"You're not eating," he told Shannon.

"And you're eating too slowly," she muttered.

He looked up, startled, and smiled. "Shannon, I will catch up with them. I'm probably going to have to follow them for several days to learn their ways and find the best time to sneak in among them. Don't begrudge me one hot meal. I haven't had one in ages."

She felt a twinge of guilt. She knew that the Rebel soldiers had been down to bare rations at the end of the war, moldy hardtack and whatever they could find on the land. She lifted her wineglass to him. "Enjoy," she said softly.

Malachi paused in the midst of chewing, lifting his glass to hers, suddenly mesmerized by the girl before him.

Woman. It had been a long war, and she had grown up during the painful duration of it.

And in the soft candlelight, she was suddenly every bit the glorious image he had seen in his dream. Her lips were softly curled, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were a crystal and beautiful blue, soft and inviting. Golden strands of hair escaped the knot at her nape and curled against the porcelain clarity and softness of her cheeks, down the length of her slender neck and over her shoulders. Her breasts pushed against the low bodice of her elegant gown. She might have been a study of wisdom and innocence, for her smile was soft and young, but her eyes seemed ancient.

Malachi swallowed a sip of wine. She was still smiling. The little wretch. She was up to something. She planned on following him.

He raised his glass in return. "To you, Shannon."

"Why, thank you, sir."

Just as gracious as a Southern belle. He was definitely in trouble if Shannon was being charming.

"You're welcome." His eyes were warm as he gazed at her. He lowered his head, hiding a smile, then he allowed his hand to fall upon hers. She almost jumped a mile.

"Did I thank you for treating my leg?"

"It was my pleasure."

"Oh, I'm sure it was."

Shannon didn't know quite what he meant by that, but she was determined not to argue.

It might be nice not to do so, she thought suddenly.

He was such a striking man. He had washed quickly, and his hair was slightly damp, and he had trimmed his mustache and beard. He had donned a pair of Cole's gray trousers, and a clean cotton shirt, which lay open in a V at the neck, displaying a hint of the bronze flesh of his chest, and the profusion of red-gold hair that grew there. He was achingly masculine in the muted glow of the candles, and she was stunned that his wry smile could bring about a curious beating in her heart.

She had not thought of any man as really attractive…

As sexually attractive…

Not since Robert had died. Then she had dreamed.

For so long those dreams had seemed like dust in the tempest of the wind. She could barely remember Robert's kisses now, or the excitement they had elicited within her. She could scarcely recall the lovely satin and lace gown that Kristin had made for her. Kristin had laughed with mischievous pleasure, assuring her that it would be the perfect gown for her wedding night…

She had ripped the gown to shreds.

When Robert had died, she had ceased to lie awake at night and ponder the things between a man and a woman. The soft, exciting stirrings within her had died.

She had thought that they had died.

But with Malachi's hand so softly atop hers, his eyes with their devil's sparkle so close, his knee brushing hers, she was suddenly feeling them again.

Her cheeks flamed crimson, and she jerked her hand from beneath his, nearly knocking over her wineglass. He cocked an eyebrow at her, and it seemed to her that he was still secretively smiling.

"Something wrong, darlin'?"

"I'm not your darlin'."

"Excuse me. Is something wrong, Miss McCahy?"

Wrong? It was horrid. And on a night when Kristin had been so savagely taken…

Kristin, remember Kristin, she told herself. That was why she was here, trying to be charming.

"No," she said quickly. "No, nothing's wrong. I'm just so tired. I mean, it's been such a long day. No, no, nothing is wrong at all. What am I saying? Everything is wrong!"

"Hey!" He leaned across the table and caught her chin with his forefinger. She sensed a tremendous warmth within him that she had never seen before, and it touched her, and embraced her. She didn't pull away when he held her, or when he sought out her eyes.

"I will find her, Shannon. I will find her. They—they aren't going to hurt her—"

"They are a Red Legs unit."

"They aren't going to hurt her. Fitz wants her alive. Why do you think they took Kristin?"

"Because they want Cole."

"Right. So they won't hurt her, or else they won't have her to use against my brother. It's going to be all right."

Shannon nodded. He released her, but his eyes stayed on her with a curious speculation, and it seemed that he had to force himself to return his attention to his meal. And she had to force herself to forget his haunting touch.

"Is—is everything good?" she asked him.

"Delicious," he said briefly.

"I do hope so. More wine?"

"Thank you, Miss McCahy."

"My pleasure."

He sat back, sipping the wine that she had poured. He lifted his glass, and the speculation remained in his eyes. "No, my pleasure, Miss McCahy." He sighed, finished the wine, set his glass down and rose. She jumped up along with him.

"You're going now?"

"I'm going now."

"I'll get your food. And your coat and cavalry jacket" She paused. "You probably shouldn't ride into Kansas with that jacket. Do you want another one?"

He took his jacket and coat from her. "Why, haven't you heard, Miss McCahy? The war is over. Or so they say."

"Or so they say," Shannon echoed.

He grinned. He touched her cheek, and she quickly turned away. "I'll get your food."

"Thanks,'' he drawled, but when she started to walk away, he caught her hand and pulled her back.

He had put his plumed hat atop his head, and his Confederate greatcoat lay over his shoulders. His eyes were heavy-lidded and sparkled with a lazy sensuality and humor.

"It was a nice dinner, Miss McCahy. You were a beautiful companion. I enjoyed it. Whatever comes, I want you to know that. I enjoyed it"

It was very peculiar talk, coming from Malachi. She nodded nervously and pulled away from him. "I'll…I'll just get your food."

"I'll meet you out front. I want to take a last peek at Gabe, and tell Delilah goodbye."

"Fine."

She fled to the kitchen. She hurriedly secured his bundle of food, adding a bottle of her father's old Irish whiskey from the cupboard. Then she went outside and nervously waited.

Soon he passed by her on the porch. "Just need to get the bay," he told her.

"Of course."

She watched him walk to the stable, a tall figure, dominating the night, with his greatcoat falling from his shoulders and his plumed hat touching the sky.

He was swallowed up by the darkness.

Moments later he reappeared, a masterful horseman, cantering toward her on the bay.

He reined in before he reached the porch and waited as she approached him with the bundle of food and the liquor.

"Is your leg all right?" she asked him with a little pang of guilt. He should have had some rest, but he seemed to be doing well with the wound. As long as infection didn't set in, he should be fine.

But it was true that he should have rested.

"The leg feels good, thanks." He buckled the food into his saddlebag. The bay mare shuffled nervously, wanting to be gone.

Shannon stepped back. Malachi nodded to her, lifting the reins. "Take care of Gabe. I'll be back with Kristin as soon as I can. I hope Cole will hear of this and come back, but we can't rely on that. Be ready. We'll have to take her somewhere. She'll have to hide now, too, or they'll come after her again."

Shannon nodded. "I'll be ready."

"I'll bet you will. Goodbye."

She lifted a hand and waved. He saluted, swung the bay around and rode into the night.

Shannon could barely stand still. The second he was out of sight, she swung around and raced up the steps. She burst into the house and ran up the stairway. She didn't pause to change, but wrenched her saddlebags from beneath the bed and tore down the stairs again and into the kitchen.

Delilah was there. Shannon ignored her as she packed her own food, then she hurried over and hugged Delilah fiercely. "Take good care of Gabe, Delilah."

"Shannon, Shannon, you shouldn't be going! I thought that he would know, I thought that he would stop you—"

"No one can stop me, Delilah. You know that. Please, please, promise to take good care of the baby!"

"You know that I will, missy, you don't need to say a word."

"I know that. Oh, Delilah, you and Samson were God sent! I don't know what we'd ever have done without you."

"You might not be able to run off like this."

"Delilah, she's my sister. I have to go for her."

Shannon kissed Delilah quickly on the cheek, swept up her bags and left the kitchen.

In the hallway she plucked the second Colt from the wall and stuffed her bag full of ammunition. Delilah hovered behind her.

"Shannon, you take care, young lady. Don't go off impetuously and get yourself in trouble, you hear?"

Shannon nodded and threw the door open. She started to hurry out, and she hurried straight into Malachi's waiting arms.

"Malachi!"

"Shannon!"