharp crack as Ramon cocked his rifle. Huddling in her chair, she saw Jose pointing his pistol at Hawk's back. "I am sorry for the inconvenience, but I must take your weapons." Thealcalde's smile had turned into a smirk. "Tricky damn Mexicans," Jack muttered under his breath.

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"You're making a big mistake," Hawk said loudly. "Then I shall certainly apologize. Now remove your pistols and place them on the desk." The alcalde's voice had grown demanding. Having no choice, Hawk and Jack handed over their weapons. Thealcalde pointed at Victoria. "What of him?" "He doesn't have a gun. He's only a kid," Hawk said. "Stand up, boy!" Victoria stood and took several halting steps toward the desk. Thealcalde looked over her slim figure, and dismissed the issue with a wave of his hand. He led them to the door in the rear of the room. Jose and Ramon followed with leveled guns. They left the building and walked a few yards to a small square jailhouse. Inside were two cells. In one of them, a Mexican lay on a bunk snoring loudly. Carrying a large ring of keys, thealcalde unlocked the first iron door. "Senor Jones, you and your brother will wait here." When they were locked inside, he opened the other door and gestured for Jack to enter. "I apologize for the crowded conditions. Normally we have no need for a jail in this village, but some make market day an occasion to celebrate."

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"What are we going to do?" Victoria asked after their guards left. Hawk pointed at the sleeping Mexican in Jack's cell, laid a finger across his lips. "There's nothing to worry about. They got a report about some Americans taking part in a robbery, but they can't connect us to that. He'll have to let us go. Sometimes these minor officials like to throw their weight around." "You still got some dollars left, don't you?" Jack asked. Hawk's expression shot him a warning. "Don't worry about him." Jack nodded his head toward the man on the cot. "I know a man who's dead drunk, when I smell him. That fellow couldn't hear a herd of stampedin' buffaloes." "We're going to get out of this. The man in Sonora can't identify us, and if I have to, I can slip the alcalde a few dollars. That may be all this is about, anyway," Hawk said, trying too hard to be reassuring. "What about Figueroa?" Jack asked. "Think he'll back your story?" "That depends on what he's asked. I've been to his place, but a while back. Anyway, the alcalde said we'd only be here a couple of hours. They can't send a rider there and back in that time."

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"What if they've got a wire running south?" "Damn, Jack, I don't know!" Hawk's calm veneer had slipped. He took a deep breath and lightly touched Victoria's arm. "Why not get some rest while we've got the chance? We'll be back on the road soon." Hawk and Jack stretched out on their bunks. Victoria stared at the thin, straw-filled mattresses on her cot and wondered if it contained unsavory insects. She sat on her cot with her back against the wall and her knees drawn up so she could rest her arms and head on them. Sweat trickled down her side. No breeze came through the one small window, and the afternoon sun had turned the jail into an oven. She wrinkled her nose against a strong odor and realized with disgust that it must be dried urine. The sounds of the market day crowd disappeared, and the light faded from the windows. The door to the jail opened and Ramon entered carrying a tray covered with bowls of beans and a stack of tortillas. Hawk tried to question him about how much longer they would be held, but the man merely shook his head at each question. The guard hollered at the sleeping, Mexican prisoner, but he continued to snore. Ramon shrugged and left, taking that prisoner's meal with him. Victoria picked at the food, being heartily sick of beans.

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Both guards came to collect the empty dishes. After the bowls had been pushed under the bars, Jose stood away from the door with his pistol drawn while Ramon opened the first cell and motioned for Victoria to come out. Hawk jumped to his feet. "What do you want him for?" Jose made a growling noise deep in his throat, as he pointed his pistol at the center of Hawk's chest. "Alcalde talk to boy," Ramon said. "Come. No trouble." "Easy, Hawk, easy," Jack said from the next cell. Fearing there would be trouble if she didn't move quickly, Victoria stepped from the cell. "Just tell him the same thing I did, and you'll be all right," Hawk called. Victoria looked back at him for reassurance as Ramon pushed her out of the jailhouse.

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Chapter Five The alcalde waited for her in his office. He waved Victoria to a chair and dismissed the other men. Instead of sitting, he leaned against the front of the desk and hovered over her. "Your brother did the talking this afternoon. I thought you and I should talk alone." His voice became harsh. "Were you not taught to remove your hat in the presence of your betters?" Victoria pulled the hat from her head. Not sure what to do with it, she held it in her lap. He smiled at the mop of burnished curls. "I see why you are called Curly." The smile vanished. "You seem very different from your brother." "He's a lot older than I am," Victoria said in a low, and she hoped, deep voice. "And he is teaching you to become a rancher. Do you want to be a rancher?" "I don't know." "My father is a farmer, but I wanted to be something more. I went to school, even to the university, to better myself. I will not always be alcalde of this poor village. This is just the beginning for me. We do not have to be what our fathers or brothers are. We can change our lives." He paused as though expecting a response, but she couldn't think of anything to say.

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"How old are you, Curly?" he asked. "Uh--fourteen." "You are frail, even for a boy of fourteen. It is not surprising that you could not control the horse. The life your brother has chosen for you will be hard." He leaned over her, his voice deep and menacing. "It will be dangerous for one as frail as you. "Are you a religious boy?" These sudden changes of subject confused her. "I--I go to church." "Do you know it is a sin to lie?" "Yes." "Do you know that the eyes are the mirror of the soul. If you lie it can always be seen in the eyes?" She forced herself to look directly at him. "I don't lie!" "Then tell me the truth about this trip with your brother!" "It's like he said, just like he said!" "You lie!" he yelled. "I can see it in your eyes!" He grabbed the front of her shirt with both hands and jerked her forward, so that she was only inches away from his face. As he did, the top

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two buttons of her shirt popped open. He glanced down at her chest and his eyes opened widely. "What is this?" She realized the top of the binding for her breasts must be showing. She needed an excuse for it, but the alcalde's breath smelled of sour wine and distracted her. "It's for the croup." she finally blurted out. "I put some ointment on my chest for the croup." "What is this croup?" "It's a cough--from the chest." "I have not heard you cough." "I got better." "Perhaps it is a bandage for a bullet wound. Perhaps you were shot during the raid your brother took you on." "No! No!" She grabbed at his wrists, trying to pull his hands away, but with the sound of ripping cloth, the front of the shirt came completely open. He continued to strip the shirt from her body. She fought to escape, but only succeeded in slipping from the chair and landing on the floor on her knees. The upper rows of the bandage began to unravel. Victoria clamped her arms against what remained to keep it from falling away, but the deep crease between her breasts now showed.

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The Alcalde grabbed her shoulders and pulled her hunched body upright. "What lie is this?" he screamed down at her. "Who are you, puta?" Tears began to stream down her cheeks. She couldn't think of anymore lies. "Victoria Chandler. Don Miguel had me kidnapped. He was holding me for ransom, but my father sent men to rescue me. My father is a rich man. Let me go--he'll pay you. I promise he will." He stared down at her in a moment of stunned silence. "You were a prisoner on the ranch of Don Miguel de Luca?" he finally asked. "Yes." "And those men you are traveling with took you from him?" "Yes." "Ha!" He suddenly straightened, pulling Victoria to her feet in front of him. "They say Don Miguel is a great man, and now I have the men who took a prisoner from him in my jail!" He seemed elated. "Will you help me?" she said weakly. His eyes fastened on her cowering form. "First I must see why you are of so great a value." He caught her wrists and pulled her arms away from her body.

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"No! Let me go!" She tried to pull free, but his grip seemed to be crushing her wrists. He twisted one of her arms behind her, turning her away from him with the pain. As the last vestiges of the binding fell away, she started a scream but his forearm clamped across her throat, pining her against his chest and cutting off her air. She clutched his arm with her free hand, trying to pull it away from her throat. He walked toward a door on the far side of the room, pushing her ahead of him, her toes barely touching the floor. He released the arm he had behind her back, so he could open the door. She raised that hand toward her neck, but she couldn't catch hold of the arm across her throat. Lack of air dimmed her senses. He kicked the door shut behind them. "This is where I live," he hissed in her ear. "This sty! Not what you are used to is it, rich gringa? Now we will see if I am as much man as the famous Don de Luca!" His vise-like grip on her throat suddenly stopped, and she gasped for breath. Then she felt his hand fumbling with the belt at her waist. Panic engulfed her. "Don't hurt me! Please, don't hurt me!" she pleaded.

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He pulled her around so he could see her face. "Why so afraid,gringa? Did Don Miguel beat you?" Tears bathed her face. She crossed her arms over her exposed breasts. "He didn't hurt me. He treated me like an honored guest. His wife was my friend." The alcalde sneered. "Then the great man must be getting old. How else could he resist such ripe melons?" He reached for her wrists, and caught the one nearest him. Victoria flung the other arm back, out of his reach. He stared at her breasts and smiled evilly. "Such full, white, melons. I am surprised you could hide them." Victoria tried to pull away from him, and thrashed her free arm behind herself, desperately searching for anything to pull on or fight with. Her hand fell on a thick curved handle. The alcalde dipped his head, and Victoria gasped in shock when his mouth closed on her nipple. With desperate strength, she swung the object in her hand around. The heavy crockery pitcher exploded as it impacted against the side of his head. Water and bits of baked clay flew everywhere. The flying water blinded her.

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She staggered as the alclade slumped against her. Then he fell away. Victoria squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head to remove the water blinding her. She looked down at the body crumpled at her feet. A stream of blood from a cut on his temple ran across his face and slowly dripped onto the floor. Dropping the pitcher's handle, she carefully stepped over the arm and shoulder that encircled her feet. She had to get out of here. He might wake up at any moment or those other men might come back. Victoria rushed back into the office, shielding her breasts with her arms. Ignoring the tangled strip of binding, she grabbed her shirt and slipped it on. Buttons were missing and a tear ran down part of the front, so she lapped the two sides over each other and hastily stuffed the shirt tail into her trousers. The large ring of keys lay on the desk. She grabbed it, then yanked on the drawer where the alcalde had locked the guns. It wouldn't open. Gripped by panic, she gave up on the guns and raced to the back door.

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Hawk leaped from his bunk when Victoria ran into the jailhouse. She came toward his cell with jerky steps. The fluid grace she usually moved with gone. "What happened? How did you get away?" he said. She began to fumble with the large ring of keys. "I hit him with a pitcher." "Who?" "The alcalde." "Where are the other two?" Her hands were trembling so badly that she couldn't get the key into the lock. "He sent them away. Then he started asking me questions. I think he was trying to scare me. Then he--he found out I wasn't a boy." He noticed how her shirt was lapped over and saw the prominent outline of her breasts. "Did he hurt you?" She continued to fumble with the keys, and didn't answer. "Let me do that," Hawk said and reached through the bars to take the keys from her shaking fingers. He had to hold the key backwards to maneuver it into the lock. As soon as he freed himself,

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he opened the door to Jack's cell. The sleeping drunk turned and grunted. They all froze until the man began to snore again. Then Jack stepped out and Hawk relocked the door. He took Victoria's hand and led her out of the building. "Is he in the office?" "In a room--next to the office." She seemed to be having trouble making her jaw work properly. As he led her back to the alcalde's office, she dug in her heels and refused to move. "Come on," he said in a near whisper. "We have to make sure he doesn't sound the alarm too soon." Victoria increased her resistance. Hawk desperately wanted to go inside and get his hands on the alcalde. Even though she hadn't answered him, it was pretty damn obvious what the man had done. But Victoria was nearly hysterical, and his need to get her to safety overcame his desire for revenge. "You take care of her. I'll enjoy hog-tying that bastard," Jack said, as he stepped ahead of them. "And the guns," Hawk said softly. "They're in the desk." Victoria managed to blurt out, "It's locked." Hawk threw Jack the key ring. He caught it with a swift grab and disappeared into the building. Slipping his arm around Victoria's shoulders, Hawk led her through the darkness. He paused at the corner of the building and peered around it. "We've got to find the stable."

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They worked their way behind the row of buildings that bordered the square. Suddenly a small dog ran toward them, barking loudly. Victoria jumped and would have run, but Hawk pulled her tightly against his body and behind the shadow of a nearby tree. In the light from a half-full moon, he had seen that the dog had a rope around its neck. An angry voice from inside a house called out and the dog slunk away, it's tail between it's legs. Feeling her body shake as though it were the coldest of winter days, he began to rub her upper back and make soft shushing sounds. The look on her face when she had run into the jail, the fear--the panic, kept replaying in his head. He oughta' go back and kill that bastard, but he couldn't risk it. He had to get her out of here and back to safety. Victoria's body stiffened, and Hawk realized how tightly he was holding her. He dropped his arms and inched back. "We've gotta go on--gotta get out of this town." The idea of escape roused her. She moved ahead, and he had to pull her back, so that he could take the lead. They reached a corral jutting out from the back of a large wooden building and moved slowly toward the front of it. The stable doors had been left ajar and lamp light showed dimly through the opening. Hawk motioned for Victoria to stay there, and silently moved toward the doorway.

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He paused beside the crack of light, and moved his head so he could peer inside. A man sat on a bale of straw about six feet from the doorway, his body propped against a post, his head down, his back toward Hawk. Please, God, let him be asleep. Hawk stepped through the opening and rushed toward the stableman. The man turned his head, gave a startled cry, and staggered to his feet. Hawk threw one hand up as a distraction, then swung his fist in a roundhouse. The man's head snapped back, and he crumpled without making another sound. Hawk rushed on to the stalls. He was lifting a saddle onto Victoria's horse, when Jack edged through the opening in the doorway. He took the situation in at a glance and grabbed another saddle. Victoria came into the stable. She gasped at the sight of the unconscious stableman. Her eyes had the look of a young deer that hears the baying of hounds. Hoping she would understand his meaning, Hawk pointed at a stack of folded burlap sacks, then at a large wooden bin where dried corn was stored. She moved quickly to grab a sack, then the scoop sticking out of the grain. Hawk tightened the cinch around the horse and went to help Victoria. He had her hold the sacks open while he shoveled the golden kernels inside. When two sacks were nearly full, he tied the

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tops closed and connected them so they could be thrown over the pack horse's back. By then Jack had the other horses ready to travel. Hawk saw a brightly colored serape hanging on a peg near the doorway, and remembering the state of Victoria's shirt, pulled it down and dropped it over her shoulders. He grabbed a floppy sombrero from another peg to replace her missing hat. They led the horses from the stable, and walked them slowly through the square. Still, their hooves seemed to echo loudly in the quiet night. Reaching the edge of the village, they mounted and Victoria instantly dug her heels into her horse's flanks and set off at a full gallop. It took Hawk several minutes to catch up to her. He grabbed the cheek-strap of her horse's bridle and pulled back on it, slowing the animal to a steady canter. "Don't punish the horse," he said. "We've got a long way to go." Jack caught up with them. "You forgetting that telegraph wire?" "That bastard can't send out word on us. What's he gonna say?" Hawk asked. "Seems like that fella had a real thin skull. The people who send out word won't know what happened back there." Hawk jerked his horse to a stop. "Damn!"

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Victoria stopped her horse, and stared back and forth at the two men. "Does that mean he's dead? I couldn't help it. I had to do it!" Her voice shook. Hawk reached to cover one of her hands which tightly clutched her reins. "Calm down. We'll stay on the road, until it starts getting light, then go cross-country. We won't get caught." Victoria stoically followed when Hawk left the road and headed into the arid countryside. He led them behind a concealing butte and waved a halt. "We'll rest the horses, then ride until it gets too hot. Might as well give the horses some of that corn, there's nothing for them to graze on." Jack got one of the sacks of corn and poured small piles of the grain in front of each horse. "I been thinking. We're closer to Texas than New Mexico. Why don't we head for the Rio Grande and get outta this country quick." Hawk squatted near his horse, still holding the reins. "I thought about that, but if we come out anywhere near Santa Maria, people might guess we were there. Best to get away from this area." "We're low on supplies, you know," Jack said. "Yeah, but I figure we can make Columbus in two days if we travel all night and part of the day." He looked at Victoria. "It'll be hard traveling on short rations. Can you do it?"

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She nodded her head. What choice did she have? If they were caught, she'd be charged with murder. Murder! She'd actually taken a life. It didn't seem possible. Hawk didn't want anybody to even guess they'd been in that village. He realized her danger wouldn't stop at the border. If people even suspected she was a murderess, her life would be ruined. She'd certainly not be welcomed into San Francisco's better parlors. They finally camped in a bare ravine with the sun high overhead. When the horses were unsaddled, Hawk carefully examined their food supply, and motioned for Victoria and Jack to gather around him. "We can have jerky once a day, and hardtack twice. There's a canteen of water for each of us." "I can do with less than that," Victoria said. Hawk shook his head. "We're in this together. We all get the same. Just go easy on the water, it can go faster than you think." She watched his face closely for some sign of anger or blame. What she saw was worse--pity. She was Victoria Chandler and he was a nobody, but he felt sorry for her! She picked up one of the small biscuits and a canteen and went to her bedroll, sitting down with her back to the two men. "Might want to eat the jerky now. Be easier to sleep on full stomach," Hawk said.

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"I won't have any trouble sleeping," Victoria replied without turning. Of course, she did. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw thealcalde's blood-streaked face. Damn him! She'd had no choice. He was going to hurt her--ruin her, so she had fought to protect herself, and that had ruined her. Everything that had happened to her on this misbegotten venture had been caused by male arrogance. Don Miguel was a fool to think he could ever take territory away from the United States of America. Even if he captured a dozen heiresses, he'd never be strong enough to do that. And what of her father? So proud, that he'd rather hire men to rescue her than pay a ransom to retrieve her. Never mind about his daughter's safety and comfort. It would serve him right if she starved to death out in this wasteland. And that terrible alcalde. He wanted to become something better than a farmer and had become something far worse. He deserved what he got. She wouldn't feel sorry for him, not a bit. And that brought her to Hawk, the big know-it-all. He never should have let her go through that village. It was his job to protect her, not feel sorry for her after he'd failed. She sat up with a giant huff of indignation. Hawk sat not five feet away, watching. She glared at him, daring him to speak. He lowered his head until the shadow of his hat brim concealed his eyes.

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With another huff, she reached into her saddle bag, got her other shirt, and stalked off behind some rocks to find a little privacy and put on the untorn garment. Men! They all caused women torment! She slipped off the old shirt and saw the blue imprints of the alclade's fingers on her wrist. Tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them away. She'd cried when she begged him not to hurt her, and he'd laughed at her. She'd never let another man see her cry. Hawk restarted their march late in the afternoon, and kept them moving throughout the night, stopping only for brief rest periods. He watched Victoria apprehensively. With her narrowed eyes, clenched teeth, and short, jerky movements, she looked like a human thunder cloud about to send lightning bolts at everything in its path. But the eruption never came. She did what he told her without argument. She didn't ask to rest or complain of hunger or thirst. Gradually, her expression grew calmer, but Hawk wasn't fooled. She wasn't losing her anger, just burying it. Jack noticed the change in her, too. "What that little lady needs is a good cry," he said, when she was out of earshot.

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"She hasn't shed a tear that I've seen," Hawk said. "It ain't natural." In the early afternoon of the third day, they crossed into the Territory of New Mexico and reached the small hamlet of Columbus. Their first stop was at a public pump in the center of town. As Hawk pumped water into a trough for the horses, Jack and Victoria took turns catching handfuls of the spurting water and carrying it to their mouths or just splashing it against faces and necks. An old man sitting on a porch and whittling, got up and walked over to them. "You folks just come across the desert?" he asked. Since it was so obvious where they'd come from, Hawk grinned. "Yeah. You got a telegraph office here?" he asked before the old-timer could come up with more questions. The man pointed to a clapboard building whose faded sign said it was the telegraph office, post office, and stage depot. "How about a place to stay?" Hawk asked.

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The man gestured with a dip of his head. "The Widow Jackson, last house on the right, has a spare room." "How about grub?" Jack asked. "She'll cook a meal for you, if you ask her in time." "I'll take Victoria down there and see about getting us a meal, if you'll stay with the horses," Hawk said to Jack. "Okay, but tell that woman we're mighty hungry," Jack said. Hawk pulled the bags from Victoria's saddle and lightly touched her elbow. She instantly moved away from his touch but fell into step beside him. The Widow Jackson, who reminded Hawk of a sparrow by the flittery way she moved and talked, came to her door so quickly, that he figured she'd been watching them come down the street. He asked about a room for the night. "I only got one room. You folks married?" "Miss Chandler will take the room. My friend and I can camp out, but we sure could use a hot meal." "Chandler? Victoria Chandler? Is that who you are?"

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Victoria looked at the woman with open-mouthed surprise. "Yes, ma'am, this is Victoria Chandler," Hawk said, "and she's had a mighty rough trip. Anything you can do to help her I'd appreciate it." Victoria shot him a stony glare, then looked back at the woman. "How did you know who I was?" "The stage coach brings newspapers here twice a week. They've been full of stories about you being carried off by them bandits. You'd been gone so long, though, they'd started saying you were dead. Now here you are at my front door, ain't that something?" A big smile creased the woman's thin face. Victoria did not smile back. The widow was undaunted. "You poor thing. You do look a sight. We'll have to get you cleaned up. Do you have any clean clothes?" Victoria looked at Hawk with an expression that demanded his help. "There's a general store here. I'll get you something," Hawk said. "They don't carry women's clothes, just a few bolts of calico," the widow said. "Get a clean shirt," Victoria ordered.

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Hawk nodded and left, glad to get away from her ill humor. He went directly to the telegraph office and sent a message to Victoria's father. At the general store, he bought a shirt, a pair of underdrawers, and socks and gave a boy he saw on the street a nickel to deliver the parcel of clothing to the widow's house. He found Jack in the town's only saloon surrounded by six or seven locals. "Them Mexicans chased us for miles with their guns blazing," Jack said to his rapt audience. "What'd you do with the horses?" Hawk asked. "There's a stable t'other end of town. I put 'em there. The stableman said we could sleep in the hay loft, too." "This the fella that went through that window?" a bucktoothed man in overalls asked. "Yeah, this is Tom Hawkins, my old pard from Texas." Someone slapped Hawk on the back. "Let me buy you a beer, mister." Hawk felt a little guilty about acting like some kind of hero. He'd rescued Victoria for the money, nothing heroic about that. But the men crowding around them looked like this was the most exciting thing that had ever happened in these parts, and Hawk sure wanted a cold beer.

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He'd had several free beers by the time a kid brought him T. J. Chandler's answering telegram. After reading the terse message, he told Jack they better go to the widow's house, because it was getting close to supper time. Judging from his vacant-eyed smile, Hawk figured Jack was sharing his light-headedness. They both needed food to sop up the beer they'd just drank. He hooked his arm around Jack's shoulder, and they headed to the last house on the right with a somewhat unsteady gait. Victoria sat in a rocking chair on the small porch of the house. The chair moved back and forth in a nervous twitch. She wore the new shirt, her face was shiny clean, and dampness increased the redness of the ringlets that framed her face. "Where have you been?" she demanded. Hawk fumbled in his pocket for the telegram. "I was waiting for a reply from your father. Here it is. He knows you're safe. Says we're to wait here. He'll send a escort." "Wait here!" She glowered at him as she jumped to her feet. Leaning toward him, she lowered her voice. "This woman is driving me crazy. She never stops asking questions. How long would we have to wait?" "A day or two, I guess. Depending when he gets the train outta Lordsburg. If he brings a bunch with him, might take longer," Hawk said twisting uncomfortably from the blaze in her eyes.

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She wrinkled her nose. "You two smell like a couple of tosspots. Have you been drinking?" Jack smiled proudly. "Yes, ma'am. First beer I had in three weeks, and it was mighty tasty." Victoria's shoulders jumped with indignation. The Widow Jackson appeared in the doorway. "I thought I heard voices out here. You came at the right time. I just took the biscuits outta the oven. Go around to the back and wash up. Miss Chandler's so shy, she's hardly told me a thing about her rescue. You men'll hafta tell me all about it." Jack swept his hat off and would have bowed, if Hawk hadn't been holding on to him. "Happy to oblige, ma'am." Hawk didn't care if Victoria was mad, he started laughing and pulled Jack toward the back yard. They were at the pump, letting water run over their heads, when she came out the back door of the house. Hawk faced her as he sluiced water from his hair with one hand and applied a towel to his face with the other. With hands on her hips, she glared up into his eyes. "I won't stay here two or three days. The house is small and Mrs. Jackson is after me every minute."

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Hawk knew the grin he still wore was only making her madder, but he couldn't seem to stop. "So, whatta you wanta do?" "If my father can come on a train, we can go on one. Send another wire. Tell him to stay where he is, and we'll meet him." "We'll hafta ride to Demning to catch the train." "I don't care. That's what I want to do. You go send another wire right now." Surprised by the vehemence of her order, Hawk looked over at Jack. He shrugged. "Might as well do it. It'll be quicker than arguing with her." Hawk looked back at Victoria. "Can I put my shirt on first?" "Please do," she snapped and stalked back into the house. He hurried to the telegraph office, and back to Mrs. Jackson's house for the first sit-at-a-table meal he'd had in over a month. He and Jack cleaned the platters of fried ham, mashed potatoes, ham gravy, and biscuits slathered in sweet butter. Then Jack settled back to answer all the widow's questions about Victoria's rescue.

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Realizing the pursuing Mexicans increased in number every time Jack told the story, Hawk had to swallow a chuckle. Victoria, on the other hand, shot Jack withering glances that he failed to notice. Finally, she angrily announced she was going to bed and flounced away from the table.

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Chapter Six The clerk behind the desk of Deming's only hotel eyed the three dusty travelers with suspicion. Victoria, who'd just spent a long hot day in the saddle, didn't like his attitude as he asked Hawk how many rooms they wanted. "Two. One for us," Hawk nodded his head toward Jack, "and one for the lady." The clerk tilted his head, as he looked at Victoria's trousers and the too long serape. His lips curved into a sneer. "The lady?" Before Hawk could open his mouth again, Victoria stepped forward, pulled the floppy sombrero off her head, and slapped it against her thigh with a dusty pop. "I am Victoria Chandler," she said in an icy voice. "I've had a long, unpleasant journey, and I need a room and bath immediately. You may forward the bill to my father, T. J. Chandler of Chandler Mining Co. in Chandler City, New Mexico." "Oh, oh," the clerk hopped up and down, "Miss Chandler, you're back. You're safe. It's an honor to have you in our hotel. Let me show you to the best room we have. I'll get the maid to help you with your bath."

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Victoria nodded brusquely. Now that she'd shown the stupid clerk what was what, she didn't want to be bothered with his prattle. She finished her bath and returned to her room to find a paper-wrapped bundle on her bed. It contained women's clothing. She guessed Hawk had bought them. She donned the plain cotton petticoat and the baggy calico dress. Was he deliberately trying to humiliate her? Worst of all he hadn't brought proper shoes, so she had to clomp around in men's boots. Someone knocked her door. She opened it expecting to see Hawk, instead a heavy-set man with his hat in his hand waited. A wave of fear passed through Victoria when she noticed the tin star on his chest. Did he know about the alcalde? She squared her shoulders, determined not to let the fear show. "Yes?" "Begging your pardon, ma'am, but I've been told you are Miss Victoria Chandler." "I am." "The same Victoria Chandler who was stolen from a coach near Lordsburg over a month ago?" "That's right."

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"Well, ma'am, I'm Claude Turner, the sheriff here, and since I'm the first lawman you've come in contact with, I think you should give me a full report on who abducted you and how you escaped. Then, I can start trying to catch the culprits. Would you mind coming over to my office?" "I certainly would." "Er--well--I could take your statement here, I guess." "It's late and I haven't had my dinner. Furthermore, the 'culprits' are all safely down in Mexico. I see no point in wasting my time to assuage your curiosity." "Now looka' here, lady, I am the sheriff--" Hawk opened the door of his room across the hall. Since he was responsible for her being in this position, she decided to let him handle it and pointed his way. "Talk to that man. He's the one who brought me out of Mexico." She stepped back and closed her door. Standing behind the door, she listened and smiled as Hawk tried to avoid the sheriff's insistent questions. Finally he gave in and agreed to accompany the man to his office. Drat! Now she'd have to wait for her supper.

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When Hawk came back, he didn't comment on how she'd pawned the sheriff off on him. Further proof to Victoria that being agreeable with men got a woman nowhere. Jack joined them, and they went down to the hotel dining room for dinner. To Victoria's horror, they had to share a long table with the other guests who all stared at her with avid curiosity. As soon as she sat down, a stout man across the table from her started a rambling speech about how fortunate she was to be delivered from her terrible ordeal. She interrupted him by asking for the potatoes. While she spooned a clump of stuck-together fried potatoes onto her plate, a motherly-looking woman to her right assured her that the citizens of Deming had all been quite concerned about her safety and had prayed for her return. "You must have a very religious community," Victoria said in a flat voice. "Now, would someone pass that plate of greasy meat. Although it looks quite unpalatable, I am famished, so I'll have to eat some of it." Showing more intelligence than Victoria had expected, the other diners took the hint and limited their remarks to offering dishes and urging her to have seconds.

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Hawk noticed that she'd stopped pecking at her dinner and suggested they go for a walk to help settle the meal. She quickly accepted the invitation. Jack stayed behind, pleased to regale the crowd with his story of the amazing rescue. Hawk strolled beside her down the length of the main street and stopped to stare out at the empty darkness beyond. Glancing down, he studied her ramrod stiff back and the tightly controlled expression on her face. Since Santa Maria, all the softness had gone out of her. What could he say or do that would bring back the young woman who'd argued with him out in the desert? Her anger then had seemed to come from an over abundance of spirit. Bitterness sparked this new Victoria. He turned back to the darkness. He'd never been around a woman who'd been through what she had. He couldn't imagine how she felt or what could possibly help her. "Look!" she said and pointed up. "A shooting star." He leaned closer so he could better follow the direction of her arm. "Did you see it?" she asked. "Yeah, a white streak. It's supposed to be good luck to see those, isn't it?" He became aware of the flowery scent of her hair and moved closer. "What are you doing?" she asked and took a quick step away from him.

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Oh, damn, now he'd alarmed her. "Just noticed how your hair smells," he said. "It's different." "The maid in that misbegotten hotel, actually came up with scented shampoo." "It smells nice." "I wouldn't have used it, if I'd known people would start sticking their noses into my hair." "I'm sorry if I frightened you." "I wasn't frightened, just annoyed." "Victoria?" He searched for words. "I know you've had a rough time of it--but you'll be back with your father tomorrow--back to the life you know. You can go on like none of this ever happened." Disbelief flooded her face. "You don't really believe that, do you?" "There's no reason anything has to change." "Everybody's heard about my abduction, even the people in that miserable little town of Columbus." "Your father is the richest man in this territory. Nobody's gonna say anything against you."

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"I don't care about the people in this Territory. The people in San Francisco are the ones I'm concerned about. If they connect me to Santa Maria, no door will be open to me. I might even be--tried for murder!" Her last words came out in a fearful whisper. "That can only happen if they take you back to Mexico. Your father'll stop that. You can count on it." Victoria shook her head. "I don't know what my father will do. He made me go to school back East because he said I wasn't becoming a proper lady in San Francisco. What will he do if he learns I killed somebody?" He turned toward her, placing his hand lightly on her upper arm. "Nobody will know you were ever in that village. Jack and I won't say anything." She pulled her arm away from his touch. "Jack won't say anything?" Her voice grew loud. "He can't stop talking about it!" "Sure he talks a lot, but have you listened to what he's saying? According to him we laid back, let the others lay a trail, then came directly cross-country. Nobody will ever know we took a detour, I can promise you that."

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Her shoulders drooped in resignation. "Oh, what difference does it make? People know I was taken from that coach, that I've been missing for over a month. My reputation's ruined. I'll never be accepted in San Francisco society now." "Is that so important to you?" "Of course, it is. How will I get a proper husband if I can't go there?" Hawk again turned to stare into the darkness. "So that's what you're worried about, getting a husband." "There's nothing more important to a woman's future than finding the right husband." "Maybe, the right man will just care about you, not what happened to you." "That's not the way society functions, Mr. Hawkins. A woman's good name is her greatest asset. A breath of scandal can ruin her prospects. They drilled that into our heads in school." "Don't those high society people ever fall in love?" Hawk looked down at her with surprise. "My Aunt Chloe says when people of similar backgrounds and interests marry, love will naturally follow." "Huh, I wanta be sure I love somebody before I marry 'em." "Well," Victoria sighed deeply, "things are different in my world."

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Her world? Guess that plainly told him what she thought of him. He didn't even live in the same world. He turned away and swallowed his anger. No point in starting another argument. "We better get back. The train comes through early in the morning." He touched her elbow, and they walked back to the hotel. Jack sat out front, smoking a large cigar. "Where did you get that?" Hawk asked. "Drummer in there gave it to me. Said it came all the way from Cuba." "It smells like burning rope," Victoria snapped. "Sorry you don't like it. Want me to put it out?" he asked in a decidedly reluctant tone. "No, enjoy yourself. I'm going to bed." She nodded curtly and went inside. Hawk stood on the porch and watched her through the open doorway. Her back was still stiff as she climbed the stairs. "She ain't sweetenin' up any, is she?" Jack said before taking a long draw on the cigar. "I guess it takes a woman a long time to get over that sort of thing, if she ever does get over it," Hawk replied in a low voice. "You think that Mexican--er--had his way with her before she bashed him?" "You saw her when she came back into the jail. Whatta you think?"

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Jack shook his head regretfully. "It's a pure shame. I keep wishing I'd gotten her through that square." "Hell, I'm the one who sent her into that village. If anyone's to blame, it's me." "What're you gonna tell her old man?" "Nothing. In fact, I just promised her that both of us would never tell about that village. You have a problem with that?" "Do you have to ask? I know I like to talk more than some, but I don't tell everything I know." "You like to talk more than most, Jack." "Maybe so, but I wouldn't say anything to hurt that purty little gal. She's been hurt a'plenty already." "Do you think she'll ever get over this?" "I don't know. But that'll be her old man's problem tomorrow." The train pulled into Lordsburg in the early afternoon. Victoria saw her father waiting on the platform, and briefly felt the childish adoration he had once evoked from her. Then she reminded herself that he was the man who had refused to ransom her to safety.

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Hawk went down the train steps first, and turned to help Victoria. Her father pushed him aside impatiently. "Let me get a look at my girl!" he loudly exclaimed. His beaming smile faded to a look of concern. "My God, you're so thin! And what happened to your beautiful hair?" he asked in a shocked voice. "I found it necessary to cut it, sir," Hawk said. "Oh, well, it'll grow back, and we can send to Frisco for a wig until it does." "I've really come to like it this way, Father. It's so much cooler." With a few quick flicks of her fingers, Victoria brushed floppy curls off her forehead. "You do? All right, sweetheart, you can make it the fashion. Pretty soon all the women in these parts will be cutting their hair. How do you feel? Would you like to spend the night in the hotel, or go on to the house?" He suddenly caught her in a bear hug, and just as suddenly released her, as though afraid he might have caused her injury. "I'm so glad to see you." "I'd rather go to the house. One night in what is considered a hotel in this territory has been quite enough for me."

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Ignoring her peevish tone, he looked at her tenderly, then turned to Hawk. "Well, Hawkins, you said you'd do it, and by God, you have." Her father vigorously shook Hawk's hand. "You've made me a very happy man today." "Thank you, sir. I'm glad things turned out well." T.J. chuckled. "I'll bet you are. Those men you hired have been waiting impatiently, but the deal was no final payment until Victoria came home. There'll be quite a celebration tonight, I'll wager." When the coach arrived, Victoria recognized it as the same vehicle she had been kidnapped from, but all signs of that disaster had been refurbished away. The door opened, and Victoria gasped at the sight of Mr. Dinsdale. "Welcome home, Miss Chandler." "Why, Mr. Dinsdale, I thought you were dead!" "Fortunately not," he murmured. "Old Dinny just got a crack on the head, but he can still add a column of figures quicker than any man I've ever seen," her father said cheerfully.

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Hawk explained that he and Jack would retrieve the horses from the livestock car, and follow them on horseback. Before they left, T. J. told them they were both expected to dine in the "big house" that night. As the coach started to move, Victoria glanced from the window and saw heavily armed guards taking positions around it. "Have you had anymore trouble?" she asked. "No, but I'm not taking any chances, and you don't have to worry about these men. I hired all of them myself," he said with a telling glance at Dinsdale. "I don't think those other guards had a chance to do anything. How about Miss Pritchard? Was she injured?" Victoria asked. "The poor woman had a wrenched back. She was in a bad way for a while, but seems to be over the worst of it now." "Is she still here?" "Yes. She didn't want to leave, until we were sure you were safe. I've been thinking I should keep her on for a while. Seems only fair since this delay makes it impossible for her to get back in time for the start of the next school year. Anyway, you'll be needing a companion."

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"I thought we'd be returning to San Francisco soon." Victoria held her breath as she waited for his answer. "Oh, we'll visit there, but from now on this is going to be our home. This is where my wealth comes from, and since your mother died, where I'm the happiest. You wait until you see the new house. You're going to love it. "Now tell me about your escape. Was it too terrible for you?" His intention to have her live in New Mexico upset her so, that she found it hard to answer. "I--I was certainly surprised when those men blew a hole in the wall and came in to get me. I'd expected you to pay the ransom." "Blew a hole--in what wall? Where were you?" T. J. bellowed. "In my bedroom in Don Miguel's house." "Don't call that man a Don, his father may have deserved the title, but he certainly doesn't." His surprise had turned to anger. Victoria felt the tremor of uncertainty that her father's volatile emotions always aroused in her. "He treated me well." "Knew what I'd do to him if he didn't. I guess he knows now he can't steal what's mine."

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"He feels very deeply about the plight of his people." "What people? He was born right here in New Mexico. Got out of the territory two jumps ahead of a posse. Built that ranch of his with stolen cattle from Texas. His own family turned against him when he abandoned his wife and baby." "Oh, Consuela isn't his wife?" "That Vargas woman? Is she still with him? Thought he would've discarded her by now." "They seem very devoted to each other." "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry you had to come in contact with people like that, but it will never happen again, I promise." He assumed the expression of a doting parent. "The new house is surrounded by mountains and my guards. Neither Mexicans nor Indians will get into it." "Are we to live inside a fortress, then?" He smiled indulgently. "Of course not. The Army's got Geronimo bottled up in Arizona, right now. He's the last Indian chief to give us trouble, and de Luca and his kind don't amount to much. This territory's really going to open up now. You'll see. In time you'll come to love it as much as I do.

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"Now tell me how you liked dressing up like a boy. I told Hawkins you'd make a fuss about that." He had agreed to that indignity! "Actually, I may get myself another outfit like it," she said. "I'm quite proficient at riding on western saddles now, and it would be a shame to waste my new skill." Victoria saw by Mr. Dinsdale's bug-eyed stare that she had succeeded in shocking him, but her father merely smiled and nodded. "That might not be a bad idea. I've always thought those side-saddles were dangerous." "You certainly are agreeable today." She found it difficult to return his smile. "You know I can never deny my little sweetheart anything." Her mouth puckered into a tight line as she thought,You're denying me the right to live where I want. Needing a respite from her father's adoring looks, she turned toward the window to watch the passing scenery. Was this the same road where Don Miguel's men attacked? Nothing looked familiar. The coach slowed, and she leaned toward the window for a better view. They were approaching a small town. A faded sign read "Chandler City." Her father chuckled. "Not much of a city, eh? But these are allmy people."

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They passed rows of little, square, clapboard houses. Dirty children were playing in the sandy yards. A haggard woman, who was pinning heavy work pants to a clothes line, paused to watch them pass. Victoria could almost hear her sigh of dismay as she frowned at the cloud of dust the coach stirred up. They rode past a large, wooden building with columns of steam rising from its chimneys. Deep, pounding noises coming from the building could be heard over the clatter of the coach. "That's the refinery," T. J. said proudly. "We're handling ore from six different mines now. I'll take you on a guided tour one of these days." Victoria shot her father a stony glance. She could think of nothing she'd rather do less. The coach slowed as the road climbed higher into the mountains. Then a barbed wire fence stretched in front of them. An armed guard hastily swung aside the wooden pole that served as a gate. The carriage crested a final grade and Victoria saw the house. The wooden shingles on the walls were painted a bright yellow, and the windows were trimmed in green. The colors glowed against the sun-tanned landscape. Rising three stories, the roof formed a jumble of sharply peaked gables, rounded towers, and rectangular chimneys. "What do you think, honey? Is it as fancy as the mansions back East?"

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"It's a--a veritable castle," she said. "There's not another house like it in New Mexico!" "I can believe that." The house had been built on low ground surrounded by rocky mountains. Neatly trimmed grass formed a lawn in front of it and small, newly-planted trees and scrubs were scattered about. "How can you grow grass? Where does the water come from?" Her recent experiences had made her particularly aware of the importance of water in this country. "It's underground, and I've got steam driven pumps to bring it up, so there's always plenty. You can take three baths a day if you want to." "After spending so much time in the desert, I might do that." The coach stopped under a gabled portico that extended from one side of the house. T. J. insisted they bypass the entrance there and walk around to the front door. Mr. Dinsdale mumbled he had work to do and rushed inside. Her father took Victoria's arm, and they strolled along the veranda that surrounded the first floor. The upper halves of the double front doors were made of brightly colored stained glass. Her father swung them open with a flourish. "Now you can get the full effect," he said.

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She stepped into a vestibule heavily trimmed with polished California redwood and bedecked with richly colored wallpaper and oriental carpets. Only the oil lamps extending from wall sconces made this elegant room different from a fashionable New York mansion. Even these, however, had been designed to resemble globe-covered gas jets. T. J. watched her closely, waiting for her response. "I'm sorry it's so dark in here. We have to keep the drapes closed so the sun won't fade the carpets." "Oh, I can see, Father. It's very impressive." "Wait 'til you see the rest of it. Of course, I don't have all the rooms furnished yet. It takes forever to get things shipped out here." Miss Pritchard, looking surprisingly young in a pink dress trimmed with rose ribbons and ecru lace, floated into the room. "Oh, Victoria, you're home at last. I'm so relieved!" She placed a kiss on Victoria's cheek and murmured, "I've prayed for this moment." Vastly divergent memories of the woman warred within Victoria. "Thank you, Miss Pritchard. What you did--I mean--you could have been killed--I'm glad you're--" "There, there," Miss Pritchard cooed, "let's not mar this joyous occasion by remembering that terrible experience. I've tried to get a wardrobe ready for you. So many of your lovely dresses were

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lost, and the stores in Lordsburg are woefully inadequate, but we can make do for the time being. Would you like to see the room your father has prepared for you? It's really magnificent. I don't know how a man alone managed to appoint this large house so perfectly." Victoria couldn't believe Miss Pritchard's jabbering. What's happened to old sour-sides, she wondered. Had the woman set her cap for T. J.? That would serve both of them right! "I'd like to get cleaned up." As an afterthought she turned to her father and said, "If you don't mind." He waved her toward the stairs. "You go ahead, sweetheart. I know you're tired. We'll have plenty of time to talk later." "Thank you, father." She followed Miss Pritchard up the stairs and through the hallway. Miss Pritchard opened a door, and with a pleased little smile, stood back so Victoria could enter first. The room blazed pink. Fluffy pink dimity curtains covered the bay windows, skirted the dressing table and the brass bed, and formed a canopy over the head of the bed. "My goodness!" Victoria stared about in disbelief. She spotted the doll resting against the pillows on the bed. "This looks like a little girl's room." "Your father said you'd be surprised

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when you saw that doll. He had your brother send it from the nursery in San Francisco. Do you remember it?" "Yes, I certainly do." Victoria didn't bother to tell Miss Pritchard that she remembered that doll because a governess had refused to let her play with it, saying the china hands and face were too delicate. "Wait until you see this." Miss Pritchard rushed across the room to open a paneled door. Victoria followed and peered into a small room. Two tall mahogany chests stood against one wall, and a long rack for hanging dresses and a slanted shelf along the floor for shoes ran the length of the other. "Your own dressing room. Isn't it wonderful?" Miss Pritchard gestured to the half dozen dresses that hung on one end of the rack. "It's such a shame you don't have all of your fine dresses to put in here, but come look at this." She hurried to another nearby door and threw it open. When Victoria looked through this doorway, her mouth opened in mute surprise. It was a bathroom, complete with a boxed in tub, a marble-topped wash-table, and even her own water closet! The porcelain base of this fixture resembled the body and long neck of a swan topped by a polished mahogany seat.

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"And there's hot and cold running water!" Miss Pritchard exclaimed. "I still can't believe a house in this wilderness can have such conveniences." "Do all the bedrooms have these?" Victoria asked. "Oh, no. Only yours and your father's--I think. But there are two such rooms that open onto the hallways on the first and second floors. I don't know about the third. I've never been up there. It isn't completely finished." "Father's really outdone himself," Victoria muttered and experienced a sinking feeling as she realized no one would build such a fine house unless they truly planned to spend the rest of their life in it. "Oh, yes," Miss Pritchard agreed. "He must be an engineering genius to have managed all this." More like a money-making genius, Victoria thought. With the help of two maids, Miss Pritchard soon had Victoria lounging in a warm bath. They gently lathered and rinsed her hair. After she reluctantly left the bath, Miss Pritchard suggested lotions for her "poor skin" and pondered what could be done for her "poor hair". Victoria brought all this activity to a halt by announcing she wished to rest.

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Miss Pritchard suggested a light snack first, since it would be several hours before dinner was served. One of the maids quickly returned with a tray of cookies, a pitcher of lemonade, and two glasses. She placed the tray on a table flanked by two chairs covered in pink velvet and a beige, velvet-covered settee that filled the area in front of the bay windows. After dismissing the maids, Miss Pritchard sat down and poured the lemonade. Victoria sat across from her, picked up one of the lacy cookies, and bit into it with a loud crunch. "These are good," she said with her mouth partially full. Miss Pritchard glanced at Victoria's moving jaw and cleared her throat. "I had to show the cook how to make them. She's Mexican, you know." Victoria knew Miss Pritchard had wanted to correct her for speaking with her mouth full and wondered why she'd refrained from doing so. "Actually, Mexicans are the only servants you can get out here. They're polite enough, but poorly trained," Miss Pritchard continued. "You seem to have made yourself quite useful," Victoria said between sips of lemonade. "I've tried. Of course, I couldn't get out of bed by myself for the first week, but when I did get up and saw the state your poor father was in, I wanted to do everything I could to help."

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Victoria could imagine how angry and frustrated her father must have been over losing control of her life. She almost felt sorry for Miss Pritchard and anyone else who'd had to put up with him. "Victoria, I know I said earlier that we shouldn't talk about what happened, but you've been through a terrible ordeal, and you might feel the need to talk about certain things." Miss Pritchard paused to arrange a lace ruffle on the front of her dress. "What I mean is, if you do need to talk to someone--a woman--I'll be a sympathetic listener and will try to advise you to the best of my capabilities." A flash of anger made Victoria's neck hot. What's this nosy old hen after? "Thank you, Miss Pritchard," she finally said, in a carefully controlled voice. "If I think of anything I want to talk about, I'll let you know." Miss Pritchard looked disappointed. "Well, I'll go along now and let you rest." Victoria really wasn't sleepy, she'd just wanted to get rid of the prattling Miss Pritchard. Still munching a cookie, she stepped over to the windows. One of them opened onto a railed walk-way that topped the first floor verandah. Pushing the curtains aside, she opened it and stepped outside. The sun had dropped behind a western peak of the surrounding mountains, its last rays outlined the

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ridge in a halo of streaming light. The air had grown cooler, and a soft breeze fanned her cheeks with a refreshing caress. Taking deep breaths, she began to stroll aimlessly. She turned a rounded corner and saw other buildings. A large one looked like a stable and a long one, lined with windows, a dormitory. There were smaller structures, she guessed for storage or perhaps dwellings for married servants. All of these buildings were scattered behind the big house, and painted a dull brown, so they blended in with the landscape. She wondered just how many people lived in this hidden cove. No wonder her father liked it here. This place and that dismal little Chandler City were his private kingdom. Here he was undisputed king, but she certainly didn't want to be his captive princess. She started back toward her room, wondering if she'd have trouble finding the right door. Then she remembered the pink curtains. She passed an opened window covered by heavy red drapes and heard voices. She recognized her father's. "I haven't seen her for some time, but she seems changed to me--tense and unhappy. How did she impress you, Amanda?"

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"She's not her usually cheerful self, but that's to be expected after all she's been through, Thaddeus." That was definitely Miss Pritchard, and on a first name basis with her father! "I really don't know how to handle this. Do you think she'll talk to you?" "In time, perhaps." "I can't thank you enough for all--" So, her father had set "Amanda" to spy on her! Did he really think she would confide in that dried-up old spinster. Miss Pritchard would probably drop dead from an attack of the vapors if she did. Victoria hurried back to her room. After a moment of indecision, she went to the closet and began to carefully examine the pitiful assortment of dresses. She'd show them. She'd show them all, even that arrogant Thomas Hawkins. Tonight she'd go to dinner dressed to the nines.

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Chapter Seven The servant who opened the door wore a black suit and a white shirt. Hawk and Jack had bathed and borrowed clean shirts, but Hawk knew they looked woefully out of place in this elegant house where the servants dressed better than they did. He fought an impulse to head back to the bunk house. Of course, he couldn't turn his back on T. J. Chandler until he'd been paid. They were ushered into a parlor bigger than Hawk's whole house. Chandler introduced them to his pale clerk, Dinsdale, and to a stiff woman named Miss Pritchard. "We'll go into dinner as soon as Victoria arrives," Chandler said. "Perhaps I should go up and see about her?" Miss Pritchard offered. "She had the maid to help her dress. I'm sure she'll be...." Movement at the doorway caught everyone's attention. Victoria floated into the room wearing a sky blue, silk dress with bared shoulders, a stiff bustle, and rows and rows of pleated ruffles. Her hair had been pulled back on either side and fluffed on top so that it looked like an upswept hairdo. She was the most beautiful, most untouchable woman Hawk had ever seen. She smiled regally. "Oh, have I kept you waiting?"

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Her father stepped forward, took her hand and lightly kissed the tops of her fingers. "You look wonderfully refreshed, sweetheart. Shall we go into the dining room." He draped her arm over his. Mr. Dinsdale jumped to his feet and extended his arm to Miss Pritchard. As the two couples led the way out of the room, Jack extended his arm to Hawk. Hawk jabbed it with his elbow and shot Jack a warning look. Hawk had never seen such a big table. The six of them sat around one end leaving more than half of the thing empty. Two servants immediately moved around them, ladling thin soup into shallow bowls in front of them. Hawk watched Victoria, who sat across from him, to see which of the several spoons she picked up. Thank God, Jack did the same thing. "Well, Hawkins, I suppose you're anxious to get back to that ranch of yours," Chandler said with friendly heartiness. "Where did you say it's located?" "In the foothills of the Magdalena Mountains." "There's a good bit of mining in that country, isn't there?" "Yes, but the real future is in cattle." "I take it you're planning to stay there?" "Can't see any reason to leave."

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"You said something about wanting better grazing land. Most of the big cattle ranches are in the eastern half of the territory, aren't they." "For now, but that's only because the Indians have kept settlers out of the western part. With the Mescaleros pretty well confined to their reservation, and the Army keeping Geronimo busy down South, that country's going to fill up. I'm glad I can increase my holdings now. The land I'm buying will give me a chance to more than double the size of my herd." "I believe you told me you were in Fort Sumner selling cattle when you heard about Victoria's abduction." "I was selling off some of my older stock." Hawk had no intention of telling him that he sold those cattle only because he was desperate for money. "And you, Mr. Wilson, are Mr. Hawkins' foreman?" Jack stopped smacking his lips over a glass of red wine he'd just tasted and nodded. Thankfully he didn't repeat his favorite joke about being the "foreman of one crazy Mexican." The servants whisked away the soup bowls. Hawk hadn't finished his, but didn't care. That soup didn't have much taste. "Your name is Jack Wilson, then?" Victoria asked as she looked across at Jack.

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A servant removed the silver dome from a steaming rib roast that had been placed in front of Chandler. He began carving off large slabs. "Actually it's Buster, Buster Wilson, but everybody calls me Jack." "Why is that?" she asked. "It started when I was in the Army. I had a sergeant who seemed to think I was related to a male mule." Miss Pritchard raised her napkin to her mouth and coughed delicately. Jack accepted a plate brimming with meat and a servant immediately offered him potatoes from a silver bowl. His attention fastened on filling his plate. Her father touched Victoria's hand. "What's all this concern with names, sweetheart?" "I shared quite an adventure with these two gentlemen. I thought it only proper that I know their real names. We all had aliases on the trip. Mine was Curly." "I'd say that was very appropriate," Chandler said as he glanced at the fluffy curls on top of her head. "She didn't think so when I gave it to her," Hawk said and chuckled. "As I recall, you weren't too happy with these curls." Victoria smiled back at him.

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"They were a surprise," Hawk said. "The darnedest thing I ever saw," Jack added and swallowed a mouthful of roast beef. "At first she looked like a plucked goose, then them curls popped up all over her head." "Victoria's hair has always had a tendency to curl," Miss Pritchard said. As the rest of the diners concentrated on their meals, Hawk looked across at Victoria. She sat very straight and handled her knife and fork as though they were delicate instruments. She looked like a queen. No, she was a queen in her palace at last. He was just a peasant who had briefly passed through her life. She glanced up at him. "Will you be leaving in the morning, Mr. Hawkins?" He nodded. "What about you? Are you going back to San Francisco?" Her look of serene composure disappeared. "No," she snapped and sparks of anger flashed from her eyes. "My father has decided my home will be here from now on." "I thought you'd be happy to stay here after you saw the house I built for you," Chandler said with a slight frown. "It's the location of the house I'm unhappy with," she replied, her expression now sullen. He patted her hand again. "We'll discuss this later, sweetheart."

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"Why bother? You never listen to my opinion." Chandler's eyes narrowed. "That's enough, young lady." Victoria poked her lips out and stared down at her plate. "Ah--you've got a lotta land here, Mr. Chandler. You ever think of raising cattle?" Hawk asked, seeking to change the subject. "Mr. Chandler has sent inquiries to England about some of the blooded stock they have there," Mr. Dinsdale finally spoke up. "How can you possibly add interests to your busy life?" Miss Pritchard asked. Apparently everyone wanted to change the subject, except Jack who cleaned his plate with single-minded concentration. Chandler started talking about cattle. After dessert, Miss Pritchard suggested she and Victoria retire to the parlor so the gentlemen could enjoy cigars. Victoria silently agreed. When the ladies were out of the room and brandy had been served with the cigars, Chandler cleared his throat and looked at Hawk. "Victoria's been high strung since she came home." "Traveling across the desert on horseback must have been hard on a woman with her background," Hawk said.

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Chandler's stare became piercing. "Did anything else happen that I should know about?" Hawk kept his gaze squarely on Chandler's. "No, sir. Nothing I can think of." Chandler relaxed. "You're probably right, the rigors of travel have exhausted her. She'll be her old self once she's thoroughly rested." Hawk hoped the man was right. "This has been a real fine meal, sir, but the boys are expecting us to have a good-bye drink with 'em tonight, so I guess we better be getting back to the bunkhouse." T. J. smiled and nodded. "If you'll step to my office, we can settle our financial arrangement." "Could you hold the money until morning?" "I'll be glad to," T. J. said and laughed. "That's probably a good idea. Things can get out of hand at farewell parties. Of course, you'll want to stop by the parlor and say goodnight to the ladies." After Chandler explained that their guests were about to leave, Victoria caught Hawk's eye. "I don't think I've ever properly thanked you and Jack for rescuing me." She rose and walked toward him. The train of her dress swished over the carpet.

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Hawk cleared his throat but couldn't think of anything to say. This was probably the last time he'd ever see her. Chandler slapped him on the back. "Don't you worry, sweetheart, I'll thank him very properly in the morning." "I owe him my thanks, too." She solemnly extended her hand. He caught her hand and held it. Her fingers were cold like the night in the Mexican village when he led her through the darkness to safety. He wanted to caress those fingers and make them warm. "I'm glad we got outta there all right." "Will I ever see you again?" She looked misty-eyed. "Oh, I'll pass this way from time to time," he lied. She nodded her head, then turned, shook Jack's hand, and thanked him. "You're very welcome, little lady. You gotta lotta spunk, and I wish you well." Victoria followed Hawk and Jack out into the vestibule so she could watch them leave. At the door, Hawk stopped and looked back. In that instant, she knew she would never see him again. As irritating as he had been, she realized he had truly cared about what happened to her. She raised her hand and waved.

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He raised his to return her salute then quickly turned and disappeared. T. J. walked up behind her. "Well, they certainly are an odd pair, aren't they?" Victoria whirled on her father. "You're the one who hired them. Don't start criticizing them now." He looked at her in surprise. "I wasn't--good heavens, are you crying?" "No, I'm not," she shouted as she dug out the handkerchief tucked in the waist band of her dress and dabbed at her eyes. "I'm just--just tired. I'm going to bed. Goodnight." She rushed up the stairs before he could say anything more. Her sleep was restless and bedeviled by dreams. She saw herself alone and wandering through the desert in a frantic search for water. At last, a pool shimmered in the sunlight, and Victoria tried to run to it, but the sand sucked at her heavy boots. She continued to struggle until the pool grew nearer. Then she saw that the water was blood red and seeping from a large rock--no --a head attached to a body that slowly rose from the ground! The alcalde, his face and clothes streaked with blood, came toward her, calling hergringa, and reaching out for her. She screamed and tried to run away, but the boots were heavier than ever, and

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she couldn't move her feet. His cold hand gripped her shoulder, and she struck out with all her might. "No!" she screamed. Her hand smacked against something hard that jarred her awake. A white figure stood beside her bed, whimpering. Victoria blinked her eyes, not knowing if she were awake or still dreaming. A light flashed and her father, in his nightshirt, appeared in the doorway, holding an oil lamp. "What happened?" he demanded. Miss Pritchard stood beside the bed, holding one hand against her face. "Victoria was having a bad dream," she said in a near whine. "I tried to wake her, and she hit me!" "I didn't know who it was," Victoria mumbled. T. J. rushed to Miss Pritchard's side. "Here, let me see." He held the lamp up and gently pulled her hand away from her face. "Looks like you're going to have a bruise. Perhaps a cold compress will help." "I didn't know it was her," Victoria said.

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Miss Pritchard stepped back from T. J. as though suddenly aware they were both in their night clothes. "I'm--I'm sure you didn't. I shouldn't have touched you before you were awake. I'll just see to this bruise now." She backed toward the door. "Are you sure you're all right?" T. J. asked. "Oh, yes, you take care of Victoria." He turned his attention to his daughter. "What on earth were you dreaming about, sweetheart?" "I--I don't remember." "It must have been a very upsetting dream." He sat on the edge of the bed and took one of her hands in his. "I don't know." Victoria stared at the pink canopy over her head. Her father's hand felt hot and moist. She wanted to pull away but feared offending him. "I'll sit with you, until you go back to sleep. Would you like that?" "I'm all right, really I am. You better check on Miss Pritchard. I hope I didn't hurt her." T. J. looked at her sadly before bending to kiss her cheek. "I'll be just down the hall if you need me," he said then left the room.

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It took her a long time to go back to sleep. Victoria sat at the table near the windows and nibbled at her breakfast with little interest. A knock sounded at the door. After she called, "Yes?" her father and Miss Pritchard entered. They both smiled warmly as they joined her around the table. "How's your breakfast?" T. J. asked. "It's fine, but you didn't need to send it to my room. I could have come downstairs." "You gave us quite a scare last night. I heard your screams in my room, and I'm well down the hall," her father said. "I'm sorry I disturbed you. Did I hurt you, Miss Pritchard? I really didn't mean to hit you." Miss Pritchard's hand lightly touched a cheek that had been heavily powdered. "I realize that, dear, but you must have had a terrible dream to react so violently." Victoria returned her attention to the scrambled eggs on the plate in front of her. "I don't remember." "Victoria, you've been very tense since your return," Miss Pritchard continued. "I've assured your father that you were always cheerful and carefree while in school. We both feel that something

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must have happened during your abduction that's causing your distress. You'd feel better if you talked to us about it." Her father waited until she glanced up at him. "Victoria, I know there are things a girl finds difficult to talk to her father about. If you prefer, I'll leave you alone with Miss Pritchard." "Why don't you both leave me alone?" Victoria said through clenched teeth. "This is exactly the attitude I'm talking about," her father's voice grew more insistent. "You've become contentious." "Ah--Thaddeus, we want to discuss this calmly, don't we?" Miss Pritchard softly said. Victoria had never heard anyone call her father by that name except her mother. She looked back and forth between the two people confronting her. What was going on? "Yes, yes, you're absolutely right, Amanda," T. J. almost sputtered. "What I'm trying to say, Victoria, is that I love you and want to protect you, but I have to know exactly what happened to you in order to do that. Those men who kidnapped you are the worst sort--capable of anything. Please understand that I won't hold you responsible for anything you say." Victoria carefully laid her fork across her plate and looked steadily at her father. Would he really understand that she had no choice but to kill that man? His expression was so earnestly

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pleading that she had to look away. Her glance fell on the doll on her bed. That's how he saw her--as a little girl. Could he accept the fact she was an adult now and capable of making decisions for herself? She looked back at him. "Can we discuss my living in San Francisco?" He shook his head impatiently. "That matter has already been settled. Your brother's home is in San Francisco. Mine is here." "There's plenty of room in the house on Russian Hill. My old room is just as I left it. Richard and Melissa would be happy to have me live with them. Melissa said so." He waved his hand to stop her flood of words. "How could you even think I'd let you live somewhere else?" "You didn't mind sending me back East for four years." "That was different. You needed an education." "Now I need to find a husband. That's something I certainly can't do in this Godforsaken part of the world." A small smile creased his face. "Is that why you want to live in San Francisco? Well, don't you worry about that. I'll find a husband for you when the time is right."

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She jumped to her feet and planted her fists on her hips. "You'll find a husband when you think the time is right! Won't I have any say in the matter?" Miss Pritchard's hands fluttered excitedly. "Victoria, Victoria, calm yourself." Victoria jabbed an angry finger at the woman. "You stay out of this. It doesn't concern you." Her father jumped to his feet. "Now see here, young lady, Amanda is here at my request, and I insist she be treated with the respect due her." "How much respect is she due, Thaddeus?" Victoria screeched at him. Her father's face became brilliantly red, and veins in his neck pumped visibly. "How dare you speak to me like that, after all I done for you." "You've never done anything for me but give me what you wanted me to have." Victoria was beyond fear, and out of control. "You left me to be raised by servants. You made me leave all my friends and go back East where the girls made fun of me for being from the 'Wild West.' And you wouldn't even pay the ransom to be sure I came home safely." Tears freely coursed down her face, and she shook both fists at him. "If you had just paid the ransom, nothing would have happened. It's all your fault!"

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He looked stunned by her outburst. "I couldn't pay that man. Then we would have had--do you mean something happened after you were rescued? When you were with Hawkins? I paid him to protect you! Tell me what happened!" He started around the table toward her. Victoria froze as she realized what she had done. If she told him about thealcalde, he would want to protect her. That would mean hiding her away in New Mexico forever. Victoria shivered and buried her head in her hands. "I can't tell you," she whispered. "If something happened, why didn't Hawkins tell me?" "Oh dear," Miss Pritchard moaned softly. Through her fingers, Victoria saw her father look at Miss Pritchard with widely startled eyes. Then he turned back to her. "By God, didhe force you to do something you didn't want to?" "No, no, that's not the way it was," she gasped from behind her hands. "He is an attractive young man," Miss Pritchard murmured. T. J. roared in outrage. "He seduced you--took advantage of a young girl who was totally dependent on him? Is that why you cried last night? Well, the bastard won't get away with it. Not with my daughter!"

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Victoria realized he was storming from the room, and managed to gasp out, "Wait! Wait!" But he disappeared into the hallway. "I've got to stop him!" Victoria tried to get around Miss Pritchard. The woman extended her arms. "Calm yourself." "I must talk to my father!" "Trust him. He'll do the right thing. Let me help you wash your face and comb your hair. You're a sight." Victoria backed away from her. If her father went to Hawk and started making wild accusations, Hawk would have no choice but to tell him what had really happened in that Mexican village. Then her shoulders dropped in resignation. She should have known she'd never be able to keep this secret from her father. He'd always controlled her life. With this knowledge, he'd be able to do it absolutely. What would Hawk think about this? He already disliked her. Now he would despise her. Miss Pritchard rang for the maid and sent her for a brown bottle of medicine in her own room. When the maid returned with the bottle, Miss Pritchard mixed some of the milky fluid in a glass of

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water and extended it to Victoria. "Drink this, dear. The doctor gave it to me when my back was injured. It'll calm you." Victoria distractedly drank the bitter liquid. A solid blow to his shoulder jarred Hawk awake. "What the hell," he growled, as he rose to a sitting position. One of his hands moved up to steady his throbbing head. "Get up Hawkins," a harsh voice roared. "Mr. Chandler wants to see you." "What time is it?" Hawk asked. "Don't give us any trouble. Mr. Chandler said not to hurt you unless we had to, but he's in an almighty hurry to see you." Hands grabbed Hawk's upper arms and dragged him off the cot. "Hey!" he yelled his surprise. "Hey!" Jack's voice echoed from across the room. Hawk finally managed to focus his eyes. Burley men stood on either side of him, and two others pointed rifles toward the rest of the men in the bunk house. One of them paid particular attention to

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Jack, who stood in his long johns and frowned at the proceedings. Hawk recognized the men causing this commotion as some of the many guards employed by T. J. Chandler. "What's the rush?" he asked. "I was coming to see him this morning. He's still got my money." "Guess he got tired of waiting for you to sober up," the guard on his left said. "Now put on your pants and let's go." One of the guards scooped up the trousers, which had been carelessly thrown on the floor the night before, and thrust them into Hawk's hands. "What about my boots? You don't expect me to walk up to the house without 'em, do you?" Hawk asked, as he struggled into his pants. "We ain't going to the house. Mr. Chandler's waiting outside, and he's madder'n forty hells, so you stay barefoot, and I won't have to worry about chasing you down." The man grabbed Hawk's arm and pulled him toward the door. Hawk jerked free. "Keep your damn hands off me. I can walk by myself." He caught sight of Jack's face, his brows raised in a silent question. Hawk gave his head a couple of small shakes and muttered, "Let me find out what this is about." He stepped through the doorway, and the bright sunlight blinded him. His bare feet came down painfully on sharp stones. Stepping gingerly, he shaded his eyes with one hand.

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"Bring him over here. This store room will allow some privacy," T. J. said loudly. A hand in the middle of Hawk's back pushed him toward the voice. He was grateful to step out of the sunlight and onto a wooden floor, until he caught sight of Chandler. He stood in the center of the room with his hands braced on his hips, his mouth pressed into a straight line, his forehead puckered. He looked mad enough to burst all his seams. "Well, Hawkins, it looks like you're debauchery has finally caught up with you," he said, with one corner of his mouth turned up in a sneer. Wishing the man wouldn't talk so loudly, Hawk softly asked, "What's this about?" "You men wait outside," T. J. waved his hand at the others, "but if this bastard tries to leave here without my permission, shoot him!" "Now, wait a minute, Chandler. Whatever it is you think I've done, I don't deserve to be shot for it." "Don't play innocent with me, Hawkins. I know what you did." After the door closed on the guards, he added, "Victoria told me everything." Hawk inhaled sharply and stared at T. J. in silence.

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"Did you really think you could ruin my daughter and still get money out of me? I thought you were smarter than that." "Look, I couldn't help what happen--" With his chin jutting out, T. J. took a menacing step toward Hawk. "You were hired to protect her not take advantage of her innocence. You may have convinced her you were so much in love that you couldn't control yourself, but I know better. A decent man, a man with any honor would never have taken advantage of a helpless girl." Hawk's mouth dropped open. "Did she tell you that I--?" "I had to pry it out of her. She tried to protect you. You did a good job of turning her head. What did you promise, that you'd come back for her? Well, by God, you're not going to disgrace my girl and break her heart, too. For once in your worthless life, you're going to live up to your promises. You're going to marry her today!" "What? I'm not--I don't have to--" Hawk's words sputtered to a stop. He had promised Victoria he would never tell what had happened to her in that Mexican village. "You don't have any choice in the matter, Hawkins. Unless you're willing to give up your ranch and get out of the territory. I have influence in New Mexico, a lot of it. You abandon Victoria, and

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I'll see to it that you never get another dime of credit. A smalltime operator like you can't survive without that. As for the money you've got coming from me," T. J. shook his head, "not one penny." "You owe me that money!" "Sue me, if you can scrape up enough money to hire an attorney, and for every one you hire, I'll hire ten." "You cheatin' son-of-a...." Hawk's headache had become a deafening drum roll, his stomach churned, and he felt like a tight leather band squeezed his chest. "Now the shoe's on the other foot, isn't it?" T. J. asked in a sneering voice. "In case you haven't noticed, I don't have any shoes. I don't have a lot of things. I certainly can't take care of a wife like Victoria." "You don't have to worry about that. Her mother left her a little trust fund that will take care of her needs if it's managed properly. Frankly, once my daughter is protected from scandal, I don't give a damn what you do. Now get your gear and come up to the main house where I can keep an eye on you. You can bring that shaggy friend of yours, but I'm paying off the rest of those cowboys and ordering them off my property." After delivering that ultimatum, T. J. stalked out of the room.

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Hawk stood dumfounded. Why had Victoria done this to him? Why had she done it to herself? Chandler obviously thought she'd been a willing partner, or he'd be stringing Hawk up not welcoming him into the family. Could she be in love with him? She'd sure hidden it well if she was. Her remark about "my world" the night they'd talked in Deming, still rankled him. Could she be pregnant? There hadn't been enough time for her to know that. She'd said she feared nobody would marry her after what happened in Mexico, but she wasn't in danger of going hungry if nobody did. Maybe she figured he owed her for failing to protect her. But why would a woman want to marry a man who'd failed her? Maybe she didn't blame him but had learned to trust him during their trek across the desert and figured he'd do right by her. He guessed, when you got right down to it, he did owe her. Of course, she was a good-looking woman. Waking up next to her every morning wouldn't be a hardship. And if he didn't marry her, Chandler would ruin him. Coming into "his world" would be a big sacrifice for Victoria. If she was willing to do that, he guessed he could do his part. Although, getting married was the last thing he'd planned to do at this point in his life.

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Chapter Eight Victoria bit her lower lip as she stared out the window. Unfortunately, the two horsemen she'd heard riding away from the house weren't Hawk and Jack. "What's taking father so long?" "Don't worry about your father, dear. He's a very competent man. I'm sure whatever he does will be for your benefit. Why don't you come over here and sit beside me?" Miss Pritchard patted a space on the settee. Victoria sighed in frustration. "You don't know how my father is when he gets really angry. He might do anything." "You're being childish, Victoria. Your father couldn't have built his empire without having great self-control." "Thank-you, Amanda." T. J. stood in the doorway, still glowering in anger. "Can you help me arrange for a wedding this afternoon?" "A wedding?" Victoria and Amanda spoke in unison.

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"That's right!" He pointed a wagging finger at Victoria. "And I don't want any arguments from you, young lady. You don't know the ways of this world. No matter what Hawkins may have told you, once his kind rides away, they don't come back. Luckily, he celebrated a bit too much last night and had a big head this morning, or he might have gotten away before I found out." "But--but--what did he say?" "What could he say after I told him you had admitted everything?" "But I didn't mean--" "Don't try to lie for him, Victoria. I know more about this kind of situation than you do, and the important thing now is to protect your good name." And your own, she thought bitterly, as she slumped against the bed in shock. "Father, I can't marry that man." "Don't you worry, you'll be properly taken care of, your trust fund will insure that." The trust fund! She'd always known her mother had left money which would come to her when she married or reached thirty. Victoria had never thought much about it, because she'd never considered reaching thirty without being married. But if she had that money, she'd no longer have to endure her father's restrictions. She could live anywhere she liked.

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And Hawk needed money--that was the only reason he'd rescued her. Surely, if she offered him part of the trust fund, he'd be glad to marry her in name only. Then she'd have more freedom than she'd ever hoped for. "May I talk to Hawk?" she asked in a meek voice. "That isn't necessary. I've sent for a judge. He should be here in a couple of hours." "But--" Victoria had to cover her mouth as she yawned widely. How could she possibly be sleepy at a time like this? Miss Pritchard's medicine? She looked at T. J. with her most pleading expression. "If I could just talk to him--" "It's arranged. All you've got to do is get yourself ready." He turned and asked Amanda about the possibility of serving refreshments after the ceremony. Victoria allowed her shoulders to slump. She couldn't believe Hawk would let himself be forced into marriage. Her father must be paying him to do it. Good! If he'd marry her for money, he let her go to San Francisco for it. This could work out nicely for her. Her father was saying something about finding suits for the men, and Miss Pritchard was chattering away about a bridal costume. What did it matter? Victoria needed a nap. With a loud yawn, she pulled her feet up and let her head drop to the pillow.

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It seemed as though she'd just gone to sleep when Miss Pritchard called her name insistently. "You must bathe and get dressed." Reluctantly opening her eyes, Victoria slowly sat up. She heard water rushing in the bathroom and a maid ran through the room carrying the dress Victoria had worn the night before. "I had it pressed," Miss Pritchard explained. "It's the only formal gown you have left. You'll have to wear it today. I have to run down to the kitchen, now. Hurry and bathe. I'll be back shortly." She spun away, pausing just long enough to call out, "Josephina, don't let Miss Chandler go back to sleep." Grumbling complaints, Victoria stood, stretched, and stumbled toward bathroom. What was the big hurry, anyway? Oh, yes, she was getting married. After the bath, Victoria sat in her petticoats in front of her dressing table for what seemed like hours while Josephina brushed and combed her hair, and Miss Pritchard kept insisting she try something different. They brought fresh gardenias from somewhere and fashioned a wreath of them around the back of Victoria's head. She found their heavy scent a little sickening. All this fuss was silly. It wasn't a real marriage.

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They slipped the blue dress on, at last. Miss Pritchard wouldn't allow Victoria to sit down for fear she'd wrinkle it. She shifted from one foot to the other until her father arrived to escort her downstairs. "Is he really down there?" Victoria asked. T. J. tucked her hand over his arm and gave it a few pats. "He's there, and I even managed to get a suit on him. "Don't you worry, sweetheart, I'm going to take care of you just like I always have. I'll make him toe the mark." So, he has made a deal with Hawk and thinks he's going to go on running my life. Well, he's in for a surprise--a big one. Her steps lost their reluctance, and she and her father started down the stairs. The wedding party waited in the conservatory. It wasn't much of a party, only five people standing in a sun drenched bay of windows, banked by potted palms. A few servants and a couple of her father's guards peered from doorways. Miss Pritchard and Mr. Dinsdale stood on one side of a florid-faced man, Hawk and Jack on the other. Both of them wore ill-fitting suits. Victoria guessed they were hand-me-downs from her father. Behind the bush of his beard, Jack seemed to be suppressing a grin.

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Even though Hawk's jacket fit tightly across the shoulders, and the sleeves stopped high on his cuffs, its dark blue color intensified the blonde streaks in his hair and the glow of his tanned skin. Wouldn't it be wonderful if she could really marry a man who looked like that? Then Victoria looked into Hawk's eyes. He stared at her intently, as though he expected something from her. Fear suddenly tightened her throat. She should talk to Hawk before going through with this. Her father tugged on her arm. Hawk needed money. He wouldn't be here if he didn't. She stepped closer to the him. What could go wrong? Hawk noticed her hesitant steps and the wide-eyed way she stared at him and realized she must be terrified. Of course, she didn't know he was going through with this wedding willingly. He forced a small smile to his lips that he hoped would reassure her. Her father transferred her arm to Hawk. He laced his fingers with hers and gave her hand a little squeeze. The red faced judge began to speak. After he said, "Victoria Regina Chandler, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?" Hawk had to prompt her by tightening his fingers again. "I do," she said in a near whisper.

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He spoke his vow more strongly. After the Judge pronounced them married, Hawk reached for her chin, turned her face toward himself, and pressed a light kiss on her lips. A heavy, sweet odor filled his nostrils. He resisted the urge to deepen the kiss. This wasn't the time or place for that. When he opened his eyes, he found Victoria staring up at him as though the kiss had surprised her. What had she expect him to do, hit her? After they signed the marriage document, Miss Pritchard announced an informal dinner would be served. With his hand firmly on her elbow, Hawk ushered Victoria to the dining room. As the honored guests, they filled their plates from the heavily laden buffet and took their places at the dining table first. "I wanted to speak to you before the ceremony," Victoria said softly as she leaned toward him, "to explain things." Hawk gave his head a small nod. "Don't worry about it. We'll work things out." A relieved smile softened her features. "I'll reward you, too," she whispered. His lower jaw dropped. That wasn't the kind of remark he expected from a lady like Victoria. When all the guests were seated, a white-coated servant filled champagne glasses. A few toasts were made wishing the newlyweds a long and happy life, then an awkward silence settled over the table.

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Judge Hooper took the opportunity to try and involve Chandler into a discussion of a local political issue. T. J. replied absently-mindedly, or not at all. Mr. Dinsdale tried to divert the Judge, and Miss Pritchard kept apologizing for the hastily prepared meal. Victoria picked at her food. Only Jack seemed to be enjoying himself. After finishing his second glass of champagne, he held the glass up for a refill. "I never had this bubbly wine before. It's purty good." "You better not drink too much of that stuff, if you intend to leave with me in the morning," Hawk warned. He noticed Victoria's fork pause in mid-air. T. J. cleared his throat. "You plan to go in the morning, Hawkins?" "That's right. Now that I can get my money, I want to buy that land before somebody else does." He looked over at his new wife. "We'll be leaving early, Victoria, so you better do your packing tonight." Her fork clattered against her plate. "Surely, you don't expect Victoria to accompany you!" T. J. exclaimed. Hawk looked at the man in amazement. "Why wouldn't my wife to go with me?"

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"Well, this is such short notice, and she's not fully recovered from the last journey. Why not take care of the land purchase, and come back for her?" Chandler had said he didn't give a damn what Hawk did after the wedding. Did that mean he really expected Hawk to marry Victoria and leave her here? The muscles around Hawk's eyes tightened as he looked at the man. "I'll be going on to my ranch. I've been away too long as it is." T. J.'s face turned red again. "I could send her to you, when she's more rested," he said through tight lips. "I prefer to take care of my wife myself," Hawk said loudly. "Isn't that the way it's supposed to be, Judge Hooper?" The Judge gulped and mopped his face with his napkin. T. J. and Hawk glared at each other, then T.J. looked away. Elation swelled in Victoria's chest. Hawk had gotten the better of her father. But what did that victory mean to her? She would have to leave with Hawk--go to his ranch. She hadn't counted on that possibility. In the stunned silence that followed, Hawk turned to her. "Can you be ready to leave in the morning? I can help you pack."

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She didn't know what to say. "I'll send a maid to do that," Miss Pritchard said. "Victoria better get used to doing things for herself. There won't be any maids where we're going," he replied with a trace of irritation in his voice. Pushing her own chair back, Victoria stood. "I'll start now. Excuse me." She walked stiffly from the room, hoping Hawk would follow her. She had to talk this situation out with him--find out just what he expected from this marriage. Alone in her bedroom, she paced about, opening doors and drawers and wondering just how one went about packing to move to a new home. A timid knock sounded at the door. The maid, Josephina, entered the room. "Senora, you wan' help?" "What?" "With the packing?" Victoria bit her lip. "I guess so. I need some luggage. Do you know where it's kept?" "Si. How much you pack?" Victoria stared at the clothes hanging in her closet. "Everything, I guess."

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"I think you need trunk for that." Victoria shrugged. Josephina nodded and left the room. In a few minutes, Victoria heard dragging sounds. She looked out into the hall and saw the bent-over maid pulling the handle on one end of a large steamer trunk. Should she offer to help? Her dilemma was solved by the timely arrival of Miss Pritchard and another maid. "Where is Hawk?" Victoria asked her former teacher. "Your father had business arrangements to discuss with him. I suppose he'll be along shortly, so let's decide what you're going to pack." Victoria wished she knew what Hawk and her father were talking about. Her father had definitely been surprised by Hawk's decision to take her away with him. She couldn't believe he'd arranged a marriage for her without telling Hawk what he expected of him. "Have you thought about taking linens and other household supplies?" Miss Pritchard asked. "I don't suppose Mr. Hawkins has a sufficiency of such things." Victoria stared at the woman in bewilderment. Did they really expect her to keep house for that--that cowboy?

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Miss Pritchard patted her hand. "You gather up the clothes you want to take, and I'll see to the other." She sent the maids for another trunk and soon had them dashing about from linen closets to kitchen pantries. Victoria tried to shoulder the responsibility for packing her own clothes, but every time she put an item in the trunk, Miss Pritchard would take it out and refold it. She swathed the dresses in tissue paper and lectured Victoria about preventing wrinkles. At first Victoria was irritated by her finicky ways. Anything packed in a trunk would be wrinkled when it came out. Then she remembered Hawk saying there were no maids where they were going. Who would press her dresses? She became very concerned about preventing wrinkles after that thought. Hawk sat stiffly in the chair, hoping this meeting would be a short one. Chandler sat behind his desk glowering at him.

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"I'll allow Victoria to leave with you in the morning," he began to shake his finger at Hawk, "but don't think that reflects any lack of concern for my daughter's welfare. She's had a very gentle upbringing, and I'll not stand by and see her mistreated." Hawk tried to hold on to his temper, reminding himself that Chandler was now his father-in-law, but the man's implied accusations were too much. "If you thought I was gonna mistreat her, why did you make me marry her?" he asked loudly. Chandler huffed indignantly. "When you dishonor a young woman--a lady--you have to do right by her. If you were a gentleman, you'd know that." It rankled Hawk that the man believed he'd done such a thing, but he couldn't defend himself without betraying Victoria. "Victoria must have strong feelings for you to have succumbed to your blandishments. I'm hoping you're not a complete scoundrel and will be willing to put forth the effort required to make this marriage work. "And it does take effort to make a marriage worthwhile. Victoria will certainly have to make adjustments, but because of her background, she will require more care than a--well--a young woman from your background."

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Hawk tapped his fist against his tightly compressed lips. Chandler took a deep breath and continued. "Fortunately her trust fund will assure her physical comfort. I don't know the exact amount of money--it's been drawing interest since her mother's death--but I'm sure it will be adequate. However, just because the trust specifies that Victoria's husband receives the money, don't think that gives youcarte blanche to squander it frivolously." "Mr. Chandler, the only time I ever squandered money frivolously was at the end of my first cattle drive when I was seventeen years old." "Most men are cautious with money when their funds are tight. Only wise men retain that caution when they suddenly have an excess. Be forewarned that I'll be watching and that trusts can be broken." Hawk sighed loudly. How much of this could he take? "Look, just give me the money you owe me, and you can keep her funds." "No, that isn't possible. I'm required to notify the bank in San Francisco. They'll transfer the fund to your bank. For that matter I can also transfer what I owe you. Then you won't have--." "I want my money now!" Hawk said firmly. The creases between Chandler's eyes deepened. "It will be safer--"

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"Now!" Chandler shrugged and spun his chair around to a fancy wooden cabinet. He opened the door and revealed heavy metal safe. After tucking his money in the pocket of his borrowed suit, Hawk stood and stared at the man across from him. Concern still marked Chandler's features, and Hawk suddenly felt sorry for him. After all, he was about to lose his only daughter. Hawk cleared his throat. "Mr. Chandler, it's plain you and I don't like each other, but my feelings about you won't affect the way I treat Victoria. I admire your daughter, and I hope to make our marriage work." Chandler stood and stuck out his hand. Hawk gave the hand a business-like shake and excused himself. He had no trouble finding Victoria's room. He just followed the maids carrying arm loads of towels and sheets. At the open doorway, he stared in at the jumble of trunks, valises, and boxes. "Are you planning to take all this?" he asked in amazement.

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"Oh, Hawk!" Victoria pulled her head out of an open trunk and looked at him with wide eyes. "I need my clothes, and Miss Pritchard said a bride always brings her own linens. I don't know what you have at your house, so we put in some dishes and things. Is it too much?" "I'll figure out some way to take it," he said. He didn't know if his little cabin would hold all of this. "Do you have much more to pack?" Victoria looked at Miss Pritchard for the answer. "There are a few more things I wanted to box up, but the girls and I can do that downstairs. I imagine you two would like a chance to--ah--talk." Miss Pritchard's cheeks actually grew pink. "Thank you, ma'am. Victoria and I do have some things to discuss." Miss Pritchard waved the maids toward the door, wished Victoria a goodnight, and rushed from the room. Hawk closed the door after them and took an uncertain step toward Victoria. Now that he finally had a chance to talk to her, he didn't know what to say. "What did you and my father decide?" she asked. "About what?" "About me. Am I still going with you?"

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First her father and now her--what kind of marriages did rich people have, anyway? "We're married. Why wouldn't you go with me?" "We're not really married. It's in name only." He stared at her for a moment of bewilderment. In name only! What the hell did that mean? It meant she didn't want him--just his name to protect her from the gossip of her rich friends. What a fool he'd been to think otherwise. Well, the rich bitch had gone too far this time. "Your father didn't say anything to me about that, and I wouldn't have agreed to it, if he had." She gasped. "Didn't he pay you to marry me?" "Only what he owed me for risking me neck to get you out of Mexico," he said through clenched teeth. "That isn't all you're going to get. I have a trust fund. I intend to give you part of that," she said as she bobbed her head up and down like a marionette. He tried to smile at her, but his anger only allowed him to pull up one corner of his mouth. "How in the hell can you give me what I've already got?" "What do you mean?"

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"As your husband, your money becomes mine. Your father just told me he'll transfer your 'little fund' to my bank." Now Victoria's mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. "But--but my mother left me that money. It's mine!" "A married woman's money always belongs to her husband. Didn't you know that?" "Then how could my mother leave me money?" "Because your father let her." "Surely, you will--" "Surely, I won't," Hawk said loudly as he took a step toward her. "Since you wanted a husband so bad that you were willing to lie to get him, I intend to give youall the benefits of being a married woman!" By the time he had finished speaking, he was bending over her and yelling into her face. "Oh! Oh!" Victoria backed away from him until her legs pressed against one of the trunks. "I didn't lie. It was a misunderstanding." "A misunderstanding? You better come up with a better story than that if you don't want your scrawny neck wrung."

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She threw up her hands defensively. "I lost my temper--said he should have paid the ransom and nothing would have happened. He jumped to the wrong conclusion. I tried to tell him the truth, but he said I was lying to protect you." He noticed her shaky voice and trembling hands and took a short step back. Not because he felt the least bit sorry for her, but only to forestall the tears he knew would surely come next. "That's the dumbest story I've ever heard. If it's true, why did you stand up in front of that judge and say, 'I do'?" "I--I thought you'd agreed to marry me in name only--for money--and after we married, I'd be free." "That's not the way marriage works." "I mean from my father. As a married woman with my own money, I could go back to San Francisco." "You are the worst liar I've ever heard. You deliberately led your father to believe something happened between us because you were so afraid of not getting married that you decided I'd be better than nothing."

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"How can you believe such a terrible thing about me?" Her chin came up, indignation replacing some of her fear. "What else can I believe?" "Well, what are you going to do about it now?" He slapped down one of the trunk lids, sat on it, and began to pull off a boot. "I think I'll go to bed. I've had a hard day." "But--but surely you don't intend to go on with this farce of a marriage." "Why not?" "Why not? Neither of us want it." "Oh, I don't know. I'm getting the ranch I want and a rancher does need a wife. You're getting protection in case that jailer gave you something more than a hard time. Looks like we're both getting what we want." Victoria wrinkled her nose in confusion. What did he mean about a jailer? "I don't want to be your wife." "Well, that's too damn bad, because that's what you are, like it or not." He pulled off the second boot and stood.

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"I don't want to go to your ranch. You've got the money. Leave me here." "I'm a man who does what he's paid to do." He moved toward her. "I've been paid to be your husband. I intend to fulfill all the duties of that job." One arm swept around her waist, a hand cupped the back of her head. His lips covered hers with relentless pressure. Victoria hung motionless in his arms until her surprise gave way to alarm. This wasn't at all what she intended. His embrace softened and she pushed against his chest with all her might. He released her and she staggered back from him. "How--how dare you." She swung her hand toward his face. He caught her wrist before she made contact. "Hit me, and I'll hit you back," he said with a hard glint in his eye. "That's a husband's right, you know." Victoria couldn't believe what was happening. "Why are you acting like this?" "Maybe because I'm sick and tired of you rich people having everything your way." "I've never had my way," she said in a cracking voice. "I've always had to do what my father wanted me to. You've got the money. Why won't you leave me alone?" "Leave you to be what, Victoria--a married woman living alone in San Francisco? What do you think people would think of you then? A woman can't run around in this world by herself, especially

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a woman as helpless as you are." He took off his jacket, threw it over a chair, and began unbuttoning his shirt. "What are you doing?" she asked with growing alarm. "I told you I was going to bed." "You're not going to sleep in here!" "We can't have the servants wondering why the newly married couple isn't sharing a bedroom, can we?" He began stripping off his shirt. Victoria turned her face to the wall. "I don't intend to share that bed with you!" "You're right. We should wait. No sense in having doubts about who's the father of your first child. Since you're shorter than I am, you can sleep on that puny sofa over there." Father of her first child? Did he think the alcalde had taken her maidenhood? She opened her mouth to deny his charge, but quickly snapped it shut. If believing she'd been raped would keep him from touching her, she'd let him go on believing it. She heard the rustling of fabric as he pulled off his trousers and got under the sheet. "You gonna put out the lamps or do you want me to?" he asked.

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"I'll do it," she said meekly. He was mad now, but when he calmed down she might be able to talk him into something. He had felt badly about failing to protect her down in Mexico. She'd play on his guilt, that worked with her father--sometimes. Maybe going to his ranch would be a good thing. First she'd get away from Father then work on Hawk. He liked to boss people around, like men always do, but she didn't think he was really mean. Moving quickly and not looking at him, she blew out the lamp on the bedside table then turned the one near the settee down to a faint glow. In the closet, she removed her dress and bustle, then hesitated. The memory of Hawk's kiss, of his body pressing urgently against hers, of his strong arms easily rendering her helpless suddenly filled her with doubt. There were so many things she didn't know about men--young men--men who weren't born gentlemen--like Hawk. She would have to be careful and not cause him to forget his promise to wait. She put a dressing gown over the rest of her underclothes, slipped off her shoes, and tip-toed back into the bedroom. She blew out the lamp, and felt her way to the settee. Unable to stretch out on it, she curled herself into a ball and listened to the heavy breathing across the room. "You need a pillow?"

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His voice startled her. "Ah--no there are pillows here." "How about cover?" "I don't think I'll need any." The bed creaked and the covers rustled. Hawk had gotten up and was coming toward her. There was a thud against one of the chairs, a muttered curse, and something smacked against Victoria's hip. She gasped before realizing he'd thrown the coverlet at her. "Did you stub your toe?" she asked. The bed creaked as he got back in it. "Thank you for the cover," she said when he didn't answer her. "It's my duty to take care of you now," he muttered and pounded his pillow. No need in kidding herself. Handling Thomas Hawkins would be difficult. Still, he had to know she couldn't be a rancher's wife. After he got over his hurt feelings, he'd see things her way. "Victoria, get up! It's time to go." She opened her eyes, and saw Hawk standing over her, dressed in his familiar work pants and plaid shirt. Sitting up, she said, "I can't go now, I have to dress."

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"Well, hurry. I've got to get some men up here to move these trunks." "How are you going to transport them?" "I got a wagon from the stable." He picked up several small valises. "A wagon? I can't travel in a common wagon!" "You're married to a common man. You better get used to common ways." "Does my father know you're taking it? What did he say?" "Words I don't like to use in front of a woman, but I told him to consider a wagon and two mules as a fair price for me taking you off his hands. Now hurry up, or I'll have you carried downstairs, too." He stalked out of the room. Obviously, his temper hadn't improved yet. She flew into the bathroom, splashed water on her face, and dressed in her traveling suit. Even though the outfit had a modest bustle, she knew it would be uncomfortable for riding in such a primitive vehicle, but the rest of her clothes had been packed. Anyway, she didn't own anything appropriate for travel in a wagon. As she brushed her hair, she heard footsteps and men grunting, as they moved the trunks. She waited until the noises stopped, then started downstairs. Victoria found her father pacing angrily in the vestibule, his face twisted into a scowl.

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When he saw her, he rushed toward her. "I offered him the coach, even a smaller carriage. I can't believe the man is so unconcerned for your comfort." Hawk entered the house just then. "Maybe I'm more concerned for her safety. Any bandits who might be watching this place won't expect T. J. Chandler's daughter to be traveling in a wagon." "All the more reason to take the coach and guards!" T. J. said, emphasizing his words with a dramatic upswing of his hand. "I can't afford to feed all those men," Hawk replied. "Well, I would...." Apparently, the stubborn set of Hawk's jaw stopped her father. Miss Pritchard came into the hall carrying a large wicker basket. She looked pale and on the verge of tears. "Mr. Hawkins is so anxious to get started that I had the cook pack some food. There should be enough for breakfast and lunch." After Hawk took the basket from her, she moved toward Victoria, hesitated for a moment, then threw her arms around her. "I hope--I hope everything works out for you." "Thank you, Miss Pritchard--Amanda." Victoria felt a genuine surge of friendship toward the woman and returned the hug. Hawk started for the door. "The wagon's ready. Let's go."

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Victoria's feet moved slowly, but her heart raced. Was she really leaving her father to go off into the wilderness with a man she barely knew? Her father moved beside her, kissed her cheek, and softly said, "Are you all right with this, sweetheart? You don't have to go with him if you don't want to." She looked at her father in bewilderment. "You wanted me to marry him." "I didn't think he'd be so--so unreasonable." Victoria almost laughed. Her very unreasonable father had pushed her into marrying a man more unreasonable than he and already regretted it. Yes, this was her best chance of escaping T. J.'s control. She steps toward the door grew confident. "Let me know if he doesn't treat you well, sweetheart," T. J. said softly. The luggage had been loaded into the wagon bed and covered with a canvas. Victoria would have to sit on the wooden driver's seat. As she approached it, Hawk came up behind her. "Is that all you had to wear? What happened to that dress I bought in Deming?" "I gave it to the maid." "Well, I don't know if you and that bustle will fit on this seat." "I'll be glad to stay here," she snapped.

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One corner of his mouth twisted up in a sarcastic sneer. "But I couldn't bear to be parted from my dear wife." He grabbed her around the waist. "Put your foot on the wheel hub," he barked, and lifted her up to the seat. "You better take proper care of her," T. J. said after Hawk had taken his place beside Victoria. "I always take care of what's mine," Hawk snarled and snapped the reins over the backs of the two borrowed mules. As they clattered down the driveway, Victoria looked back at her angry father and the weepy Miss Pritchard and wondered if she was trading a gentle captivity for something worse.

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Chapter Nine "When are we going to stop and eat something?" Victoria asked as soon as the house was out of sight. "We just started," Hawk answered, keeping his eyes straight ahead. "I haven't had any breakfast. I'm hungry." "The basket's under the seat. Help yourself." Awkwardly, she reached under the folds of her skirt and searched the basket, until she found a neatly wrapped bundle of ham biscuits. She offered Hawk one. With a quick frown in her direction, he held up his hands to show they were occupied with the reins. Hearing a shout, Victoria looked over her shoulder and saw Jack urging his horse forward. As he pulled even with the wagon, he grinned sheepishly. "Them little bubbles had more kick than I thought they would."

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Victoria offered him a biscuit, and he eagerly accepted. Relieved to have Jack traveling with them, she munched on her biscuit, while Hawk glowered at the road ahead. They passed through the hamlet named for her father, then reached Lordsburg. "Aren't we taking the train?" Victoria asked as the mules slowly clopped by the railway station. "No." "How far is your ranch?" "The trip'll take better'n a week." "Why not take the train, then? It'll be quicker and more comfortable," she said. "I'm not wasting my money on passage for three people, two horses, and all your luggage." "Well, use my money. I don't want to ride in this wagon for over a week." Victoria said and glared at him indignantly. "You don't have any money, remember." He glanced at her with such a stony expression that she caught her lips between her teeth and kept silent. How long was he going to be angry? When he pulled the wagon to a stop in front of a general store she couldn't contain her curiosity. "Why are we stopping here?"

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"We need supplies," he muttered and tied off the reins. "I'll just be getting coffee and beans. You can stay in the wagon." "Are we going to eat nothing but beans on this trip?" she demanded. He climbed down, than stopped to look back at her. "What would you like to cook, Mrs. Hawkins?" She didn't dignify that ridiculous question with an answer. Jack tied his horse to the hitching rail and ambled off, leaving Victoria sitting all alone on a public street. She opened her parasol and used it to shield herself more from the stares of curious passersby than the sun. Hawk came back with several parcels, stowed them in the back of the wagon, and climbed beside her. As the wagon started moving, Jack rushed out of a nearby saloon and fell in behind them. On the edge of town, Hawk pulled the mules to a stop under the shade of several cottonwood trees. "We can have lunch here," he said. "If you were going to have lunch now, why didn't you stay in town and go to a restaurant?" Victoria asked.

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Hawk looked at her with a perplexed expression. "Why should we pay for lunch when we already have a basket full of food? Unless you and Jack ate it all." She took a deep breath as she prepared to tell him that civilized people preferred to dine at a proper table whenever possible. Before she could speak, however, he turned and went to check the harnesses. Victoria waited several minutes to be sure he wasn't coming to help her dismount then carefully backed her way off the wagon unaided. She didn't know if his callous behavior was a deliberate snub, or just the way men of his class normally treated their wives. "Get the basket," Hawk ordered. "We'll eat on the ground." Victoria turned and grabbed the basket handle. As she strained to hoist the heavy container up and over the side of the wagon, Hawk came up behind her, snatched the handle from her hands and easily lifted it. A soft huff expressed his disgust over her weakness. "Women aren't expected to be strong," she said in her own defense. "Not if they've been raised like hothouse flowers," he muttered. After spreading a piece of canvas on a level spot of ground, and placing the basket on top of it, he turned to stare at her. "What do you want now?" she asked indignantly.

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"Where I come from, women are expected to serve lunch." "Oh--well--I was going to do that." She hurriedly knelt beside the basket and began to rummage though it, opening packages and placing anything that seemed suitable for lunch out on the piece of canvas. Jack came over, squatted across from her, and smiled amiably as he reached for a sandwich. Hawk ate his lunch while standing. Victoria decided to ignore him as long as he behaved so rudely. She did ask if he wanted anything else, before she repacked the leftovers. Then she rose and walked back to the wagon without the basket. If he expected her to act like a woman, then he could play the man's part. The road led from the flat plain where Lordsburg stood into shrub-covered foothills. Hawk's mood did not improve. Even Jack was put off by his surly remarks and soon spurred his horse away from the wagon. When they stopped to camp for the night, his behavior became worse. Unlike their previous journey, when Hawk had tried to prevent her from doing anything around the campsite, he now barked orders at her. "Don't just stand there, get some wood for the fire! Bring those pots from the

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wagon! Put some water in this for the coffee! This is too much water. Can't you do anything right?" "I'm not your servant!" she finally snapped. "No, you're better than a servant, you're awife." The way Hawk stressed the word "wife" reminded Victoria of the rights he now held to her body, and she caught her lip between her teeth to stop herself from making an angry retort. Could Hawk behave as cruelly as the alcalde? Were all men capable of that kind of behavior? "What else do you want me to do," she asked in a docile voice. "What's left in that basket?" "There's bread and cheese." "Get that and the tin plates in that wooden box in the wagon." She quickly moved to obey, hoping to blunt his grumpiness. Jack, on his way to unharness the mules, stopped beside her as Victoria opened the box and took out the tin plates. "We'll need the cups and spoons, too," he said softly. "Take it all over there." With an exasperated tightening of her lips, Victoria put all the utensils in the basket. She felt sure Hawk had deliberately misled her so he'd have something else to criticize her about. Returning

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to the campfire, she watched him adroitly open a can of beans with a large knife and hoped he wouldn't expect her to do something that dangerous. He spoke without looking at her. "Put the coffeepot over the coals." Then he glanced up. "Over to the side, not right in the middle." After dumping the beans into a pot, he slapped the pot onto the rack over the fire and handed her a spoon. "Stir 'em. Don't let 'em stick." Then he walked away. She bent over, stuck the spoon down into the pot and moved it about tentatively. Heat from the fire blasted against her face. She jerked back, afraid her hair might be singed. After carefully pulling the front of her skirt back, she tried to squat so she could reach out rather than bend over to stir the beans. The thick folds of heavy cotton that fell gracefully below her bustle when she walked now pushed her skirt up around her like a topsy-turvy mushroom. She quickly rose and adjusted the back of her dress, sweeping it to one side and keeping her arm positioned in the middle so she could force it to fold. Before she could re-descend, Hawk grabbed the spoon from her hand and hurriedly stirred the beans himself.

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"I'll do that," Victoria said. "Just get away before you set that ridiculous skirt on fire. You damn near burned the beans." Victoria stiffened her back and stalked away. She'd taken all the insults she was going to take. If he'd been so against marrying her, why hadn't Hawk told her father the truth? He feared T. J. Chandler's influence, that's why, and now he vented his anger at her--a poor defenseless woman. Victoria had thought Hawk arrogant and sometimes rude, but not unkind. Now she wondered if he were truly mean and intended to make her life as miserable as possible. She went over to the wagon, removed her comb and mirror from a valise, and carefully smoothed the tangles from her curls. If Hawk remained so angry, how would she ever persuade him to let her go? But, why would he want to keep a woman he obviously hated? To punish her! She held the mirror closer and examined her freckles. Were they getting more pronounced? She needed to be more careful about keeping the sun off her face. Should she try to placate Hawk or defy him? Placating him seemed out of the question. She'd barely controlled her temper and kept herself from throwing those beans in his face. The dumb things probably didn't even need stirring. "Grubs ready," he called in a flat voice.

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Determined not to play his servant any longer, she waited until the two men had served themselves and were sitting on the ground eating. Then she picked up a plate, dolloped a spoonful of beans on it, pulled a small chunk from the loaf of bread, and cut a slice from the wedge of cheese. Seeing nowhere to sit but the ground, she went to the back of the wagon, set the plate on it, and daintily picked at the food while standing. A rich aroma reminded her of the coffee. The men hadn't poured themselves any yet, but she was sure it must be ready. If they were waiting for her to serve them, they were in for a disappointment. She went back to the campfire, picked up a cup and reached for the coffeepot. A short, high-pitched cry escaped Victoria's lips as her fingers closed around the hot metal handle. She jerked her hand away so quickly that the pot tipped over. The coffee spilled into the fire, and with a loud hiss, produced a column of steam. "Damnation!" Hawk exclaimed. "Any fool knows you always turn the handle away from the fire. Didn't you do that?" Victoria clenched her teeth and gripped the wrist of her injured hand tightly. She didn't know what hurt most, the excruciating pain in her fingers, or the fact Hawk again had reason to belittle her. This was too much to bear, just too much. Her chin began to tremble and her chest heaved.

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Jack quickly rose and came to her side. "Did you burn your hand, honey?" She could only nod her head. Hawk looked across the fire at Victoria's ashen face. Tears streamed down her cheeks, then a sob burst from her chest. She was crying--really crying. She'd never done that before, not even on that terrible night in Santa Maria. Guilt kicked him in the gut. "Come over to the wagon. There's some ointment that oughta help that," Jack said. He put his arm around her shoulders and herded her away from the fire. Hawk jumped to his feet. "I'll take care of her!" Jack's arm dropped away from Victoria as he faced Hawk. "Your idea of taking care of a wife ain't been too dad-burned good so far." His beard rose as his chin jutted out angrily. Hawk's hands tightened into fists. "Mind your own damn business." Jack took a step toward him. "I ain't letting you abuse this little lady no more. It ain't her fault she don't know--" A loud wail erupted from Victoria. Hawk forgot about Jack and jumped to her side. He reached for her hand. "Let me see how bad it is."

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"I'm--I'm sorry I spilled the cof--fee," she gasped out between sobs. "Don't worry about that now." Watery blisters had formed on three of her fingers and part of her palm had turned bright red. Hawk placed his arm around her waist, gently took hold of the arm she held out, and led her over to the wagon. Jack rushed ahead of them, leaped into the wagon, and quickly found the first aid supplies. He pulled out a jar of salve, unscrewed the lid, and held it out to Hawk. Gingerly, Hawk dabbed the strong smelling ointment on the blisters. His finger looked large and heavy over her delicate hand. "Am I hurting you?" She shook her head, but continued to sniffle. "Are there any bandages in that box, Jack?" Hawk asked after thickly coating the injured areas of Victoria's hand with goo. Jack handed him a strip of white, cotton cloth. Hawk wound the cloth around her hand. "Better keep this covered for a few days." Victoria fumbled in her pocket, finally bringing out a handkerchief. She dabbed at her eyes and nose. "You've barely touched your supper," Hawk said. "Can you eat something now?"

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She looked at the plate of food and reached for the fork. He saw how awkwardly she grasped it with her uninjured, left hand. "You need to sit down. Jack, hand me that box." Hawk put the crate nearer the fire and led Victoria over to it. Jack brought her plate. Hawk set it in her lap. "Can you manage now?" She nodded her head and took a small nibble from the piece of bread. "If you need anything else, you just ask," Hawk said and slowly backed away from her. He and Jack resumed their places and picked up their plates. Hawk kept an eye on Victoria as he ate. She'd take a small bite of food, chew it, then sigh pitifully. "That was your fault," Jack muttered. Hawk knew it was, but he didn't like hearing Jack say so. "I told you this is none of your business," he muttered back. Jack's voice grew louder. "I can't stand by and say nothing while you make a jackass outta yourself." "Lord no, you can never say nothing," Hawk replied in a sarcastic tone. "Why're you picking on the poor girl for not knowing how to do things. You knew she was that way before you married her." Jack glared at Hawk.

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Hawk glared back. "In case you ain't figured it out, I didn't want to marry her." "So why didn't you stand up to her old man? I woulda' backed you," Jack demanded. Hawk set his plate aside with an angry thrust. "Oh, sure, you and me against the most powerful man in this territory. He threatened to run me off my land. What could you have done about that?" Jack shrugged. "Nothing, I guess. But havin' to marry a rich man's, purty daughter ain't the worse thing that could happen to a fella." "It's the 'having to' that sticks in my craw!" Hawk said through clenched teeth. Jack set his plate aside. "Wanted or not, you two are married, and it seems to me you oughta' be trying to make a go of it." "What the hell do you know about marriage? Damn near fifty years old and still a bachelor. Been leading that poor widow on for more'n a year." Jack's chest swelled and he braced his hands against the ground. "You leave Mrs. Murdock outta this." Hawk uncrossed his legs and planted his feet. "But pokin' your nose into my life is all right." "Stop!" Victoria shouted and held her hand up. "Don't you two start fighting." Hawk looked over at her wide, alarmed eyes. "Aw, we argue a lot, but we never fight."

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"That's 'cause he's scared I'll whip him again," Jack said and smiled slyly. "Huh! That was a long time ago, old man, and you got lucky then." "Can I have something to drink, please?" Victoria asked in a meek voice. Hawk leapt to his feet. "There's only water, unless you want to wait for me to make more coffee." "Water will be fine." After pouring liquid from a canteen into a tin cup, he took it to her. He had to wait as she carefully placed her fork on her plate and took the cup in her uninjured hand. He fought against an urge to lift the cup to her lips himself. Jack was right. Hawk didn't know how to take care of a wife. Victoria had only been married to him for one day and already had a maimed hand. He knew she didn't know how to cook over a campfire. He should have seen that coffee pot's handle and warned her. But he'd been so mad he couldn't think about anything but-- What had he been thinking? Had he been punishing Victoria for lying about him or for thinking he wasn't good enough for her? Maybe what really made him angry was knowing she was right.

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Hawk had never respected men who abused women, and it hurt to know Jack thought he had mistreated Victoria. He realized she'd stopped sipping the water and looked up at him uneasily. "You want some more?" he asked. "This is enough." He returned to his place, sat cross-legged on the ground, and stared at the soupy remains of his beans. How should he handle this situation? He couldn't force Victoria to be his wife. Not as long as she wanted to return to her hoity-toity life in San Francisco. But he was right about her not being able to take care of herself. He knew twelve year olds who could get along better than she could. Jack stood and stretched. "If you folks are through, I'll cleanup." "I'll do it," Hawk said. "Why don't you check on the horses." "Sure." Jack strolled toward the animals. "Did you have enough to eat, Victoria?" Hawk asked. She nodded. He went over to her, and on the pretext of reaching for her plate, squatted beside her. "I'm sorry you burned your hand. And I'm sorry I've been so hard on you today."

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She looked at him with little wrinkles between her eyebrows. "Why didn't you get angry until after the wedding? If I'd known you were being forced to marry me, I wouldn't have gone through with it." "Aw--sometimes I can control my temper, and sometimes I can't." He certainly wasn't going to tell her that for a short time he'd believed she really wanted to marry him. She'd laugh in his face if he did. "I'll clean up the supper things, then I'll help you get ready for bed." Her eyes widened in alarm. "Get ready?" "With your hand hurt, you'll need some help with your clothes." She shook her head vigorously. "I don't take my clothes off when I'm out-of-doors." He lightly caught her chin and turned her face toward himself. "Victoria, you don't have to worry about me ever forcing anything between us. I'd never do that." Her features relaxed. A faint smile pulled at her lips. "Thank you." He stood, carrying her plate with him. "You sure you don't want some coffee? It won't take long to make." She shook her head. "Okay, you just sit there and relax while I get these plates cleaned up."

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Victoria watched him scoop up the other plates and carry them away. He was the strangest man. His moods changed so quickly. Would she ever understand him? No, she wouldn't be around him long enough for that. She certainly hoped he'd meant what he said about not using force. If he did, she'd have no trouble keeping him at arm's length. But last night he had forced that kiss on her. Well, not exactly forced, he'd just caught her by surprise. She'd have to be careful not to let him do that again, although she really hadn't found the kiss objectionable. Victoria kept glancing at Hawk as he cleaned up around the campfire, then moved over to the wagon. She wondered just how much help he intended to give in getting her ready for bed? Of course, she usually had someone help her undress even when she had two good hands, but never a man. She shifted on the hard crate as she felt a growing need to relieve herself. How would she manage that with just one hand? Hawk came over to her. "I arranged things so you can sleep in the back of the wagon." Victoria stood, feeling uncomfortable and embarrassed. "Before I go to bed, I have to...." She tipped her head toward the juniper bushes that dotted the landscape surrounding their camp.

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"Oh!" Hawk looked as uncomfortable as she felt. He glanced around, making sure of Jack's location. "Well, come over to the other side of the wagon." Searching for a solution to her dilemma, Victoria followed him. "The bustle makes my skirt so cumbersome. I'm afraid I won't be able to manage with one hand. Maybe if I got rid of it." Behind the shielding wagon, Hawk turned toward her. "How does that bustle fasten on?" "It has a buckle, but if you take it off the back of my skirt will drag the ground." He walked behind her and pulled up the peplum of her basque. "I'll take 'em both off, then." She stood very still as his fingers fumbled at her waist. When the button and hooks were open, he tried to pull the skirt down. "It'll have to come over my head," she said and lifted her arms. As soon as she was free of the skirt, she pulled at the buckle that held the bustle with her good hand. The metal prong wouldn't come through the little hole. "I can get that," Hawk said. He came around her and bent down, putting his face near the reluctant buckle. Victoria pulled her hands out of his way and held her breath. The waistband came loose. Hawk pulled the bustle from behind her and held it up for inspection. The three, down-filled, tubes of

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increasing sizes that extended from the back of the band looked rather like white horse-collars trimmed with tatting. "This is a funny looking thing." "Please, put that in the wagon," she snapped. He tried, unsuccessfully, to stop grinning. After flipping the bustle away, he turned back to her. "Okay, what's next?" "Nothing. I mean, I can manage quite well like this." Even though her basque was still buttoned up under her chin and a petticoat covered her legs, Victoria felt very exposed. "Are you sure?" His lopsided smile made her think he might be enjoying her discomfort. "Yes, you stay here." She pointed to his present position and hurried behind a round, thick juniper. When she returned, Hawk was leaning against the wagon with his arms crossed over his chest. She went to the back of wagon. "I will need some help getting up." "You're not going to sleep like that are you?" He came up behind her. "I can do the rest myself." "You think you can manage all those little buttons?" She looked down at the small, pearl-shaped buttons that marched down the front of her basque. They would be difficult to manage with only her left-hand.

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"Turn around, Victoria. I've already seen you in a nightgown, and that was before we got married." She turned and fixed her eyes on the middle of his chest. He used both hands. His blunt fingers slipped the buttons through the small holes with difficulty. One button, two. Did he deliberately press against her flesh? Why did the brief pressure make her suddenly aware of the tips of her breasts? He leaned forward to better see his task. Victoria looked down, watching and feeling his fingers work their way over her stomach, past her waist, to the last button just below her navel. "I'll get the sleeve over your burned hand first," Hawk said and held out his hand. Victoria hesitated. Her corset cover had a high neckline with a lace trim that showed above the basque, but it was sleeveless. However, the tightly fitted sleeves of the basque would be difficult for her to remove. She gave him her right arm. He gently inched the sleeve over the bandage. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked as that arm came free. "Not a bit," she answered and held out the other arm.

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After he pulled that sleeve free, he stared at her arm with a bemused expression. Then he trailed his fingers up her forearm, almost to the shoulder. "Why did you do that?" she asked, her voice rising in surprise. His head jerked to alertness. "Oh--I wanted to see if it was as soft as it looked." She'd never heard anything so silly. "Skin is always soft." "Mine's not." He took her hand and trailed her fingers over the rough, work-hardened skin of his palm. "This isn't a fair comparison. Hands are always tougher." "Yours aren't." He turned her hand over and rubbed his finger back and forth across her palm. She closed her hand to escape the tingling his touch caused. "I don't do the kind work you do," she said hastily. He looked down at her body with a lazy, lopsided grin. "What's next?" "Next? Oh! I'll need help getting into the wagon." He gripped her waist and easily lifted her up to sit on the bedroll he'd already prepared. "You're not going to sleep in this thing are you?" His knuckle lightly tapped one of the bone stays of her corset.

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"Yes. I've done it before." She certainly didn't intend to let him help her take off a corset. "Why do you wear one, anyway? You don't need to make yourself any smaller." "They also keep--ah--things from moving around?" This conversation was getting entirely too personal. "Oh!" He chuckled. "Guess I don't know much about ladies' clothes." Victoria carefully swung her legs up and around so she could scoot down on the bedroll. She had to keep pulling her petticoat down to cover her legs, not an easy task with just one hand. "Wait a minute," Hawk said. "I thought you'd put your head that way so it'd be under the canvas." "I don't want to be closed in under that dusty cover, besides, it'll be nice to sleep under the stars again." "Okay, but I folded an extra blanket to put under your head." He moved down the side of the wagon, whipped the cover back, picked up the folded blanket, and placed it at the other end of the pallet.

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Victoria, propping on one elbow, watched him nervously. The space he had cleared in the bottom of the wagon was large enough for only one bedroll. She knew he didn't mean to join her, but stretched out before him in her underclothes made her feel weak and vulnerable. He picked up another blanket and spread it over her feet and legs. "It can get chilly during the night. Can you think of anything else you need?" She shook her head. "So whatta you think? Do I have a future as a lady's maid?" The thought of a man as big and strong as Hawk being a lady's maid made Victoria grin, then giggle. "I wouldn't give up ranching, if I were you." "Well, I'm sorry, but I'm the best you'll get on this trip, so if you need anything else, just sing out." He turned to walk away. "I didn't mean that I don't appreciate your help. Thank you." He gave her a two-finger salute and walked on. Victoria lay back against her blanket pillow and sighed. Her injured hand made it impossible to keep Hawk at arm's length. But he had been kind, even humorous--a new side to his personality.

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Hawk spread his bedroll near the campfire. Thank God, he'd been able to make Victoria laugh before he left her. He'd gotten so caught up in helping her undress that he'd forgotten what she'd gone through down in Mexico. Then he noticed her tense expression and realized he'd frightened her. He'd have to be more careful. Being raped would surely cause a woman to be afraid of all men. He needed to keep reminding himself not to do anything to alarm her. Of course, that wasn't going to be easy now that her injured hand made it necessary for him to help her dress. However, she might learn to trust him more quickly because of this forced closeness. Provided he proved himself trustworthy. He'd enjoyed taking her clothes off so much, that for a moment, he'd forgotten why he was doing it. Couldn't let that happen again. Jack returned from tending the horses and spread his bedroll across from Hawk. "That dang, lob-eared mule tried to bite me." "You didn't let him get away with it, did you?" "I gave him a good swat on his nose. Don't think he'll try that on me again." Jack pulled on his whiskers a few times. "Look, I know I was outta line saying anything about how you treat Victoria." Hawk waved the comment away. "Naw, I was the one outta line."

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"Nobody should get between a man and his wife, and I want you to know I won't do it again." Hawk chuckled. "Until the next time you think I'm acting like a jackass." A sheepish grin broke through Jack's beard. "Just tryin' to be a good hand, boss."

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Chapter Ten Victoria awoke to the sound of mules hee-hawing. Determined to dress herself, she sat up and looked for her clothes. During the night, she'd given into a demand for more personal comfort and loosened her corset laces. That garment now bulged against the white cotton of her corset cover. Lifting the cover, Victoria carefully entwined one side of the laces through the fingers that extended beyond the bandage. Then she grabbed the other end with her good hand and tugged. The laces hardly moved. She tightened her grip. Something gave in her injured hand, causing a twinge of pain. She pulled the laces away and looked at the bandage. A wet spot grew in the middle of the white patch. What had she done? "Hawk! Hawk!" His head appeared over the side of the wagon. "What's the matter?" She held her hand up. "Something happened." He looked at the wet spot. "I guess you busted some blisters."

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"What does that mean?" she asked in alarm. He looked at her with a slight frown. "Haven't you ever had a blister before?" Then he shook his head. "No, I guess not. Don't worry. Blisters bust on their way to gettin' well. I'll put some more salve on 'em." Victoria sighed in relief. After retrieving the salve, Hawk pulled her hand toward himself, and gently unwound the bandage. "What were you doing to bust 'em?" "Ah--" Victoria stared down at her hand as the shriveled blisters came into view. "Tightening my laces," she murmured. She glanced up and caught him swallowing a grin. "Should have taken the thing off last night," he said. His enjoyment of her plight caused her chin to come up and her lips to twitch with an angry retort, but she remained silent as he smeared a new layer of the strong smelling goo onto her hand. She'd definitely need help with her laces now. He retied the bandage. "Now, you want me to do the laces?"

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Victoria nodded. "They'll do better if I'm standing." She edged toward the back of the wagon, shy about coming from under the blanket in front of him. Of course, he'd seen her in these undergarments the night before, but it had been dark then. Reluctantly, she relinquished the blanket, as Hawk caught her around the waist and lifted her down to the ground. "What do I do," he asked, "just pull on the ends?" "Wait a minute." The corset had slipped out of position during the night. With her back to him, she tried to center it. Things still weren't in the right place. Glancing over her shoulder, she ordered, "Turn your back." He gave her a disbelieving look but turned away. Victoria quickly bent from the waist and shook her shoulders until her breasts fell into the intended space near the top of the corset. "Now you can pull," she said as she straightened, and pushed the garment tightly against the front of her body with her forearms. "What did you do?" he asked, reaching for the laces. "Never you mind. Just pull." She took a deep breath. He gave the laces a small tug. She exhaled. "Much tighter." Again she sucked her waist in and her chest out.

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He tugged harder and the stays of the corset molded into Victoria's body. She took a trial breath. "That's enough. Please tie it in a bow so I can undo it." "I'm used to throwin' hitches. Don't do bows much." The level of his voice changed as he leaned closer to his work. Then his hands moved uncertainly against her lower back. Victoria took several quick breaths to ward off an unusual wave of heat that traveled through her body. Maybe the corset was too tight. He straightened and pulled her corset cover down, smoothing it over her hips. Did he have to touch her that much? "Now what?" "The bustle, of course." "Do you have to wear that thing?" "My skirt will drag on the ground and get dirty if I don't." "I don't know how you women move with all this stuff on." The weight of the bustle fell lightly against her lower back, then Hawk stepped around her and bent to fastened the buckle at her waist. The faint scent of hair tonic reached her nostrils. She inhaled deeply.

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He quickly fastened the buckle and reached for her skirt, dropping it over her head without any warning. Suddenly, he seemed to be in a great hurry. Closing the opening at her waist, he pulled the sleeve of her basque over her injured hand, catching her fingers so that she cried out in alarm. "Sorry," he murmured and took more care in pulling the sleeve into place. Finally, he stood in front of her working on the row of buttons that closed her basque. He avoided meeting her gaze. Haste made his blunt fingers clumsier than they'd been the night before. His breathing sounded strange, almost like panting. Victoria tried to keep her chest motionless, but the need for air drove her to inhale deeply, thrusting her bosom upward. Hawk jerked his hands back. His fingers trembled slightly. "Hold still!" "Sorry." What was wrong? He hadn't seemed to mind helping her last night, but this morning he had grown positively surly. When he'd finished the last button, he impatiently made a half-turn away from her. "Is there anything else? I've got to get back to fixin' breakfast." "I'm fine. Thank you." He nodded and walked away.

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Victoria hoped his anger hadn't come back. Hawk pulled his horse to a stop and looked out over the increasingly steep hills ahead. They'd been climbing all morning. Pinyon trees now grew among the juniper bushes. In the distance, he could make out the dark green spires of ponderosa pines lining the mountain ridges. Hearing a shout, he looked back. Jack snapped the reins over the backs of the mules as he urged them up an incline. Hawk hoped he hadn't made Jack mad by telling him to drive the wagon today, but Hawk needed to put some distance between himself and Victoria. What had gotten into him, anyway? This morning he'd acted like a kid in his first whorehouse. She'd been covered up too, only her arms showing, but when he'd run his hands down from her small waist and over her rounded hips, he'd damn near popped out of his pants. This being married in name only was gonna be a lot harder than he'd imagined. He had to keep reminding himself what Victoria had been through down in Mexico. If he did something to add to her bad opinion of men, she might be ruined for all time. Of course, unless someone helped her over her present fear, she might be, anyway.

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Could he be that someone? He'd never had any complaints from the ladies in the past. But Victoria was different from any women he'd known before--more high toned. Would that make a difference in the woman part of her? She really needed to get over her aversion to men. If he could.... Wait a minute. He was married to this woman, a marriage that neither one of them wanted, so he better not start something he couldn't stand to end. Victoria stared at Hawk's back as it disappeared up the trail ahead of them. When he'd gone over a hilltop, she turned to Jack. "Do you know what happened to make Hawk angry this morning?" "Didn't notice that he was." "He seemed fine when he first came over to help me dress. Then he acted like he couldn't wait to get away from me. I must have said something--but I don't know what." Jack pulled back on the reins as the wagon started downhill. He looked over at Victoria, then back at the mules, then back at her. "Sometimes a man acts mad to cover up other things." "What other things?"

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He twitched his beard from side to side. "Well--you and Hawk have--have problems to work out. Yours ain't exactly an ordinary marriage." A warm flush rose to her cheeks. "I really didn't know my father was forcing him to marry me." "I didn't see Hawk try to get out of it." That statement puzzled Victoria until she reminded herself about the money her father had refused to pay Hawk. "He does have reason to be angry," she said, "but I'd hoped he'd gotten over some of it." "Oh, he's had his pride stepped on some, and it'll take him a while to get over it, but he ain't never been able to stay mad at a woman fer long. You just sweeten up to him, that'll bring him around." Victoria couldn't believe what she'd heard, and wondered if Jack was serious. "Have you known him long?" "Yeah, he was just a green sprout when we first met. He had a widowed Ma and two sisters to help support, so he signed on for a drive to Kansas. I'd made several trips for old man Parker, so I was sorta in charge. Hawk, we called him 'Tommy' back then, was real determined to prove himself, but didn't know beans about driving cattle or much else, 'cept gettin' into arguments with everybody."

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"Is that when you and he fought?" Jack chuckled. "Well, it was either gonna be me or a fellow we called 'Bullwhip,' and I didn't want to see the boy lose his hide. Course, I didn't want him to lose all his pride neither, so I let him throw a few punches, but I had to teach him a lesson. It weren't much of a fight, him being just a boy. But he took the lickin' like a man and didn't bear a grudge, so I decided to take him under my wing and teach him a few things." "And you two have been together ever since?" "Aw, naw, our paths have crossed down through the years, but cowboys are always movin' around, looking for greener pastures. I drove a Texas herd over to Fort Sumner a couple of years ago and ran into him again. He told me about startin' his own place, said he had nobody to work it but him and a crazy Mexican. Asked if I'd like to sign on. "I didn't figure he'd make it. I've seen too many cowboys save up a few dollars and buy some cows, only to go belly-up in a year or two, but I was kinda tired of movin' around then, so I decided to give it a try. It's been slim pickin's, just like I figured it would, but he's too cussed stubborn to give up, and now that he's gettin' more grazing land, he might last."

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Thinking Jack probably knew Hawk as well as anyone on earth, Victoria decided to ask his opinion on the vital question. "Do you think he'll let me go to San Francisco?" He wrinkled his nose as he looked at her. "Fer what?" "To live." His lower jaw grew slack and his eyebrows raised. "That what you want to do?" She nodded. "What about your marriage?" "Ours isn't a real marriage." "That judge back at your pa's place know that?" Victoria looked at the seemingly endless hills that stretched in front of them. She should have known a simple man like Jack wouldn't understand her situation. Did Hawk understand it, or did he think they were permanently married? The mules came to a near stop as the road curved upward. Jack turned his attention to slapping the reins over their backs and yelling threats at their "sorry hides." Victoria decided to let the man concentrate on his driving, and Jack showed no inclination to continue this particular conversation.

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As the countryside grew more rugged, more signs of habitation appeared. After they passed the entrance to a large copper mine, the road became heavily rutted. Jack explained that a lot of mining went on in this area. "We'll be in Silver City before night. That's the biggest town in these parts." Victoria thought Silver City lived up to its name, at least by New Mexican standards. Traffic moved slowly down a main street lined with two-story brick and wooden buildings. When Hawk waved their wagon to a stop in front of a large building with "Timmer House" painted on the plate glass window, a wave of excitement flowed through her. Was he actually going to let them spend a night in a hotel? Apparently so, for he helped her down from the wagon and led her into the lobby. A shaded bulb hung over the clerk's desk in the lobby. "You have electric lights?" Victoria asked in amazement. "Yes, ma'am," the clerk replied and smiled proudly. "We've had 'em for almost two years now."

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How impressive. Many places in the East still didn't have electricity. The hotel continued to please her. It had a bathing room with hot running water on each hall. The clerk sent a maid to help Victoria so she could enjoy a bath without having to endure the embarrassment of Hawk's assistance. Of course, when she asked him for money to tip the maid, he frowned and gave her a dime, so she knew he resented her this luxury and allowed it only because of her injured hand. Would she have to keep hurting herself to get the man to treat her decently? At dinner in the hotel dinning room, Hawk studied the menu and grumbled over the prices. Two dollars for a full meal didn't seem excessive to Victoria. "Maybe they think they can charge more since a famous criminal once worked here," Jack said. "Who?" Victoria asked. "Billy the Kid once waited tables in this very room. Course, he was called Henry McCarty back then." "I thought his name was Bonney." Victoria gazed about the room, wondering what the young desperado would have looked like wearing an apron and carrying a tray. "How do you know so much about Billy the Kid?" Hawk asked.

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"Oh, he's famous back East. Sheriff Pat Garrett's book about him was quite popular. One of the girls smuggled a copy into school, and we all took turns reading it." "Garrett wrote a book?" Jack asked. "Why did the girl have to hide a book?" Hawk asked. "Well, the book was interesting, but not the sort a cultured person should read." Hawk and Jack stared at her as though neither understood nor believed what she'd said. "In school," she explained, "they wanted us to spend our time on text books or the classics. But sometimes you like to do something just for the fun of it." Jack grinned and nodded his head. "That's fer sure." After dinner, when Hawk suggested they look for an opened store that carried ladies' clothing, Victoria wondered if she'd been too quick in judging him parsimonious. He led her past a ladies' shop, however, and into a general store, where he explained to the clerk that they needed boots for her. Without giving her any say in the matter, he chose a pair of low-heeled, kid boots that buttoned up the side and came well over her ankles. She supposed she did need sturdy footwear for the

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journey they were on and said nothing. However, when he started looking at a rack of limp cotton dresses, like that monstrosity he selected for her in Deming, she objected. "You gotta have something more sensible to travel in, Victoria. You're uncomfortable and clumsy in the stuff you're wearing now." Seeing a stack of riding skirts, she led him to them. "I could wear one of these with blouses I already have, and I might ride one of the horses some of the time." She looked up at him hopefully. "Okay," he nodded. "Pick out one." As Hawk waited for her to try on several of the skirts, he mentally went over the cost of this night in Silver City. He'd be lucky to get out of town without spending more than twenty dollars! If Victoria was gonna be this expensive to keep, maybe he better reconsider the situation. He wished he knew the size of that "little fund" her mother had left her. A couple of hundred dollars wouldn't keep her in the style she was accustomed to for more than a few months. If Victoria really wanted to live without men telling her what to do, she'd have to learn how to spend money carefully. Fortunately, he knew a lot about that, and there would be few hotels on the trail ahead.

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He insisted on helping Victoria get ready for bed. When she asked to call the maid, he told her right out that ten dimes make a dollar. She'd looked back at him like she thought he was crazy. By focusing his thoughts on money, however, he managed to do her buttons, buckles, and ties without losing control of himself. Then he went to the room he was sharing with Jack. As Hawk sat on the side of the bed pulling off his boots, Jack stirred restlessly. "What's the matter with you?" Hawk asked. "I never knew you to have trouble falling asleep." "I been thinkin'." "No wonder you can't sleep. That's somethin' you ain't used to doin'." "I'm serious," Jack said. "How about if I go on ahead of you two?" Hawk looked over his shoulder at him. "Why would you do that?" "Seems to me you and Victoria got some serious problems to work out. Might be able to do that easier by yourselves." Hawk resumed pulling on his boots. "I need you to help with the wagon. Anyway, Victoria is probably more comfortable havin' you along."

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"That's just what I'm gettin' at. With me in the middle, you two ain't even tryin' to work things out." Hawk stood and removed his pants. "There're things you don't understand." "Do you know she wants to go to San Francisco?" "Yeah." Hawk kept his back turned to his old friend as he again sat on the side of the bed. "Well, it seems to me that you ain't gonna have much of a marriage until you talk her outta that notion." Hawk propped his elbows on his thighs rested his chin in his hands. He trusted Jack more than any other person in the world and had always talked out his problems with him, but now he felt tongue-tied. "Victoria is--she hasn't--you know what happened to her down in Mexico! She hasn't got over that. I don't want to do anything to--well--to make it worse." In the silence that stretched between them, Hawk stood and switched off the bulb that hung from the ceiling. Jack cleared his throat twice but remained silent. After he lay down, Hawk said, "Go ahead and say what you wanna say." "You ain't helpin' her get over nothin' by blowin' up like a bull frog over everything that happens."

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"Mind you're own damn business." The terrain grew more mountainous when they left Silver City. At the base of a particularly steep incline, the mules balked. Hawk cantered his horse over to the wagon and Jack stopped slapping the reins over the animals' backs. "You get off, Victoria, and lighten the load some," Hawk said. She moved to comply, now being quite secure with her ability to disembark from the wagon without assistance. "Shall I ride Jack's horse?" "Just lead him, in fact, you lead both horses, so I can lend a hand with the wagon," Hawk replied. Victoria placed one hand on her hip. "Do you mean I have to walk up this hill?" Hawk untied Jack's horse from the back of the wagon, came over to Victoria, dismounted, and held both sets of reins out to her. "People do it everyday, and it doesn't kill 'em." He gave her one of those looks that seemed to combine a frown and a smirk. She snatched up the reins. "It just seems foolish to have to walk when there are two perfectly good horses here."

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"The horses need a break, too. You can mount Jack's at the top of the hill. Red's too big for you. Keep a tight rein going downhill, though, or Junior might get away from you." "I know that. I grew up in San Francisco, after all." She turned and trudged up the hill without giving him a chance to reply. At the crest, she paused and looked back. Jack yelled at the mules and slapped the reins vigorously. At first, Victoria didn't see Hawk, then she noticed his fair head sticking out from one side of the wagon. He had his shoulder against the back of it. Didn't he know if the team failed that wagon would suddenly go backwards? Maybe after growing up on the plains of Texas, he didn't. Should she warn him? As the wagon moved forward a few inches, she took a deep breath, preparing to call out. Then the team dug in and the wagon began to move in earnest. Hawk quickly stepped away from it. How silly of her to think he didn't know the danger. How surprising that she'd been concerned over his safety. But she would have been concerned over the possibility of anyone being run over and killed. Of course, if she were a widow, she could go anywhere she liked. Good heavens, what a terrible thought. She mustn't let her desire to live in a city overrun her common decency.

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She realized the hilltop wasn't wide enough for the wagon to comfortably pass her and the horses. Quickly mounting Jack's horse, she started down the hill. At first she kept a tight rein, but the thought of being in front of the wagon if the brakes failed loosened her grip. Junior began to lope. Victoria looked back at Hawk's horse. She'd hooked his reins around her wrist so she could hold on to them with only the thumb and forefinger of her injured hand. If Red didn't keep the pace, she'd be in trouble. His gait matched theirs. Victoria had never controlled two horses at one time before. She gave Junior his head, and both horses broke into full gallops. The rhythmic contractions of the horse flesh beneath her, the pounding of hooves, the force of wind against her face, all exhilarated Victoria. At the bottom of the incline, she reluctantly slowed, then pulled the horses to a stop in a small meadow. The wagon rattled down the hillside. Jack leaned heavily against the brake. Hawk had jumped on the back and was hanging onto the tailgate. As he came closer, she saw fury etched on his face. Oh, dear.

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Hawk jumped down even before the wagon stopped and ran toward her. "I told you to go slow. You came down that hill like a bat outta hell." "I was in control," she said. "Like hell you were. You could have killed yourself." He grabbed her bridle and reached for the other horse's reins. When he saw them looped around her wrist he yelled, "My God! Your arm could've been pulled off." She dismounted and glared up at him. "I just wanted to have a little fun," she said through clenched teeth. "That's hard to do around you." Then she stalked off. As he turned to watch her walking away, his gaze fell on Jack, who shook his head regretfully. The words, "blow up like a bull frog," echoed through Hawk's brain and he exhaled deeply. Jack was right. Hawk did blow up at her all the time, but how could he help himself? When he'd first seen those horses racing down the hillside, he thought they were running away, and he had no way to help her. He'd forgotten her hurt hand, or he wouldn't have given her both horses in the first place.

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Then he remembered her joyful expression when she turned back to look at the wagon. He'd never seen her look so happy before--like a playful child. What had she said--something about not having any fun around him? When was the last time he had fun? Jack climbed off the wagon, walked to the back of it, and began to examine the wheels. Hawk led the horses over to him. "What're you lookin' at?" "This wheel's running hot. Guess that's part of the reason the mules where having so much trouble. If we don't repack it purty soon, we'll lose the axle." Hawk glanced up at the mid-afternoon sun, then at the surrounding countryside. "This is probably the flattest piece of land we'll find anytime soon, might as well do it here." "I'll unhitch the mules," Jack said. Hawk nodded toward the stretch of grassland in the small valley. "I'll hobble the horses. Let 'em graze some." He removed the saddles near the wagon. Then he led the horses out into the meadow, hobbling them near a large rock where Victoria sat with her knees pulled up toward her chest and a disgruntled expression on her face.

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He walked up to her. She didn't look at him. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. I thought you were gonna get hurt." Without moving her head, she shifted her gaze toward him. "You think I'm stupid, don't you?" "No, I...." Had he hurt her feelings with all his criticism? He'd thought her too arrogant to take anything he said to heart. "I'm sure you're plenty smart about some things." "What?" she asked with a blend of belligerence and hopefulness. "Well--ah--city things." "Useless things," she muttered. He didn't know how to handle her in this mood. "We're gonna stop early today. Need to repack a wheel. You might gather some branches from under the trees for firewood." She didn't respond, so he went to help Jack. Victoria looked around at the stands of ponderosa pine that surrounded this small valley. Their shade and fallen needles keep brush to a minimum. Collecting firewood would be relatively easy. With a sigh, she climbed down from the rock. She might as well get it over with, or Hawk would be yelling at her again.

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Picking up several fallen branches, she carried them to the wagon and dropped them with a clatter. The two men, who were struggling with the thick wooden handle of a jack, paid her little attention. As she made several more trips with armfuls of wood, she noticed the wildflowers blooming in various parts of the grassy meadow. She remembered the darling little pictures her Aunt Chloe enjoyed making from dried flowers. Of course, her aunt had used flowers from her own garden, but Victoria thought some of these native wildflowers would make pretty arrangements too. Could she do something like that? Being a bachelor, Hawk probably had few decorations in his home. Maybe she could impress him with feminine art. Forgetting about the wood, she stooped to pick some yellow, daisy-like flowers. She wouldn't need many. Nearby, low-growing plants were covered with small, white, fringed blossoms. Deciding they would work well to fill in spaces, she gathered more of them. Then she hurried toward a splash of scarlet at the far end of the meadow. Bright, trumpet-shaped blossoms jutted out from the stems. These flowers looked very much like the penstemon that grew in her aunt's garden. She snapped a stem, then straightened and

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wrinkled her nose. Did these flowers stink? She held the blossoms close to her nose and sniffed cautiously. No, it wasn't the flowers. Looking around, she saw a mound of freshly overturned dirt several feet away. Then she noticed a slim, hoofed leg sticking out. What in the world? The animal had to be dead, but who would bury a carcass around here? Maybe she ought to tell Hawk about it. She broke off another stem of the scarlet flowers, then headed back to the wagon. The men had succeeded in removing the wheel and Jack was just opening a small bucket of black axle grease. "It looks like somebody buried a deer back there. Do you suppose there are hunters around here?" Victoria asked. Both men stopped what they were doing and stared at her. "How do you know it's a deer?" Hawk asked. "It's not covered up completely. I could see the feet." Hawk quickly stepped over to the saddles and pulled his and Jack's rifles from their holders. He waited for Jack to wipe a smear of grease on his trousers, then tossed him a weapon. With a nod, Jack turned to Victoria. "Where was that carcass, little lady?"

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Victoria pointed with a spike of red flowers. "It's not far. I'll show you." "No!" Hawk almost shouted. "You stay here." "Don't worry, I can find it," Jack said and started into the meadow, holding his rifle up and shifting his head from side to side as he went. "What's wrong?" Victoria asked. "Maybe nothing," Hawk muttered while watching Jack intently. Jack reached the far end of the meadow. After carefully surveying the immediate area, he stooped down near the carcass. Victoria wondered how he could stand to be that close to the smelly thing. In a moment, he headed back to them, looking over his shoulder several times. The men exchanged glances. "There's tracks and scat," Jack said. "Grizzly--a big one." "Do you mean a grizzly bear?" Victoria asked, her voice going unnaturally high. Jack nodded. "Why would a grizzly bury a deer?" she asked. "So he can come back for it later," Hawk said.

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"Come back?" She looked with horror at the wheel propped against the side of the wagon. "What are we going to do?"

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Chapter Eleven Hawk looked at the sun dipping beneath the western tree tops, at the disabled wagon, and at Victoria's stark white face. Fear locked his jaw as he accepted the fact they would be sharing tonight's campground with a grizzly bear. He forced himself to concentrate on minimizing the risk. "The first thing we gotta do is get this wheel back on. Jack, start packing that grease." "We can't drive a wagon on these trails in the dark," Jack protested even as he reached for the grease bucket. "I wanna be ready to leave at first light. With any luck, that bear won't come tonight." Jack gave Hawk an indignant glare that said he knew coming during the night was what the bear would most probably do. Then his gaze flicked to Victoria, and he remained silent. "What can I do?" she asked in a quavering voice. "Get more wood," Hawk said. "We'll want a big fire tonight. But stay close and keep away from underbrush."

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Jack pointed toward the near end of the meadow. "Go that way," he said. "The bear's tracks went off in the other direction." Victoria gave her head a quick nod before walking toward the trees with an unnaturally stiff gait. Setting his rifle within easy reach, Hawk helped Jack position the heavy wooden wheel so they could slip it onto its axle. "Thanks for not saying anything to scare Victoria more. I'm surprised a city-girl like her would know anything about grizzlies." "I hear they use to have a lot of 'em in California. She's probably heard stories." Hawk checked on Victoria so frequently, that Jack finally huffed and said, "Watch what your doing, or we'll never get this wheel on." With a few seconds of Hawk's undivided attention the wheel slipped onto the hub. "You secure it. I'll bring the animals closer, then help you let down the jack." "You gonna try to put a little distance between us and that carcass before night?" Jack asked. Hawk studied the deep shadows of the trees that pressed in on the trail ahead. "Naw. If I gotta meet one of those devils, I wanna do it in open country." Jack nodded his agreement.

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Hawk strung a rope between trees and attached the horses and mules to it with halters. That limited their ability to graze, but hobbling would deny them the use their sharp hooves in self-defense. He finished with the animals just as Victoria returned with another armload of sticks to drop on the pile that had already reached a couple of feet in height. She paused, placed one hand against her side, and took several deep breaths. "That's enough wood for now. You better sit down," Hawk said. Cradling her bandaged hand, she turned toward him. "Can we build a fire now? It's getting dark." "Let me help Jack lower the wagon, and I'll do it. Have you hurt your hand?" "I just used it more. Where do you want the fire, I'll start moving the wood." "Sit down, Victoria. Take it easy for a minute." She looked at him with her brow wrinkled in disbelief. "How can I take it easy with a grizzly bear coming? We could all be killed," she said in a high-pitched, wavering voice.

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Hawk helped Jack turn the stout wooden handle of the wagon jack. "That bear might not come back here for two of three days. We'll fix our camp at the far end of the meadow. Even if he comes back, he wouldn't bother us," he said over his shoulder. "My grandfather hunted grizzly bears," Victoria shouted in an accusing tone. "He said you never knew what one of them would do." Jack had been right about her hearing stories. Still, that didn't explain her near panic. Hawk hadn't seen her so rattled since that horrible night down in Mexico. When the wagon again had all wheels resting on the ground, he turned and found her standing no more than an arm's length away. "No matter what happens, Jack and I both have rifles and are pretty fair shots. If that bear comes near our camp, we'll kill him." She dropped her head as though embarrassed by her behavior. Jack walked up to them, wiping his hands on a greasy rag. "That's right, little lady. Biggest worry we got is keeping the livestock from spooking." "Yeah," Hawk added. "We're gonna camp closer to them tonight, so they'll feel safer." "How about some food?" Jack asked. "I'm as hungry as a--as I can be." "We'll fix some coffee, but eat cold food tonight. Don't want that bear smelling our cooking."

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Hawk built the fire close to the wagon on the side away from the buried deer. Both he and Jack kept their rifles handy at all times. He tried to distract Victoria by sending her to the wagon for supplies, but could see her reluctance to leave the fire increase as shadows crowded into their campsite. Their meal consisted of canned beans and crackers. After everyone had coffee, Jack emptied the pot, rather than leave it warming near the fire as they usually did. Of course, they kept adding fuel to the fire pit, but the flames produced only a small circle of light as total darkness descended around them. Victoria sat as close to the crackling fire as possible with her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped tightly around her legs. The air had cooled with the setting of the sun, but not that much. The side of her face nearest the campfire glowed with a rosy hue, but she didn't move back. "Victoria, why don't you get some sleep?" Hawk said. "Jack and I will keep watch." She glanced at the wagon, parts of it lost in darkness. "Can I put my bedroll by the fire?" "You'll be safer in the wagon." If they did have to shoot, the wooden sides would protect her from stray bullets. "Come on, I'll help you get in."

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She stared at his extended hand with a look of dread, but finally took hold of it and stood. As they walked slowly toward the back of the wagon, she said, "I--I don't think I'll undress tonight." "That's a good idea. We'll leave at first light." He leaned his rifle against the lowered tailgate, caught her around the waist, and set her on the wagon bed. She clung to his shoulder with one hand. "You need help gettin' your legs up?" he asked. "Why can't I stay by the fire with you and Jack?" Her tight expression threatened tears. He patted her back. "You'll sleep better here. Jack and I will be talking. If anything should happen, the wagon will protect you. I'll pull the canvas cover completely closed if you want me to." "A grizzly's claws can easily cut through that canvas." She sniffed loudly. "Grandpapa had a stuffed one in his library. It stood on it's hind legs and held its front paws out. The claws were long and curved and Grandpapa said they could rip a man to shreds. I had bad dreams about the bear even after Grandpapa died, and mama got rid of it." Now he understood. She thought she was about to meet the monster who had tormented her childhood dreams. He drew her into his arms wanting to comfort the frightened child in her. She responded with a frantic embrace, pressing her cheek and breasts into his chest. Tremors racked her body.

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"You were just a little girl then, Victoria. That bear's claws looked a lot bigger to you than they would today. I won't tell you grizzlies aren't dangerous. They are, but no matter what happens tonight, this bear won't get close to you. I swear it." Her breasts pressed into him as she took deep breaths. Unruly curls brushed against the underside of his chin. The faint aroma of lilac filled his nostrils. He reminded himself that she nestled in his arms only because of her fear. However, he could no longer deny that he wanted Victoria more than any woman he'd ever known. Her grip of his body loosened. Her breathing slowed. He allowed her to pull back so he could look into her face. "Feeling better?" "I--I'm sorry. You must think I'm silly." With one finger, he caught a tear that rolled down her cheek. "Old fears are always the worst." She nodded. "Think you can go to bed now?" "I'll try, but I can't promise I'll go to sleep," she said in a cracking voice. He couldn't resist the urge to brush his lips against her cheek. Then he slipped an arm under her legs, lifted her, and slipped her legs into the space between the trunks and the side of the wagon.

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When he could reach no farther, he regretfully set her down and withdrew his arms. If not for that damn bear, he'd be sorely tempted to climb in with her. "How far you want me to pull this cover?" he asked, taking hold of the tarpaulin. "Leave a little opening, so I can get some air." She struggled to straighten her clothing, then stretched out and stared up at him. He folded the canvas back just above her head. "I'm gonna put the tailgate up. That'll be safer." She tried to smile and nodded her head. After he'd completely boxed her in, he could barely see her starkly white face in the dark depths of the wagon. "Everything will be all right." He reached in and lightly patted her cheek then picked up his rifle and walked away. Victoria found her pallet harder than usual. No matter how she turned or squirmed, she couldn't find an entirely comfortable position. However, she wasn't as afraid as she had been. Telling Hawk about that ridiculous stuffed bear of her grandfather's had somehow lessened her fears. She even believed his promise to protect her. He had been fairly considerate since she burned her hand, but she should remember how he behaved right after they got married. That behavior probably reflected his true feelings for her.

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With a large assist from her father, she had forced Hawk into a marriage he definitely did not want. Maybe he even loved another woman! She hadn't thought of that. Could he want to be rid of her enough to allow an "accident" to happen? No, she couldn't believe that. His past behavior and the things Jack had told her about Hawk all indicated that Thomas Hawkins was a basically decent man. Surely, he'd protect her no matter how unhappy he might be over being married to her. She relaxed a bit. Hawk might not be a polished gentleman, but he had a gentleman's respect for ladies. Such respect improved her chances of gaining his permission to live in San Francisco. Once they reached his ranch, and he saw how poorly she fit into his life, he'd surely come around. That cheerful thought allowed her to relax even more. She drifted toward sleep. The nervous whinny of one of the horses brought her to full alertness. For a moment, all she heard were pops and crackles from the fire, then the horse neighed more loudly and hoofs stomped the ground. A fierce animal roar blasted from the far end of the meadow. The bear! Victoria squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her hands over her ears, but jerked them away as her desperation to know what was happening overcame her fear. Horses and mules sounded their panic, and men's voices mingled in the hubbub.

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She raised on one elbow, then brought her knees up to a crouch. Inching her head above the side of the wagon, she peeked into the dancing shadows. Jack moved among the milling animals, patting humps and calling softly, his rifle dangling uselessly in one hand. Red, Hawk's big stallion, suddenly reared on his hind legs, his front hooves thrashing and threatening the rope that held him in place. Jack dropped his rifle and threw his arms around the horse's neck, trying desperately to prevent the possible escape of all their livestock. Dropped his rifle! Who would shoot the bear? She swivelled her head until she spotted Hawk. Standing in the edges of the firelight, he faced the meadow holding his rifle up and ready. With his head bent to the gun-sight, he turned his shoulder so the tip of the rifle barrel slowly swept the darkness in front of him. One sweep, two. Victoria held her breath, then inhaled sharply and searched the darkness with her own eyes. She could see nothing. The noise from the livestock decreased. Glancing that way, she saw Red's hooves back on the ground. Jack paused in patting the horses' backs to quickly grab up his weapon even as he continued to call, "Whoa, boy, whoa." Minutes dragged by. Near silence returned to the campsite.

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"See anything?" Jack's voice softly called. "Naw," Hawk replied. "Horses are calming down." Hawk raised his head and looked toward the wagon. "Stay down, Victoria!" he ordered, before again bending over his rifle. She lowered her head and sat on one hip, feeling strangely elated. In the middle of a bear attack, Hawk had thought about her and looked to assure himself of her safety. Shecould depend on him to protect her. No further sounds came from the far end of the meadow. When Victoria could stand the suspense no longer, she dared a quick peak over the top of the wagon. Jack, with his rifle across his knees sat on the ground near the horses. She didn't see Hawk. "What are you bouncing around for?" his voice came from beneath her. Apparently, he was sitting on the ground near the back wheel. "What are you doing down there?" she asked. "Trying to stay awake." "How could you be sleepy at a time like this?"

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"I'm kidding, Victoria. I'm not about to fall asleep." "Why did he roar if he wasn't going to attack?" "I don't know. Maybe he just wanted us to know this is his hunting ground." As soon as the morning sky turned gray, Hawk called Victoria awake. With her blanket draped around her shoulders, she climbed onto the wagon's front seat while Jack was still hitching up the mules. Fog covered the ground and blotted out distant trees. Jack joined her on the wagon, and Hawk mounted Red. As the wagon wheels rumbled forward, Hawk wheeled his horse toward the end of the meadow and disappeared into the mist. Victoria choked back a protest. In a few moments he came back, looked at Victoria's alarmed face, and grinned. "I just had to know. That carcass is gone." Jack humphed. "The devil couldn't leave without giving us a scare." Had the men been afraid, too? Victoria thought of the way Hawk had steadfastly faced that horrifying roar. No matter what she might see in the future, she knew she would remember that as the bravest act she'd ever witnessed.

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She glanced over at Hawk. Beard stubble darkened his jawline. His slouching posture spoke of fatigue, but his narrowed eyes continued to examine the smoky shadows on all sides of them. He was like a knight of old, ready to slay any dragons. The sun burned away the haze. The sky above them turned a bright cerulean blue. Victoria had never seen the sky quite that color before. A warm breeze caressed her cheeks. Although she'd had little sleep the night before and no food that morning, she felt alert and happy. Hawk finally waved the wagon to a stop in a clearing beside the trail. Grabbing a few of the sticks that had been saved from their last campsite, he dropped them on a blackened spot other campers had used for a fire pit. "I gotta have some coffee." Both men were obviously fatigued from lack of sleep. Victoria rushed to offer her help. She wanted to show them how much she appreciated their protection. Hawk seemed more irritated than pleased by her insistence to help, but she didn't let his grumpiness deter her. She ran to the wagon for the coffee, the pot, the water, the sugar. She let Hawk do the actual fixing, but watched him carefully, determined to learn the mysterious proportions that produced a drinkable beverage.

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Jack laughed when she offered to turn the bacon for him. Apparently noting her disappointment, he suggested she bring him the loaf of bread left in the basket Miss Pritchard had packed for them. "That's all dried out by now," Victoria said. "You slice me off some pieces and I'll show you how to make Texas toast." Victoria raced to get the bread. Hawk insisted on slicing it for her. Then Jack showed her how to place a piece of bread on a long cooking fork, dip it in the bacon drippings, and hold it up to the fire until the grease turned a crispy brown. She did one side and then the other of a slice for each of them. A couple of edges got charred, but nobody complained, and Victoria felt like she'd made a real contribution to their breakfast. That afternoon, they descended into the Mimbres River Valley. The reddish ground turned into shockingly green meadows and farmer's fields. Hawk asked permission from a farmer to camp near the small stream that remained in the river bed. The obliging man not only welcomed them, but offered Victoria a chance to share his daughter's bed for the night. She politely refused, knowing Hawk and Jack were very tired, and wanting to help her comrades as much as she could.

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*** The next day the wagon climbed back into mountains that seemed wilder to Victoria than those they'd already passed through. Jack asked Hawk if he knew where they were. Hawk told him a man in Silver City had told him about this trail. It would lead them straight home. Jack shook his head doubtfully. Victoria didn't let Jack's comments bother her. Hawk undoubtedly knew exactly where they were. For the next two days, two small mining camps were the only signs of human habitation they saw. Finally, the wagon descended into a flat area between mountain ranges and turned north. By nightfall, a vast grass-filled plain surrounded by mountains stretched ahead of them. The peaks on the far side looked no larger than molehills to Victoria. As Jack pulled the wagon to a stop at their campsite for the night, he smiled with satisfaction. "That fella in Silver City knew what he was talking about, after all," he called out to Hawk. "How do you know?" Victoria asked. He gestured to the grassland ahead of them. "That's the Plains of San Agustin. Magdelena's at the other end."

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"You mean we have to cross the whole thing? It looks so far." Jack chuckled. "It ain't near as far as we've already come." Hawk came to help Victoria down from the wagon. "It just looks faraway because it's so flat." As the wagon moved onto the plain the next morning, Victoria pointed ahead and asked, "What's that?" "What're you talking about?" Jack replied. "That patch of ground that's darker than the rest." He glanced up and chuckled. "Ain't nothing but the shadow of a cloud." At first she didn't believe him, but after noting the shape of the puffy gray cloud above and comparing it to the dark spot on the ground, she had to agree. For a while she watched cloud shadows in fascination. Why had she never seen such a thing before? One passed directly over their wagon, blocking the sun's brightness and making the air seem cooler. Her life must be passing under a cloud right now, but surely bright sunlight waited just ahead. The clouds continued to build until the sun's rays could only be seen on a distant mountain side. A light drizzle started. Gradually the rain turned into a steady downpour. Hawk and Jack put on

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oilcloth ponchos for protection, but Victoria had to huddle under the tarpaulin that normally held her bed roll. Water collected on top of this in little pools that streamed down on her whenever the wagon bounced on the rough trail. That night they had to camp in the open, there being no trees in sight. The continuing rain drowned any chances of having a campfire. Huddled under the wagon, Victoria chewed dried beef and hardtack, and watched water streak down all around them. After deciding he and Jack would sleep under the wagon, Hawk attached their bed roll tarps to the sides of the wagon to keep the driving rain out. Jack dug a shallow trench around the outside to divert ground water. With nothing else to do, Victoria decided to crawl into her space above. Hawk held his poncho over her and gave her a boost up as she entered the space head first. She moved on her hands and knees until one hand splashed in water. "Ooh, it's all wet." "What's the matter?" Hawk asked. "The canvas has leaked. My bed roll's all wet." After a short pause, Hawk said, "Well, back outta there. You'll have to sleep with us tonight."

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The thought of sleeping with the men horrified Victoria, but after feeling around on her soggy bed roll, she decided she had no choice. Hawk put her in the middle. With only two bed rolls between three people, they had to spread one blanket on the ground and stretch the other over all of them. To give her more room, Hawk and Jack turned on their sides, with their backs toward Victoria. This pulled the blanket up from her body. Even though it was late summer, the rainy weather and high elevation of the plain made the night air decidedly chilly. Victoria squirmed uncomfortably and edged closer to Hawk. Warmth radiated from his body. She turned on her side and moved even closer. With a wiggle, she lightly pressed her back against his. The broad expanse not only warmed her but made her feel safe and secure. She snuggled even closer and drifted off to sleep. By the next morning, the rain had returned to a drizzle. They'd been underway for about an hour, when Jack pointed to a mountain shrouded in mist. "That's the Lady Magdalena Mountain. When we get around to the other side, you can see the Lady herself up there." As the wagon slowly made its way down the main street of the town, all Victoria saw on the side of the mountain was a large patch of bare, wet shale with a few bushes growing around it.

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However, she prayed to any holy image that might be up there for Hawk to stop at a place where she could get into dry clothing. To her immense relief, he waved them to a halt in front of a building whose sign declared it a hotel. Hawk helped Victoria down from the wagon, and grabbed a few of the smaller valises. Jack drove the wagon on to the stable as Hawk ushered Victoria inside. A drab room with nothing in it but a few straight chairs and a front desk served as the lobby. The clerk looked up from a newspaper and smiled broadly. "Well, hello, Hawk. Folks been wondering when you'd get back." "Hello, Herman. You got a room for me and my wife? And one for Jack, too. He'll be here in a minute." "Sure thing, Hawk." The clerk pushed the register toward Hawk and smiled and nodded to Victoria. His obvious curiosity made her very aware of her bedraggled appearance. As Hawk signed the register, the swinging doors that connected the lobby with the hotel's combination dinning room and saloon burst open. A woman's voice called out, "Hawk, you old rustler, you're back!"

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Victoria spun around and saw a buxom woman with bright yellow hair, and wearing an indecently short dress, rush toward Hawk. As he straightened, she threw her arms around his neck, and gave him a resounding kiss on the lips. Good heavens, was this the woman Hawk loved? "Glad to see you, sugar," the woman said, still holding his face with both of her hands. "This town's been as dull as an old maid's bed." The man behind the desk nervously cleared his throat. "You better get back to work, Mattie." Mattie's gaze shifted to Victoria. "Is she with you?" Hawk pulled her arms from around his neck. "This is my wife, Victoria." "Your wife!" Her mouth curled into an ugly sneer. "When did this happen?" "Very recently," Hawk replied. Mattie stepped back and eyed Victoria. Victoria held her head up and met the woman's stare evenly, making no attempt to hide her disdain. The hint of a smile pulled at Mattie's lips. "There's been talk that you went down to Mexico to a special job for T. J. Chandler. This sudden marriage wouldn't have anything to do with that, would it?" Hawk sighed. "Victoria is Chandler's daughter."

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Mattie burst into a raucous laugh. "You crafty devil! How'd you pull this off?" "It's a long story." "Well, when you ain't otherwise occupied, come around and tell me that story. I'll bet it's a doozie." "I expect to be otherwise occupied, Mattie," Hawk said and glared at the woman. "I can wait. I ain't going nowhere." She smiled at him enticingly. "May I go to my room, please?" Victoria said, disgusted with this vulgar display. "I'm quite fatigued." "Better see to your wife, Hawk. She's quite fatigued," Mattie said, mocking Victoria in a stilted voice. Grabbing a key from the desk clerk, Hawk placed his hand under Victoria's elbow. "Come on." He moved her toward the stairs. As they reached the first landing, Victoria paused. "You forgot to say good-bye to your friend." "She'll get over it," he muttered.

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Jack entered the lobby just then and Mattie greeted him effusively. "She seems to have lots of friends," Victoria said. "She's a friendly girl," Hawk replied. His manner didn't suggest this woman meant anything special to him, but Victoria couldn't be sure. They reached their room, and he unlocked the door. "You must have known her for a long time," she said, as they stepped inside. He dropped her valise on the floor and turned to her with a challenging expression. "You want to hear about all the women I've known in my lifetime?" "Certainly not!" She quickly averted her gaze, only to become aware of her surroundings. "This room is awfully small." "This ain't New York City, you know." "Are you going to share a room with Jack?" "Victoria, this is where I live. You can bet it would be all over town before morning if I didn't sleep with my own wife." She glanced at the small, lumpy bed then looked at him with alarm. "Surely you don't mean to sleep here?"

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He shrugged. "We slept beside each other last night, this won't be any different. Victoria pressed her lips together tightly. She wanted to argue more but couldn't think of anything to say. Hawk seemed not to notice. "I want to catch the lawyer who'll handle the land deal, before he leaves his office. You can rest until I get back, then we'll get something to eat." He turned to leave, then looked back at her. "There's a bathing room down the hall, if you want to take a bath or something." Victoria decided a bath would make her feel better. She searched through the luggage he had brought in and found a two-piece, gray and white stripped, walking dress with a modest bustle, which she hoped wouldn't be too showy for Magdalena. She was back in their room, brushing her hair dry, when Hawk returned. He looked at her with approval, then asked, "Can you wait for me to get cleaned up?" She nodded. After selecting clean clothing from the few articles he had stuffed in his saddlebags, he left the room. He came back clean shaven and wearing the black shirt he had worn the night he rescued her. She had to admit that he looked rather dashing in it.

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On the way out of the hotel, they stopped to knock on Jack's door. There was no answer. "He's keeping company with a widow who lives in town. Probably gone to see her," Hawk explained. They bypassed the hotel dining facilities. Victoria wondered if Hawk wanted to avoid the overly friendly Mattie. Victoria had taken no more then five steps on the wooden sidewalk when she saw a husky man with a droopy mustache walking briskly toward her. The tin star pinned to his vest sent a jolt of fear through her. Had someone connected her to the alcalde's death? He smiled broadly and extended his right hand to Hawk. "Welcome back to Magdalena." Hawk warmly shook the man's hand. "Good to be back, Orin." He gestured toward Victoria. "This is my wife. Victoria, Sheriff Tate." She managed a smile and a nod. "Your wife? Well, you're full of surprises, Hawkins. I thought you'd gone to Fort Sumner to sell cattle. Then the newspaper over in Socorro printed a rumor that you'd rescued a woman down in Mexico. Now here you are with a wife." The sheriff paused, obviously expecting some sort of explanation. Hawk looked at Victoria and back at the Sheriff. "Ah--you haven't received any wanted posters on me, have you?" he said with raised eyebrows.

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The sheriff chuckled. "Not yet, and since there's no law against being surprising in this county, guess I'll have to let you go this time." He faced Victoria. "Welcome to the area, ma'am. If your husband gives you any trouble, gimme a holler. I'll straighten him out for you." Victoria returned his warm smile. "Thank you, Sheriff. That's good to know." He tipped his hat and Hawk pressed lightly on Victoria's elbow. They managed to take a few more steps before stopping to meet the Henderson's. After introductions, Mrs. Henderson invited Victoria to join the Ladies' Aid Society of the local church. A few yards after the Henderson's came a rancher named Lester, then a Mrs. Wallace who, after introductions, told Victoria she ran a millinery shop out of her home. They passed a bank just a doorway down from the cafe. A well-dressed man tapped on the inside of the bank's plate glass window. He waved them to a stop and rushed out to greet them. Ignoring Hawk, he beamed at Victoria. "You must be the new Mrs. Hawkins. I'm Louis Fedderson, president of the Magdelena Bank and Trust Company. I'm glad to welcome you to our community. I like to say, 'What we lack in size, we make up for in friendliness.'" "Thank you," Victoria murmured, not knowing how else to respond to the man's effusive speech.

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Mr. Fedderson finally acknowledged Hawk's presence. "I've already received notification of the transfer of funds from the San Francisco Bank. Even though the money hasn't reached here yet, you may begin to draw on it if you like." Hawk seemed surprised by his statement. "Well, thanks. I'm closing on a land deal tomorrow morning. Then I'll come to the bank to open an account of my own. We can talk about Victoria's money then." The banker's smile grew even broader, showing a gold tooth in the right side of his mouth. "Splendid, splendid. Happy to be of service." He turned his beaming face back to Victoria. "My wife's anxious to meet you, Mrs. Hawkins. Perhaps you and Thomas could come to our house for dinner tomorrow night?" Victoria looked to Hawk for an answer. "Sorry," he said. "We're leaving for the ranch as soon as I get my business attended to. Some other time." "Of course, of course. See you tomorrow at the bank. Anything I can do for you, Mrs. Hawkins, anything at all, just let me know."

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They backed away from the man and escaped into the cafe. After being introduced to the waitress, Bertha, Victoria was finally led to a table. "My goodness," she said as she sat down, "you certainly have a lot of friends in this town." "Yeah," Hawk said, with a slight frown, "but I never knew Fedderson was one of 'em." Then a corner of his mouth stretched into a grin. "I guess putting money into his bank makes him a lot friendlier than asking for a loan." When they left the cafe, the clouds had disappeared and stars filled sky. Hawk took Victoria for a walk down the main street. There wasn't much to see--a half-dozen business establishments, a railroad station, and on the edge of town, recently constructed cattle pens. Hawk seemed proud as he pointed to these and explained that the coming of the railroad, just two years before, had made Magdalena the cattle shipping center for ranchers in the western part of the Territory. "Pretty soon, cattle will be more important than ore." She asked how far the ranch was from town, although she couldn't see any reason why she'd ever want to come back to this town. "An hour's ride, more in a wagon," he replied.

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They returned to the hotel. After opening the door to their room, Hawk said, "I'm going down for a drink." Victoria appreciated being able to get ready for bed alone, but couldn't decide how much getting ready she should do. While on the trail, she'd slept in her underclothes, never daring to undress completely. With a roof over her head, that seemed silly. She took off her shoes and stockings, and of course, the bustle, then stared at her long-sleeved nightgown. Deciding it was quite modest, she hurriedly removed everything except her underdrawers, and donned the gown. She turned the lamp down, placing the room in semi-darkness, and crawled into bed. It felt good to stretch out on a real bed without the binding restrictions of clothing, even though the saggy mattress made it difficult to settle herself comfortably on the far side of the bed. Victoria relaxed and grew drowsy, but each time she slipped into oblivion, a noise in the hallway would bring her back to wakefulness. Finally, footsteps stopped at her door. She heard the key in the lock.

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Someone entered the room. His footsteps sounded uncertain. Victoria chanced a peek, just to be sure it was Hawk. The heavy fabric of trousers rustled. The bed lurched as he sat heavily on the side. Boots hit the floor. When Hawk stretched out beside her, Victoria caught the scent of whiskey and smiled. He'd evidently had several drinks. She knew her father liked to sleep late on mornings after he'd celebrated. It shouldn't be difficult for her to get out of bed before Hawk awoke in the morning, avoiding any embarrassing situations.

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Chapter Twelve Victoria awoke slowly, feeling unusually warm and cozy. Early morning light filtered through the paper shade over the window. Suddenly she realized why she was so warm in the chilly morning air. Her back rested firmly against the front of Hawk's body. She could even feel his wool underwear through her thin cotton gown. One of his arms draped loosely over her midsection. The warmth turned to fire. She had to get away before he woke up. Inching her lower shoulder away from him, she braced her elbow and started to move her hips. His arm tightened around her waist. "Don't move away," he whispered in her ear. This was what Victoria had feared. Now Hawk would act like that horridalcalde, only Hawk had a legal right to do so. "You--you said you wanted to wait." She could barely get the words out. "That was before I knew you liked to snuggle. It feels so good to hold you like this." He moved his beard roughened chin against her hair, then slid his hand up to cup one of her breasts.

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Her body stiffened, and her fists knotted. She didn't know a lot about being married, but instinct told her the joining of their bodies would cement the tie between them. Somehow she had to stop him, or she'd be trapped in this backward part of the world forever. She remembered his belief that she'd been raped and his guilt over it. "Don't hurt me! Please don't hurt me!" she called out, near-panic causing her voice to crack. He jerked his hand away from her breast, as though he had touched fire, and fell back against his side of the bed. "Oh, damn!" She covered her face with her hands and huddled on the edge of the bed, frightened by her own actions. She'd merely let him go on believing a misconception before. Now she was actively promoting it. What would he do if he ever found out? "I won't hurt you," he murmured softly. "Don't start crying." Crying! Yes, that's what she ought to do. She sniffled loudly, but tears wouldn't come. Hawk touched her arm, gently trying to turn her toward him. She resisted, not wanting him to see her face. As a child, she'd always gotten caught when she lied. Her brother used to say she gave herself away with hangdog looks.

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"I know what happened to you in Santa Maria was terrible, Victoria, but it isn't like that when a man and woman want each other. It's good for both of them." "I'll never want it!" she called out loudly. "That would be a real shame." Hawk lay on his back staring up at the ceiling. He should have left her alone. Now he'd made her more afraid--just when she'd started to trust him. But finding her in his arms had been like a dream come true, in fact, he had thought he was dreaming when he first woke up. Then her firm backsides had moved even closer, and his body had responded instantly. How could he convince her that when a man and woman care for each other--that was the problem--she didn't care for him the way he did for her. What werehis feelings for her? Sure he wanted her. What man wouldn't? But what did hethink about her? At first, he'd thought she was just a spoiled, rich girl, but she'd shown more mettle than he'd ever expected. Of course, she was a schemer, but what choice did she have with an old tyrant like T. J. Chandler for a father? Hawk could sense a deep-down goodness in Victoria, a desire to do something more with her life than be a rich man's pampered plaything.

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If she got back to San Francisco, however, that's all she'd ever be. He looked at her cowering back and vowed not to let that happen. Out on the ranch, alone with her, he'd win her trust. Then he'd make her his wife in fact as well as in name. He made a show of stretching and yawning. "I've got a lot of business to do today, so let's get breakfast over with." After swinging his legs off the side of the bed, he glanced over his shoulder. She still lay with her back turned toward him. "You okay?" he asked. She nodded. "I'm sorry I scared you. I won't do it again--unless you want me to." She turned her head and looked up at him, her eyes wide with disbelief. He grinned at her, and she quickly turned away. How the heck did a fella court his own wife? "After breakfast, I've gotta go to the bank and get the money straightened out for the land deal. You might do some shopping." He slipped on his trousers. "For what?" she asked. "You need some clothes--some plain dresses for around the ranch."

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"I don't have any money." "I'll give you some. Go to the general store, they have cotton dresses on a rack there. Get a couple of 'em." He picked up his shaving gear and left the room. Victoria got out of bed, and rushed to dress before Hawk came back. That had been a close call. She'd have to be careful not to encourage things like that, but how could she keep her distance at his ranch? The house probably wasn't large, and as far as she knew, Jack and a Mexican hand would be the only other people there. Their situation was getting more complicated. She couldn't delay trying to persuade him to let her leave, much longer. But she dreaded making him mad at her again. Despite his lack of polish, he could be charming, and he did take his responsibilities to protect her seriously. They had breakfast in the same cafe they had eaten in the night before. The waitress had just brought them plates of fried steak and eggs, when Jack came in looking sleepy and sheepish. "How's Mrs. Murdock?" Hawk asked, as Jack slumped into a chair at their table. "Oh, fine, just fine." "You want to order some breakfast?" Hawk asked.

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"I already ate." "I'll be tied up with a lawyer and a banker all morning. Won't be leaving for the ranch until the afternoon," Hawk said. "That's what I wanna talk to you about. Thought I might take a couple of days off. Sorta stay around town and mend some fences, if you know what I mean." Hawk frowned at him. "There're fences to mend at the ranch. I wanta open the new range, and we've gotta get ready for roundup." "Lord, a couple of days ain't gonna matter. Besides there's gotta be some changes made." Jack dipped his head toward Victoria. "We'll work that out." "So, you saying I can or can't stay?" Jack asked with a belligerent air. "I didn't realize you were asking for permission," Hawk replied. Jack grinned. "Don't guess I was." He turned to Victoria. "How are you this morning, missus?" "Fine, thank you," she answered softly. "You gonna eat that extra biscuit?" Jack asked.

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Victoria's appetite had deserted her as soon as she heard Jack would not be accompanying her and Hawk to the ranch. "Why, no. Help yourself." "Hate to see good food go to waste," he said, and reached for the large lump of bread. When they'd finished eating, Hawk paid the check, and Jack left with a cheery, "See you folks soon." On the sidewalk in front of the cafe, Hawk peeled several bills from a roll of cash and handed them to Victoria. "Here's ten dollars, but you don't have to spend it all. Get dresses without those darn bustles. Women don't wear those around here. I'll meet you back at the hotel." Victoria walked purposefully to the general store, stopped in front of the crowded window, and looked in uncertainly. Shopping for her wardrobe had always involved carefully planned expeditions to exclusive shops or dress makers, supervised by an older companion. To walk into a store by herself, and select dresses from a rack seemed terribly adventuresome. When she entered the open doorway, a rotund, nearly bald man stopped stacking cans on a shelf and turned toward her. "Good morning, ma'am. What can I do for you?" "Huh--my husband said I could find dresses here." She looked among foodstuffs, household supplies, and farm tools in a vain attempt to locate clothing.

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"Yes, ma'am, our dresses are over on that far wall. Maybe you'd like my wife to help you." Raising his voice, he called, "Mabel, customer out here." Victoria picked her way over to the indicated wall. An iron pole suspended on a wooden stand held several dozen, limp, cotton dresses. A woman emerged from a curtained doorway at the back of the store, wiping her hands on her apron as she approached. "Interested in a dress, are you? Our better dresses are down at this end." "My husband said I needed something for day wear--around the house." "You're Thomas Hawkins's new wife, ain't you?" After Victoria nodded, the woman said, "Heard you was in town. I'm Mabel Swanson and that's my husband, Bob, over there. Glad to have you with us, Mrs. Hawkins." "Thank you." "These dresses here are our smallest sizes. Looks like they're what you'll need." Victoria rifled through the unadorned, cotton print dresses. They were all cut along similar lines, shirtwaists with gathered skirts, their only variation being in the color and design of the print. "See anything you like?" Mrs. Swanson asked. "I'm not sure."

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"Why don't you pick out the ones you like best and try them on?" "Can I?" "Sure, we got a little dressing room out back." Victoria pointed toward two of the dresses. Mrs. Swanson took them off the rack and led Victoria through the back doorway. She crowded into a curtained cubbyhole with Victoria, and helped her remove the dress she wore. Obviously, Mrs. Swanson was greatly interested in Victoria's bustle. "Don't see these around here much," she said. "Hawk--my husband--pointed that out to me," Victoria replied. Mrs. Swanson chuckled. "In this country, a woman tends to work along side her man. Those things just get in the way. You see 'em some on Sunday, and Mrs. Fedderson wears one all the time, but she's the banker's wife." The trying on began. Mrs. Swanson had brought Victoria a number of dresses, before she finally selected three. After giving Victoria's small, feathered-trimmed hat a critical inspection, Mrs. Swanson delivered a lecture on the necessity of protecting one's face from the sun and convinced Victoria that she must have a broad brimmed bonnet.

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When Mr. Swanson started adding the bill for the stack of clothing, Victoria realized she hadn't asked the price of anything. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "I don't know if I have enough money." Mr. Swanson smiled. "That's all right, Mrs. Hawkins. Hawk's a good customer. Anything that runs over, I'll put on his account." Victoria hesitated a moment. Would Hawk be angry at her extravagance? Oh well, if he wanted a wife, he'd have to bear the expense. She smiled her agreement to Mr. Swanson. Satisfaction flowed though Hawk as he looked at the bank book Mr. Fedderson had just handed him. After buying enough land to triple the size of his ranch, he had over three hundred dollars to deposit in the bank. He hadn't had that much cash since before he filed on his homestead. Mr. Fedderson smiled back at him. "And how would you like to arrange Mrs. Hawkins's funds? You really should consider investing some of it. I'll be happy to recommend some of the local mining enterprises that hold promise." Hawk shifted nervously in his chair. He didn't know anything about investments. "How much money does she have, anyway." "You don't know?" Mr. Fedderson looked shocked.

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"Ah--not exactly. Her father said it's been collecting interest ever since his wife died, and he didn't know exactly how much it was." "I see. Well, here's the information I received from the San Francisco bank." He handed Hawk a sheet of paper. In the middle of the page, surrounded by words, was a row of numbers --a long row of numbers. Thirty-seven thousand, nine hundred and sixty-four dollars and twenty-nine cents! Her father had called it a "little" fund and said it should keep Victoria comfortable. My God! That was more money than he'd ever hoped to see. He'd risked his life and the lives of eight other men for five thousand dollars. If Victoria needed this much money to be comfortable, she'd never be happy in his house. His house! He mentally shuddered. What had he been thinking? He couldn't take a girl like Victoria, a girl who'd lived in mansions all her life, to his little homestead. He hadn't been thinking with his head, that's for sure. Mr. Fedderson cleared his throat. "So, what do you want to do, Thomas?" Startled, Hawk blinked at the man. "Do?" "About the money?"

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"I'll have to think about it for awhile. Investing Victoria's money is a big responsibility." He dropped the letter on Mr. Fedderson's desk. "You might ask her father for suggestions." The banker gave a chuckle that sounded forced. "I'd even be interested in his ideas." The thought of going, hat in hand, to ask for T. J. Chandler's help make Hawk's jaw tighten. "In the meantime," Mr. Fedderson continued, "you might want to open a little household account that Mrs. Hawkins can use. Just bring her by to sign a signature card." Give Victoria her own money? When she saw where she must live here and learned how much money her mother had left her, she'd demand to go San Francisco. If she could draw money out of the bank herself, he wouldn't be able to stop her. Apparently Mr. Fedderson sensed his uneasiness. "Many men give their wives their own accounts. I myself place a hundred dollars a month in an account for Mrs. Fedderson. Keeps her from running to me for every little thing." Hawk suddenly needed to get out of the bank and into the fresh air. "I'll think about it," he muttered and stood. "I'm in a hurry to get back to the ranch, right now."

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Mr. Fedderson jumped to his feet, offered his assistance in any possible way and pumped Hawk's hand vigorously. He even escorted Hawk to the front door of the bank. After passing the bank's wide window, Hawk paused to lean against a wall. What would he do with all that money? Did he have the right to do anything with it? Legally it might be in his name, but morally, as long as their marriage continued to be a sham, the money belonged to Victoria. Victoria! Was he crazy to think she could adjust to the life of a rancher's wife? Maybe not, she'd surprised him in the past. Yeah, she'd stood up to dangerous situations, but hard work? Well, she and her father had forced this marriage on him, and a husband had the right to say where his wife would live. Hawk squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. He'd see his plan through. Maybe he'd have to send Victoria back eventually, but they'd never know what she could do unless he gave her a chance. He found her sitting on the bed in their hotel room, looking shamefaced. He nodded toward the package in her lap. "I see you got something." "I got three dress and a bonnet. I know that's more than you said, but I can't wear the same dress everyday, and the lady in the store said I should protect my face from the sun." She paused to

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take a breath, looking up at him expectantly. "I had a dollar and twenty-five cents left over." She held the money out to him. Realizing she was worried about spending so much of his money, made it hard for him to look her in the eye. "You keep that in case you need something else. In fact, after I get the wagon, we'll go back to the store. There're things a woman needs around the house." In the store, Hawk stood at the counter pointing at a shelf of canned goods. "I guess we'll need a lot of those. Gimme half-a-dozen of whatever you've got." Bob Swanson quickly started pulling down cans. "And we'll need flour, sugar, coffee, and salt." Mabel Swanson moved to a large barrel and began filling a cloth bag with flour. "My goodness, Hawk, don't you have anything in your pantry?" "We pretty well cleaned it out when we left for Fort Sumner." He turned back toward Bob. "Gimme a slab of bacon too." "We got in some fresh-cured hams last week," Bob said.

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"Okay, throw in one of those." Hawk turned back to Victoria who stood several steps behind him with her hands clasped in front of herself. "Can you think of anything else we'll need? What about stuff for cleaning the house?" She shook her head, and her expression clearly said she thought him crazy for asking her such a question. Mabel cleared her throat. "Well, you'll probably need some lye soap for the wash." Hawk nodded then pointed to a large tin tub hanging on wall. "Gimme me one of those, too." "Do you already have one?" Mabel asked. "'Cause it's better to have one for wash and one for rinse." "Okay, make it two." Mabel climbed on a crate to reach the tubs. Hawk stepped over to take them from her. The counter had been filled with the foodstuffs he'd ordered, so he set the tubs on the floor. Accustomed to buying only absolute necessities, the size of this order made him downright jumpy. How much would all this cost? What difference did it make? This was for Victoria and she could certainly afford it.

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His gaze fell on a stack of blankets. "Guess we'll need some bed stuff." A picture of narrow cot flashed in his mind. "As a matter of a fact, I'm gonna need a new bed." Bob smiled and gave his head a vigorous nod. "I got some fine iron bedsteads, springs too. Course I'll have to order a mattress, if you want one of those. Get it in a week or two. Folks around here tend to make their own," he added and glanced at Victoria. She pulled lightly on Hawk's sleeve. "I have linens," she murmured. "What?" "I brought bed linens--in a trunk." "Oh--good. Let's see those beds, Bob." Hawk tried to get Victoria to make the choice, but she shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. He guessed the possibility of having to share the bed with him embarrassed or frightened her. He finally chose an iron four-poster painted a pristine white. As Bob wrote up the order for a mattress, he paused long enough to point to a thick book on a far counter. "That catalogue's got any other furniture you might need."

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Lord, Hawk didn't know where he was gonna put all the stuff he'd already bought. "Guess I'll wait 'til Victoria decides what she wants. There is one other thing I gotta get today, though." He pointed to a tin hip tub sitting in the corner. Victoria lightly touched his arm. "Don't buy one of those just for me." She held her head down and spoke softly so the Swanson's wouldn't hear. Not wanting them to hear that he bathed in a horse trough, Hawk ignored her. Bob totaled up the bill and Hawk paid it--all of it--at one time. Then Bob helped him load the larger pieces into the wagon. They barely got everything in the available space. Both of the Swanson's stood on the walkway in front of the store and waved farewell as Hawk snapped the reins over the mules' backs. He guessed his purchases had made their day. Victoria twisted uncomfortably on the wagon seat, wishing she'd put on one of her new dresses before they checked out of the hotel. She glanced back at the bedstead that had been placed on end and stood higher than her head. It glowed like a beacon in the bright sunshine, and she saw more than one person on the street look at it and smile. She felt awful about all the money Hawk had spent in the store. He'd done it for her, to make her stay in his home more pleasant, not knowing that she didn't intend to stay there any longer than

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she absolutely had to. As closely as he watched his expenditures, discovering that he'd wasted money would surely make him angry. Unless, he'd been spending the money her mother left her. "Has the money my father's transferring from San Francisco arrived, yet?" Hawk became very interested in the trail ahead, although Victoria couldn't see that it differed in any way from what they'd just passed over. "Uh-huh," he finally grunted. "How much is it?" Hawk stared ahead with such a faraway expression, that Victoria wondered if he'd heard her. She was about to repeat the question when he shifted the reins to one hand, and reached into his shirt pocket. Pulling out a small blue booklet, he held it toward her. Victoria flipped to the first page. Her heart plummeted as she saw the amount written there. Three hundred and forty-nine dollars! And she'd thought there'd be enough for her to live in San Francisco. She should have known better. Her father had never trusted her with money of her own. He'd undoubtedly treated her mother the same way. She handed the booklet back to Hawk, not daring to meet his eyes. He must think her a fool. "There's enough to get by on--if we're careful," he said softly.

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Her shoulders slumped, and she exhaled sharply. What would she do now? The wagon topped a hill overlooking a twisting valley. Hawk reined in the mules and pointed to a cluster of buildings. "There it is." Victoria stared expectantly as the wagon started downhill. Dismay grew when she realized the largest building on the ranch was a barn with an attached corral. The other structures were little more than sheds. She wondered which one would be her new home. A small man of indeterminate age stepped from a stone hut near the barn and waved a battered sombrero in greeting. Hawk called out, "Hola! Carlos!" He stopped the wagon in front of a square, log building. Clumps of grass jutted from the foot of sod that covered its flat roof. The Mexican approached the wagon, and he and Hawk held a brief conversation in Spanish. Finally, Hawk nodded toward Victoria. "This is my wife, Victoria." Carlos' face didn't register the slightest surprise. He tipped his sombrero to her and mumbled, "Senora."

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Hawk helped her down from the wagon, then began carrying parcels into the unlocked house. As he and Carlos struggled to get one of the trunks off the wagon, Victoria slowly walked into her new home. The one room contained a black iron stove with pipes that were streaked with rust, an eating table and four chairs, two single cots, a battered clothespress, and a few rough hewn shelves scattered around on the walls. Dust coated everything. Cobwebs decorated the shelves and pieces of dirty clothing dotted the floor. Hawk and Carlos came through the doorway carrying a trunk. They let it thump to the floor, and fine dust from the dirt roof sifted down from between cracks in the overhead boards. "That other trunk's too heavy for the two of us to manage," Hawk said. "I'm gonna take the wagon on to the barn so I can unhitch the mules. We can unload that stuff later." Victoria just stood and stared. How could he expect her to live in this small, filthy, hovel? Hawk cleared his throat. "Er--I know the place is a mess. I really haven't paid much attention to it, but we can fix it up. Why don't you start some coffee and maybe open the windows. Air it out some."

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She looked at him, feeling as though she were seeing him for the first time. How hadhe lived in such a place? Hawk and Carlos quickly left the house. Victoria told herself she had to make the best of this situation, and took off her hat. She placed it on top of her trunk, the only surface in the room not covered with dust, then set out to make the coffee. At least she had learned how to do that during the trip from Lordsburg. Finding the coffee and the pot in a box Hawk had brought in from the wagon, she walked up to the stove with trepidation. An iron handle stuck up from one of the round lids that covered the holes in the top of the stove. She used the handle to lift the lid and look inside. Nothing but ashes. A bin beside the stove held wood. She'd never built a fire in a stove, but supposed it couldn't be too different from a campfire. She crammed logs into the hole until the available space was nearly full, then dropped in several pieces of light wood. Taking a match from a box on the shelf behind the stove, she struck it, and held it against a piece of light wood until a flame began to flicker. Quickly pulling her hand away, she watched for a moment to be sure the fire had really started, then slid the iron plate over the hole.

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She looked around for a water source, found an empty bucket on a shelf near the stove, and remembered the pump she had seen in the yard. Carrying the bucket outside, she hung it on the spout, and moved the pump handle up and down several times. Nothing happened. She pumped more vigorously, but the tap remained dry. Pausing to catch her breath and to brush an errant curl away from her eyes, she glanced toward the cabin and saw a wisp of smoke floating from the doorway. She raced back to the house. Smoke streamed from every seam in the stove. Victoria ran toward it, wondering what could possibly be wrong. She reached for the lid handle, but the heat radiating from the stove top warned her away. She looked for something to protect her hand, but her eyes began to sting and water. The room rapidly filled with smoke, making it difficult to breathe. She began to cough and moved toward the doorway. Colliding with a chair, she fell to the floor. At least it was a little easier to breathe there. She started crawling toward the dim outline of the doorway. Hawk left the barn and walked toward the house with dread. Victoria's expression had clearly shown how upset she was with her new home, and he couldn't think of any reason why she shouldn't

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be. He saw the smoke and started running, calling her name and looking frantically about the yard. Was she in the house? He leaped over the flattened log that served as a step and into the wall of thick, acrid smoke that filled the house. He sensed, rather than saw, her body on the floor and reached down, grabbed her arms, and dragged her outside. When they were free of the smoke, he swept her up into his arms, and carried her to a shady spot under a nearby tree. He propped her against a tree trunk. "What happened?" She gasped for breath. Tears ran down her cheeks. Carlos had evidently followed Hawk into the house, for he now staggered through the doorway with teary eyes, said one word, and began to cough. "Didn't you open the damper?" Hawk asked Victoria. She looked up at him with wide, wounded eyes, and he suspected her tears were being caused by more than the smoke. "You'll be all right," he said and patted her shoulder awkwardly. It was almost a relief to go back into the smoke-filled house and get away from her accusing eyes. He pulled his shirt tail out and clamped it over his nose, then started opening windows.

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Finally, he got close enough to the stovepipe to flip the little handle for the damper. The smoke seeping from the stove began to lessen, but waves of heat still radiated from it. He left the house and glanced up to see a curl of smoke rising from the chimney. Victoria still sat against the tree and Carlos stood nearby, looking uncharacteristically tense. Hawk went to squat beside his wife. "We better stay out here until the smoke clears, and it cools off. How much wood did you put in there, anyway?" Her mouth and eyes tightened with bitterness, and he instantly regretted asking that question. Not knowing what else to do, he again patted her shoulder. "You'll be all right. Would you like a drink of water?" She managed to croak out, "The pump doesn't work." "Oh, it probably needs priming," he said and winced from a fresh wave of self-reproach. Victoria pulled her knees up and buried her face against them. Hawk yelled at Carlos who ran to his hut, brought back a cup of water, and soon had the pump gushing. Hawk had Carlos help him bring the table and three chairs from the house. Then he helped Victoria to her feet and led her to a chair under the shade of a tall ponderosa pine. He brought a basin filled with water and urged her to wash her smoke-stained face.

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As the sun sank toward the horizon, she continued to sit dejectedly with one elbow propped on the table and her cheek resting on her fist. Carlos furnished a meal of beans and tortillas. Hawk brought a lamp from the house. They all sat around the table. Hawk and Carlos quietly discussed affairs of the ranch, while Victoria idly pushed the beans around on her plate. Finally, she said, "This is not going to work." Trying to sound cheerful, Hawk replied, "Things will look brighter after a good night's sleep." "I can't live like this," she stated emphatically. "Victoria," Hawk spoke in a warning tone, "Carlos understands English, he even speaks it when he wants to, so we better discuss this later." She turned to Carlos. "Why not get the opinion of a disinterested bystander. What do you think, Carlos, will I make a good rancher's wife?" The little man stood, nodded to both of them, said, "Buenas noches," and left. "Unlike Jack, Carlos never argues," Hawk explained. "Or maybe he didn't see any point in answering such an obvious question." Her voice quivered with a combination of anger and unshed tears. "Why in heaven's name did you bring me here? Do

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you really think I could live here, or is this your way of getting even? I know you have reason to hate me, but I've been punished enough. Please send me back to my father." Hawk held his breath for a second of indecision. "I thought you wanted to get away from him." "That was a foolish dream. You were right about me back on the trail. I am useless, at least, in your world. In my father's world, I can serve some purpose. I can address his invitations with flawless penmanship, and supervise the household staff. Skills you aren't likely to need in the near future." "Is that how you want to spend the rest of your life?" Hawk tried to rein in his growing anger over her obvious disdain for his world. "What choice do I have?" The desolation in her voice made him forget his own pride. "You're not dumb, Victoria. You can learn how to get along anywhere you want to be." "How? Who's going to teach me? From the looks of things around here, you don't know any more about keeping house than I do." He looked at her, trying to think of something encouraging to say but couldn't. "I'm not going to send you back--not yet. Now let's get some sleep. Can you give me a hand in getting this table inside?"

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"No! I might break a leg." "I'll leave the table out here then. I wouldn't want anything to happen to it," he said with a teasing smile. Fire leaped from her eyes. "If you're trying to be humorous, forget it!" "Pick up the plates and take them inside!" he commanded and sighed in relief when she obeyed. As he carried the lamp and a chair into the house, she snapped, "I'm not going to sleep on a bed with no sheets. There are linens in that trunk you left on the wagon. You can get them, or I'll spend the night sitting in that chair." Hawk plopped the chair down in front of her, sorely tempted to invite her to have a seat, but bit back his anger. He'd finally thought of a way to make this situation better and needed her cooperation to make it work. Without another word, he went to the barn and brought back a stack of linens. He even helped her fold a sheet to fit the thin, straw-filled pad that served as a mattress on her cot. He slid his hand over the sheet to smooth a wrinkle just as she reached to do the same thing. His hand brushed against hers. She jerked away as though she'd touched a rattlesnake.

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"Don't be so silly!" he exclaimed. Then he remembered how he'd frightened her that morning. He'd have to be more patient if he hoped to win her trust. Turning away, he began putting a sheet on the cot that stood across the room. When he finished, he looked over and saw her standing beside her bed, clutching her nightgown to her chest and looking like a frightened little girl. "I'll turn out the lamp," he muttered. In the darkness, he fumbled to get undressed. It wasn't until he had stretched out on his cot, that soft rustling noises told him she had begun to remove her clothing. He lay very still, picturing in his mind what was happening just a few feet away. With three or four steps, he could cover the distance between them and touch her soft curves. Of course, if he did that, he could never hope to have a future with her.

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Chapter Thirteen The next morning, Victoria awoke to the sound of metal clanging against metal. Hawk stood in front of the stove. His broad shoulders were outlined by the sunlight streaming through the bare windows. She wished she could get up, tiptoe over to him, and trace that outline with her hands. Why had she thought such a ridiculous thing? This horrible little house had evidently unhinged her. Last night, when their hands touched, she'd felt as if a bolt of lightning struck her. She and Hawk just weren't meant to be under a roof. Look at what had happened in the hotel. Things were definitely better between them when they were out-of-doors. On the last leg of the trip from Lordsburg, they'd been like friends. He'd even helped her undress without making her feel threatened. Maybe Jack's presence made the difference. When he came back--oh goodness--did Jack live in this one room too? She was probably lying in his bed right now. How could she possibly live in this little cabin with two men?

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Having to live here must be God's way of punishing her for taking a human life. But she hadn't meant to kill the alcalde. It was an accident. She sighed loudly to relieve the tightness building in her chest. Hawk turned. "Good morning. I'll have breakfast ready pretty soon. You hungry?" Pulling the blanket up to her chin, she sat up slowly and pushed floppy curls away from her eyes. "How am I going to dress?" He looked puzzled. "Do you need help? I thought your hand was better?" "There's no privacy in this house." Hawk looked around the room as though just discovering this fact about his own house. "Oh, I'll turn my back." Victoria's embarrassment gave way to peevishness. "Do you expect me to trust you after what you did yesterday? And what about the windows? Anybody could look in." Anger tightened his features. "There's nobody around here but Carlos, and he's not tall enough to look in the windows. If you'll wait until I finish the bacon, I'll go outside." "Well, you're certainly tall enough."

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Indignation puffed up his chest. "I sure as hell won't peek in the windows of my own house to see my own wife. If I wanted to see you without any clothes on, I could--" He snapped his mouth shut and turned back to the sizzling bacon. "What could you do?" That was a stupid question. Why was she pushing him like this? He busied himself over the bacon. "Nothing. I didn't mean that." She caught a glimpse of his solemn expression and knew he rebuked himself because of his misconception about her having been raped. That was another reason she had to get out of here. If he ever discovered the truth, he'd be really angry. No telling what he might do. After she dressed, she opened the door and called, "You can come in now." "Can you give me a hand?" he called back. He'd dragged the table around from the side of the cabin. "I need to turn this on it's side to get it through the door. Will you hold one end?" Knowing she needed the table to eat her breakfast, Victoria nodded. He had her go outside and hold that end while he maneuvered the other up the step and through the doorway. It really wasn't heavy. She easily carried her end of the table inside.

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After seating herself, she watched him place bacon, leftover tortillas, and cups of coffee on the table. "Is this all there is for breakfast?" "I can open a can of something--beans?" "I've had about all the beans and bacon I can stand." "How about peaches, then." She shook her head in disgust. "You need a woman who can cook. Won't you reconsider and allow me to go back to my father?" "Wouldn't you like to know how to cook, at least, enough to be able to feed yourself?" he asked. "What if I would, you can't teach me." "Maybe I can find somebody who can." "How could you get anyone way out here?" "Our nearest neighbor happens to be one of the best cooks in the Territory. I could ask her." Victoria didn't like the idea of some homesteader's wife telling her what to do. "Would she come here just to teach me?" "No, she's got a husband and four kids. You'd have to go there, maybe stay for a few days."

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"Can you afford to pay for that?" "She's a neighbor, I don't think she'd charge much. The big question is will you try if I arrange it?" Victoria worried her lower lip with her teeth. "Wouldn't it be easier to take me back to my father?" "I've got too much to do around the ranch, right now. It'll be a couple of months before I can--" "You could just put me on a train." "Not by yourself. So what do you say?" The arrangement would get her out of this cabin, temporarily anyway. "If the woman agrees, I'll try, but I'm not guaranteeing the results." "Good. We'll go ask as soon as we eat." The ride to the Benson ranch took almost an hour. As Hawk drove the wagon around to the rear of the clapboard house, a teenaged boy paused from his wood chopping long enough to respectfully greet "Mr. Hawkins" and smile shyly at Victoria. A woman came to the back door and

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called them inside. Gray streaked her dark hair and wrinkles radiated from the corners of her eyes, but her straight back and quick movements attested to youthful vigor. After the introductions, Martha Benson said, "I'm glad you finally broke down and took a wife, Hawk. Now, maybe, you can make something of yourself." Hawk grinned at her. "You don't think a man can amount to anything without a wife?" "Never knew any who did," Martha replied emphatically. "What do you think of our part of the country, Victoria?" "I really haven't had time to form an opinion," Victoria answered, not wanting to get off to a bad start by telling Martha what she honestly thought of this primitive frontier. Martha laughed. "Don't let it get you down, girl. I remember when Ralph first brought me out here. I thought he had lost his senses, but it ain't so bad when you get use to it." She poured them cups of coffee from a pot that had been simmering on the back of the stove. "You fixed that house of yours up, Hawk?" "Not yet." "Well, lord-a-mercy, no wonder Victoria is feeling low. That place of yours is a mess." "As a matter of fact, Martha, that's what I want to talk to you about," Hawk began.

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"Now wait a minute, don't ask me for something I can't give. I've got my hands full around this place." "I know that, but Victoria's been in school back East and before that she--well--she never had to do anything around her father's house. The fact is, she doesn't know how to do housework of any kind." Victoria clearly saw the distaste that flickered over Martha's face, as Hawk spoke. "I was hoping she could stay here for a few days and see how you do things. I don't expect her to learn anything fancy, just simple cooking and cleaning." With her lips pursed thoughtfully, Martha turned to Victoria. "How do you feel about this, girl?" "I would appreciate any help you could give me, Mrs. Benson." Martha's gaze shifted from Victoria to Hawk and back again. "She's had a bad time and is real discouraged right now," Hawk added. "She's talking about going back to her father." Shock flashed across Martha's face. "Well, now, there ain't no need for that! I reckon I know a few tricks that would make housework easier for you, honey."

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Hawk shifted in his chair. "I want to be honest with you, Martha. When I said she doesn't know anything, I meant it. Last night she tried to build a fire and didn't open the damper." Victoria looked down at her hands in embarrassment, not wanting to see more censure on Martha's face. To her surprise, she heard Martha laugh heartily. "Smoked you out, did she?" Then her voice sobered. "She'll have to stay for at least a week. Takes me that long to get through all my chores. Can you stand to be apart from her? I don't have room for you, too, Hawk." Now Hawk seemed embarrassed. "Oh, I've got work to do around my place. I didn't figure to...and I'll pay for her room and board." "You'll do no such thing. Besides, she'll earn her keep. She won't be sitting around watching, you can count on that. When do you want to start?" "Don't you have to ask Ralph?" Hawk asked. "Nothing to ask him about. He's never turned a neighbor away." "Well, Victoria's things are out in the wagon...." Martha shook her head at him but grinned. "You beat all I've ever seen, Thomas Hawkins, you really do."

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She invited Hawk to stay for lunch and suggested Victoria help Bessie, Martha's twelve year old daughter, set the table. Ralph Benson, a bear of a man with large hairy hands, came in with a ten year old son, Jason. Ralph greeted Hawk warmly and gave Victoria a nod. When told that she would be staying with them for a week, he merely said, "Is that so?" With all the children, including Ralph Jr., and six year old Cindy at the table, Victoria had little opportunity to join in the conversation. That suited her, for she felt like a visitor in a strange land with these people. Hawk seemed right at home, but she wondered if she could stand a week here. After lunch, Ralph announced he was going to let his food settle before going back to work, but warned both of his sons not to wander away, for he expected their help that afternoon. He and Hawk moved out to the back stoop to talk, and Victoria again helped Bessie, this time doing the dishes. Martha finally took the drying cloth from Victoria's hands. "Your man's ready to leave," she said. "We can spare you long enough for you to tell him good-bye." Victoria stepped out of the door, as Ralph and Hawk shook hands. With a call to his sons, Ralph returned to his work. Hawk turned to her. "Well, things worked out, didn't they?" When she

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didn't answer, he slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. "Don't look so glum, Victoria. The Bensons are good people. You're going to be fine here, just fine." "I hope so." "Walk with me to the wagon. After all, we're newlyweds about to part for the first time. Martha will expect some show of affection between us." As he stopped beside the wagon, he pulled her around to face him. She hurriedly said, "I don't think they can see us here." "Well, just in case...." He laid one hand along her cheek, tipped her head back, and bent to give her a soft, lingering kiss. When he straightened, he said, "I've been invited to Sunday dinner, so we won't have to be apart for the whole week." "How nice," Victoria replied, although she wasn't sure exactly what he'd said. The pleasant tingling of her lips had distracted her. Back in the house, Victoria joined Martha in the front sitting room. "You ever dusted?" Martha asked as she lifted a framed photograph of a somber couple and wiped the softly stripped marble of the table top.

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"No, ma'am." Victoria realized the couple in the photograph must be a younger Martha and Ralph. Surprisingly, they had both been attractive people. "My Ma hauled this table from Tennessee to Texas, gave it to me for a wedding present, and Ralph and I brought it here. The marble's chipped in a few places, but that's just part of it's story. At least twice a year, I rub the wood down with bees' wax or lemon oil, when I can get it. "Who does the dustin' at your Pa's place?" "We have maids." "How often do they polish the wood?" "I never noticed." Martha gave her another sharp-eyed look. "What about your mother?" "She passed away when I was eight years old." Martha nodded. "Figured it was something like that. She'd have seen that you learned the womanly arts." Victoria didn't bother to explain that her grandfather became rich through staking prospector's during the Gold Rush. Her mother had probably known no more about dusting than Victoria did.

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Martha held the rag out to her. "You take this and do the chair legs." She watched Victoria's hesitant motions. "That's right, just rub 'em good. The kitchen needs sweepin' before I start supper. I'll do that while you finish up in here." Victoria's leg muscles soon protested against her squatting position. As she got down on her knees, the phrase, "housemaid's knees," occurred to her. She'd probably have that before the week was over. The furniture didn't look dusty anyway. But doing this kept her away for the disapproving Martha, so she took her time and carefully went over every trace of wood. When she finally went into the kitchen, Martha set her to peeling potatoes. When Victoria started on the first potato, Martha grabbed the knife away from her. "Mercy, girl, you'll cut your hand off like that." After a demonstration and a lecture about not cutting away good potato with the peel, Martha let Victoria try it for herself. The stupid knife kept digging into the flesh of the potato and making the peeling unacceptably thick. The only way Victoria could prevent this was to whittle away at the peeling.

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Cindy and Bessie came in from the yard where they'd evidently been playing. Martha immediately assigned Bessie a chore, but Cindy came and leaned on the table in front of where Victoria worked. "Why you doing it like that?" she finally asked. "Mama makes long curly pieces." "Cindy, don't bother Victoria," her mother said. "But, mama, she's cutting off a whole bunch of little pieces." "Never you mind. She's doing it her way. Have you put away your toys? I saw your doll in the hall. You leave her laying around like that and she's liable to disappear." Cindy's eyes widened in alarm and she ran toward the hallway. Martha glanced over at the pan in Victoria's lap. "You're doing a good job, Victoria, but you need to take out those brown spots with the point of the knife." Victoria swallowed a sigh of frustration. Who'd have thought there'd be an art to peeling potatoes. After the supper dishes were finished, the family gathered in the sitting room. Martha had her lap full of darning, Ralph sank back into an easy chair as though exhausted from the day's work, and

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Cindy and Jason played with toys on the floor. Bessie and Ralph Jr. both sat stiffly in chairs facing Victoria, looking as though they expected something from her. Ralph Jr. cleared his throat. "I heard Mr. Hawkins say you went to school back East. Whereabouts?" "My school was just outside Boston, Massachusetts." "Why did you go there?" Bessie asked. Victoria didn't want to tell them because it was a school for young women from socially elite families. "Well, my father grew up in the East, so he wanted me to get some of my education there. I also went to school in San Francisco," she said. "San Francisco!" Ralph Jr. echoed. "You been to any other big cities?" "My aunt and uncle live in New York City. I visited with them during holidays and vacations." He leaned forward in his chair. "They say that's the biggest city in the country. What's it look like?" Victoria didn't know how to answer that question. "Well, there are a lot of tall buildings and people and traffic. They have electric lights pretty much all over the city now. Of course, we saw those in Silver City when we passed through."

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Martha looked up from her darning, obviously surprised. "Do they make the nighttime look just like daylight?" Bessie asked. "Nothing but the sun can do that," her father said. Victoria hadn't thought he was listening to their conversation. "Sometimes at theaters with marquees all lit up and street lights on, it's almost as bright as day." "Your grandparents entered this country at New York City," Ralph said to his children. Cindy crawled into his lap and turned her attention to Victoria with the rest of the family. Victoria realized they just wanted to hear about places and things they'd never seen, and stopped worrying about offending them with her affluent background. Ralph's remark about his immigrant parents reminded her of the Statue of Lady Liberty being erected on Bedloe's Island in the New York harbor. She told them it was a gift from the French people and how her Uncle Ambrose took parties out on his yacht to observe the huge scaffold needed to lift the heavy copper sections. When finished, the Lady would hold a giant torch above her head to welcome immigrants to the country.

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Victoria grew a little sad as she told them of the great celebration planned for the statue's dedication. She had hoped to see that herself before her father ordered her to come back to the West. Ralph finally rose from his chair and carried the nodding Cindy to her bed. Martha put her darning away and gave her children knowing nods, signaling bed time. Victoria shared a bed with Bessie. She didn't mind that until a whining Cindy climbed in with them, saying she was afraid to sleep on the pallet that had been prepared for her. Little knees or elbows jabbing into her back awakened Victoria several times during the night. Martha and Ralph rose with the sun, and roused the rest of the household. Bessie and Cindy promptly got into a loud squabble over the way Bessie combed her younger sister's hair. Victoria tried to soothe Cindy and found the comb thrust into her own hand. Fortunately, plaiting a roommate's hair had been a common practice at school, so Victoria attacked this task confidently. As she worked, she became increasingly aware of the shy admiration both girls held for her. Was this what it would have been like if she'd had younger sisters?

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In the kitchen, Martha assigned Victoria the task of turning the bacon. As Martha prepared the rest of the meal, she shouted answers to her sons and husband about what they should wear and where to find it. She also checked over Victoria's shoulder and told her how to move the frying pan around on the stove top to control its temperature. Victoria feared the bacon had gotten too brown, but to her relief, the family ate it with their usual gusto. After breakfast, Victoria and Bessie again washed the dishes. Then they made beds and cleaned the bedrooms. Victoria almost rebelled when it came time to clean out chamber pots, but she couldn't bring herself to refuse to do something that twelve-year-old Bessie obviously did routinely. She spent most of the afternoon in the kitchen watching Martha's quick movements. Fortunately, Victoria had brought her stationery case with her, and she began to write down some of the methods and recipes that flowed throughout Martha's chatter. Unfortunately, Martha had learned to cook by her mother's side and through years of experience so she lacked exact amounts. The recipe for sourdough biscuits read, "A palm-sized ball of starter, a pinch of salt, sugar, and soda, a dollop of lard, and three handfuls of flour." The operation of a wood stove generated such a maze of instructions that Victoria doubted she'd ever learn them all. She wrote a full page on where the hot spots and cool spots on top of the

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stove were, how much wood to put in the fire box and when to replenish it, how long to pre-heat the oven, and how often to turn baking goods so that they'd brown evenly. Her admiration for Martha grew. If Victoria found the art of cooking fascinating, some of the other chores she had to do in the next two days were pure drudgery. But she worked alongside Martha and Bessie without complaining as they emptied the ash box and soot tray from the stove, scrubbed wooden floors with sand, and beat the numerous hooked and plaited rugs that lay throughout the house. She became increasingly aware of the Martha's ability to tell a story about every furnishing in her house. "That lamp you're dustin' belonged to Ralph's ma. She raised five children in the state of Arkansas and four more in Texas. "My Aunt Mary hooked that rug. Her husband was a deputy sheriff in Kansas till he got killed in a squabble over some missing cows. "I made that quilt while I carried Ralph Jr. Had more time to do such things back then." To Martha these items were obviously more than household furnishings. They were a dearly loved record of her family's history.

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Saturday afternoon provided a real treat for Victoria--a chance to bathe. A tub was placed in the kitchen near the stove, and for once, the women went first, while the men were still out of the house. Even though Martha and the girls left Victoria alone in the room, she felt terribly exposed and hurried through her turn. She went into the back yard to rub her hair dry in the sunshine, and Bessie soon joined her. "I brought your comb," the girl said and looked at Victoria with the somber expression she wore when about to ask a question she feared might be impolite. "Thank you," Victoria replied and waited. "Do all the ladies in the East have short hair?" "My, no. I had to cut mine down in Mexico so I'd look like a man." Bessie's eyes grew wide as saucers. "Look like a man?" Realizing she'd stumbled into a topic she never intended to discuss with anyone, Victoria hesitated, but Bessie looked at her expectantly. What could it hurt to tell her just a little? "That's how I got out of Mexico. I dressed like a man. Rode a horse like one, too." The look on Bessie's face turned to awe. "Weren't you scared?"

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The image of the alcalde's leering face flashed through Victoria's mind, but she blinked her eyes and brushed it away. "Mostly, I was just angry about having to cut my hair." To Victoria's relief, Martha called Bessie back into the house. Around the dinner table that night Bessie apparently found the story too good to keep to herself. "Mrs. Hawkins had to cut her hair so she could look like a man," she announced. In the total silence that followed, everyone turned to look at Victoria. "Ah--when I was in Mexico." Her cheeks began to burn. "That was my disguise--so I wouldn't be recognized." "Bessie," Martha said in a stern voice, "I told you not to ask her about that. There're some things folks don't like to talk about." A stricken look came over the girl's face. "She just asked about my short hair. She didn't know why I had cut it," Victoria said. Martha looked at her with curiosity shining from her eyes. "Did you really pass as a man?" Victoria couldn't hold back a chuckle as she nodded. "Of course, we didn't see a lot of people. Mostly we stayed in uninhabited areas." "Is that how Hawk got you outta the country--staying in the desert?" Ralph asked

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Wishing she'd paid more attention to Jack's version of this story, Victoria nodded. "That--and going in a roundabout way. I'm not exactly sure where we were." Ralph looked as though he believed her. "I've always said Hawk had a good head on his shoulders." Ralph Jr. could no longer contain his curiosity. "How'd he get you away from the Mexicans in the first place?" She might as well get it over with so they could finish their supper. "The men he brought with him started fires in some buildings away from the house. Then Hawk and Jack--Mr. Wilson--dynamited the bars away from my window." "You were in a jail?" Jason asked. "No, just a regular house, but it had iron grillwork over all the outside windows." "You know how them Mexican houses are in Socorro, son," Ralph added helpfully. The boy nodded. "Go on, Mrs. Hawkins," Ralph Jr. urged. "Well, after this tremendous explosion, Hawk pulled the grill away and came into the room. He was dressed all in black, even had lamp black on his face."

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"Why'd he do that?" Cindy asked. "Keep the Mexicans from seeing him, dummy," Jason answered. "He threw a blanket over me and handed me out to Jack." "Why'd he put a blanket over you?" Bessie asked. "I was in my nightdress--or maybe because I was screaming." "Why'd you scream?" Jason asked. "Land sakes. If something like that happened to me, I'd a been screaming too," Martha said with vigorous nods of her head. "Anyway, they carried me to their horses, and we started riding. I could hear shooting, but I didn't know how close it was. When we got back to their camp, Hawk had some men's clothes for me to wear. That's when he decided my hair had to be cut. I was really mad at first, but it's not so bad now." Bessie's round cheeks glowed as she looked up at Victoria with dreamy eyes. "It's no wonder you fell in love with Mr. Hawkins. He's the bravest man I ever heard of." "Ah--yes, he is brave." Hunger called the family's attention back to the food on their plates, and Victoria sighed in relief. That wasn't so bad. She could talk about that terrible misadventure. In

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fact, she now understood why Jack liked to tell the story. Having a roomful of people hang onto your every word was strangely satisfying. Hawk arrived for Sunday dinner. Victoria, with an apron around her waist, confidently helped Martha serve the meal. After they had eaten, Hawk complimented Martha on the food. She interrupted him to ask, "What did you think of that berry pie?" "It was as good as always." "Well, your wife made it." He looked surprised, then beamed at Victoria. "If she's already cooking that good, she doesn't need to stay out the week." "Yes she does," Martha answered quickly. "Monday's wash day and Tuesday we do the ironing. She's still got a lot to learn." The younger children went out in the yard for a noisy game of tag. Ralph Jr. obtained his pa's permission to ride into town. After he left, Martha speculated on which town girl had caught his fancy.

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The adults sat in the parlor, contentedly digesting their meal. Ralph bestirred himself enough to ask, "Jack still working for you?" "Yeah, when he can find the time." "Where's he gonna stay?" Martha asked. "I can't see Carlos letting a gringo move in with him." "Jack's taking over the house on the Ward place," Hawk replied. "Why's he wanta move way over there, and to a place that size?" Martha asked indignantly. "He's decided it's time he had a place of his own. He's buying the house and a couple of acres from me." "What's that tumbleweed gonna do with his own place?" Ralph asked. "Jack's about to become a family man. I guess Alice Murdock got tired of waiting." "No! You don't mean.... Is that rover getting married?" Martha asked with a look of surprise. "That's what he tells me," Hawk said with a smile. "Well, good for Alice," Martha said, with a dip of her head. "I don't know why she wants that old reprobate, but as long as she does, I'm glad she's making him stand up with her." Ralph sighed. "Ain't that just like a woman. Can't stand to see a man happy."

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Martha sniffed indignantly. "Ralph, you didn't know what happy was until I married you." "I was just a pup when you decided to house break me. I'm surprised a man who's been on his own as long as Jack would have the nerve to get yoked up." "Maybe being around these lovebirds gave him the idea," Martha said with a knowing smile. Hawk looked at Victoria with a small grin that didn't quite reach his eyes, and her cheeks grew warm. They talked on, until Hawk stretched, partially stifled a yawn, and said, "I could use some exercise after that big meal. Victoria, would you like to come for a little walk?" "We can't be rude to Martha and Ralph," she replied. Martha chuckled. "Don't worry about us, child. You go along and have some time with your husband." Hawk reached for Victoria's hand and led her toward the porch. As they strolled away from the house, he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to his side. When she was sure the Benson's couldn't hear, she said, "Do we have to walk like this?" "You heard Martha call us lovebirds." "She and Ralph never make public displays of affection."

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"They don't have to, they have plenty of time to do it in private." He removed his arm from around her waist. "Let's not argue. I asked you to walk with me so I could find out how you're getting along here." "Fine." "Are you? It's not too hard for you?" "It's not hard, exactly, although I have broken several finger nails, and my hands are getting all rough and red. Martha acts gruff at times, but she's really nice. Ralph's nice too. He just doesn't talk much." "Well, if that pie's an indication, you're learning a lot." "Actually, Martha stood over me and told me what to do, so don't expect me to cook like she does. Anyway, she has her own milk cow and garden and chickens. You don't have any of that yet." "Yet? Sounds like you have big plans for my future." "I certainly don't, but you'll have to have those things someday, if you're ever going to live comfortably." He reached for her hand and looked into her eyes. "You say the word, and I'll get them now." "What word?"

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"That you've changed your mind and decided to stay." She looked down at the toe of her shoe. Did he really hope to turn their arrangement into a real marriage? She had to let him know that wasn't going to happen. "Hawk, I'll never want to stay here." "You can't let what happened to you down in Mexico ruin the rest of your life. Look around. Do you believe all the married women in this world find making love with their husbands terrible?" As long as Hawk believed her rejection of him stemmed from what happened in Mexico, he'd continue to hope she'd change her mind. She had to tell him the truth, and what better time to do it than with the Bensons nearby?

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Chapter Fourteen Victoria took a deep breath. "Things weren't the way you think in that village." "What do you mean?" Hawk hovered over her. "He--the alcalde--tore my shirt off and pulled me into his bedroom--but I hit him before we got to the bed." "Do you mean he didn't...." She nodded but kept her head down so she wouldn't have to see his face. He yanked on her arm so that her head bounced up. "Why did you lie to me about it. I felt like it was all my fault. I felt like--" "I didn't lie--I never told you he did--" "You let me think--you encouraged me to think--" he yelled directly into her face. Victoria hoped the Bensons couldn't hear him. "It was the only way I could stop you from--from--" He stepped back from her, and his mouth pulled into an ugly sneer. "Acting like a husband?"

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She stiffened her spine and looked directly into his eyes. "That's right." "So it's not men in general you don't like, just me?" "It's not a matter of like or dislike. We are from two different worlds, and I'll never fit into yours." He propped his fists on his hips and glared at her. "Since you've started telling the truth, why not go all the way. What you really mean is that my world's not good enough for a princess like you." Before she could think of an answer, he turned and headed toward the corral with long strides. She broke into a near run trying to catch him. "Where are you going?" He didn't answer. "You can't leave without speaking to the Bensons. At least thank Martha for dinner." Without missing a step, he swerved and headed toward the house. The Bensons had moved out onto the porch. In a tight voice, Hawk thanked them for the meal and then said he'd promised to help Jack fix his roof. Ralph asked if they needed another pair of hands, but Hawk politely declined the offer.

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Martha asked if he didn't want to take some leftovers for his supper. Hawk again declined and left, without a look or word to Victoria. As he walked away, she started to call out to him but stopped. What could she say? Martha came up behind her and placed an arm around Victoria's shoulders. "What's wrong, dear?" "Ah--we had an argument." "Was this your first one?" Martha asked in a motherly voice. "No," Victoria replied, "but it was the worst." Tears pooled in her eyes. She murmured an apology and ran into the house. In the crowded little bedroom, she dug a handkerchief from her valise, sat on the side the bed, and wiped her eyes. Telling Hawk the truth was for the best. He had to accept that she could never live here. Still, she hadn't wanted to hurt his feelings. He was a good man. He couldn't help being poor. Not that there was anything wrong with being poor. She just wasn't prepared to live in such circumstances. Hawk found Jack nailing a freshly sawed board on the porch steps of the run-down Ward house. At the sight of Hawk, Jack stopped, and stood to greet his visitor. "Surprised to see you here."

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"You said you could use some help with that roof." Hawk dismounted and tied Red's reins to the hitching post. "That was before I knew you'd be at the Benson's fer Sunday dinner. Figured you'd want to spend all the time you could with your wife." Hawk could no longer contain the fury seething within him. "Don't call Victoria my wife!" Jack pulled on his beard. "You two still ain't worked out your problems? The way you been fixin' up your cabin, I figured things were okay." Hawk huffed. "How could things ever be okay with that lying bitch." Jack drew in his chin, obviously shocked by Hawk's statement. "Victoria's a might uppity at times, but she seems honest enough to me." "Oh, yeah? Well, she wasn't raped down in Mexico. What do you think of that?" Hawk glared at Jack as he waited for an answer. Jack sat down on the edge of the porch, picked up his hammer and toyed with it. "As I recall, you and I sorta guessed that's what happened." "When she found out that's what I thought, she didn't say otherwise." Jack looked honestly puzzled. "Why would she want you to think she was when she wasn't?"

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"To get me to leave her alone." Hawk stepped over to the porch with several long strides and propped one foot up on it. Jack sighed. "I don't wanna say anything to make you feel worse, but when I was with you two, you didn't go outta your way to win her over." Hawk looked at his old friend with disgust. "What could I do to impress a girl who's always had everything in the world?" "From what I heard when we was riding together, Victoria's had a lotta loneliness in her life. Her ma died when she was a little girl, and her old man spent most of his time chasin' gold and silver. She and her brother were raised mostly by servants." Resting his forearms on his elevated thigh, Hawk studied the freshly milled boards near his feet. The realization that Jack knew more about Victoria's background than he did made him uneasy. "But she always had plenty of everything, didn't she?" "Don't rich folks wanna to be loved, too?" Hawk made a clicking sound with his tongue. "This ain't about love, Jack." "Marriage ain't about love? So how come I'm gettin' hitched next Sunday? Alice told me if I really loved her, that's what I had to do."

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Hawk nodded sadly. "That's the difference between my marriage and yours. Alice loves you." "Well, she's a mature woman who knows what she wants. Near as I can recall, young women have to be convinced, and you were mighty good at convincing 'em before you got to be such a serious landowner." Remembering his past conquests, Hawk couldn't stop a grin from tugging at his lips. "I was right smooth with the ladies, wasn't I?" Jack nodded in agreement. "Every town we'd come to, there'd be some little gal looking at you with calf-eyes." Hawk grew somber again. "Course, I never set my loop for anybody like Victoria." "If a man don't try," Jack said, "he'll never know." Monday was wash day. Victoria helped gather all the clothes and linens used by the family in the last week. Martha sorted these into piles, as she lectured about fading and shrinking. In the yard, near the pump, they dumped buckets of water into a large, blackened pot that stood on short legs, then built a fire under it.

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After soaking a pile of clothing in a tub of cold water, each piece was rubbed over with a bar of Martha's homemade lye soap and dumped into the kettle of steaming water. Victoria stirred the cauldron with a long wooden paddle as Bessie helped her mother start the next pile, and Jason tended the fire. She threw herself into the task, determined not the dwell on her problems with Hawk. But what would she say the next time they met? She wished she could think of something that would soften her rejection. She didn't want to hurt his feelings. But how could she say, "I don't want to live with you," without doing just that. Martha had Jason help her refill one of the soak tubs with water then showed Victoria how to lift clothing from the steaming pot with the paddle, let it drip for a moment, then drop it into the fresh water. Victoria and Martha got on their knees and started to ring the water from each piece and drop it into another tub. "You're worried about that little spat you and Hawk had yesterday, aren't you?" Martha asked as they worked. "I--ah--yes, I am."

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"Well, don't you worry. Men get all hot and bothered and say things that they're soon sorry for. You mark my words, Hawk'll be here first thing Wednesday morning, eager to make-up." Victoria shook her head. "I made him really mad. I'm not sure he'll even come back for me." Martha patted her on the shoulder with a wet hand. "Nonsense! Learning to live together is always hard, but Hawk really cares for you. I can see it in his face every time he looks at you. He'll be back." Victoria turned her attention back to the shirt she was wringing. Could Martha be right? Did Hawk really care for her? He certainly didn't now that he'd discovered her deception. They finished rinsing the clothes, hung them on lines that crisscrossed the yard, and started on another pile. By lunch time, Victoria's arms and shoulders ached so badly that she had to blink back tears. Why was she even doing this? Once back with her father, she'd have no need to know how to do laundry or any other kind of housework. After a hurried lunch, Martha suggested Victoria clean the kitchen while she and the children finished the laundry, and Victoria readily agreed. As she stood over the dish basin, she held up one of her red, chapped hands and sighed. No matter what Hawk did or did not feel for her, she certainly couldn't live with a man who would expect her to work like this every Monday for the rest of her life.

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Wednesday morning dawned bright and clear. As Victoria helped with the breakfast dishes, she heard the clomp of hooves and the jingle of harness hardware. Little Cindy rushed to look out the back door. "Mr. Hawkins is coming." Martha winked at Victoria. "You see, I told you he'd be anxious to make-up." More than likely, he was eager to send her on her way. Victoria didn't reply. Martha handed her a towel. "Here, you dry your hands and go get ready. I bet he'll be in a hurry to get you to himself." Relieved for an excuse to delay their confrontation for even a few minutes, Victoria rushed to her bedroom. She quickly ran a comb through her hair, packed the last of her personal articles, and donned the wide-brimmed, calico bonnet. Hawk was sitting at the kitchen table with a steaming cup of coffee in front of him, when Victoria entered the room with dragging feet. He immediately stood and reached for the valise she carried. "Let me take that." Their hands brushed as she surrendered the bag to him and that strange current ran up her arm. Surprised, she looked up at him.

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He smiled warmly. "You look mighty pretty this morning." "Ah--thank you." He'd never paid her a compliment before. Hawk turned to Martha. "Your coffee is as good as always, but I gotta get back to my place. Things to do...." Martha nodded seriously, and when he turned away, smiled broadly at Victoria. "You ready to go?" he asked. Victoria nodded. Bessie came through the back door, carrying a half-full egg basket. "You leaving, Mrs. Hawkins?" The corners of her mouth turned down. "Now you know she's gotta go to her own place, Bessie," Martha said, "but we'll be seeing plenty of her now that we're neighbors." Bessie brightened a little. "Will you tell me more stories about the big cities?" Victoria felt a surprising surge of emotion toward the girl who had so patiently taught her to wash dishes and make beds. Impulsively she opened her arms and Bessie rushed into them, her mother grabbing the egg basket just in time to avoid a catastrophe. Not to be outdone by her older

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sister, Cindy came running for a hug. Finally Martha gave Victoria a quick squeeze and a pat on the back. "You've all been so nice to me, I don't know how I can ever repay you," Victoria said and really meant it. As Hawk ushered her out the door, Martha and the girls followed them. "Why, we haven't done anything but be neighbors," Martha said. "We've enjoyed having you." As Hawk helped her up on the wagon, Ralph came over from the barn with the two boys trailing after him. He actually smiled at her. "You come back whenever you can." Hawk climbed beside her. "Well, thanks again, folks. We'll be seeing you soon." The wagon began to roll and Victoria looked back and waved. The wind or something made her eyes water, and she had to dig out her handkerchief and wipe away the moisture. Hawk cleared his throat. "Well, it looks like you got along with the Bensons all right." "They're very nice people." "They seem to think you're pretty nice, too."

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Victoria looked at him in confusion. She didn't know exactly how she'd expected him to behave this morning, but it certainly wasn't to be so smilingly pleasant. "Aren't you mad at me anymore?" she asked in a small voice. "Mad? Oh, you mean about what you told me on Sunday. Well, after I cooled down and thought about it, I was glad--I mean--relieved that you hadn't been hurt as much as I'd thought." "But I deceived you." "I can understand why you did that." She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You can?" "You thought our marriage would be in name only. When you discovered I didn't share your opinion, you must have been horrified." "Not exactly horrified--but I didn't want us to make a mistake that we'd both have to suffer for." "That was smart of you." She watched him carefully for some sign of insincerity, but his profile was rock-steady. "So, what are we going to do now?" "You'll stay at my place until after the roundup. Then I'll take you back to your father."

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Just like that with no argument? She should have felt relieved, but didn't. Maybe she dreaded having to live in that awful cabin again. "Why can't you just take me to Magdalena and put me on the train?" "T. J. Chandler would nail my hide to the barn door if I let you travel alone, especially after your kidnapping. The time'll go by quicker than you think." The little cabin came into view, and Victoria took a deep, resigned breath. As they drew nearer, she noticed a rough hewn bench standing against a side wall. Two laundry tubs hung from pegs above it. She guessed that meant Hawk intended for her to do his laundry during her stay. Victoria untied her bonnet as she entered the cabin, then stopped and looked around in amazement. Could this be the same room she'd left just a week ago? All the dust and cobwebs were gone. Shelves covered the wall nearest the stove, forming both storage and counter spaces. Cans and bags of food lined many of them. A wooden screen, with an opening large enough for a person to pass though, enclosed one corner of the room. Near the screen, and dominating all other furnishings, stood the new bed. The white paint on the iron posts and connecting rods gleamed cheerfully. Victoria stared at it as uneasiness spread through her.

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Hawk had followed her into the room, carrying her valise. "The mattress came in just yesterday." She looked at him, accusations roiling in her mind. "My cot's still here," Hawk said and pointed at the narrow structure not two feet from the foot of the double bed. "That bed's just for you, and you can change clothes behind the screen. I made it big enough to get the tub back there." "My goodness," Victoria exclaimed as she continued her inspection, "curtains!" Green and white checked gingham framed the cabin's four windows. She moved to the nearest window and pulled on one of the panels. It moved on the wooden rod. Now she could cover the windows. "Alice, the widow Jack's gonna marry, made 'em. She's a seamstress. The table cloth was her idea." Victoria turned to examine the table cover made from the same material as the curtains. In the center of the table, yellow and white wildflowers filled a tin can that's label had been peeled away. "Did she bring the flowers, too?" Hawk grinned sheepishly. "That's a little welcome home present from me."

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Home? Victoria looked around the room again. Hawk had fixed everything she'd complained about. "You shouldn't have done so much. I'll be here such a short time." "It'll be close to two months before I can get away. You need to be comfortable during that time." He carried her valise over to the clothespress and set it on the floor. "You probably want to put your own stuff away. Your trunk with the linens in it is over there," he pointed to the front wall. "I put your empty clothes trunk out in the barn. Just no place for it in here." "You spent so much money." He looked embarrassed by that comment. "Aw--there's plenty --to get through the time you'll be here. I gotta put the wagon away." When she was alone, Victoria went over to examine the new screen. Stepping through an opening next to the cabin wall, she found herself in a closet-like space, with inner walls a little higher than her head. The hip tub filled most of the floor space. Several pegs had been mounted on the wall to hang towels or clothing on. Stepping out of the enclosure, she looked around the room again. While she wouldn't call the place comfortable, she could stand to live here for a couple of months.

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Victoria busied herself putting her clothes away, then started rearranging the kitchen shelves, putting all the cans on one shelf, pots and pans on another. Hawk came in before she'd finished. "What are you doing." "I thought it would be more convenient like this. You don't mind if I put these pots down lower, do you?" "No, you do anything you want. It's your place--as long as you're here. What about some lunch?" "Martha sent freshly baked bread and sliced beef. Would sandwiches be all right?" "Fine. Where's the bread? I'll slice it." "I can do it." "You do the insides." She stood beside him, and they prepared the sandwiches together. "I'll fix a hot meal for supper. Will Carlos eat with us?" "He will if I ask him." "Ask him, then." "How about Jack? They're working together today."

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Not sure that she wanted her first solo dinner to be so large, Victoria reluctantly nodded. Hawk must have sensed her uncertainty. "You don't have to fix anything fancy for those two." Victoria decided frying ham, boiling potatoes, and heating canned green beans would be a simple meal to prepare, but what would she do about bread? Did she dare try biscuits? Martha had complimented the last batch she'd mixed, but heating an oven to the proper temperature was still something of a mystery. Martha had said she could only learn to do it through experience, so Victoria decided she might as well start getting that experience. Jack and Carlos rode in as the sun set. Victoria made the men wait outside, until she had everything arranged just the way she wanted. Then she removed the apron Martha had given her, wiped the perspiration from her brow, and graciously invited them to the table. She hadn't turned the biscuits quickly enough, and they were too brown on the left side, but no one mentioned it. In fact, Jack effusively praised her efforts, calling Martha Benson a miracle worker. Carlos didn't say anything, but his hearty appetite spoke for itself. When he'd finished eating, he stood, said, "Muchas gracias, buenas noches," and left.

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Victoria sighed. "Is he ever going to talk to me?" "He will when he gets to know you better," Hawk reassured. Jack chuckled. "Don't feel bad about it. He don't talk to me unless there's a snake crawling up his leg, and he wants me to get it off." Victoria poured more coffee, and asked about Jack's coming marriage. "Yeah, I'm finally taking the big step. You're gonna to be there, ain't you?" "Am I invited?" "Didn't Hawk tell you? Since I stood up with him, I'm making him do the same for me." "When's it to be?" "Sunday after the regular church service." "That soon?" Hawk chuckled. "He don't want to give the widow a chance to change her mind." "Tell me about your bride. Alice, isn't it?" Victoria asked. "She's a widow with two children, but I reckon, this is the only way I'll get a family." Jack took a sip of coffee. "Funny thing is, I never thought I wanted one, until I met Alice. Somehow, that

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woman's got me to thinking a family's all I ever wanted." The hint of a smile showed through his beard. "You finally found the right woman, old hoss," Hawk said. "Is your house close to ours?" Victoria asked. "It's closer than the Benson's place, I guess." "It'll be nice to have neighbors closer than an hour's ride away," Victoria said. Jack nodded. "You and Alice oughta get along. She's right sassy too. Course, she can be soft when she wants to. Will warm up my old age considerable." Both men chuckled. Victoria, feeling uneasy over the turn the conversation had taken, began to clear the table. "Still planning on clearing that ravine country south of here, tomorrow?" Jack asked. "Yeah, no need for you to come over here in the morning. Meet me and Carlos there," Hawk replied. "What are you going to clear it of?" Victoria asked. "Cattle, hopefully," Jack said.

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"During the year, everybody's cattle spreads out over the range. We have to drive 'em to one place, and separate and brand 'em," Hawk added. "Separate?" "Separate your cows from your neighbors," Hawk said. Victoria frowned in confusion. "How can you tell which cows are yours?" "All the old ones have your brand, and calves follow after their mamas. If the mama cow has your brand, then the calf is yours." "Oh." "You wanna go with us tomorrow?" Hawk asked. "Be a chance to get outta the house and see some of the countryside." "Won't I get in the way?" Jack smiled at her encouragingly. "You come, and we'll teach you to be a drover. Lotta womenfolk help with cattle in this country." It would be a chance to get away from housework. "If you're sure I won't be a bother, I'll come."

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Hawk and Jack discussed which horse would be the best for her to ride the next day, and Victoria started washing the dishes. After Jack said goodnight and left, Hawk came and stood behind her. With one hand on her shoulder, he bent his head until his breath warmed her ear. "I was real proud of you tonight," he said softly. She pulled her head to the side. "That dinner wasn't anything special." "It wasn't what you fixed, but that you did it your first night home. You're a real plucky lady, Mrs. Hawkins." Victoria wanted to look into his eyes, to see if he was teasing, but she didn't dare turn her head with his face so close to hers. Instead she dipped the plate she had just washed into the pail of rinse water. "If you're going to stand there anyway, you might as well make yourself useful and dry the dishes." He took the plate from her and began to dry it. When she finally looked around at him, he wore a pleased expression.

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Later, as she undressed in her corner cubicle, she remembered the way Jack had spoken of his Alice. Would Victoria ever be as important to a man as Alice seemed to be to Jack? Could Hawk feel that way about her? When she emerged from the closet, he had already stretched out on his cot. She turned the lamp down and crawled into her large bed. After she had pulled the sheet up to her chin, she realized she'd forgotten her robe and walked about the room in nothing but her nightdress. Even though Hawk had proven himself trustworthy, she supposed she should be more modest. The sun hadn't risen fully above the horizon when Hawk called Victoria awake. As she stumbled around in the chilly, near-dark cabin, she regretted her decision to join the men. Her riding skirt was in a sorry state, but she had to wear it. Hawk started fixing breakfast. Victoria knew that should be her job, but she was too sleepy to cook. She dressed slowly, and combed her hair until Hawk called her to the table. After drinking a cup of coffee, she felt more alive, and offered to make the sandwiches for their lunch while he saddled the horses.

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Of course, he still didn't have a proper lady's saddle for her. Victoria had to pull the front of her riding skirt aside, and mount like a man. However, she'd ridden this way so much of late, that she was really beginning to like it. With Carlos silently trailing behind them, they rode toward the mountains. The sun climbed higher in the sky, burning away the clouds that shrouded the peaks and taking the chill from the air. A hawk flew in wide circles high above them. Then he dove toward a stand of ponderosas on the side of the next mountain. Victoria supposed he'd found his breakfast. Jack waited for them near an incline dotted with large pine trees. After nodding in greeting, he began telling Hawk about cattle he'd seen scattered among the trees the day before. With a quick survey of the terrain, Hawk decided he and Jack would drive the cattle down to the gully at the bottom of the hillside. He stationed Carlos on the ridge on the far side of the gully. "Try to keep 'em in the draw, Carlos." Then he looked at Victoria. "Riding around trees can be tricky. You better stay down here, but don't get in the way." He yanked on his reins to turn his horse, and he and Jack started up the hillside, soon disappearing behind the dark green foliage.

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Victoria moved her horse to a position slightly behind and to the right of Carlos. "Don't get in the way," had been her only instructions. Why had Hawk even brought her if he thought that's what she'd do? Taking a deep breath, she caught the scent of the pine trees, felt the warm sun on her shoulders, and reveled in the deep blue, cloudless sky. Leaning over, she patted the neck of the dun-colored mustang Hawk had selected for her. He'd said the horse, Willy, was an old cow pony wise in the ways of mavericks. Poor Willy wouldn't get to do anything today but stay out of everybody's way. A distant cry and then a bellow drew her attention back to the tree-covered hillside. She gazed intently at the screen of evergreen as the noises grew louder. A steer burst into view with Jack close behind him. The animal tried to turn back, but Jack, leaning over his horse's neck, darted around a tree and headed the maverick back down the hillside. At that moment, two more steers appeared farther up and to the right of Jack. Hawk followed them, slapping his hat against his thigh and yelling at the frightened animals. The cow Jack chased reached the draw, and Carlos spurred his horse into motion to keep the animal from coming up the other side.

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Hawk's horse slipped in the dried pine needles on the steep hillside. As Hawk concentrated on steadying his mount, one of the steers he'd been chasing hit the draw at a dead run and came up the other side straight toward Victoria. She caught a glimpse of wicked horns coming over the ridge and squealed sharply while yanking the reins to turn her horse and get out of the way. Startled by her squeal, the steer swerved in the same direction she'd turned her horse. Willy did what he'd been trained to do and took off after the steer. Victoria yanked the reins once before realizing Willy was doing the right thing. Then she gave him his head and called, "Go, boy, go!" She and Willy raced along the lip of the draw. Twice they crowded the steer back into the depression. Finally the winded animal turned and ran down to the narrow strip of flatland at the bottom of the draw. He stood there with his sides rapidly heaving in and out. Triumphantly, Victoria stared down at her defeated foe. Then she noticed Hawk sitting on the other side of the draw with a look of amazement on his face. She smiled brightly. Hawk and Jack chased five more cows down out of the trees. Carlos blocked those that tried to escape to the left and Victoria the ones that ran right. As simply as that, she became a member of the crew.

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Of course, most of the credit went to Willy. The remarkable horse seemed to sense what a cow would do even before the cow itself knew. Victoria just gave him free rein and hung on for dear life. She'd never had so much fun or felt so free.

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Chapter Fifteen By mid-afternoon fatigue had dampened Victoria's exhilaration. Riding the mustang in mad dashes while yelling at the top of her lungs and fighting to hang on to Willy, caused her muscles to ache in strange places. Her cheeks tingled from too much sun, and grit covered her clothes and face. Relief surged through her when Hawk said the eight animals they'd managed to bunch into a small, nervous herd, were all they'd find in this area. When he suggested Jack and Carlos drive the cattle to the fenced-in pasture while he took Victoria home, she silently blessed him. As soon as she reached the cabin, she started heating water for a bath. Hawk's stove didn't have a tank on the side like the Benson's, so Victoria used a pail and the coffee pot on top of the stove. He came into the cabin carrying two wooden buckets filled with water. "I figured you'd be ready to cleanup. Here's some more water you can use." "Do you want to go first? I can wait." He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Me--in that little tub. No thanks. I'll wash up outside." "But it's chilly out there."

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"I'm used to it. But I would like some of that hot water to shave with." She pointed toward the coffee pot. "Use that, it's already steaming." He insisted on waiting until she'd added hot water to one of the buckets he'd brought in so he could carry it behind the screen for her. "Want me to pour it in the tub?" Victoria had followed him across the room, but didn't try to crowd behind the screen with him. "Just a little in the bottom to take the chill off." She heard water splash, then Hawk emerged, stepped aside, and made a sweeping gesture with his hand. "Your bath awaits, my lady." She smiled at him. "Thank you kind, sir." Victoria waited to hear him close the cabin door before she undressed. Using the hand rests on either side of the tub, she carefully lowered her hips into it. The water had warmed the round bottom of the tub, but the high, tin back sent chills up her spine as she slowly leaned against it. Of course the tub wasn't large enough to admit her feet, but she braced them on the rim of the lower end so her legs were easier to wash. The small amount of water that had risen over her hips when she sat down quickly grew soapy. Victoria began to rinse herself with dippers of water directly from the bucket. Finally, she poured

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water over her hair and rubbed her shampoo into a thick lather. Deciding it would be easier to rinse her hair while bending over the tub, she got up, patted moisture from her body, then dropped the towel to the floor. She knelt on this and reached for the dipper. It came up empty. Grumbling to herself, she got up, wrapped the towel around her body and carried the bucket back to the stove area. A small amount of water still steamed in the pail on the stove, but the other wooden bucket was gone. Darn! Hawk must have taken that outside. She had to rinse her hair. Going to the door, she opened it a few inches and called his name. "Yeah?" he called back. "I didn't have enough water." She opened the door wide enough to swing the empty bucket out. He took it from her hand and she heard the pump handle working. When he came back, he ignored her extended hand and pushed on the door. "This is too heavy. I'll bring it in." Before she could argue, he stepped inside. His bare chest was ruddy from the chill air. Victoria clutched her towel with both hands. He gaze flicked over her state of undress, then fastened on her lathered hair. "You do need this water. Where do you want it?" Keeping one hand on the towel, she waved the other toward the stove then the screen.

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"You gonna get back in the tub to rinse it?" "Ah--no I'm going to kneel beside the tub." "That sounds pretty awkward. Why don't you bend over the counter and I'll pour the water for you?" "I don't pour it out of the bucket. I use the dipper." "Okay, I'll do that." She didn't want him to do it. Being in front of him stark naked, expect for the towel that barely covered her knees, made her aware of her own body in a strange way. She desperately wanted him to leave so she could get dressed, but in her embarrassment, she fumbled for words while he moved about quickly. Before she could make her feelings known, he had her leaning over a basin on the counter, while he ladled warm water over her hair. She held a cloth over her eyes with one hand and onto her towel with the other while his leg firmly rested against her hip. As he poured water, he also gently massaged her scalp. His chest hairs scratched across her shoulder. He kept most of the water from running down into her face. Still, she felt as if she were drowning.

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"Do you think that's enough?" he finally asked. "See if it squeaks," she said in a small voice. "What?" She dared to let go of her towel long enough to catch a small strand of wet hair between her thumb and forefinger. Jerking her fingers over the strand of hair produced the desired squeak. "That shows the soaps all gone," she said and quickly returned her hand to the front of her towel. "I never heard that one." He began to blot the water from her hair with another towel. Victoria straightened her back, and he began to rub her head vigorously. "You don't have to do that," she said and took several steps away from the counter. He followed her, still rubbing. "I don't mind. You're probably tired after all the riding you did today." He moved in front of her as he worked on the hair around her face. Through the flapping towel ends, Victoria found herself staring at the flexing muscles on his chest. When she tried to look away, her gaze fell on the bulges in his upper arm. She had the most peculiar feeling in the pit of her stomach. Was she getting sick? "Stop!" His hands poised over her head. "Did I hurt you?"

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"No, but we shouldn't be in front of each other like this." He draped the towel around her neck and dropped his hands. "Does it bother you to see my bare chest?" "Of course not," she answered with more assurance than she felt. "I just don't think it's proper." "Why not? We're married." "Even married people don't parade around in front of each other with almost nothing on." "Where'd you get that idea? Being together without any clothes on is the best part of marriage." A wave of heat flooded Victoria's cheeks. "It is not!" she said indignantly. "Marriage is a sacred partnership that should be dedicated toward the important goal of building a family." "Is that what they taught you in that fancy school? In real life, the feeling," he ran one finger from her shoulder to her elbow, "and caring part of marriage is what makes that partnership work." "How did you become such an expert on marriage?" He grinned playfully. "While you are my first wife, I've been close enough to other women to know what would most likely bind me to one." "If you're talking about the physical relationship, that's just lust."

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"Just? Lust is one of the greatest forces in nature. You combine it with love and respect and it can move mountains." "I'm surprised you're such a romantic." "And I'm surprised that you aren't, at least, curious about what all the other married women in this world are doing. You've never even been properly kissed, have you?" "You kissed me on our wedding night." He moved a little closer. "That wasn't a proper kiss. A proper kiss starts out soft." Taking hold of the ends of the towel around her neck, he pulled her very close, dipped his head, and poised his lips just above hers. With small puckers he landed several light kisses. Victoria's lips tingled. She closed her eyes and tilted her head up to better receive him. He slipped one arm around her back and pulled her body closer to his. His lips settled firmly against hers. The hand that held her body towel was caught between them. She eased it down so that she could mold more comfortably against him. His other hand cupped the back of her head and the pressure of his lips became a pulsing force. Unwittingly, her lips parted and his tongue invaded her mouth. The intimacy shocked her. A cry of alarm rose in the throat, and she pushed against his chest with both hands.

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With a wrenching motion, he pulled back and looked down at her with a pained expression. "Victor--" "Leave me alone!" Clutching the front of her towel with one hand, she pushed him aside with the other arm and raced into her corner cubicle. With no door to close against him, she feared he might follow her until she heard the front door slam. She leaned heavily against the wall. Her heart pounded, her knees quaked, and she could still feel the presence of his lips--his tongue. What had he done to her? Damn! Damn! Damn! Hawk cursed to himself. He'd gone too fast--scared her. But she had welcomed his kiss in the beginning, no mistake about that. The woman was driving him crazy. Maybe he better put her on a train before he completely lost control of himself. He'd come so close to yanking that towel off and.... Calm down! Don't give up. You're making progress. He thought of all the things she'd learned since being with him. Today while she chased steers, he'd seen her pride growing--not in who she was, but in what she could do. If he could keep her here long enough, she'd come to love this country. Then, maybe, she could love him.

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Victoria spent most of Saturday preparing attire for their first social function in town, Jack's wedding. Gratefully she discovered that Hawk did own a suit. It hung limply in the clothespress. She took it out, sponged away spots, and brushed off dust. For her costume, she finally settled on a beige foulard, with brown velvet trim, and a moderate bustle. She scraped her knuckles on the wash board with Hawk's dress shirt, then scorched the shirt with a too hot iron. Fortunately, the triangular brown spot was on the tail and wouldn't be seen when tucked in. Victoria decided laundry was the worst household chore. No wonder everyone in San Francisco sent theirs to the Chinese. The next morning, Carlos brought the hitched wagon up to the door. After Hawk and Victoria had taken their places on the driver's seat, he climbed into the back. When she realized Carlos meant to accompany them dressed in the same worn clothing he wore everyday, Victoria had to bite her lip to hold back her objections. Instead of driving directly into town, they had to pick up Jack, and Victoria got her first look at his new house. New wood showed in a number of places, indicating Jack's repairs. The number of

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windows indicated the house had at least four rooms. Even though Jack was about to increase the size of his family, it didn't seem right to her for the boss to be living in a smaller house than the hired hand. At least Jack wore a new suit and his beard and hair were freshly trimmed. He greeted them with a nervous smile, thanked Hawk for coming to pick him up, and explained to Victoria that he and his bride would return to the house in her buggy. Climbing beside Carlos, he slapped the little man on the back, and to Victoria's surprise, seemed quite pleased to see him. When they reached the small, clapboard church on the edge of town, a few wagons and buggies already stood at the edges of the cottonwood grove beside the building. Jack hastily took his leave to go for his bride. Hawk introduced Victoria to a few people waiting near the doorway, including Mrs. Fedderson, the banker's wife. Then he led her to the front pew they would save for the bridal party. Carlos disappeared. The church began to fill. An increase in the volume of voices outside caused her to look back just as a beaming Jack entered the building with a plump woman clinging to his arm and two children trailing behind him.

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The bride was, in Victoria's opinion, rather ordinary. She wore a dark blue, bustle-less dress and a matching, but terribly dated, bonnet that tied under her chin with lace streamers. The streamers and her plain hair style, parted in the middle and pulled back to a bun, only exaggerated the roundness of her face. The dress, with its bell shaped shirt and tightly fitted bodice, did nothing to hide her overly buxom figure. As they reached the pew, Jack paused in confusion over who should sit where. Alice looked at him and smiled with such radiant adoration, that Victoria felt an unexplainable lump in her throat. Hawk took charge and arranged them so that he and Jack sat nearest the aisle, then came the children, and finally Alice sat next to Victoria. Alice nodded, nervously tittered, then said she felt like she already knew Victoria from all of Jack's stories. Victoria wondered just how much Jack had included in those stories. Since the circuit preacher only visited this church one Sunday a month, a number of religious rituals had to be attended to on this day. First, the preacher delivered a rambling sermon about the Lord ordering the faithful to be fruitful and multiply. Then, as though to prove that the residents of Magdalena had done just that, he baptized two babies. Finally, he called for the wedding party to come forward.

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Hawk and Jack took their places in front of the preacher. Alice's daughter, a girl of about ten, who carried a basket of freshly picked daisies, followed them. As she approached Jack, she looked up at him with a deeply dimpled smile. His face softened as he looked down at her, and Victoria thought he would have a hard time sayingno to that cherubic face. Alice's son, a gangling boy with an unruly mop of sand-colored hair, stood in the aisle and waited for his mother to take her place beside him. With great seriousness, he took her arm and walked her to Jack's side. The tender smiles that passed between the bride and groom as they joined hands, brought a mist of tears to Victoria's eyes. After the brief ceremony, the bridal party followed the preacher to the front door and stood to shake hands with the other worshipers, as they slowly filed out of the church. Victoria was left behind. The Fedderson's waited for her in the aisle. Mrs. Fedderson took hold of her arm as though they were life long friends. "I can't tell you how glad I am that you've moved to Magdalena, my dear. We must get together for tea. Mr. Fedderson told me you're from San Francisco. I'm sure we know some of the same people. Could you come Wednesday afternoon?" Victoria smiled but shook her head. "I'm not sure, Hawk's so busy on the ranch. Perhaps later."

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A pitiful expression of disappointment covered Mrs. Fedderson's face, but Victoria ignored it. She'd learned early in life not to get involved with people attracted to her by her father's wealth. They reached the door, and Victoria pulled from Mrs. Fedderson's grasp to move beside Hawk. She spotted Martha Benson. "Oh, there are the Bensons. Will you excuse us, Mrs. Fedderson?" she asked and dragged Hawk away without waiting for an answer. Martha explained that they'd arrived late, as usual, and had to view the ceremony from the back of the church. Planks on sawhorses had been used to form tables under the cottonwood trees and women began to bring baskets, bowls, and platters from the backs of wagons or nearby houses. Soon the tables sagged under the weight of all the food. Victoria apologized to Martha for not bringing anything, but Martha told her not to worry. There would be many opportunities in the future for her to contribute, as they always had lunch on preacher Sunday's during the warm months. The bride and groom and the parents of the newly baptized babies filled their plates first. As the rest of the congregation followed suit, Carlos reappeared and moved along the table, heaping a plate with food. No one seemed to mind.

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Victoria and Hawk gathered with Jack, his new family, and the Bensons near the base of a large tree. They sat on quilts Martha provided. Many people stopped to offer Jack and Alice their best wishes. The younger children began noisy games, and the older ones shy flirtations. The main topic of conversation among the adults concerned the capture of the feared Apache Chief, Geronimo. While everyone was greatly relieved, they were angered by the rumor that the Army had promised to return him to the nearby Reservation. When Jack heard that, he said, "Shoot! We might as well fort up and get ready for that red snake to strike again!" Martha asked Victoria if she'd had any problems with her cooking and housekeeping. Victoria confessed some of her mishaps, and Martha and Alice both chimed in with advice. Victoria remembered to thank Alice for the curtains and table cover she'd made for the cabin. Alice offered her help for future needs or even to give her sewing lessons. Victoria had classes at school in embroidery and needlepoint, but she'd never considered learning real sewing. Nevertheless, she told Alice she might take her up on the offer. Several hours passed pleasantly. Finally, the newly married couple and their two children, amid a shower of rice, piled into a flower bedecked buggy, and headed toward their new home. By the time

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Hawk pulled his wagon away from the church yard, Victoria felt she had been invited to visit everyone in the county. Carlos promptly lay down in the back and began to snore softly. Victoria twisted on the hard wooden seat, and wished she could do the same thing. She dreaded the long ride back to the ranch and pulled her shoulders up and down several times, trying to ease the tightness at the base of her neck. "What's the matter?" Hawk asked. "Are you tired?" "I guess so." "Lean against me." He slipped his arm around her back and pulled her over against his side. "Can you manage the team like this?" she asked, the contact with his body sending a nervous flutter through her. "These mules know the way home, by now. Just relax." She did feel exhausted, and leaned her head against his shoulder. "Jack and Alice looked very happy, didn't they?" "Yes they did." "Do you think it will work out for them, I mean with the children and all?" "I don't know, but I hope it will."

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"Why do two people fall in love, anyway?" she asked. "That's a question as old as Adam and Eve." "They didn't have any choice." "Like us?" "I've wondered what might have happened if we'd met under other circumstances." "Any other circumstances and your father wouldn't have let me within a country mile of you," he said in a matter-of-fact voice. "I suppose not, although I don't know who he would have found for me to marry in this country." Hawk snorted derisively. "He'd have come up with somebody he could order around. How about Dinsdale?" "Oh, please! I'd never have married anyone like that!" "No? Well, what kind of man would you have picked?" "I don't know, but certainly a gentleman of more substance than Mr. Dinsdale." "What do you mean by substance?" "It can mean a lot of things."

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"Like money?" "Not just money--other qualities." "Such as?" Victoria paused to think . "Well, character and charm." "So, what you wanted was a wealthy, charming gentleman of character. Not a bit like me." "You have character--I guess." He laughed softly. "Oh, thank you, kind lady." "And you can be charming--sometimes." "I haven't had any luck in charming you." She sat silently for a while, listening to the slow, steady, rhythm of the mules' hooves against the dusty road. Then she asked, "How do people know when they're in love." "They feel it. Everything suddenly seems different." "Have you ever been in love?" "You mean before I met you?" She gave his chest a light poke with her fist and said, "I'm serious. Tell me the truth!" "I thought I was once--a long time ago."

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"What happened?" "I went on a drive to get enough money so we could get married, but when I got back, she had married someone else." "Were you terribly hurt?" "I was mad. I wanted to shoot it out with the other fellow, but my mother got hold of me and set me straight. She said she didn't blame Carolyn for marrying Zeke. He had land and would make a good home for her and their future children. She said I was a wanderer--a cowboy--and didn't have any business marrying anybody." "And that made you feel better?" Victoria asked in amazement. "No! Made me madder than ever. I showed her the money I had saved and told her I wasn't always going to be a drover, that I had plans for my life--big plans. Then I had to sit down and figure out what those plans were. That's when I decided I was going to have a ranch of my own, no matter how long it took." "Your mother sounds like a smart woman." "Crafty, anyway." "Is she still living?"

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"Yes, she's with my older sister in El Paso. If things had gone like I planned, we'd have stopped there on the way back from Mexico." "I'm sorry I didn't get to meet her--and your sister." "We can go for a visit after things get settled around here. It isn't a long trip, now that they have the railroad." She didn't answer for he was talking about the future--their future--and if she had her way, they wouldn't have one.

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Chapter Sixteen When they arrived back at the cabin, Hawk dropped Victoria off and drove the wagon on to the barn. He wondered about her strange mood and the questions she'd asked about love. Could she be developing feelings for him? Not likely! Women just got sentimental at weddings. Could that sentimentality work to his advantage? He left Carlos to unhitch the mules and hurried back to the house. He found her in the kitchen area staring blankly up at the shelves. She still wore her fancy dress although she had removed her hat. "You're not gonna cook in that dress, are you?" She glanced at him with a small frown. "I'm just wondering what I can have for supper. I get tired of the same things at every meal." "I'm not hungry after all that lunch, are you?" "You're not hungry now, but in a few hours you will be." "Why don't we cross that bridge then? Come for a little walk with me. There's something I want to show you."

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She looked at him in surprise. "Walk? I didn't think cowboys ever walked unless their horse died." He forced himself to grin at her little joke. "I'm not planning on going far, and it's a pleasant day to be outside." "Should I change my clothes?" "Not unless you want to." She looked at him suspiciously for a moment then shrugged. "All right, let's go for a walk." He led her past the barn and to a hill that gradually rose toward the mountains that ringed the valley. Her foot slipped on loose stones and he grabbed her arm to steady her. "You might have mentioned that we'd be climbing mountains." "I guess it would have been better if you'd changed your shoes. But it's not much farther and I'll hold on to your arm." He walked slowly for her benefit until they came to the flattened top of a hill ringed on three sides by Ponderosa pines. When he stopped walking, she turned toward him. "Is this what you wanted to show me?" Her tone clearly indicated she saw nothing here of interest.

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"Look this way." He stepped behind her and turned her body outward. "This is the best view of the valley. High enough to see the whole thing but still sheltered by the mountains. I've always thought this would be a good spot to build a house." As he pointed out landmarks, it seemed perfectly natural to lightly enclose her body with his arms. When he leaned down to be nearer her ear, she let her head rest against his chest. Finally he stood quietly, holding her and staring out at the sun-dabbled hills, grass-dotted plains, and tree-lined slopes. He saw his future and perhaps the future of his children--a dynasty he was founding with his strength and sweat. Victoria stared out at the silent, gaping, emptiness. She supposed it was pretty as a landscape, but aside from the few huddled buildings below them, the only signs of life were distant cows grazing behind rickety fence posts. She tried to imagine staring out at this emptiness year after year, and a shudder rippled through her body. "You gettin' cold?" Hawk asked. "The wind has picked up." "Yeah, we should go back, but what do you think of this view."

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They started down the hill. She could feel the possessiveness in his grip on her arm. "Very nice--a good place to build a house. How many rooms are you planning?" She really didn't care, but she had to say something. "Start with four and add more later. Of course, it could be bigger, if you stayed." If she stayed! Victoria concentrated on stepping among the loose rocks on the slope. She needed to watch her step in more ways than one. Hawk had said she could go back to her father after the roundup. Had he changed his mind, or did he still hope to change hers? As soon as they entered the cabin, he stepped toward the stove. "I'll start a fire and take the chill off." "I can do that. You get some water, and I'll make a pot of coffee." While the coffee boiled, Hawk hung his suit coat in the clothespress then sat at the kitchen table expectantly. Victoria moved about setting out cups, saucers, spoons, and sugar. He hardly ever just sat in the house. His presence made her nervous. "You don't have any chores to do?" she asked. "It's Sunday, remember. Everybody needs a day of rest once in a while. This is a good time for us to talk."

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"About what?" She decided the coffee had boiled enough and poured the steaming liquid into the cups. "Anything. You can tell me about the East. I've never been farther east than the Mississippi." She sat across from him. "You want to know about the cities?" He looked up from stirring sugar into the coffee. "About you--what you did there." "I went to school near Boston, but I had aunts and uncles in New York so I spent holidays and summer vacations there." "Your father came from New York?" "Yes, his family was in banking, but father wanted to make his own way, so he came West." Hawk stopped blowing into his cup. "So he's always been rich?" "I guess you could say that. Grandfather is dead, but Uncle Harold and Aunt Chloe still live in his mansion on Fifth Avenue in New York City. Uncle Ambrose has an estate in the Hudson River Valley. I spent my summers there. A lot of guests came. We often had picnics or went sailing." "Sounds nice." He stared past her with a pensive look. Was she supposed to feel guilty about her affluent background? He sipped his coffee. "What else did you do in the summers?"

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"We went swimming, had hayrides, parties, and dances." "I'll bet all the men wanted to dance with you." "My dance card was usually full, but most of my partners were cousins or old friends of the family. My aunts always saw to it that I was chaperoned." He grinned. "Good for them." She frowned at him. "Why would you care?" "I'm jealous of men dancing with my wife." "Oh, pshaw. I wasn't your wife then." "You can't reason with jealousy." She twisted in the wooden chair. "You have to care about someone to be jealous of them." "That's right," he said and smiled smugly. Victoria didn't like the direction of this conversation and decided to alter it. "These chairs are hard. I wish you had some padded ones." "You can order some outta that catalogue at Swanson's." "They might not get delivered while I'm still here." "We could always sit on that big bed of yours. It's plenty soft."

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Victoria glanced at the shadowy bed and back at Hawk with a censuring look. "That wouldn't be at all comfortable." "Sure it would. I tried it out before you came back from the Benson's." He stood and extended his hand to her. "Come on. I'll show you." As she looked up, she leaned away from him. "I'm not talking about the bed's softness." "What are you talking about?" "You know perfectly well. The two of us--on the bed--together." "After all this time, you can't be afraid of me. So you must be worried about your own behavior." He smirked arrogantly. "Ridiculous!" "Is it?" He caught one of her hands and tried to pull her up. "Show me," he challenged. She got to her feet uncertainly. "Show you what?" "Your great self-control." "How?"

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"Like, when I stand real close to you," he moved so close that she had to tilt her head back at a sharp angle to see his face, "and put my arm around you," his arm curved around her waist, "you don't feel a thing." "I don't," she said emphatically, but her voice had an unnaturally high pitch. A mischievous grin played with his lips. "Or when I put my other arm around you and lean down and blow on your ear," a warm breeze ruffled the hair near her ear, "you don't get butterflies in your stomach." How did he know about the butterflies? "Or when my lips nibble at your cheek," feathery kisses rained across the side of her face, "and I pull your body against mine, your heart doesn't beat faster." He must feel her heart beating against his chest. "And when I really kiss you--" his lips covered hers with a rhythmic pressure. He paused just long enough to say, "you don't get a little weak in the knees." Victoria wrapped her arms around his body and held tightly to prevent her knees from buckling. "I admire your self-control," Hawk said in a raspy voice, "because I'm about to lose mine." His lips descended again, their pressure more insistent. Unwittingly, her lips parted, and his tongue

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timidly darted in and out of her mouth. She opened wider and groaned in satisfaction as he reentered with confident strokes. His hands flattened against and roamed over her back. One of them groped its way under her bustle until he cupped a lower cheek and hauled her hips more firmly against himself. Fiery sensations raced through Victoria's body and overwhelmed her brain. She couldn't think--only feel. When Hawk loosened his hold of her body and removed his lips from hers, she moaned a protest. His hand moved to the buttons of her bodice. "Let me get closer, sweetheart." A little voice far in the back of her brain said, "You better stop him," but she ruthlessly brushed it aside. Hawk had undone her buttons before, and no harm came of it. Then his hand slid over bared flesh and under clothing until two fingers imprisoned a nipple and lightly pinched it. She cried out in surprised pleasure. "Did you like that? Help me get your clothes off, and I'll make it even better." Better? She lowered her arms so he could strip the sleeves of her bodice from them. The button in the back of her skirt seemed to open by itself. Hawk yanked at the tapes that held her bustle and petticoat in place. Then she raised her arms so he could remove her corset cover. Victoria reached back and undid her corset laces as he worked on the buttons of her chemise.

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The corset slipped down, the chemise opened and her breasts were fully exposed. With a delighted smile, Hawk cupped them in his hands and lowered his head. Moving back and forth, he kissed the soft creamy flesh then licked the puckered pink circles. Victoria staggered from the dizzying pleasure of his onslaught. Her backsides touched the edge of the table and she leaned heavily against it, throwing her arms back to brace herself and arching her chest up for Hawk's complete access. He raised his head and stared down at her with a rapt expression. "You're so beautiful, Victoria," he said softly. "I want you more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. Let me love you. Please, let me." Why not? Her father might keep her locked up in his gloomy mansion forever. She wanted this experience--she wanted Hawk. Gripping his shoulders, she tried to pull him closer. Instead, he grabbed her around the waist and boosted her fully onto the table. With quick movements, he stripped the skirt and petticoat that still dangled around her ankles out of his way and pushed himself between her legs. Then he wrapped his arms around her, pulled her tightly against his chest, and covered her lips with a bruising kiss.

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Victoria had never felt so vulnerable--but as she shivered in apprehension, she also burned in anticipation. Hawk's lips, his tongue, his hands were all instruments of divine torture. While she felt completely open to him, he apparently found the corset that still bunched around her waist as well as her chemise and drawers a great impediment. With a growl that might have come from a hungry wolf, he scooped her off the table and took quick steps toward the bed. Letting her feet drop to the floor, he stripped the remaining garments from her body, lifted her again, and laid her on the bed. He stretched beside her, propping his head on one hand. "Now I can see all of you." His fingers lightly trailed around her breasts. "You're more beautiful than I imagined." He lightly traced her rib cage and stroked her belly. "I've dreamed of doing this so many times." He ruffled through the hair at the apex of her legs. "This hair's a darker color that what's on your head." He bent over and nuzzled one breast. His finger slipped between her legs, jarring her from a near trance. "Hawk! What are you doing?" The finger moved deeper and began a rhythmic massage. "Doesn't that feel good?"

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Unable to speak, she closed her eyes and nodded. It felt so good she wanted him to do it forever, but the flames that had been flickering throughout her body now concentrated around his finger. She writhed against the heat and tightened her legs around Hawk's hand. The flames turned her insides to molten liquid that burst into a boil and blessedly dissipated the heat. Victoria sighed and opened her eyes in wonder. "What did you do to me?" With a jerk, Hawk rolled away from her, sat on the edge of the bed, and yanked off his boots. "Just making you ready for me, honey," he said over his shoulder. Jumping to his feet, he slipped out of his trousers and reached for his shirt buttons. Suddenly he was naked and moving back toward her. She saw his male organ stiffly bobbing as he crawled onto the bed. It looked large--very large. Had she made a mistake? Yes! She wanted him to stop--to leave her alone, but he separated her legs and knelt between them with such determination that she doubted she could make him stop. "Hang on, sweetheart. Hang on," he muttered through clenched teeth. Guiding himself with his hand, he touched his organ to the tender flesh between her legs. The embers of her fire again burst into flame. He lightly stroked her wetness and her body opened and strained toward him. He slipped inside her, easily at first, then the pain began.

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Victoria whimpered and he stopped. Placing both hands on her hips, he said, "Try to relax, Sweetheart." She glared up at him. Was he crazy? Holding her hips firmly, he made one searing lunge. She cried out shrilly. "I'm sorry, but it won't hurt anymore." Feeling incredibly stretched, she didn't believe him. If he moved again, the pain would be terrible. He inched his hips back and forth. "Does that hurt?" Surprisingly, it didn't. He moved more vigorously and her fire quickly grew into a raging inferno. Hawk leaned over her until his chest hairs scraped across her tender nipples. His body slapped against hers in frantic lunges and he grunted like a wild animal. Wanting every lunge and grunt he had to give, she dug her fingers into his back in encouragement. He carried her through a furnace of fiery pleasure until, with pounding hearts and heaving chests, they collapsed in each others arms. After long silent moments in the dimly lit cabin, Hawk rolled onto his back and pulled her over to his chest. Teasing a floppy copper curl with his fingers, he asked, "Are you all right?"

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She sighed. "I'm exhausted." He chuckled. "Me too." Victoria awoke to the sound of deep rhythmic thumping. It took her a few seconds to realize she was hearing Hawk's heart beat. She lay with her head on his chest, an arm around his waist, and one leg on top of his. They seemed to fit together like pieces of a puzzle. She wrinkled her nose against the tickle of his chest hair and slowly tipped her head back to look toward his face. The cabin windows were dark now, but she dimly saw the outline his jaw and chin. She'd never seen anybody from this angle before. She'd never been this close to anyone before. It felt good--warm, and safe. She slid her fingers across his chest, burying them in the thick thatch of hair. Suddenly his arms tightened around her. "You trying to take advantage of me in my sleep, lady?" his voice rumbled. She squealed as he turned her onto her back. He hovered over her for a moment, then brought his lips down to hers, kissing her leisurely. The pressure of his lips seemed more of a salute than a demand.

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When he raised his head, he looked down at her tenderly, his fingers lightly rearranging her curls. "I want you to know that you were absolutely right in what you said earlier." "About what?" "About me being hungry in a couple of hours." She laughed softly. "That's good, because I'm kind of hungry, myself. Why don't you fix something for both of us?" He pulled his head back and frowned. "But I'm the man of the house." "And what am I?" His expression softened and his fingers lightly stroked her cheek. "You are the lady who has just made me happier than I ever imagined I could be. So I'll be glad to fry you up a mess of bacon." He brought his nose down and rubbed back and forth across hers. Through her giggles, she asked, "What are you doing?" "That's the way Eskimos kiss." He rolled away from her and sat on the side of the bed. "How do you know how Eskimos kiss?" He bent to pick up his drawers then looked over his shoulder at her. "Didn't I tell you about the beautiful Eskimo woman who was madly in love with me?"

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Victoria humphed. "If she loved you so much, where is she now?" "She had to go home because she missed her blubber." Victoria burst into laughter. Hawk smirked and stuck one leg into his long underwear. After standing to pull the drawers over his hips, he looked down at her. "So how do you want your bacon, slightly or well-burnt?" "You don't have to cook. Martha insisted I bring home some leftovers." Then she propped herself up on her elbows and tried to assume an indignant expression. "But you knew that. You put them in the wagon. You had no intention of cooking for me, did you?" He put his hand in the center of his chest. "How can you doubt me? If you'd rather have my bacon than Martha's fried chicken, I'll fix it for you." Laughing, she swung her legs over the side of the bed then grunted softly at the twinge of discomfort between her legs. Hawk hurried around the bed and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "Is it bad?" A little embarrassed, Victoria grinned up at him. "Not bad--just different." He leaned over and lightly kissed her forehead. "I only hope you're half as happy about that difference as I am."

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First playful, now tender--this certainly was a Thomas Hawkins Victoria didn't know. She bit at her lower lip, unsure of what she wanted to say to him. He knelt in front of her, and pulled the quilt she'd kept in front of her body away. His gaze slowly roamed over her bare flesh. Truly embarrassed, Victoria hung her head. Hawk's finger lifted her chin until she looked directly into his eyes. "You have given me the greatest gift a woman can give a man. I'll do my best to be worthy of it." Silently, they stared into each other's eyes. Finally, he said, "Shall I bring you your supper in bed?" She gave his chest a playful push. "Certainly not. I'll get up and get dressed." "That's probably a good idea," he said, "or the sight of you laying in that bed might cause me to forget to eat, and I'll grow weak from hunger." Looking at him through lowered lashes, Victoria said, "Well, I certainly don't want you to grow weak." A delighted grin burst across his face. He stood, pulling her up with him. "We both better eat a big supper. We'll need all our strength tonight."

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A shiver ran through her body. He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Does that mean you agree or you're cold?" "Both," she said, surprised by her own boldness. "Get some clothes on--but not too many--and I'll stir up the fire." She put on her chemise and her dressing gown, and got busy picking up and putting away the clothes scattered around the bed. As she worked, it occurred to her that marriage to the Thomas Hawkins she had met this afternoon could be pleasant. In some ways he was like her father, a man determined to live life on his own terms. But Hawk had a respect for other people's feelings that T. J. Chandler lacked. By the time she'd finished her work, he'd unwrapped the food and heated the coffee. As she sat across the table from him and nibbled on a chicken leg, she wondered if there was some way to work out their differences and make a real marriage. Could they live as her parents had? "You know, my mother never came to the Territory of New Mexico," she said. "You mean even after your father started living here?" She nodded her head. "She continued to live in her father's house in San Francisco."

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He stared at her with his mouth hanging open. Finally he asked, "When did they see each other?" "He came home every year at Christmas, some years more than that, but the trip took a lot longer before the railroad was completed." Hawk rubbed the side of his nose. "Well, the Indians were a real problem back then. I guess he didn't want to endanger his family. Was your mother happy living like that?" Victoria most vivid childhood memories were of her mother's pale face propped against white pillows and smiling weakly at her children who had been brought to her bedside by servants. "Mother's health was poor," she said softly. "Guess that's another reason he couldn't bring her out. Thank God, we don't have to live like that!"

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Chapter Seventeen As he sat down to eat his breakfast, Hawk tried to stop grinning like an idiot. But every time he glanced at Victoria bustling about the stove, he felt such happiness that he wanted to let out a whoop of joy. Last night, had exceeded his fondest hopes. Accepting him completely, even enthusiastically, she had truly become his wife. She came to the table and scraped crisp pieces of bacon from the frying pan to his plate. "The eggs are all gone. You'll have to have mush with this." "That'll be fine." Why wouldn't she look at him? Her lips were red and a bit swollen from his kisses. Had he been too rough on her? "You feel okay this morning?" She placed a bowl of mush on the table and sat across from him. "Ah--a little stiff." He grinned just as she looked up at him. Her expression clearly said that she didn't see anything funny about her complaint. He reached across the table and caught her hand. "I'm sorry you're sore, Victoria, but I'm so happy about what's happened between us that I'm about to bust."

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A small frown creased her forehead, and she pulled her hand from his, so she could push the bowl of mush toward him. "Eat some of this." "Yes, ma'am," he said and kept right on grinning as he spooned runny mush onto his plate. "I put too much water in it, didn't I?" The mush flowed over his bacon. "It's just the way I like it, sweetheart." He scooped a spoonful into his mouth to prove his declaration. A hint of a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, and he grinned even more, making it difficult to swallow the soupy mush. She turned her attention to her own food, spooning a small portion of the mush onto her plate. Hawk began to crunch his bacon into small pieces and mix it with the mush. Victoria apparently thought that a good idea and began to copy him. They were even eating alike! "Will you be here for lunch?" she finally asked. "No, we're sweeping the south range." "Will biscuits and bacon be all right to carry with you?" "Sure."

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He mopped up the last of the mush, knowing he should leave. Carlos was probably waiting for him. But Hawk didn't want to leave her. "What are you gonna do today?" "It's Monday. Laundry day." "Why don't you let the laundry wait until I'm here to carry the water for you?" "And when will that be? I thought you were in a hurry to gather up the cows." He nodded to her point. "Well, just wash what you absolutely have to." "I have to do the sheets. One of them is--" a pink glow flushed her cheeks, "stained." With a full smile, Hawk stood, moved to her side, and pulled her to her feet. Holding her body lightly against his, he looked down at her. Her copper curls brushed against his chin, and his insides felt as soft as her squishy mush. "I'll make all this up to you, honey. I swear it. As soon as the roundup's over I'll start on a new house. And it'll have three bedrooms right from the start." "Why three?" "One for us, one for the boys, and one for the girls. The way we go at it, we'll have lots of both." Her eyes widened in surprise. "Children?" Hawk didn't like the slight quiver in her voice. "You want kids, don't you?"

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"I--I hadn't thought about having them now." She was just a little afraid. He leaned down and placed a light kiss on the tip of her nose. "Don't worry, honey. You've got at least nine months to get used to the idea." Then he enclosed her in his arms and brought his lips to hers for a real kiss. A horse's whinny near their front door caused him to raise his head. "That darn Carlos always shows up at the wrong time." Victoria hurriedly pushed out of his arms."Your lunch!" As she wrapped leftover biscuits in a napkin, he opened the front door. "I'll be there in a minute, Carlos." He stepped over to the clothespress and buckled on his gun belt. Victoria met him at the door with the bundle of food. "I'll miss you today," he said and tried to land a quick kiss. She turned her face aside. "Carlos is watching." "Carlos has seen married people kiss before." Nevertheless, he respected her modesty and turned to mount his horse. After she closed the door, Victoria moved to the window and watched Hawk ride away. New house. Bedrooms. Boys. Girls. What had she done?

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Obviously Hawk assumed their love making had solved all their differences, and he no longer needed to honor his promise to return her to her father. He'd also made it abundantly clear last night that he'd never agree to a long-distance marriage. The two mounted figures disappeared from her view, and total silence descended over the cabin. Even the wind that often whipped between the mountains and whistled through cracks in the cabin wall had ceased. She tried to imagine years of living in this desolate valley, with a house full of children, and Hawk away most of the time. She'd go mad! She thought of his smiles and jaunty steps this morning. His happiness had been so apparent that it almost made her forget her doubts. How could she destroy that happiness by telling him she still didn't want to live here? She remembered the passion and fire they had shared. Afterward, laying in his arms, she'd felt closer to him than she'd ever felt to anyone in her life. That sort of closeness caused need, a need that would grow if she stayed with him. What could she do? Victoria sighed and pushed away from the window. Right now there was nothing she could do--except the laundry.

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In the early afternoon, Victoria finished hanging the sheets and went into the house. She poured a generous dollop of glycerin into her palm and began rubbing it into the skin of her poor, chapped hands. They made her look like a washerwoman. But that's what she was on Mondays. She heard hoof beats coming at a gallop. Those darn men were going to get dust all over her freshly washed clothes. Going to the door, she saw only Carlos urging his pinto directly toward the house. Was something wrong? She stepped outside to meet him. He swung down from his horse before the animal had completely stopped and ran toward her with a hopping gait. "In house. Go in house," he shouted. Surprised to hear him speak English, Victoria just stood and stared at him. "Go in house. Shut door. Stay there," he ordered. "Why? What's wrong? Where's Hawk?" "Chase men. Send me to guard you." Carlos grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the doorway. "What men?" "Men watch you with glasses." "Glasses? Binoculars? How many men?"

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"Hawk go to see." As soon as she was inside, he turned to go. She grabbed his arm. "Is Hawk by himself?" Carlos ignored her question. "Bar door. I go watch from barn. Men not get you." He pulled free and ran through the door. "But what about Hawk?" she called after him. He only waved at her to shut the door. She did, but the flimsy wooden latch that secured it gave her no comfort. Why would men be watching her? Oh, mercy, could Don Miguel be trying to kidnap her again? She wrung her still oily hands. And what of Hawk chasing after them? He might be killed! Tears stung her eyes, and she paced about the cabin. Coming to a front window, she paused to peek out. Nothing moved until she glanced up at the barn loft. A bale of hay slid into the opening and a rifle barrel extended beyond it. Carlos must be expecting trouble. Becoming concerned for her own safety, Victoria raced about the room closing the curtains over all the windows. Deciding she should add to the door's defenses, she looked for something to put in front of it. The linen trunk looked promising, but she quickly discovered it was too heavy for her to move.

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She unloaded sheets and towels until the trunk was light enough for her to drag across the floor. After placing it in front of the door, she returned the linens and prayed the trunk would be heavy enough to stop strong men. She searched about the room for something she could do to keep herself from worrying. Of course, she couldn't concentrate on a book. The dishes were all clean, the laundry outside. Finally she began to peel potatoes. Hawk would want supper when he came home. If he came home! Where was he? Minutes dragged by. When the peeled potatoes made the soak water slosh over the top of the pot, she stopped peeling. Was it too early to start the biscuits? She needed wood for the stove but didn't dare go outside for it. Going back to the front window, Victoria peeked out again. A black dot bobbed against the distant mountains. Victoria squinted through the haze of late afternoon sunshine. As the dot came nearer, she definitely saw a horse's legs moving slowly toward her, but the rider looked strange--too large. She continued to stare. Two men were on the horse, the one in back hunched over so she could barely see his head. She saw a black beard bouncing on the front rider. Jack! Was that Hawk behind him? Why wasn't he on his own horse?

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She frantically began to unload the linen trunk so she could open the door. With a stack of sheets tilting precariously on the kitchen table, she managed to open the door and rushed outside. Carlos waited by the barn, his rifle still in his hands. Jack stopped his horse directly in front of her. "Don't worry, Missus, he ain't hurt bad." Hawk held one arm pressed against his chest, and he hung onto Jack's shoulder with the other hand. He made a move as though he intended to slide off the horse, then sighed heavily. Victoria lifted her arms up but didn't quite dare to touch him. "Let me use the stirrup," he muttered. Jack kicked his foot out of the brace and let Hawk insert his. Carlos came over to help, but Hawk dismounted unaided. "What happened?" Victoria demanded. "Them fellows took off, and we went after 'em, but Hawk's horse stepped in a hole and threw him." "Is his arm broken?"

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Hawk huffed disgustedly. "Just bruised my shoulder. I've had worse. Jack, go see if you can get them steers before they scatter to hell and back. I'll stay here with Victoria. Carlos can make sure them snakes don't sneak back." Victoria remembered the men who caused all this. "Who were they? Did they look like Mexicans?" "Really didn't get close enough to see," Jack said before turning his horse and setting off at a gallop. "Let's get in the house," Hawk said gloomily. Victoria reached to steady him, but he stepped away from her touch. "I can walk by myself." "I was just trying to help," she said as a wave of uselessness swept over her. She'd never cared for an injured man before. Maybe Carlos knew something about bruised shoulders. "What should I do for his shoulder?" she asked. "I get rub," Carlos said and headed toward the barn.

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Victoria didn't have any idea what that meant. She followed Hawk into the house and watched with dismay as he awkwardly unbuckled his gunbelt and carelessly dropped it onto his cot. He needed to wash up. At least she could start heating water. She turned to go for firewood. "Don't go outside!" Hawk yelled. She pointed at the empty wood box. "I need to build a fire. You said those men rode away." "They did, but I don't want you taking any chances. Carlos will get some wood." As though he'd heard a summons, Carlos appeared in the open doorway holding a grimy glass bottle, its Spanish label almost blurred out of existence where the contents had dripped over it many times. He gestured that Victoria should rub the liquid on Hawk's shoulder. "What is it," Hawk asked, "horse liniment?" With a gap-toothed grin, Carlos vigorously nodded his head up and down and handed the bottle to Victoria. Hawk spoke a few words in Spanish as he tipped his head toward the stove. Carlos nodded and left the cabin. Victoria went to help Hawk remove his vest. "Was the horse hurt?" "Broke his leg. Had to put him down."

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"Oh, which horse was it?" "Big Red." "He was your favorite! I'm sorry." "Yeah." Now she understood that Hawk's grumpiness came from sorrow, as much as anger. She started unbuttoning his shirt. "I don't need you fussing over me. I just want to get cleaned up," he snapped. "How? Out in the yard?" "Yes!" "In cold water? Then you'll have pneumonia as well as a sore shoulder." Carlos came in and dropped an armload of wood into the box. Victoria turned toward him. "Carlos, can you please bring in one of those laundry tubs and several buckets of water?" He bobbed his head as though he understood and left.

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Victoria hurriedly built a fire, started water heating, and turned her attention to Hawk. He'd removed his shirt and was struggling with the long sleeved undershirt. "I'll help you with that," she cried. "Come sit in one of these chairs, so I can reach it." He frowned but did as she'd ordered. Working on the uninjured side, she got his arm free of the sleeve, pulled the shirt over his head, and carefully pulled it from the injured shoulder. Despite her care, Hawk winced with pain as that arm moved. From the front, the shoulder didn't look too bad, just some scraped skin on the top of it. She gasped in alarm, however, when she stepped behind him and saw the massive yellow, blue, and purple bruise that ran across, and even below, his shoulder blade. Carlos came in carrying a bucket of water, and Victoria called him over. "Look at this terrible bruise. Do you think anything's broken?" Over Hawk's protests, Carlos gently poked about the injured area with his finger tips. Then he laid his palm against the shoulder blade, grabbed Hawk's forearm, and pulled it straight up. Hawk made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a scream, then muttered curses at the little man. Not in the least bothered by this, Carlos lowered the arm. "No broke," he said confidently.

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Victoria felt better after that. She had Carlos place the laundry tub near Hawk's feet and partially fill it with water from the pump. While he was doing that, she knelt in front of Hawk, and reached for one of his boots. "You're supposed to turn around to do that," he grumbled, "then I can help by pushing against your backsides with my foot." "Huh!" She easily slipped off the well-worn boot. When both boots and socks were removed, Victoria began to add hot water from the stove. With steam rising from the tub, Victoria thanked Carlos for his help, and he left the cabin. "Aren't you going to finish undressing me?" Hawk asked, the grumpiness in his tone replaced by an air of mischief. "Can't you manage the rest?" "I don't see how, with only one good hand." She saw his lips twitch, as he suppressed a grin. "I've never known you to have any trouble getting out of your trousers," she said with raised eyebrows. He shrugged, slipped out of his trousers and long underwear, then stared down at the tub. "Do you expect me to fit in that thing?"

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"No, silly, you stay in the chair, just put your feet in it." After he sat down, Victoria casually draped a towel over his lap. He gingerly poked one foot into the water. "That's too hot!" "Don't be a baby, put your feet in there," Victoria ordered. Then she dipped a towel in the water, wrung it out, and gently placed it on his injured shoulder. Hawk gasped, then visibly relaxed. "Uh, that does feel good." Victoria dampened a cloth, rubbed it with soap, and began to wash his face and neck. "You don't have to do this," Hawk muttered. He sat quietly, however, as she lathered his chest and arms. He grinned when she requested that he lift one foot from the water. They were both grinning by the time she had finished washing both legs. "You've washed down as far as possible, and up as far as possible. Aren't you going to wash possible?" he asked with a gleam in his eye. Trying to look annoyed, Victoria handed him the wash cloth. "You can do that with one hand." He took the cloth and sighed in resignation. "Okay, but I like you giving me a bath. Think we could make a regular thing of it?" "Certainly not! Now hurry up before you get a chill."

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She gently patted his left shoulder with a dry towel, then rubbed over his chest and right arm more vigorously. He stood and stepped out of the tub, and she knelt to dry his legs and feet, trying to ignore that he was in the early stages of an erection. "Now, lay down on the bed and I'll put that liniment on your shoulder." Smiling like he knew a secret joke, he went to the bed and stretched out on his stomach. Victoria threw a blanket over his legs and gingerly applied the lotion that smelled strongly of eucalyptus over the bruised area. His smile changed to that of a very contended cat. "What are you thinking?" she asked. "Oh, just wondering how I got along for so many years without a wife?" Encouraged, she rubbed the liquid over all of his broad back, stopping just below his tapered waist. When she was finished, she recapped the bottle. "Do you feel better?" In a husky voice, he replied, "I still have a terrible ache I wish you'd do something about." Before she could ask what it was, he rolled off his stomach, let the blanket slide below his hips, and revealed the source of his discomfort. "Now, Hawk, you can't...."

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With one fluid movement, he sat up, wrapped his good arm around her, and pulled her onto the bed. "You'll hurt yourself," she squealed and braced her hands against his chest. "Not as much as I'm hurting now." With gentle nips, he worked across her jaw and up to her lips. His tongue flicked lightly over the upper, then the lower, lip. Victoria groaned softly and welcomed him into her mouth. He lay back against the pillows pulling her body over his. She felt his excitement through the folds of her skirt and broke contact with his lips just long enough to murmur, "We shouldn't." "We should," he whispered back and resumed the scorching kiss. She lost all reasonable thought until she felt him pulling on her legs. "What are you doing?" "You get on top, honey." "I can't do that!" But somehow she did. Somehow her knees straddled his body, her skirt and petticoat floated out of the way, and the center opening in her drawers allowed her aching flesh to come against his smooth hardness. She forgot all concern about his shoulder. Soon they were both crying out from the exquisite pain of exploding passion.

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When she finally regained her senses enough to pull the blanket over his damp body, she fearfully asked, "Did I hurt you?" He chuckled deeply. "You're the best doctor I ever had. But, with this kind of care, I may take a long time to get well." She snuggled against his side, and his uninjured arm pulled her closer. She couldn't believe what she'd just done, in the broad open daylight, fully dressed. Carlos could have walked in on them. What was this strange power Hawk had over her? If she didn't get away from him soon, she'd be lost forever. "Oh, my goodness! What about those men? I forgot all about them." "I don't think we have anything to worry about tonight. The two I saw looked like they were hightailin' it to town. If there's a band of armed Mexicans around here, Sheriff Tate's sure to know somethin' about it. We'll go into Magdalena in the morning and talk to him."

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Chapter Eighteen The next morning, as Victoria dressed for the trip into town, Hawk suggested she pack a change of clothing, in case she needed to stay for a few days. "Why would I need to do that?" "If de Luca's men are around, you'll be safer there." She started to argue with him, then thought better of it. A stay in town could offer an opportunity to get away from Hawk without having a terrible scene. She felt heartily ashamed of her cowardliness, but packed her bag with careful thought to what she might need if she left. Hawk couldn't manage the wagon with his sore arm, so they rode horses. They made several detours onto higher ground, so he could see what lay ahead of them. On reaching Magdalena, he suggested Victoria go to Swanson's store and look for new furniture in the catalogue while he talked to Sheriff Tate. Mr. Swanson greeted her warmly when she entered the store, and directed her to the stand where he kept the thick book.

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Even though she had no intention of ordering anything, she found the furniture section of the book and began to leaf through it. She was soon caught up in deciding what she'd like to have if she were furnishing her own home. A voice interrupted her thoughts. "Are you Mrs. Hawkins?" Smiling politely, she looked up to see a pudgy man wearing a pin-stripped suit and bowler hat. "Yes I am." "Mrs. Victoria Hawkins?" "Should I know you, sir?" she asked, although sure she'd never seen him before. "We've never met, Mrs. Hawkins. My name is Waldo Wilkinson. I'm an attorney, and have been retained by your father to check on your welfare." "My what?" "Your father wanted to be sure you're being treated properly by your new husband. We probably have only a few minutes to talk, so I want to assure you that if you wish to leave him, I can arrange it." Victoria's heart began to pound. Was this the chance she'd been looking for? "Arrange it?"

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"You don't have to be shy with me, Mrs. Hawkins," he said in a rapid near-whisper. "I know he forces you to do heavy manual labor. Does he beat you? If you feel in any danger, I can remove you from his custody immediately." Victoria looked around the store. Reassured that no one was close enough to hear the conversation, she asked, "How could you do that?" "I could obtain a restraining order. The sheriff would enforce it." "No!" Victoria certainly didn't want to tell lies that would shame Hawk before everyone in Magdalena. "The Sheriff's a friend of my husband. Could you just take me to my father?" He reached to pat her hand. "You poor thing, you're really frightened, aren't you? I'd be happy to take you to your father, but you'd have to find a way to get away from Hawkins." Through the glass display window, Victoria saw Hawk and the sheriff come out of the office across the street and shake hands. "Where are you staying?" she asked hurriedly. "At the hotel." "I'll get in touch with you. Now please leave. He's coming." Mr. Wilkinson nodded, tipped his hat and rushed from the store, almost bumping into Hawk at the doorway.

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"Was that man talking to you?" Hawk asked as he came up to her. "Oh, he asked where some ranch was. I told him I'm new to the area myself." "What ranch did he want?" Victoria shrugged. "The Bar-something. They all sound alike to me. What did Sheriff Tate say?" Hawk shook his head. "He hasn't heard about any strange Mexicans in the area. He's gonna ask around." Victoria suddenly remembered Mr. Wilkinson remark about "manual labor" and realized exactly who had been watching their house. Now the sheriff was launching a search for non-existent Mexicans. She should tell the truth, but that would include telling Hawk she wanted to leave. Why didn't she just tell him? She'd never been afraid to speak the truth before, and she certainly wasn't afraid of Hawk. Her hands began to tremble, rattling a page of the catalogue that she still held. He caught hold of her hand and eased her fingers away from the paper. "Whoa, honey. Don't get upset. Nothing's gonna happen to you. I told the sheriff you'll be staying in town for a few days, and he promised to keep an eye on you. We'll get to the bottom of this.

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"Anyway, it might not be de Luca. Sheriff Tate said a man was in town looking for mining property. Maybe those men weren't really watching our place." Victoria looked at his concerned, honest face. He didn't deserve to be deceived, but she couldn't go on living in this primitive country--she just couldn't. "Oh, Hawk!" She threw her arms around him and buried her face against his chest as tears of regret scalded her eyes. He patted her shoulder. "Come on, honey. Don't cry. People are looking. They'll think I did somethin' to you." An unusual tone in his voice caused her to pull back and look up at him. His tanned cheeks seemed darker. Her public display had embarrassed him. She groped for a handkerchief in her reticule and wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry, Hawk. I'm just--I'm just upset about having to stay in town." He stroked her arm. "I know. I feel awful about us being apart too, but it won't be for long. What did you find in the catalogue? You gonna order one of everything?" She looked down at the forgotten book. "Oh, it's hard to decide. We don't have room for anything now, and I have no idea what we'll need in the new house."

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He slipped his arm around her back and started her toward the door. "Let's go get you a room in the hotel. You can plan the house and figure out what you'll need in it while you're in town. That'll give you something to do." After they'd installed her into a cramped little room in the hotel, Hawk decided he'd stay and have lunch in town. She knew he was eager to get back to his work on the ranch but could also see how he dreaded leaving her. The cafe food stuck in her throat as she realized this might be the last time he'd ever look at her with such tenderness. Finally they stood on the boardwalk in front of the horses. "I'll take your horse back with me. No sense in paying to board him. You won't be needing him until I come back. Maybe I can come in the wagon." "You take care of that shoulder. Don't use your arm anymore than you have to." He'd have no one to put the liniment on for him. "Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself. And don't worry about those men. We'll find out who they are. Even if we don't, I'll be back in town by Sunday for sure."

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He glanced up and down the street, seemingly bothered by the half a dozen people walking or loitering along the sidewalks. "Aw, shoot," he said and gathered her into his arms. "We're married." He kissed her soundly then turned and quickly mounted his horse. As she watched him ride away, she had to fish for her handkerchief again. Victoria spent a boring afternoon, walking, looking in shop windows, and even buying a few toiletries. Twice she passed Mr. Wilkinson, but avoided meeting his gaze. When she finally seated herself in one of the two chairs in the hotel's small lobby, he came, sat beside her, and opened a newspaper. Herman, the desk clerk, made a remark about the weather being unusually warm, then excused himself to run an errand. Mr. Wilkinson held the newspaper in front of his face as he softly said, "Has your husband gone back to his ranch?" Victoria propped her elbow on the arm of the chair and rested her chin in her hand to hide her mouth. "Yes." "When is he coming back?"

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"I not sure. Maybe not until Sunday." He lowered the paper, looked directly at her and smiled. "Splendid. We can catch the morning train." "No! I don't want the whole town to see me leave. Besides, the sheriff promised Hawk he'd watch me. He might stop us." Mr. Wilkinson pursed his lips and twisted them back and forth as he mused. "Well--I could rent a buggy. We could go to Socorro and catch the train. However, that would be a long, uncomfortable buggy ride." "I don't care. Rent the buggy tonight so we can leave early--very early." He agreed. She promised to meet him at the back door of the hotel at six the next morning. As she got up to go to her room, Victoria saw Mattie looking over the swinging doors that separated the saloon from the lobby. The hard-eyed woman had evidently been watching Victoria talk to Mr. Wilkinson. Had she overheard what they said? No, they were too far away and had been speaking softly. Still, Victoria didn't like the sneer on the woman's painted face.

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Would Hawk seek comfort in Mattie's arms after Victoria left? The thought almost doubled her over, and she gripped the stair railing tightly, forcing her feet to keep moving upward. She couldn't stop now. She couldn't turn back. Hawk pulled his horse to a stop, waved Jack and Carlos on, and reached for his canteen. His gut growled in hunger. He'd skipped breakfast for years and never noticed, but after a few weeks of having a wife cook for him he felt empty without it. Some water dribbled down on his chin, and he wiped it away with his bandanna. A lack of food wasn't the only thing making him feel empty. Waking up alone this morning had also wrenched his gut. He knew Victoria was safer in town, but didn't know how long he could stand to be away from her. He wanted to scour the hills for those men, get this mystery settled, and bring her home where she belonged, but the roundup was scheduled to start next week. He had to rely on the sheriff. Twitching his sore shoulder, he remembered Victoria's soft hands massaging it and smiled. Imagine a beautiful, city-bred girl like her nursing a poor cowboy like him. He'd never have dreamed such a thing, or that any woman could mean so much to him.

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He thought he heard his name and turned to look over his shoulder. A horse and rider approached at full speed. Hawk squinted through the morning sun. Was that Bob Swanson's boy? The rider waved his hat and called, "Mr. Hawkins, Mr. Hawkins!" Something must be wrong. Hawk spurred his horse toward the boy. He had to grab the bridle and help stop the boy's horse. "What's happened, Bobby?" The wide-eyed boy took a deep breath. "Sheriff sent me, Mr. Hawkins. Your wife's done disappeared. He said for you to come quick." For a second, Hawk's heart stopped beating. Then he shook himself into action. "You go tell Jack and Carlos I've gone into town. They're to pen-up those cattle, then come in too. Your horse is spent. I can't wait for you, kid." He kicked his horse into a run and hunched forward to urge it to even greater speed. He wished he had Big Red under him. This was no time to be breaking in a new horse. But no matter what, he silently swore to get Victoria back and to kill any man who'd harmed her. Victoria grabbed the arm rest as the buggy lurched in and out of another pothole.

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"Sorry about that," Mr. Wilkinson said for the umpteenth time. "The roads in this Territory are a scandal." "I guess they don't use this road much since the railroad opened." "All the roads are just as bad. If your father hadn't needed me, I would have stayed in San Francisco." "How long have you been out here?" she asked, not really interested, but trying to make polite conversation. "Five years." She looked at him in disbelief. If he hated the place, why had he stayed here so long? Her father's money, of course. "Your very loyal, Mr. Wilkinson," she said, making no attempt to hide her cynicism. The little man didn't notice her lack of sincerity and visibly puffed out his chest. "It's been an honor to serve a fine man like your father." The buggy bounced over a rock, causing Victoria to issue a small yelp as she came up from and then down on the thinly padded seat. "Sorry."

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"You don't have to apologize for every bump, Mr. Wilkinson. I don't hold you responsible for the road." She turned and pretended to look at the landscape, hoping to forestall any more conversation. Earlier he had told her it would take most of the day for them to reach Socorro, and they couldn't get a train for Lordsburg until the next morning. She might as well let him know right now that she wasn't interested in conversation with him all that time. A mountain rose on one side of the road and plains stretched away from it on the other. In the distance, she saw a small building fringed with cottonwood trees. The leaves had turned a bright yellow. She missed the red autumn colors produced by hardwoods in the East, but the massed yellow shimmering in the bright sunshine was pretty, too. A few, small, puffy clouds floated in the vast expanse of azure sky. Why did the sky seem so much bigger here? What a silly thought. The sky was the same everywhere. Maybe the lack of tall trees blocking one's view just made it seem larger. But she'd swear the sky was a different color here--bluer with just a hint of green.

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She took a deep breath. Without a doubt the air smelled different. Of course, it lacked all the foul odors generated by a city, but even compared to countryside air in the East or along the western coast, it seemed crisper. People with lung disease came here, so it must be different. Well, the air would be the same at her father's. Of course, she'd be more insulated from it in that big, dark house. What would her father think of her coming back? He should be glad. He hadn't wanted her to come here in the first place. However, he probably wouldn't approve of her running away. T. J. Chandler always met his problems head on. She signed and raised her hand to her forehead, trying to push away a growing headache. She'd slept poorly the night before. How would she survive this dreary day? She'd just keep reminding herself that tomorrow she'd be back with her father. She could rest all she liked there. The first thing she'd do was take a long soak in her own personal bath tub. Wouldn't it feel good to stretch out in hot water again? Then she'd.... What would she do at her father's museum-like mansion? Help Amanda supervise the servants? In San Francisco she had friends to visit, functions to attend, and many shops to frequent. In Chandler City she'd be alone and bored to death.

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She'd never been bored with Hawk. In his world she was always busy--and needed. In her father's she was just another expensive ornament sitting on the shelf. How had she let herself forget that? Most importantly, Hawk loved her--loved her for what she could become, not who her father was. With him she had learned to do so many wonderful things. She'd never again have to fear going hungry without servants to prepare her food. Now she could care for herself and others. She had wanted a new life and Hawk had given her one--a real life where she could have a family that worked and played together like the Bensons. Why was she running back to that sterile life in her father's gloomy house? Hawk loved her--and she loved him! That's what she was really running away from--this totally new, all-consuming desire for her husband that made her want to give up everything she had once valued. She feared losing herself. But with him she had discovered a whole new part of herself. Leaving was a terrible mistake. Could she undo it--get back before Hawk discovered what she'd done? "Don't be frightened, Mrs. Hawkins, " Mr. Wilkinson said.

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"What?" Victoria looked at the little man in confusion. Then she heard hooves pounding and looked back. Five horsemen were racing toward them. She recognized Sheriff Tate at the head of the pack. Leaning against the side of the buggy, she groaned, "Oh dear!" Mr. Wilkinson pulled the buggy to a stop, and calmly tied off the reins. "You let me do the talking. They can't force you to go back." Suddenly five angry men surrounded the buggy and pointed pistols at the lawyer. "Don't you move, mister," the sheriff said. Mr. Wilkinson's confidence fled. "Now, now, see here--" "Shut up you lying snake," another member of the posse said. "You told everybody in town you was a land speculator." "Are you all right, Mrs. Hawkins?" the sheriff asked. Victoria could only nod her head. "How did this man kidnap you?" the sheriff asked. "Kidnap!" Mr. Wilkinson's eyes seemed about to pop from their sockets. "This lady came with me of her own free will." Now the sheriff's eyes widened. "Did this man kidnap you, Mrs. Hawkins?"

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"I--" Victoria's voice failed her. She cleared her throat. "I'd like to go back to Magdalena, please," she finally managed to say in a small voice. Hawk found the sheriff's office locked. He ran across the street and into the hotel lobby. Herman stood behind the counter. "Thank goodness you're here," he said. "Is the sheriff out looking for Victoria?" Hawk asked. "Yes." "Which way did he go?" "He's been gone for at least two hours. You might as well wait here," Herman said, walking out from behind the counter. "What do you mean? God knows when he'll come back. I gotta try and find him." "They were chasing a man in a buggy, and he hadn't been gone long. I don't think they'll have any trouble catching him." Hawk frowned at the man. "What the hell are you talking about, Herman?" "You see, I sent the maid up to ask Mrs. Hawkins if she wanted breakfast. We've started serving it to guests. Nelly came back saying the room was empty, so I sent for the sheriff. He asked

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me if any of my other guests were gone, and I said only Mr. Wilkinson, the land speculator. He had asked me to pack him a big breakfast because he was going out to look at some property and wanted to leave real early. "Then the sheriff saw Dan Bridges coming down the street and got all excited because Dan had been working as a guide for that Wilkinson fellow. Dan said he'd told Wilkinson to go to hell two days ago after he'd taken him out near your place and Wilkinson had only been interested in looking at your wife. "Bud Phillips at the livery came along and told how Wilkinson had rented a buggy for today's trip instead of a horse like he usually did." Herman paused just long enough to take a deep breath. "Then Sam Turner came into town to deliver milk and said he'd passed a buggy heading east with a man and woman in it. The sheriff grabbed up three or four fellows, and they headed after it." Hawk shook his head with impatience. "Hell, Herman, that coulda been anybody. I'm going." Herman grabbed his sleeve. "Wait a minute, Hawk. After all the excitement died down, Nelly went upstairs to clean your wife's room and found this." He held out a white envelope. "Is that a ransom note?" Hawk asked.

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"It's written on paper like I gave your wife last night. Your name's on the outside. You better read it before you go anywhere." As Hawk looked at the sympathetic expression on Herman's face, bile rose in his throat. He took the envelope, walked over to the window where the light was brighter, and turned his back on the clerk. Dear Thomas, This is the most difficult letter I've ever tried to write. The man you saw me talking to in the General Store is Waldo Wilkinson, a lawyer my father hired to check on me. He was one of the men you saw watching the house. I have decided it will be easier for everyone if I return to my father. Mr. Wilkinson has agreed to accompany me. You have been patient and honorable, but I cannot see myself spending the rest of my life in your world.

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I know my actions will disappoint you. I am sorry. I wish I could have been the woman you wanted me to be. I will be at my father's home if you wish further contact. Please, try not to hate me. Victoria Hawk scanned the page, then tried to read it more carefully. The words blurred and ran together. Only "your world" jumped out at him. He wasn't good enough for her--never had been--never would be. She had lain in his arms, murmured his name, and sighed in pleasure. And it meant nothing to her. The cold-hearted bitch! He crumbled the letter in one hand and came close to driving his fist through the plate-glass window. Then he saw a coal-box buggy flanked by riders coming down the street. Hawk straightened his back, squared his jaw, and went out to meet the parade.

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Chapter Nineteen The buggy stopped in front of the sheriff's office. The horses milled around it. As Hawk strode across the street with long, firm steps, he noticed how the riders avoided making eye contact with him. Victoria sat in the buggy with her hands primly folded in her lap and her eyes downcast. At least, she had the decency to look embarrassed. Sheriff Tate quickly dismounted and stepped between Hawk and the buggy. "Haven't figured out exactly what happened here, Hawk, but that fellow says he's a lawyer, not a kidnapper." "Could I borrow your office for a few minutes, Tate? Have a private moment with my wife?" Uncertainty flicked across Sheriff Tate's usually placid features. "You got a hold of yourself, Hawk?" he asked softly. Hawk gave him a curt nod. The sheriff moved to unlock his office door. Hawk went to the buggy. Victoria looked at him with wide eyes and hesitated to take his extended hand. "Would you step into the sheriff's office with me, Victoria?" He added in a lower voice, "We've entertained folks enough for one morning."

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Her chin trembled, but she took his hand and let him lead her into the office. As soon as he closed the door, she turned to him with tears sparkling in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I made a mistake," she said in a quivering voice. "Yeah!" He had to clench his teeth to keep his voice down. "If you'd told me you wanted to leave this badly, you wouldn't have had to sneak out of town in the middle of the night." "No, no, I was wrong to leave. I really--" "Shut up," he hissed at her. "I don't want to hear another word out of your lying mouth." He pulled his folded leather wallet from his back pocket. His fingers fumbled as he opened it and reached inside. Finally he got a firm hold of the little, lined booklet the banker had given him for Victoria's account. He waved it in her face. "Well, you don't have to go back to your father. You've got enough money, even for the way you squander it, to live in San Francisco." His voice had risen to a yell, but he didn't care. "So go there and stay. That's were you belong." He bounced the booklet off her heaving chest and let it fall to the floor. She bit her lower lip and tears ran down her paper-white face. "Please, Hawk--" He turned and headed out the door.

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"Hawk! Thomas!" she called after him. Without looking back, he nodded to the sheriff, mounted his horse, and dug his spurs into the animal. Victoria buried her face in her hands, trying to muffle her sobs. She turned away from the open doorway and the staring men outside and staggered blindly until she bumped against the cold steel bars of a cell that ran across the back of the room. Resting her forehead against a bar, she dug a handkerchief from the pocket of her riding skirt. Footsteps echoed off the wooden floor behind her. "There, there, Mrs. Hawkins." Mr. Wilkinson's soft hand patted her shoulder. "This is probably all for the best. Now we can take the train to Socorro." She looked over at him in disbelief and sniffled. Didn't the fool know her heart was breaking? "Perhaps you need to rest. We can leave in the morning." He smiled at her encouragingly. Sheriff Tate stepped toward her. His face wore the same disapproving look he'd had all the way back to town. "This yours?" He extended the booklet Hawk had thrown at her. She took it, flipped open the first page and stared at the long line of numbers written there. This wasn't the same booklet Hawk had shown her before. That book had several hundred dollars written

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in it. This one had thousands! She'd been so worried about spending anything, thinking they were poor, and all this money had been in the bank. Hawk had lied to her! She shook her head in confusion. Why had he done that? Was he trying to cheat her? That didn't make sense. He'd offered to build her a new house and get new furniture. No, he'd wanted her to stay with him, and knowing how badly she wanted to go to San Francisco, he'd lied about the money to keep her here. That meant he'd been in love with her by the time they reached Magdalena. He'd wanted her to be his wife in more than name only, and she'd been too self-involved to see it. The tight ache in the center of her chest grew. Mr. Wilkinson cleared his throat. "So, Mrs. Hawkins, shall I get hotel rooms or train tickets?" "Hotel rooms," Victoria murmured. "Train tickets for tomorrow?" "No." Resolve flowed through her. "Send for my father!" "But that isn't necessary. You can be home by tomorrow night." "I'm not leaving Magdalena until my father gets here. Take me to the hotel--then send a telegram," she ordered.

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Victoria decided not to meet her father at the railroad station. She'd been all too aware of the curiosity of the townspeople during the three days she'd been waiting and decided there was no need to put on another show for them. After the train whistle announced it's arrival, Victoria paced about her hotel room rehearsing what she'd say to her father. Why was he taking so long? She'd sent Mr. Wilkinson to the station with orders to bring her father directly to the hotel. She went down to the lobby and peered out the windows there. The platform where the passengers unloaded was hidden from her view, but she noticed activity around one of the boxcars that extended beyond the station. My goodness, they were unloading her father's coach. She should have known T. J. Chandler wouldn't travel light. Finally, the coach, surrounded by six heavily armed guards, started the half-block journey to the hotel. So much for her hope that he'd slip into town unnoticed. The coach rumbled to a stop. T. J., Mr. Wilkinson, and Miss Pritchard got out. Why on earth had he brought her? Once inside, her father kissed Victoria's cheek, then looked her over. "You look better than I expected. From what Wilkinson's been telling me, I thought you'd be in hysterics."

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Victoria shot a glare at the lawyer and huffed in exasperation. "Can I speak with you alone?" "We'll get settled in first," he replied and turned to the desk were Herman stood bug-eyed. As T. J. barked demands at the poor clerk, Miss Pritchard came over and patted Victoria's hand and told her not to worry, her father would handle everything. All the remaining rooms in the hotel would not fill the needs of the Chandler party. Eventually, her father had to settle for three guards in a room and Miss Pritchard in with Victoria. A sizable, by Magdalena's standards, crowd had gathered outside to stare through the plate glass window. Victoria could only hope Hawk didn't hear about this spectacle. He'd really be furious. She had to take Miss Pritchard up to their room to freshen up, before her father would meet with her. Finally he and Mr. Wilkinson came to Victoria's room. She and Miss Pritchard took the only chairs. Her father sat on the edge of the bed. Mr. Wilkinson remained standing. "Actually, Father, if I could just have a few words alone with you--" T. J. shook his head impatiently. "I'm paying Waldo a fortune for legal advice. Better if he hears this first hand. You could have told him yourself. Saved me the trip here." "I don't need legal advice," Victoria said.

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"You don't understand all the things involved in ending a marriage when money's concerned, sweetheart." "Hawk doesn't care about our money," Victoria said. "I've tried to explain that giving her the bankbook proves nothing," Mr. Wilkinson interrupted. "Everything's still in Mr. Hawkins name." T. J. nodded in agreement. "I'm sure as soon as he cooled down, Hawkins had second thoughts about the matter. We have to move cautiously here, or you'll lose the entire trust fund." Would the man ever stop talking and listen to her? "I don't want you to get the money away from Hawk. I want you to get Hawk to take me back." "What?" At last she had her father's attention. "I made a terrible mistake when I left Hawk. I realized it almost immediately, but the posse got to us before I could get Mr. Wilkinson to turn back. Now Hawk's been shamed before the whole town, and he won't listen to a word I say. You've got to make him listen." A look of indignation came over T. J.'s face. "And just how am I supposed to do that?" "You made him marry me!"

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"I did that by threatening him with financial ruin. Now he has your trust fund. That threat's no longer a weapon. And why do you want to go back? Waldo tells me you were forced to do manual labor." Victoria gritted her teeth with impatience. "I was doing the family wash, something most wives do. And I can do laundry now, and bake biscuits, and clean house." Her father shook his head. "You aren't making sense. If you were so happy keeping house for the man, why did you leave him? Waldo says that was your suggestion." How could she make him understand? "I arrived in New Mexico determined to get back to San Francisco. I believed I would only be happy living in a city. I was so determined, that I didn't let myself see I'd found a better life here. I didn't even admit I'd fallen in love with my husband until I'd ruined everything by leaving him." T. J. leaned forward, frowning in confusion. "I thought you fell in love with him down in Mexico?" "Something terrible happened down there--something Hawk had no control over. But he promised he'd never tell anybody about it, and he let you force him into marrying me rather than

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break his promise. That's the kind of man Thomas Hawkins is." Victoria's voice had grown scratchy. "Please help me." Again he shook his head. "You ran away, and the whole town knows it. I don't see how I can--" "Oh, Thaddeus," Miss Pritchard leaned over and lightly touched his arm, "you're so clever about arranging things. I'm sure you can find a way to help Victoria." He covered her fingers with his own, and as he glanced at her, his features softened. A look of such tenderness passed between them, that Victoria gasped. Her father and Miss Pritchard were in love. Tears stung her eyes. They had found the happiness she had so foolishly thrown away. Taking a deep breath, her father turned back to her. "If I get you back into his house, can you convince him?" "I'll have to," Victoria said through her tears. As the coach came to a stop, T. J. peered out at the small cabin. "Good heavens! Are you sure you want to come back here?"

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"He's going to build a new house as soon as the roundup's over," Victoria said hurriedly. Still shaking his head, her father helped her from the coach. The four guards who had accompanied them remained on their horses, spread out so they could watch over the immediate area. At least, T. J. had left Miss Pritchard and Mr. Wilkinson at the hotel. Hawk appeared in the doorway. Victoria looked at him for some sign of forgiveness. As he recognized his visitors, his face twisted into a near snarl. "Let me do all the talking," her father said softly. "What do you want here, Chandler?" Hawk called out. "I'm returning my daughter to her home," T. J. said in a conversational voice. "This is my home, not hers. She's made that clear enough. Now take her back to the city or to your big house or any damn place on earth--but here." He emphasized his last words with a shake of his fist. T. J. switched to a commanding tone. "You keep a civil tongue in front of a lady, young man. Victoria acted rashly when she left, and I've come to make sure the matter is resolved correctly." Hawk stepped down from the doorway and planted his fists on his hips. "What are you up to?" "Did you really think I'd let you keep Victoria's inheritance?" T. J. asked.

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"I gave her that damn money back," Hawk snapped. "Your melodramatic little gesture of throwing a bankbook has no legal standing, and you know it. Proper papers must be signed." "Give 'em to me. I'll gladly sign 'em," he jerked a thumb toward Victoria, "if it means I'll never have to see her again." She cringed from his obvious distaste of her. Her father was making the situation worse! "I certainly don't intend to rely on your banker. My lawyers will have to draw up the papers." "So, what's the problem. Isn't Waldo Weakknees still in town?" Hawk demanded. "I no longer have full confidence in Mr. Wilkinson. I plan to bring another attorney from San Francisco. Until he arrives, I insist Victoria remain under your roof." "Why?" Hawk roared. "So you can't charge her with being a runaway wife and thereby seize her funds. Even Mr. Wilkinson warned me of that possibility." With his hands clenched into fists, Hawk ground his teeth together as his eyes raked over Victoria and her father. For a moment she actually feared him. Then he exhaled sharply and his

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shoulders relaxed. "Fine," he said in an even voice. "Let her stay here. I was leaving for the roundup in the morning. I'll just go now." He turned and went back into the house, while T. J. sputtered in confusion. Hawk came out carrying saddle bags and a rifle. Without a glance at Victoria or her father, he walked toward the barn and called for Carlos. "Well," her father said, "he called our bluff. I'm sorry, sweetheart." "At least, I'm back in the house," Victoria said. "But you can't stay here alone." Victoria glanced out over the valley. Late afternoon shadows were already creeping down from the hillsides. By the barn, Hawk saddled a horse as Carlos harnessed the mules to the wagon. Soon the valley would be completely deserted. She shook off her fear. "Yes I can. I have to. When he comes home, we can talk. I just wish you hadn't accused him of trying to steal my money." "It's hard to reason with an angry man. Sometimes it's best to distract him until he's calmer. You better remember that when he returns."

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Victoria caught his hand and looked at him beseechingly. "This is my only chance, Father. I have to take it." Hawk approached his valley. The roundup had been good. With calves from his cows and mavericks from the new land, his herd had nearly doubled. He should be happy and eager to get home and cleaned-up, but she might be there. Not likely. The high and mighty Victoria wouldn't have stayed on the place by herself. Even if she were gone, however, the problem of their marriage still had to be dealt with. Hawk didn't know quite what to do about it. Of course, her father was sure to have very definite ideas on the subject. Maybe Hawk would just go along. A week of hard work had decreased he anger. After all, he couldn't blame Victoria for not wanting to give up all her father had to give her. But damn it, why did she make him love her before she left him? Wait a minute. He couldn't blame her for that, either. He fell for her long before she showed any interest in him. His homestead came into view. What in the devil.... Smoke rose from the cabin's chimney. Horses milled about in the corral. A large tent stood on a rise about fifty yards behind the cabin. He

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waved Carlos and the wagon toward the barn and slowly followed it. Would he never be rid of these damn people? A lanky, young man waited for him at the barn. "Howdy, Mr. Hawkins. I'm Charlie Ledbetter. I work for Mr. Chandler. Me and Sam Booth have been looking after things while you was away. Can I take your horse, for you?" Hawk dismounted and ignored the man's extended hand. "Is one of the things you been looking out for Chandler's daughter?" "Yes, sir." Charlie shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Mr. Chandler told us as soon as you came back that we were to take orders from you. We'll leave whenever you say." "Chandler's not here himself?" "No, sir. He had to go back to Chandler City." Hawk stared at the man in disbelief. He'd halfway expected someone to bring those bank papers out to him during the roundup. What could be so damn difficult about taking his name off the account? Then he noticed that two of the animals inside the corral were a cow and a calf. He pointed at them. "What the hell are they doing in there?"

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"Ah--they're for milk. I took Mrs. Hawkins to visit Mrs. Benson. Your wife must have told her she wanted a milk cow, 'cause the Benson boy brought one over the next day." Was Martha Benson taking Victoria's side in this? That hurt. Hawk glared at the man in front of him. "This is a cattle ranch, not a dairy farm." A squawking chicken ran around the corner of the barn, followed by a stocky, red-faced man. "Come back here, you varmint," he yelled. The man saw Hawk and skidded to a stop. The chicken ran on. Hawk gestured toward the man. "This, I take it, is Sam Booth." "Yes, sir. Ah--Sam, this is Mr. Hawkins. He just got back." "Howdy, Mr. Hawkins. Sorry about that chicken. I built a coop for 'em, but the fence I put together ain't too good. But she'll come back to the nest sooner or later." "We have chickens on the place now?" Hawk asked his temperature rising. "Ah--yes sir," Charlie answered. "Mrs. Benson told us about a fella near Magdalena that had some for sell. Just got a dozen layers." "You and my wife have had a busy week, haven't you?"

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Charlie's cheeks redden. "I just went with her to visit Mrs. Benson and Mrs. Wilson, and on a couple of trips into town. She couldn't go by herself," Charlie said hurriedly. Was Jack's wife siding with Victoria, too? Sam, who was older, seemed amused by his partner's discomfort. He met Hawk's hostile glare without flinching. "You want us to leave?" "Not yet," Hawk said. "Hopefully, when you go, I'll be able to send Victoria, her milk cows, and her chickens with you." Deciding to let these men earn Chandler's money, he handed Charlie his horse's reins. "Rub him down and give him a measure of oats." "Yes, sir." Taking his saddle bags and rifle, Hawk turned toward the cabin. He had dreaded facing Victoria, but now he moved with determined steps. Why in the hell was she littering his ranch with farm animals? She better have used her old man's money to buy 'em, and not charged anything to Hawk's name.

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As he opened the door, the heavy aroma of roasting meat sent his stomach into a spasm of hungry growls. Was that venison? Victoria emerged from the corner enclosure tucking her hair with one hand and brushing a spot from her apron with the other. She stopped and looked at him with questioning eyes. "Welcome home." Damn her. Acting just like a proper wife greeting her husband. "Why are you still here?" he asked, making no effort to hide his anger. "You got those papers ready for me to sign?" "Ah--the lawyer from San Francisco has been delayed and Father had to take care of something at the refinery, but everything should be worked out within the next couple of weeks. He's promised to bring the papers and collect me." "Two weeks? What am I supposed to do 'til then?" With a disgusted huff, he threw his saddle bags down on the table. Then he noticed the new, red-checked tablecloth. Victoria shrugged. "Do what you usually do." She picked up the bags and brushed specks of dirt off the cloth. Then she carried the bags over to where his cot used to be. A tall chest of drawers with a framed mirror built onto the top now stood there. Confusion blunted his anger. "I mean about the two of us--here together."

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"Your cot's still here." She pointed to the front corner of the cabin. He hadn't recognized his cot under a brightly stripped cover with fringe around the bottom. On the top of it, a half-dozen fancy pillows leaned against the wall. Victoria walked past him and looked into a pot on the stove. "We lived together before we started doing...you know. This won't be any different." Could she really be that stupid. "Oh, yes it will. Now that we've doneyou know, things are different." He indignantly pointed to the cot. "Don't you know how hard it will be for me to start sleeping on that thing again." She stirred the contents of the pot. "You've been sleeping on the ground for a week. I'd think you'd be over the need of a soft mattress." "Ha, ha, very funny. I'm not talking about the mattress, and you damn well know it." He stomped over to the rack where he hung his rifle and stumbled into a padded arm chair. "You've put so much furniture in here I can't walk." She looked up from the stove with a sweet-as-pie little smile. "I'm sorry if my presence here makes you uncomfortable, but I can't leave until the papers are ready." "For crying out loud." Hawk felt like he might choke on his frustration. "You know I'm not trying to keep your money. Why can't you just wait in town?"

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"How do I know that?" "Because I say so. Have I ever lied to you?" Oh, he wished he hadn't said that. Some of the sweetness left her smile. "You showed me the wrong bankbook." Of course, she'd pounce on the one lie he had told her. "I--I had my reasons for doing that, but they didn't have anything to do with me wanting Chandler money." "You rescued me for Chandler money. You married me for Chandler money." Her chin jutted out spitefully. "That's because your father refused to pay me for the first unless I did the second." He grabbed a clean shirt from the clothespress and stalked out of the cabin. Victoria sighed. Their first encounter certainly hadn't gone well. Her father was absolutely right about not being able to reason with an angry man. She'd have to wait for Hawk to calm down before she tried to persuade him to forgive her. Good thing she'd planned a special dinner for tonight. Maybe that would do the trick.

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The pump handle creaked. Looking out the window, she saw him carrying a bucket toward the side of the cabin where the laundry bench sat. A nippy wind had been blowing through the valley for the last two days. Should she offer to let Hawk clean up in the house? That would only increase the tension between then. Besides, she didn't want to give him any added chances to rebuff her. After gathering a towel and a bar of soap in one arm, she wrapped a rag around the handle of the water kettle that had been simmering on the back of the stove. She carried all of this out to him. He'd already removed his shirt. The crisp autumn air made his bare skin ruddy and sharpened the outline of his nipples. Victoria tried not to stare as she set her burdens on the bench. "Shall I bring your razor?" "I don't intent to shave," he said so stiffly that she realized he was having trouble keeping his teeth from chattering. She shrugged and turned away. Perhaps the autumn air would cool his temper. When he came back into the house, the dark beard stubble that covered his chin and cheeks made him look slightly menacing. Maybe that's what he wanted. She knew, however, that he

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preferred to be clean shaven, so he was punishing himself more than her. Victoria racked her brain for something to say that wouldn't make him angry. He threw his dirty shirt and the damp towel into the bottom of the clothespress. She bit her lip to keep from correcting him. Walking toward the table, he pointed at the small crockery churn she was working with. "What's that?" "It's a butter churn. Martha told me about it, and I got one at Swanson's. You can make just a small amount of butter at one time. Then it doesn't get rancid before you use it up." "Did you ever think," he said speaking with exaggerated slowness, "that you coulda bought a pound of butter at Swanson's for a lot less than that cow and churn cost." His words picked up speed. "And what am I gonna do with those animals when you leave here? I sure don't have time to take care of 'em." Victoria pursed her lips and increased the vigor with which she raised and lowered the wooden handle of the dasher that ran through the lid of the churn. Since everything she said only made him angrier, she vowed to keep her mouth shut. "What's that I smell?" he finally asked in a softer voice. "There's a venison roast in the oven."

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"You expecting company?" "Sam shot a deer this morning, so I offered to fix supper tonight. Of course, if you don't want the men in the house, I can take their food to them." "I don't care where they eat." "We ought to invite Carlos, too. Will you do that? Dinner should be ready in another hour." "Okay. I'm going out to the barn anyway." He left, slamming the door behind himself and causing a trickle of silt to drift down from the ceiling onto her tablecloth. Victoria sighed as she brushed the dirt away. If his attitude didn't improve, how could she convince him that she loved him? What could she do to win him over? The most direct approach would be to invite him into her bed. But suppose he turned her down? Her pride could only take so much. Distractedly, she finished preparing the meal. By the time she called the men in, Hawk, Charlie, and Sam, all Texans who had worked as drovers, had developed an easygoing camaraderie. Carlos followed them with his usual blank expression. The four men took all the chairs and left Victoria racing around the table, serving dishes and pouring coffee. She decided the steaming, darkly browned venison roast was too cumbersome to

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transfer to a platter and set the open cooking pan beside Hawk. Since he'd made such a point of this being his house, let him act like the host, she thought, and laid the carving knife beside it. As she poured Carlos a cup of coffee, Hawk asked, "How long did you cook this thing?" She glanced over. He was sawing away at the roast, making little headway. "I cooked it just like I do beef roasts," she said. "Deer's different from beef," Hawk said, and began poking at the leathery chunk of meat with the knife point. "Maybe it's better down at the bottom were the juices are," Sam suggested. Hawk turned the roast over, splashing a blob of greasy juice onto the table cloth. The bottom inch or so of the roast was less resistant to the knife, and Hawk began to cut ragged slices from it. Victoria turned back to the stove and raked the biscuits into a bowl. Thank goodness they weren't burned! She had cooked for Charlie and Sam for a week without any major mishaps. Now, on the very night Hawk returns, she'd ruined the roast. How was she supposed to know deer was different from beef? When they were fresh and bloody, they looked the same.

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As she placed the biscuits on the table, Victoria noticed Carlos slowly working his jaw up and down in an attempt to chew a piece of the venison. She knew the poor man didn't have all his teeth. "If it's too tough, don't try to eat it. There's lots of gravy. You can put that over the mashed potatoes." Good thing she'd added extra water to the stupid venison, or they'd be going hungry. Hurriedly, she brought another bowl to the table and dipped the juices that pooled around the roast into it. Hawk helped her by tipping the pan up so the liquid pooled in one corner. As the men passed the gravy around the table, Victoria stared at the roast. "Maybe I can do something else with this," she said, thinking stewing might soften it. A grin slashed Sam's face. "Might use it as bear bait." A chuckle that sounded more like a snort came from Charlie. "Yeah! You wouldn't have to shoot the bear. Just let him chew himself to death." Both men laughed heartily. Victoria stared at them in disbelief. Just because she didn't know how to cook venison, didn't give them the right to laugh at her. How rude! Hawk cleared his throat in a rumbling growl. His piercing stare and tightly compressed lips instantly silenced the laughter.

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"Of course," Charlie quickly said, "cooking deer is always tricky. Game has a tendency to be tough." He looked up at Victoria apologetically. "Yeah," Sam said. "The best cooks have trouble with it." "The rest of the dinner is real good, ma'am," Charlie added . Sam nodded in agreement. Victoria turned back to the stove. She stood looking at the jumble of pots trying to calm her racing heart. Hawk had jumped to her defense. He wouldn't have done that unless he still cared for her. She could win him back. She could!

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Chapter Twenty Victoria filled a plate for herself with food left in the pots on the stove. She had to go back to the table to get some of that blasted gravy, but kept her gaze riveted on her task. She didn't dare look at Hawk, fearing her elation might show. Sitting on a flour barrel in the corner, she picked at her food and mulled over her problem. Hawk still cared for her. If she could just make him see how much she needed him, he'd never send her away. But how could she overcome all the doubts her running away must have caused him? Perhaps she could feign an illness that would require Hawk to care for her? Surely that would lead to intimacy. But he might send for a doctor. If he discovered she was deceiving him again, she'd be finished. What if she asked Martha Benson to plead for her? Martha had seemed sympathetic enough when Victoria explained the situation to her. Hawk would never refuse to listen to Martha. Of course, it wouldn't be fair to ask Martha to take sides in this quarrel between two of her friends.

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No, Victoria had to do this herself. And the time for plotting and scheming was over. She needed to look Hawk in the eye and calmly tell him the plain truth. That's what an honest, forthright man like Hawk would be most likely to believe. Lost in her thoughts, she paid little attention to the men around the table, until a chair scraped. Carlos stood, nodded in her direction, then Hawk's, put on his hat, and left. "He sure don't talk much, does he?" Sam said after the door closed. "That's his way," Hawk replied. "You decided what you want us to do?" Charlie asked. Victoria became attentive. "You in a hurry to leave?" Hawk asked. "No, just don't wanta overstay our welcome." "I got a couple of wagon loads of winter feed coming in the morning. I could use some help unloading it. Unless you fellas have gotten too soft on Chandler's payroll to do any real work." Sam and Charlie exchanged grins. "Guess I have put on some pounds in the last few months. A little hard work might be good for me," Sam said.

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Charlie nodded his agreement. "There's still a lotta deer hanging out in the barn. I could pit cook a haunch. I had to work as cook's helper on a drive once. Learned how to do it then. Takes a half-day, but the meat's usually tender." His cheeks reddened and he looked at Victoria with alarm. "I woulda told you about it, ma'am, but I didn't know you'd never cooked deer before. Not that there's anything wrong with that. No reason a fine lady like yourself woulda had any reason to--" "Charlie, you better shut-up. You're just gettin' yourself in deeper," Sam said. Victoria smiled. "It would be nice if you cooked the venison, tomorrow. I'd like to see how you do it." Charlie sighed in obvious relief. "We better say goodnight and let you folks get some rest. Sounds like we're all gonna have a busy day tomorrow." The men expressed their thanks for dinner. Charlie promised to let Victoria know when he was ready to prepare the cooking pit. Then they said goodnight and left. The cabin suddenly seemed unnaturally quiet.

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Victoria finished cleaning off the table except for the roasting pan. She looked down at the ragged surface where Hawk had tried to slice the tough meat. "If you'll throw this out for me, I can wash the pan." "Okay." He picked up the pan and started for the door. "Throw it well away from the cabin, though," she added. He paused at the door and looked back at her. "Why?" "I don't want to find a dead bear at our doorstep in the morning," she said, struggling to keep a straight face. He burst out laughing and jostled the pan so that the roast slammed against the side and almost bounced out. His broad grin so delighted her that she joined in his laughter. "You thought it was funny too, huh?" he finally said. "Not at the time, but it grew on me. How did you keep from laughing?" "Just doing my duty to protect...." The words "my wife" lodged in Hawk's throat. He turned quickly and opened the door. Couldn't let these friendly jokes make him forget the situation.

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Victoria was again his wife in name only. Good old Charlie and Sam most likely had orders to shoot him if he forgot that fact. He carried the pan out to their usual dumping site, then slung it so the roast hurtled into the darkness. Let the bears of the world beware. Victoria was putting the last plate back on the shelf when he reentered the cabin. She pointed at the roasting pan. "Just leave that on the table. I'll wash it last." He nodded and resisted the temptation to offer his help with the pots and pans. The next hour or so would be tough enough without him getting any closer to her than he absolutely had to. He went over to his saddle bags and got out a note book. Sitting at the table, he opened the book and carefully reviewed the marks and numbers on the pages. "What's that?" Victoria asked. "Tally from the roundup. Just checking my figures." "Would you like more coffee?" she asked. "Naw. I'm gong to bed pretty soon." He knew he'd have trouble going to sleep with Victoria just a few feet away. Coffee would only make matters worse. He closed the book. "How did the roundup go, anyway?"

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"Good. More cattle were left on the land I bought than I'd expected." "And you get those too?" "Yeah. Brands came with the land." "That's nice," Victoria said and draped the dish towel on a peg. Hawk seemed relaxed. He'd even laughed at a joke with her. Did she dare try to talk with him now? "You all through?" he asked. "I'm going to let the pots drip dry." "You wanna get ready for bed now? I'll go down and check on things in the barn." He stood. Victoria couldn't stand the tension any longer. Taking a deep breath, she stepped between Hawk and the door. "I'm sure Carlos has checked everything. Can we talk, please?" She saw his lips tighten and one of his hands curl into a fist. "What do you want to talk about?" "Can't we sit down?" "You can if you want to. I'd rather stand." He looked as if he might bolt around her at any second.

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Should she wait and talk to him later? Victoria sighed softly and continued to stand with him. "I've been trying to think of the best way to tell you something. I've finally decided to just use the plain truth." "Do you even know what the truth is?" he said and folded his arms across his chest. Oh, no, he was closing her out again. She tried to hide her growing panic. "I didn't tell you my thoughts, but I didn't lie to you, either. You assumed my plans for the future were the same as yours. You never asked me." He shrugged. "Why waste time talking about it now?" Why did he have to be such a stubborn jackass? "I thought you might have learned from your mistake, and would like to finally know what's really on my mind." Oh, no. That sounded like criticism. His anger had rubbed off on her. He stared at her for a moment then pulled out a chair and sat down. "Okay, let's hear it." Victoria hesitated for a second then sat in the chair closest to his. "Do you remember the first dinner I prepared the night I came back from the Benson's?" Hawk huffed impatiently. "You mean the night I invited Jack and Carlos?"

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She nodded. "After dinner, you told me you were proud of me. That was the first time anyone had ever been proud of me for something I'd done. Before, I'd been admired for how I looked, or for the clothes I wore, or for who I was, but never for what I could do. "When I wanted to give up, as I'd always done when faced with difficulties, you wouldn't let me. You had more faith in my abilities than I did. But I didn't realize how much you'd done for me until I was in that buggy heading for Socorro." Hawk jerked his head aside, as though he didn't want to hear anymore. Victoria hurried on. "I thought about what I'd do when I reached my father's and suddenly realized there was nothing there for me--nothing meaningful." He looked across at her. Did she see a spark of hope in his eyes? "You don't have to thank--" She cut him off. "Yes, I do. You offered to share your life with me, but I was too caught up in my old life to appreciate what you offered--too selfish to realize I'd fallen in love with you." Hawk jumped to his feet and held out his hand to stop her. "No more, Victoria. I can't take anymore of your games." Before he could move away from her, she grabbed his hand with both of hers. If he didn't believe her now, everything would be ruined.

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"What in the hell are you doing?" he shouted down at her. "Haven't you hurt me enough?" He jerked his hand so hard that she came off her chair. Still, she clung to him tenaciously and sank to her knees. "I'm sorry I hurt you. Forgive me." She pressed her cheek to the back of his hand. Her tears flowed uncontrollably. Hawk stopped fighting her and stood motionless. "Running away was cowardly," Victoria rushed her words, nearly babbling. "But I couldn't face you. I was afraid you'd talk me out of going--afraid of my love for you." She kissed the back of his hand. "Please, give me another chance." He looked down at her with an agonized expression. She knew he hated to see her cry, but she couldn't stop. Was she taking advantage of him again? She released his hand. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her up. "Don't cry, Victoria." He hugged her against his chest, and she wrapped her arms around him in desperation. "I wasn't going to cry. But I'm so afraid of losing you. Don't make me leave." A shudder ran through her body. "I won't. I won't," he murmured.

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She pulled back so she could look at his face. Tenderness radiated down at her. Rising onto her tiptoes, she stretched up until her lips could softly brush against his. "I love you," she said and kissed him again. "I do love you." He groaned and his gentle embrace suddenly became a fierce bear hug. His lips forcefully came down on hers as one hand moved to support the back of her head. She cried out in a mixture of surprise and joy, and his tongue thrust into her mouth. She welcomed the entry, until she became aware of a burning sensation around her lips. Instinctively, she tried pull away. He jerked his head back with a concerned look on his face. "Oh, my God, my beard. Your poor face." His finger tips lightly patted her chin. "I forgot I hadn't shaved. I'm sorry." Victoria laughed. "It isn't so bad. I was just surprised because your kisses had never hurt before." She again moved toward his lips. He pulled back. "You can't. With this stubble it'd be like kissing a porcupine." She stopped laughing. "Does that mean we can't make love?" "No, it means I have to shave," he said. "I don't want to wait that long."

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A sly grin stretched his mouth. "Control yourself, woman. The next time I kiss you, I don't intend to do it carefully." "There's no hot water!" Victoria leaped toward the stove. Hawk stood and watched her frantically fill the kettle and throw another stick into the stove. She really wanted him! The heat of his sexual arousal was joined by a different warmth spreading from his heart. Almost running, she came over to the new chest of drawers and spread his shaving gear on top of it. The chest was so tall that she had to reach up. He suddenly realized the mirror on top of the chest must be for shaving. Apparently, she had bought it for him. She turned toward him. "What are you grinning at? Don't just stand there. The water's almost ready. Get your shirt off." "If you're in such a big hurry maybe I better shave with cold water." "No. If I have to wait, I want the results to be worthwhile." Hawk stripped off his shirt. Victoria ran about the cabin closing the curtains. The kettle started to hiss steam. He had his face lathered and was sliding his razor down one cheek, when he caught sight of Victoria coming out of her corner enclosure in the mirror.

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The white nightgown she wore had a prim, high neckline and long billowing sleeves but was made of such thin material that her body shimmered through it. She came up behind him and rubbed herself against his bare back. He could feel her nipples harden. "You're gonna make me cut my throat, if you keep that up," he said. "Don't do that," she said in a whispery voice. "Please don't do that." One hand came around his body. With sprayed fingers, she slowly stroked his stomach and up to his chest. Her hand stopped over his heart. Hawk hurriedly scraped the razor over his cheek, swished it in the water, and moved to the other side of his face. Victoria began to rub her cheek against his back. He stopped the razor in midair when he felt the warm wetness of her tongue lightly stroking his shoulder blade. He turned, held her with his free arm and kissed her. As he pressed his lips, trying to enter her mouth, lather caused his flesh to slide over hers. He pulled back. Victoria wrinkled her nose and made little spitting sounds. "Ooh, you got soap in my mouth." He laughed. "That's what happens to naughty little girls."

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She picked up his towel and wiped across her lips. Then she looked up at him with an almost smug expression. "Am I being naughty?" "Yes, and don't stop." He hurriedly made a few small scrapes with the razor, then dropped it in the basin. She brought the towel up and slowly wiped the remaining lather from his face. He pressed the front of his body against her, letting her feel how her naughtiness had affected him. She threw the towel aside and flattened her breasts against him. "I love you so much," she murmured before he again attacked her mouth. Without the impediment of the beard stubble or slick lather, he kissed her wholeheartedly. Her hands pressed into his back, her lips returned his pressure, her tongue welcomed then warred with his. For the first time in his life, Hawk's knees grew weak from the effects of a kiss. He raised his head and took a deep breath to clear it. He gained little relief as the lower half of her body pushed and writhed against his. He staggered toward the bed, dragging her with him. Sitting on the edge of it, he trapped her between his legs.

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"Naughty, naughty girl," he said hoarsely before pulling her gown up and out of his way. "Let's see how you like to be tortured." She cried out in rapturous agony as his mouth fastened on her nipple. Victoria awoke slowly, twisting lazily against the slight stiffness in her muscles. She looked about the cabin, hazy from the sunlight filtering through the closed curtains, and over at her sleeping husband, and sighed with contentment. Everything was finally just as it should be. Hawk turned away from her and mumbled in his sleep. Was he troubled? She hoped not. It would be a shame if their wonderful night of love hadn't made him as happy as it had her. Of course, she had no reason to doubt his love, while he.... Had he believed her declaration last night or merely been moved by her tears or tempted by an opportunity for lovemaking? Remorse over running away weighed heavily on her conscience. Would Hawk ever trust her fully? Moving slowly, so she wouldn't disturb him, Victoria sat up and slipped her legs out from under the covers. The fire had died during the night, and the bite of chill air on her naked flesh caused her to leap to her feet and dash to the clothespress for her robe and slippers.

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Next, she hurried to the stove and stuffed wood and kindling into the opening. The fire had just begun to crackle, when Victoria heard the clopping of a horse's hooves approach their cabin. Hawk sat up and ran his fingers through his tousled hair. "Damn, that must be Jack. I told him to get here early." He looked over at Victoria with an accusing frown, "Didn't expect to be worn out this morning." She gasped indignantly. Then a devilish smile on Hawk's face made her realize he was teasing. "Blame yourself," she said as he slipped into his long underwear. "You're the one who kept me awake half the night." He chuckled. "Are you complaining?" A knock at the door forestalled her answer. She opened it and saw Jack with his hat in his hand. He looked at her with uncertainty. "Ah--Hawk said we'd start unloading the feed early." "We will," Hawk called from behind her. "I'm expecting the wagons any minute." Victoria stepped aside so Jack could see Hawk sitting on the side of the bed pulling on his socks.

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"Looks like the boss overslept," Jack said. As he took in the rumbled condition of the bed and it's recent occupants, a mischievous twinkle grew in his eyes. "Musta been all wore out from the roundup." Hawk looked up and grinned broadly. "Roundups are hard on a fella." Jack stepped inside so Victoria could close the door against the nippy morning air. "I know what you mean," he said. "I was mighty sleepy this morning myself." Victoria cheeks grew unnaturally warm. She turned and hurriedly started preparing a pot of coffee. Jack cleared his throat. "So--you folks are doing all right now?" Victoria waited breathlessly for Hawk's answer. "I couldn't do any better," he said. Jack exhaled in a relieved manner. "Glad to hear it. Alice sent me over with strict orders to 'Make Thomas Hawkins listen to that poor girl'. She wouldn't believe me when I said I'd never been able to make you do anything." "When the ladies make up their minds to somethin', the best thing a man can do is just go along," Hawk said as he buttoned up the shirt. "Sit down, Jack. Victoria'll have coffee ready in a minute."

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"I was wondering about that fancy tent up on the hill," Jack asked. "That's housing two extra hands, courtesy of T. J. Chandler," Hawk said. "No, kidding. They gonna help us today?" "Said they would." "Think they're any good?" "They used to be Texas drovers." Jack nodded. "They oughta be all right then. Guess I'll mosey up and get acquainted." He turned toward the door. Over his shoulder he said, "Their coffee's already boiled. I smelled it as I rode up." Victoria hurriedly prepared breakfast, as Hawk finished dressing. He came to the table just as she turned from the stove with a frying pan filled with steaming scrambled eggs in her hand. She served his plate and poured his coffee and continued to stand beside him. He glanced up at her. "Aren't you gonna eat?" he asked with his mouth half-full of bacon. "In a minute." She rested her hand on his shoulder. "You know I love you, don't you?" He set down his coffee cup and smiled up at her. "I oughta. You told me so about a hundred times last night."

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"But do you really believe me?" He scooted his chair back from the table and pulled her down onto his lap. "What are you worried about, honey?" "I just don't want you to doubt my love." "Don't worry about that. You convinced me last night." Victoria slipped an arm around his body and cuddled against his shoulder. "What convinced you, my lovemaking?" "Actually, it was the milk cow and the chickens." She drew back and looked at him with surprise. "What?" He chuckled. "It finally dawned on me that you wouldn't have bought the cow and chickens and all this furniture, if you hadn't been planning on staying. And I can't think of any reason you'd give up your daddy's mansion for this place, except being crazy in love." She relaxed into a smile and circled her arms around his neck. "How could I not love a man as smart as you are," she said and kissed him with all the tenderness welling inside her. At last, she knew where she wanted to be.

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