He was on his way to a whorehouse, she reminded herself dryly, and he had spent two nights in a saloon. But Shannon believed Iris, and she believed Malachi, whether it was foolish or not.

That wasn't what mattered, she thought, staring out the window at the moonlit night. What mattered were the things that lay between them. He had been forced to marry her, and his fury had been obvious. She couldn't whisper that she loved him because he didn't love her. She might have forgotten her hatred of the past, but she didn't think that he could forget the years that had gone before. She was his wife, and they had exchanged vows, but that wasn't enough for a lifetime. She couldn't hold him to a marriage.

She didn't mind loving him; she craved to be with him. But she couldn't hold him to the marriage.

She twisted around, determined that she would sleep. She started to shiver. All of a sudden, she was very afraid. She didn't like him out of her sight.

He was safe, she told herself.

But no matter how many times she repeated the words, she could not convince herself, and it was nearly dawn when she slept.

Mrs. Haywood was perplexed to see her go in the morning.

"You don't need to go traipsing off, young lady. Let the men settle things. You should stay right here, in Haywood."

Iris was already in the buckboard and they were packed. Chapperel was tied to the rear of the wagon, and they had a big basket of food and canteens of water and even a jug of wine.

"We're going to be just fine, Mrs. Haywood," Shannon assured her. "Iris and I can both take care of ourselves."

"Hmph!" Martha sniffed, and she wiped away a sudden tear. "You come back when things are all right again, you hear?"

Shannon nodded and gave her a fierce hug. "We'll come back, Martha, I promise." She hurried down the steps then and over to the buckboard. It was going to be a long ride.

She climbed into the buckboard and waved to Mrs. Haywood. Mr. Haywood was with her now, his arm around her. "You send for us if you need us!" Mr. Haywood called.

"Thank you! Thank you both so much!" Shannon turned. She smiled. What more could they possibly do her? No one could help a man condemned as an outlaw with-out so much as a trial.

"Ready?" Iris asked her.

"Ready," Shannon said. Iris lifted the reins. They started off. Shannon waved until they had left the little one-road town behind them, and then she turned and leaned back and felt the noon sun on her face.

She felt Iris watching her and she opened her eyes. "Are you really all right?" Iris asked her.

"I am extremely well, really. I've never felt healthier. Never. Honest."

"It's a long ride, that's all."

"I've already come a very long way," Shannon told her.

They rode in silence for a while. Then Iris asked her about her home, and about the war, and Shannon tried very hard to explain the tangled events that had led her to be living in the South—and being a Union sympathizer.

Iris was silent when she finished. Shannon looked at the other woman curiously. "You knew Malachi before. And if you found Cole, I assume that you knew him before, too."

Iris smiled. "And Jamie. They all used to come into a place where I worked in Springfield. Before the war."

"I see."

Iris looked at her curiously. "No, you probably don't see. You were raised by a good man, and you loved him, I hear it in your voice when you talk about your pa. I was raised by a stepfather who sold me to a gambler on my thirteenth birthday. You can't begin to see."

"I'm sorry, Iris. I didn't mean to presume to judge you." She hesitated. "You speak so beautifully, and when you dress like you so often—"

"I don't look like a whore, is that it?"

Shannon flushed, but she didn't apologize. She looked at Iris and smiled. "I just think that you are too good and too fine a woman to end up…like Reba."

"You're going to try to make me go straight, huh?" Iris asked.

"You could, you know."

"And do what?"

"Open up an inn."

"Miss Andre's Room and Board for Young Ladies?" Iris asked.

"Why not?"

Iris laughed and flicked the reins. "All right. I'll think about it. And what about you?"

"What do you mean?"

"When it is over, what about you?"

"I—er—I'll go home."

"Alone?"

Shannon lowered her face. "You know he didn't mean to marry me," she murmured.

Iris was quiet for a minute. "I know that you're in love with him."

"He doesn't love me."

"How can you be so sure?"

"He—he's never said so. And…Iris, you can't imagine, we were enemies. I mean bitter enemies. Remember, the North and South will still clash for years to come. His favorite name for me is brat. There isn't a chance…"

Iris laughed delightedly. "You listen to me, young woman. If he were mine, if I had this chance, I would hang on for dear life. I would fight like a tiger. If you've any sense, and if you do love him, you'll do the same."

"But, Iris, I can't force him to stay with me!"

"Then sleep with your pride. Lie awake night after night, and remember that you have the cold glory of your pride to lie with you instead of the warmth of the man you love."

Shannon fell silent. They rode awhile longer, then Iris suggested they stop for lunch.

They found a brook, and as they dangled their feet in it, Shannon entertained Ms with stories about growing up with Kristin and Matthew.

"You'd like my brother," she said impulsively.

Iris sniffed. "A Yankee."

"I'm a Yankee, remember? And you're living in Kansas. Yankee territory."

"No. The whole country is Yankee territory now," Iris said. "And I'm a working girl. Confederate currency doesn't put much food on the table these days."

They left soon after.

They didn't pass a single soul on the road. Close to sunset, they came to a rise overlooking a valley. Shannon climbed down from the buckboard to look down at the town of Sparks.

It was obviously thriving. There were rows of new houses, and more rows of businesses. Ranches spread out behind the town, and the fields were green and yellow and rich beneath the sun. In the distance, she could see railroad tracks, and a big station painted red. Iris told her that the town was a major junction for the stagecoaches, too.

She came back to the buckboard and looked at Iris. "It's a big place," she murmured uneasily. "A very big place. And Hayden Fitz owns it all now?"

Iris nodded gravely. "He owns most of the land. And he owns two of the stagecoach lines. And the saloon and the barbershop. And the sheriff and the deputies. Come on. Climb back in." She pointed down the valley to a large house surrounded by a stable and barns. It was a fair distance from the town. "Cindy's place."

"Cindy's place," Shannon echoed. She shrugged, and a smile curved her lips. "Let's go."

In another thirty minutes they reached the house on the plain.

It was a beautiful, elegant place with cupolas and gables, numerous stained-glass windows, and even a swing on the porch. It looked like the home of a prosperous family.

But when Iris reined in, the front door opened and a woman burst out, running down the stairs and dispelling any vision of family life.

She was clad in high heels and stockings and garters and little else but a short pink robe. She had midnight-black hair and a gamine face, and it wasn't until she was almost at the buckboard that Shannon realized that she was not a young girl at all but a woman of nearly fifty. She was beautiful still, and outrageous in her dress, and when she laughed, the sound of her laughter was husky and appealing.

"Iris! You did make it back. And this must be Malachi's blushing little bride."

"I'm not little," Shannon protested, hopping down from the buckboard. She extended a hand to Cindy. She might be slim, but she was taller than Cindy by a good inch or two.

"I stand corrected," the woman said. "Come on down, Iris. Do come in before someone notices that Mrs. Slater here is a newcomer."

"You're right. Let's go in," Iris said.

They hurried up the steps to the house and came into a very elegant foyer. Shannon could hear laughter and the sounds of glasses clinking. Cindy cast her head to the right "That's the gaming room, Mrs. Slater. I don't imagine you'll want to wander in there. And there—" She pointed to the left. "That's the bar. Don't wander in there, either. Not that you're not welcome—the men just might get the wrong idea about you, and I don't want to have to answer to Malachi. Come on, and I'll show you to your room. Then I'll show you the kitchen. You're perfectly safe there. It's Jeremiah's domain, and no male dares tread there."

Cindy started to lead them up a flight of stairs. Shannon caught her arm, stopping her.

"Excuse me, but where is Malachi?"

"He's, er, he's out at the moment," Cindy said. "Come on now, I've got to get you settled—"

Shannon caught her arm again. "I'm sorry, but he's out where? Is Cole here? Has Jamie slipped in yet?"

"Cole is just fine, and Jamie looks as good as gold," Cindy said.

She came to the second-floor landing and hurried down the hall, pushing open a door. "It's one of the nicest rooms in the house. See the little window seat? I think that you'll be very comfortable in here, Mrs. Slater."

Shannon stood in the center of the room. It was a beautiful room with a large bed, a marble mantel, chairs, and the promised window seat. It was missing one thing. Her husband.

"Thank you for the room, and for your help and hospitality, for myself, my husband and my brothers-in-law. And excuse me for being persistent, but where is my husband, please?"