"Oh, like that picture of you back at the house," Cody remembered.

Josh nodded, recalling how he had once, on a trip to the "big city," succumbed to the temptation to have his portrait made.

The three men studied the scene below in silence. They could clearly see the girl who was watching them right back. She was standing and she was holding a rifle. They saw no one else.

"Where's her horses?" Grady asked after a few moments. "When I was here before, I just figured they was picketed off somewheres, but they ain't, are they?" Cody asked.

Suddenly they all understood the reason the girl was here, still here. She had lost her horses somehow.

"Let's go on down," Josh suggested, "but take it nice and easy. She's got a gun and we don't want to spook her."

Felicity took a deep breath in a futile attempt to still the clamoring of her heart. Now there were three of them, and if one man was dangerous, then three were… well, three times as dangerous. Felicity still had no idea if the rifle was even loaded, but she raised it in what she hoped was a threatening gesture. She only prayed she would be able to hold it up. The thing was monstrously heavy and her arms were already starting to tremble.

"Stay right there," she called in a quivery voice when they were within easy speaking distance.

The man in the middle stopped the others with a lift of his hand. She knew instinctively that this was Mr. Logan, the man the cowboy had called "the boss." She recognized the cowboy who had been here before, of course, and she mentally dismissed the third man. Although he also had an air of authority about him, she could tell by the way his lanky body draped over the horse that he was not too worried about the present situation. He was merely here to follow orders. Mr. Logan was the man in charge.

Felicity brought her attention back to the man in the middle, the one she knew was Mr. Logan. He had a handsome face, square-jawed and strong-looking, with a straight nose and a well-formed mouth that was set now in a grim line. His eyes were narrowed down, crinkling the corners into a web of laugh lines under heavy, masculine brows. He was studying her, and she forced herself to meet his gaze, in spite of the fact that her whole body seemed to be quaking in terror.

"Afternoon, miss," he said, tipping his hat and revealing a shock of silver hair that glistened in the noonday sun.

Felicity blinked at the sight of that white hair. He was older, older than she had first thought. Perhaps he was also kind. Kind and old, a mature man in whom she could place her trust. Oh, please, God, she prayed silently.

"I'm Josh Logan," he was saying. "Did you know that you're camped on my property?"

Something in his voice when he said "my property" sent a shiver of unease over Felicity. "Oh, no, I didn't… I mean…" Felicity stammered, suddenly realizing that he might very well have her arrested for trespassing. "I didn't know where I was. I got lost," she explained lamely. The rifle was so heavy. She shifted it slightly.

Josh watched the girl. She was scared out of her wits, shaking so bad, he wondered that she had not dropped the rifle. She was a pretty little thing, with a head full of golden hair and eyes as blue as cornflowers. And so young. He judged her to be about fourteen or fifteen, as slender as a reed, with only the tiny teacup breasts barely visible beneath her ragged dress to hint at her burgeoning womanhood. How on earth had she gotten out here all alone in this wagon? In an attempt to put her at ease, he forced himself to smile reassuringly.

Felicity watched, mesmerized, as the smile lit up his face. She barely noticed when he swung a leg over the saddle and slid down from the horse.

"Don't be afraid," he said, speaking softly so as not to frighten her further. "We're here to help you. If you'll just tell me where your horses are, we'll hitch them up for you so you can be on your way."

He really was a nice man. She could tell now that he was closer. His eyes were kind. She lowered the rifle a bit.

"My horses are lost," she told him.

"Lost?" he repeated. The smile disappeared and Felicity knew a small regret.

"They bolted the other night during the thunderstorm," she confided, shuddering involuntarily at the memory of that fearsome storm.

"That was night before last," she heard one of the other men remark, but she did not bother to look to see which one. She could not seem to take her eyes from Mr. Logan's face. He was very close now. He smiled again.

"Where's the rest of your family, honey?" he asked. His voice was soothing, like a warm hand on her heart, but when she thought of the answer to his question, tears sprang to her eyes.

No, she would not think of that, she told herself. Mr.

Logan would help her. Desperately she tried to focus on his face, but something was wrong, horribly wrong. Her heart felt funny, as if it were pounding against her ribs, and she was shaking all over. There were spots, too, black spots everywhere. The rifle slipped from her hands but she could not stop it. "Help me," she cried, or thought she did, before everything went black.

Josh rushed forward, catching her just as she fell. "Damn," he swore under his breath as he scooped the frail body into his arms. The other two men were at his side in an instant.

"What happened?" Grady asked anxiously.

"She fainted; what did it look like?" Josh replied sarcastically, casting about for someplace to lay her down. Finding no place suitable, he seated himself on the rickety canvas chair and draped her across his lap, taking the gamble that the chair would hold them both. He looked down into the lovely little face that had gone chalk-white and tried desperately to remember what you were supposed to do when a woman fainted. He had never encountered such a situation before.

After a moment of silence, Grady ventured to suggest, "When a woman faints, you're supposed to loosen her stays."

"She's not wearing any," Josh informed his friend. He had already thought of that, but the suppleness of the body he held had convinced him he would be wasting his time.

"Rub her wrists, then," Grady suggested.

Josh did so, marveling at the graceful, delicate bone structure of her hands. After a moment, she moaned softly. Josh glanced swiftly around the camp. "Cody, is there any coffee in that pot? Pour me out some if there is," he ordered, pointing toward where a battered, smoke-blackened pot sat near the campfire.

In a minute Cody handed him a half-filled cup. "That ain't real coffee, boss," he cautioned.

"What is it?" Josh demanded, sniffing the contents of the cup himself.

"Mesquite beans," Cody replied, naming the wild fruit of the Mesquite plant which was often substituted for coffee when the real thing was unavailable.

Josh grunted his disapproval and glanced around the camp again, searching for any signs that a meal had recently been prepared here. He saw none. If the girl was making coffee from Mesquite beans, she might also be low on food. If she had skipped a meal or two, that would explain why she had passed out. "See if you can find anything in the wagon and rustle up a meal. This poor kid looks like she hasn't eaten in a week."

Cody disappeared into the back of the wagon, and Josh held the cup to the girl's lips. Instinctively, she drank a few sips and then turned her head away.

"Miss? Wake up, honey, and tell me your name," Josh coaxed. Long, golden eyelashes fluttered up, revealing huge azure eyes that glittered suspiciously. "That's better," he said, rewarding her with a smile. "Now, tell me what your name is."

"Lissy," she whispered.

"Lissy? What's that short for?" he insisted, shaking her slightly when her eyelids began to droop again.

"Mr. Grady? Will you come in here a minute?" Cody called from inside the wagon. Josh noted vaguely that Grady left, but he did not dare take his eyes off the girl.

"Felicity," Felicity told him, forming the word with difficulty. She was so very tired. She just wanted to sleep. It had been a long time since she had slept, really slept; a long time since she had felt safe enough to sleep. Mr. Logan made her feel safe. He was strong and he smelled good, too, the way her father had smelled. She forgot that she had been afraid of him. She just wanted to curl up on his shoulder and go to sleep.

He wouldn't let her, though. He shook her again. "Now tell me what happened to your family, Felicity," he ordered. Felicity responded instinctively to the authority in his tone, even though she did not want to answer his question.

"Papa died," she said, her eyes welling up. She blinked furiously, unwilling to surrender to the urge to cry, not now.

"When did he die, and how?" Josh insisted. Felicity swallowed loudly. She didn't want to talk about it, but she understood on some unconscious level that Mr. Logan needed to know what had happened and that he would not leave her alone until he did. "A few weeks ago, in his sleep, I woke up one morning and he was dead, just like that," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "I think it was his heart. Sometimes he'd hold his chest, you know, when he thought I wasn't looking." Mr. Logan nodded encouragement. "I buried him, but I didn't know where we were. I tried to find a town, but I was lost." A crystal tear slipped down her cheek, and Josh brushed it away with uncharacteristic tenderness.

"That's all right. You don't have to tell me any more." Josh didn't want to hear it. He could picture only too clearly how difficult it would have been for this frail child to dig a grave in the unforgiving ground and then to place her father's body into it. And he didn't need to hear the rest of her story. Obviously she had been riding around for days, probably in a circle, looking for help, until the other night when she had lost her horses.