"I'm going to get dressed. If we're leaving—"

"I'm leaving."

"But—"

"Shannon, I'm just going ahead of you by a day. I have to go tonight." He smiled, and his lip twisted with a certain amount of amusement rather than anger. He strode across the room to her and caught her by her shoulders, pushing her gently back down on the bed and sitting by her thigh. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words would come to her. She didn't feel like fighting him at that moment She didn't feel like fighting at all.

She reached up and stroked his cheek, feeling the softness of his beard.

He caught her hand and kissed her fingers. "I was so damned scared today," he told her.

She smiled. "So was I."

"Are you really all right?"

She nodded. "You came in time."

He folded her fingers and set them down upon her midriff. He stood and wandered idly over to the window, leaning against the wall and staring out at the street. "Did Iris tell you? She found Cole."

"What?" Shannon shot up with pleasure. "Oh, Malachi, I'm so very glad. Where? Is that what—"

He turned around and walked back to her. She was kneeling at the end of the bed. Her hair was drying in soft, waving tendrils that curled over her shoulders and breasts and streamed down the length of her back. Her eyes were beautiful with enthusiasm. She looked completely recovered from the day, and exquisitely alive and vital.

She loved Cole, she reminded herself. She always had loved Cole. The bright enthusiasm in her eyes was for his brother.

"Cole is in Sparks."

"Oh, no!"

"It's all right. He's safe. Iris has a friend there named Cindy who has a—er—house… on the outskirts of town. Cole is there. He's safe. He's gotten word to Jamie. That's why I have to leave tonight."

Shannon started to crawl out of bed again. "Whoa!" he told her, catching her arm. "You aren't coming. Not tonight."

"But Malachi—"

He caught her chin and lifted it. He met the dazzling sapphire blue of her eyes, and smiled. "I'm not leaving you, Shannon. It's too much trouble to try. But I want you to stay here tonight, please. I want you to get one good night's rest. Iris will bring you in the morning with the buckboard. All right?"

"But Malachi—"

"Shannon, we have to figure out a way to free Kristin. There isn't going to be anything that you can do until we form some kind of a plan. Please, get some rest tonight. For me."

The last words were softly spoken. They were husky, and they seemed to touch her with tenderness.

If he had yelled or ordered her around, she would have fought him. But he wasn't yelling; he wasn't angry. His hand upon her was light, and she longed to grip it and kiss his fingers in return.

"Stay?" he said.

She nodded. He stroked her cheek before turning away from her. He tossed his hat onto the chair.

"Will you take good care of that for me? Bring it tomorrow in the buckboard. Pack it. They probably won't think too much of it in Sparks."

"I'll pack it carefully."

"Thanks."

He started to unbutton his shirt, then realized that it was torn beyond salvation. Grinning at her, he ripped open the buttons. "This one has bit the dust, don't you think?"

She nodded. She didn't care in the least about his shirt. She cared about his shoulders, bronze and hard and glimmering in candlelight. And dried blood showed on a cut on his arm.

Shannon leaped out of the bed. He started to frown at her again.

"Your arm," she told him softly, as she hurried past him to where a clean cloth lay over the rim of the bath. She picked it up and wet it and came back to his side, suddenly hesitant to touch him. She looked up, meeting his eyes, and she flushed.

"It's nothing," he told her. She nodded, then gently started to bathe the wound. It wasn't deep. She wiped away the blood, then she found herself rising on her toes to press her lips against his back, against his shoulder. He twisted around to look at her. She kept her eyes upon his, and kissed his upper arm, then jutted the tip of her tongue to spiral it slowly upward to his shoulder.

He turned and caught her elbow and pulled her against him. Against the flannel of her gown and through his breeches she felt the pulsing hardness of his body. She laid her head against his chest and touched the mat of hair that lay there. She brought her palm against his chest, over the muscle, and found his hard nipple amidst the mat of gold hair. She teased it between her fingers, then tentatively reached forward with her tongue and bathed it with warmth. His groan gave her new courage and a soaring, exciting sense of her own power. She pressed her lips against the furiously beating pulse in his throat, and over the width of him and breadth of him, burrowing low against him to tease the steel hardness of his midriff, and delve her tongue into the fascinating pit of his navel.

He groaned again, dragging her back to her feet, winding his fingers into her hair.

"You've had a rough day," he said jaggedly. "You're supposed to be in bed."

She smiled wickedly. "I'm trying to be in bed."

It was all the invitation that he needed. He smiled in response and swept her up high, depositing her on the bed. He leaned over her, working upon the nightgown's dozen tiny buttons. They gave at her throat, and she arched back as he kissed and stroked the length of the soft column while working away at the next buttons, those that went lower and lower against her breasts.

There would never be another night quite like it for her. Soft moonlight played through the window and a soft cool breeze caressed her flesh. He made her warm despite it.

He made love slowly, with a leisurely abandon. She touched him and he caught her hands. He kissed each finger individually, and he raked his tongue between them, and then suckled them gently into his mouth. He kissed her arms, and her knees. He loved her feet, and cherished her thighs, and he ravaged her intimately with his touch and with his tongue until she cried out, shaking, soaking and glistening with her release. Then he touched her again…

And they sat and stared at one another, their bodies glowing in the soft light. When they reached out again, it was like tentative strangers, allowing slow exploration. She knew she could dare anything, and found the thrill of feminine power. She shivered and died a little bit with the delight of hearing him groan as she possessively stroked his body, and held him with her hands, and with her kiss, and with all the warmth and welcoming heat of her body. Time lost all meaning. His whispers were sweet, and often urgent. Passion was stoked to a never-ending flame, but for that night, tenderness reigned.

Somewhere in it all, she fell against her pillow, and in exhaustion, she slept. She awoke, though, when he moved away from her.

She watched him dress in the moonlight, loving the length of him. His shoulders, broad and gleaming, his legs, long and muscular, his buttocks, tight and hard…

She smiled as her thoughts continued to his most intimate and personal parts, then her smile faded, because he was leaving her, and she was suddenly very afraid.

"Malachi."

Startled, he looked at her. He pulled on his breeches and went over to the bed. "I'm glad you're awake," he said softly. He kissed her lips. "Do you mind coming with Iris?"

She shook her head. "I mind that I'm not coming with you."

"You'll be safer coming with Iris." He rose and donned a clean shirt, buttoning it quickly and tucking the tails into his pants. "Shannon, I'm a wanted man. You're not, and neither is she. Just in case there turns out to be trouble."

"Malachi—"

"Shannon, we'll be staying in a brothel, you know."

"And that's where you're going now?"

He nodded.

She didn't say a word. She watched him finish dressing. He kept his eyes on her, and when he had pulled on his boots, he came over to her with the Colt. "If anyone bothers you on the way, shoot him. Don't hesitate, and don't ask questions, just shoot. You understand?"

She nodded, her lashes hiding her eyes. He caught her hands and pulled her into his arms. He kissed and touched her, as if he memorized her flesh and curves. Then he kissed her again and slowly released her. Shannon picked up her pillow and watched him as he walked to the door.

"Behave," she whispered softly at last.

He turned back, grinning slowly. "Why, ma'am, I'm a married man. I intend to be an angel."

She smiled, wanting to send him on his way without worry. It was difficult to smile. She didn't feel good about his leaving. She didn't know why, but she was scared.

"Be careful," he warned her.

"You be careful yourself."

"I'll be careful," he promised. He hesitated, as if he was going to say more. "I'll be very careful," he said after a moment, and then he turned away.

"Malachi!"

She leaped out of bed and raced to him naked. She didn't want him to go because there were so many things to say. But suddenly, she couldn't say them. She simply threw herself against him and he held her very tightly for a moment.

"I'm afraid," she told him.

"Afraid, vixen?" he whispered. "The hellcat of the west is afraid?" he teased in a husky voice. "Darlin', if you had just been on our side, the South might have won the war."

"Malachi, I am afraid."

"We're going to get Kristin, and then we'll all be safe," he vowed softly. Then he kissed her swiftly on the lips again and was gone.

Shannon closed the door in his wake and slowly, mechanically went to the bed and slipped into the flannel nightgown. She sat on the bed, then stretched out, and she tried to tell herself that she would be with him soon. Her eyes would not close; she could not sleep. She stared at the ceiling, and gnawed upon her lower lip, and worried regretfully about all the things she had not said. She was in love with him. It would have been so easy to whisper the truth. To tell him that she believed in him…