dirt.

"I do thank you for saving my life, Lieutenant. But that was for the

ungentlemanly way in which you did so."

She pulled on her hand. He didn't let go. His eyes glittered silver in

the moonlight.

I'll try to remember, Miss. Stuart, that you are most particular about

the way a man goes about saving your life," he told her.

"You know exactly what I'm saying."

"I never meant to give you offense."

"Never?"

"I do swear so, Miss. Stuart. I kept my presence quiet because you were

as bare as a baby before I realized it. And then, well, I do admit, I

was caught rather speechless."

"You weren't speechless on the rock!"

He smiled slowly.

"No."

"Oh, you ... Yank!"

She tugged on her wrist again. He didn't release her at first, then his

fingers slowly unwound. He was smiling, she realized. And his eyes fell

over her again, and she felt as if he was burning the sight of her into

his memory. A flame shot high within her, and she didn't know if she was

horrified-or fascinated.

"Good night, Miss. Stuart," he said softly. Then he did walk away. She

didn't move, and after a moment he turned back.

"Miss. Stuart?"

"What?"

He hesitated.

"You're a very beautiful woman. Very beautiful."

He didn't wait for an answer. He walked away and disappeared into the

night.

Chapter Three.

Two days later, they reached the fort.

It was, Tess thought, a typical military fort in Indian country. The

walls of the stockade were high, maybe twenty-five feet high, and built

of dark sturdy logs. She heard the sound of a bugle while they were

still some distance from the fort, then the huge wooden gate swung open

to allow their party to enter. Looking up as they went into the

compound, Tess saw armed guards in their cavalry blue lined up on all

the catwalks and staring down at them.

She was grateful to have reached the fort. She was driving her mules,

swearing to them beneath her breath, and wondering if the calluses would

ever leave her fingers. She'd gotten them right through Uncle Joe's

heavy leather gloves.

She was sweaty, salty and sticky, and her hair was coming loose from the

neat braid she'd twisted at her nape. She had said that she could

manage--and Lieutenant Slater had let her do just that.

His men had continued to be very kind, and she had continued to smile

and be as gracious as she could in return. He had kept his distance

since he had left her that night, but she had felt his eyes on her.

Always. his eyes were on her. When she drove the wagon, she would

suddenly feel a warmth, and she would look around to discover that he

was no longer at the head of the column, but had ridden back and was

watching her. And at night, when. one of the men would bring her coffee

or food, he would stare across the distance of the camp fire. And by

night she heard footsteps, and she wondered if he wasn't walking by to

determine if she was sleeping. If she was safe.

Or did he walk by to discover if she might still be awake?

He infuriated her, but she was also glad, and she realized that she felt

safe. Not because she was surrounded by thirty or so cavalry men, but

because he was walking by, because he was near.

But now they had come to the fort. He would turn her over to his

commander and disappear from her life.

Someone would be assigned to see her to Wiltshire, and she need never

see him again. Never feel his eyes again, the touch of smoke gray and

insinuation that warmed everything within her and seemed to caress her

as if he saw her again as he had by the brook.

They were in front of the command post. Tess pulled hard on the reins,

dropped them and started to leap from the driver's seat. She smiled, for

Jon Red Feather was there to help her.

She had grown to like the man very much: his striking, sturdy

appearance, his silence and his carefully chosen words. And she sensed

that he believed her when others might not.

He set her upon the ground. She thanked him then looked at all the

confusion around her. Wives, children and perhaps lovers had spilled

from the various buildings in the compound to greet the returning men.

Monahah had called out an order dismissing them all, and the band was

quickly breaking up.

Lieutenant Slater was striding up the steps to the broad porch that

encircled the command post, saluting the tall, gray-haired man who

awaited him. Jon indicated the steps.

"Miss. Stuart, I believe the colonel will want a statement from you as

soon as possible. I'll see to your accommodations for the evening and

return shortly."

He walked her to the porch. Apparently Slater had already explained

something about her, for the colonel was quick to offer her a hand and

guide her up the steps.

"Miss. Stuart, our most sincere condolences on the loss of your uncle,

but may I say that we are heartily glad that you have survived to be

here today," "Thank you," Tess said. It was strange. It already seemed

like the whole thing had happened in the distant past. Days on the

plains could do that, she decided. And yet, when the colonel spoke so

solicitously of Uncle Joe, all the pain and the loneliness rushed back.

She tried to swallow them down. She needed to impress this man with

intelligence and determination, not a fit of tears. She didn't want to

be patted on the back. She wanted to be believed.

"Miss. Stuart, if you would be so good as to join us inside, the colonel

would like to speak with you," Slater said.

There was a startling light in his eyes as they touched her. Not

amusement, but something else. Almost a challenge. He wanted to see if

she would back down, she thought. Well, she wouldn't.

She walked past both men and into a large office with file cabinets and

a massive desk and a multitude of crude wooden chairs. Slater pulled out

a chair for her, and she sat down as regally as she could manage,

pulling off her rough leather gloves and letting them fall into her lap.

She felt Slater's eyes, and she looked up then looked quickly away.

He had seen the blisters and calluses on her hands. The colonel took his

seat behind the desk. He was an elderly man, whose gentle blue eyes

seemed to belie his position as a commander of such a post. His voice,

too, was gentle. Tess thought he was genuinely grateful to see her

alive, even if he had never met her before.

"Would you like coffee, Miss. Stuart? I'm afraid I've no tea to offer

you" -- "Coffee will be just fine, thank you," Tess said.

She hadn't realized that there was another man in the room unt'd a

s'dent young corporal stepped forward to bring her a tin mug of black

coffee. She thanked him and an awkward moment followed. Then the colonel

sat forward, folding his hands on the desk.

"Miss. Stuart, Lieutenant Slater informs me that you have claimed that

it was not Indians who set upon your band."

"That's right, sir."

"Then who?"

"White men. Hired guns for a man named yon Heusen. He is trying to take

my uncle's property and" -- "He'd have men attack a whole wagon train to

obtain your uncle's property? Think now, Miss. Stuart, is that logical?"

She gritted her teeth. Slater was watching her politely. She wanted to

kick him.

"It wasn't a large wagon train, Colonel.

We've had good relations with the Comanche in our area, and my uncle

wasn't afraid of the Comanche! We were traveling with a very small

party, a few hired hands, my uncle-"

" Maybe, Miss. Stuart, the Indians weren't Comanche.

Maybe they were a stray band of Apache looking for easy prey, or

Shoshone down from the mountains, or maybe even an offshoot of the

Sioux"--" No Indian attacked that wagon train."

Tess swung around. Jon Red Feather had come into the room. He helped

himself to coffee, then pulled up the chair beside Slater. He grinned at

his friend, then addressed the colonel.

"I'm sure that Miss. Stuart does know a Comanche when she sees one, sir.

And it wasn't Apache. Apache usually only scalp Mexicans--in

retaliation." He turned and smiled at Tess.

"And I can promise you that what was done was not done by the Sioux. A

Sioux would never have left Miss. Stuart behind."

A shiver ran down Tess's spine. She didn't know if Jon meant that the

Sioux would have taken her with them--or that they would have been sure

to kill and scalp her, too. The colonel lifted his hands. Even with Jori

corroborating her story, he didn't seem to believe her. Or if he did

believe her, he had no intention of helping her.

"Miss. Stuart, I have heard of this von Heusen. He has big money, and

big connections, and I understand he owns half the town" -- "Literally,

Colonel.

He owns the judge and the sheriff and the deputies."

"Now, Miss. Stuart, those are frightful charges" -- "They are true

charges."

"But don't you see, Miss. Stuart, you'd have to go into a court of law

against this man. And you'd have to charge him in Wiltshire, and like

you said ..." His voice trailed away. "Why don't you think of heading