Contents

Title Page

Copyright

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Special Excerpt: Beauty and the Bounty Hunter

Special Excerpt: By Any Other Name

Special Excerpt: An Outlaw for Christmas

About the Author

When Morning Comes

Lori Austin

InterMix Books, New York

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have control over and does not have any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

WHEN MORNING COMES

An InterMix Book / published by arrangement with the author

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Kensington Books edition / May 2003

InterMix eBook edition / September 2012

Copyright © 2003 by Lori Handeland.

Excerpt from Beauty and the Bounty Hunter copyright © 2012 by Lori Handeland.

Excerpt from By Any Other Name copyright © 1998 by Lori Handeland.

Excerpt from An Outlaw for Christmas copyright © 2001 by Lori Handeland.

All rights reserved.

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ISBN: 978-1-101-57293-1

INTERMIX

InterMix Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

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INTERMIX and the “IM” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

One

Several moments passed before Seth Torrance realized the pounding in his head was echoed by a pounding on his bedroom door. Groaning, he turned away from the sound, only to get a face full of blazing sunlight.

What time was it?

“Major?” The voice on the other side of the door was familiar. Nevertheless, four years away from home, combined with at least four glasses of whiskey, made Seth’s mind a muddle.

“Sir? Your mother requests your presence at the dinner table.”

Dinner? Damn. He’d slept through breakfast—again. His mother would not be amused. But she so rarely was.

Honoria Simons Torrance found precious little to laugh about in this world. Once, Seth had wondered why his mother never smiled. The war had changed that. Now he found precious little to smile about, either.

“Major?”

The identity of the speaker came to Seth with such blinding clarity he winced, or maybe that was just the sun in his eyes.

Beckworth. The butler.

Seth had known the man for years. Why couldn’t he seem to recall anything clearly from the time before he’d put on the Union Blue? Perhaps because the four years he’d spent at war were so much more vivid to him than anything the present had to offer.

More horrible, true, but the shouting, the shooting, the crying, the dying still lived in his mind and in his dreams. Seth had hoped to recover at home, in a place that he knew, surrounded by those who cared about him. Instead, he’d only gotten worse.

“There’s a letter for you, sir,” Beckworth continued as if Seth had answered. “From Virginia.”

Virginia? The only person he knew in Virginia was—

Seth sat up. The room spun. The cannons boomed inside his head. He wanted to lie down and stay there forever. But Beckworth had at last lit on the one thing that would get him out of bed so early in the afternoon.

Henry. His best friend from their days at West Point. When they’d graduated twelve years ago, Seth had returned to the North, Henry to the South. By then the tensions that would lead to the war had already begun to rear their ugly heads. Seth hadn’t seen or heard from Henry since. He’d often thought of him, wondered where he was, how he was.

Now the war was over and Henry had contacted him. For the first time in years, Seth looked forward to something—opening that letter.

Gritting his teeth against the pain in his head, Seth stumbled across the room and opened the door. “Hand it over.”

Beckworth’s long nose twitched and his nearly nonexistent lips tightened. But he said nothing.

Seth hadn’t shaved for several days; he hadn’t bathed either. He’d slept in his clothes and fed his nightmares with whiskey. He must look as awful as he felt, and that wasn’t easy.

When Beckworth continued to stare at him without moving, Seth snatched the missive from the gold tray perched on the butler’s gloved hand. He wanted to sneer at the uselessness of it all, but he’d discovered one thing in the last four years. Sometimes honor and tradition were all that stood between being a man or a monster. Funny, but at times they were what made a man into a monster, as well.

Seth shook off the memories and glanced at the envelope. He frowned. The letter wasn’t from Henry, after all, but from an attorney named Arthur Blair. Seth didn’t know him. He had a feeling he didn’t want to.

Ignoring Beckworth, who hovered in the hall waiting for . . . Seth wasn’t sure what, he tore open the envelope. As if they had a premonition of the words contained therein, his fingers trembled as he withdrew the paper.

May 1, 1865

Dear Major Torrance:

I regret to inform you of the death of your friend, Henry Elliot, at Saylor’s Creek.

However, I would not be writing you this letter had not his wife, Georgina, followed him to our Lord yesterday following the birth of his child.

Mr. Elliot’s final wish was that you, Major, become the guardian of all that was his. His will and testament in this regard are in my keeping.

Please come posthaste to the Elliot farm outside of Winchester in Frederick County, Virginia.

Sincerely,

Arthur Blair

Attorney at Law

The trembling in Seth’s fingers spread throughout his body. He collapsed into the nearest chair.

“Major? Sir? Bad news? Shall I—”

Seth slammed the door on Beckworth’s questions. Blessed silence filled the room. Too bad his head still pounded with the force of Confederate artillery.

Henry was gone. Seth found the tidings hard to believe, despite the hundreds of thousands of casualties. But then his friend had always been so much more alive than anyone else.

Henry laughed louder, rode harder, shot straighter. At West Point, he’d been near the top of their class, while Seth had wallowed near the middle. Of course, when the call came to war, it hadn’t mattered where they’d placed on the list. Hell, look at Custer. Autie had finished at the bottom of the pile and it hadn’t hurt him any.

But to lose Henry at Saylor’s Creek—a horrible battle so near the end of a horrible war.

Seth got to his feet, crossed the room and reached for the whiskey again. But instead of drinking, he peered out the window, ignoring the pain in his eyes and his head, intensified by the bright and shiny sun. He stared at the loud and boisterous streets of Boston; he didn’t really see them.

He had been at Saylor’s Creek, too. Had one of his bullets ended Henry’s life? Seth would never know, so he would always wonder.

He thought back to the glory days before the war, back when everything had been simple, back when honor and duty didn’t get men killed. He and Henry had been as different as two friends could be—one a Boston-bred, wealthy Yankee, the other a Virginia-born, land-rich, money-poor farmer—but they had agreed on two things: Duty raised men above the beasts and honor elevated mere men to heroes.

Did he still believe that? Seth wasn’t sure. But there was something he did believe. True friends were forever. Henry had entrusted him with his most precious possessions, his child and his farm.

Seth placed the bottle back on his nightstand untasted, then called for a bath. He couldn’t very well go to Virginia like this.

***

“Seth, I forbid you to leave.” Honoria Simons Torrance turned away, expecting her orders to be followed without argument. They always were. “It’s time you took the helm of this family and the business.”

Seth stifled a sigh. His father had died when he was ten, and his mother had taken control of the munitions plant that had been in her family for generations. She’d done well. But now she wanted Seth to assume her position, and he didn’t think that he could.

Not because he didn’t know the business. He’d spent several years learning it when he’d returned home from his extended tour of Europe, which had followed his graduation from West Point. But four years spent seeing what a bullet could do to a person had cured Seth of any desire to make them. Not to mention that the first time he’d set foot in the plant upon his return, the sheer volume of the noise had left him pale and shaking. He’d excused himself as ill, and he hadn’t been back since.

“You’ve been doing fine, Mother.”

“Of course I have, but what will people think? You come home, hide in your room, then abscond to Virginia. I can just imagine what they’re saying about us.”

His mother had always cared more for what people thought than what he needed. Seth couldn’t really fault her for it. She’d been raised to look lovely, pour tea, and have children—then turn them over to others. Once his father had died, she’d had a business to run, and she’d done so with the same determination she did everything else.

Now she’d determined that it was time for Seth to assume his responsibilities. She’d even chosen him the perfect wife in the form of Sophie Beck, a Boston-bred heiress he’d had occasion to meet only once. He could barely recall Sophie’s face, which didn’t endear him to the prospect. He ought to remember the single meeting he’d had with the woman he was expected to marry.

“It’s far too dangerous in the South,” his mother continued. “Wait a few years until the army gets things straightened out. Then it’ll be a fine place for a holiday.” She returned her attention to the list of wedding guests.

With the war officially over but a month and certain Confederate stragglers continuing their lost fight in far reaches of the country such as Louisiana, Alabama, Mississippi, even Texas, Seth understood his mother’s concern. For a former Union officer to travel alone into what had been so recently enemy territory was ill-advised, to say the least. But then he hadn’t exactly been a model of sanity since his return.

“I’ll be fine, Mother. I managed to survive the war. I can manage a quick trip to Virginia.”

Even if he hadn’t been managing much but a bottle lately.

“Quick?” She frowned at him over the top of her spectacles. “How quick?”

“Only as long as it takes me to find out what I’m dealing with, then make some arrangements for the child and the farm. Shouldn’t be more than a month all told.”

“You’re supposed to be married in two months.”

Seth rubbed at the pain that had sprung up again behind his eyes. He had not agreed to marry Sophie, hadn’t asked her, didn’t know her. But typically his mother rolled right over any obstacle in her path by ignoring it. She wanted him to marry Sophie and provide grandchildren, so she merely arranged the wedding.

And Seth, who couldn’t bring himself to feel much of anything these days beyond panic, had let her.

“I am not marrying Sophie in two months, Mother.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I’m not saying I won’t get married. I’m not even saying I won’t marry Sophie. But I’d like to have some say in the rest of my life. Right now, I have a duty to honor Henry’s last request.”

It felt good to say no. He’d have to try it more often.

Her lips pursed. “You have a duty to your father’s legacy. Your loyalty should be to this family, not to some Rebel who got himself killed.”

“I highly doubt he got himself killed. The Union army probably had a bit to do with it.”

“So you feel guilty? That’s foolish.”

Seth did feel guilty. But that was beside the point. “I have a duty to Henry,” he repeated. “I’m honor bound to go. I’ll be back in a month.”

By ignoring his mother and plowing ahead with what he meant to do—a trait he’d learned from the master—Seth was able to leave the very same day.

Since the railroad lines had been disrupted—a fancy word for torn apart and thrown away—throughout Virginia, Seth rode his horse toward Frederick County.

The roads were filled with soldiers headed for home in both directions. Seth was polite to those he met, but he didn’t tarry to chat. As he continued south, the men he encountered were thinner, more bedraggled, less friendly. He couldn’t say he blamed them, but he wasn’t turning back.

Though he’d done his duty, Seth had never been able to see the Confederate Army as a true enemy. The faces on the other side of the war were just like his. One day they’d been countrymen, the next they’d been killing each other. He’d found it hard to fathom. As a result, any animosity he might have carried for “them” had faded with the treaty signed at Appomatox Courthouse. Sadly, he couldn’t say the same for so many others.

Seth reached Winchester near dusk, considered staying in town and riding out to the farm the next morning. However, the narrowed eyes and murmurs of “Yankee” when he passed convinced Seth to continue on his way.

But which way?

Though asking directions was near the bottom of the list of things he wanted to do, getting lost in the countryside with a passel of gun-toting Yankee haters was even lower.

Seth stopped at what looked to be a general store, though no sign was visible. A young boy and an even younger girl stared at him with more curiosity than hostility—an improvement over the rest of the onlookers.

Seth adjusted his observation on their lack of hostility when the boy sneered, “Yank,” in lieu of a greeting.

Seth decided to ignore that. What choice did he have? “Could you direct me to the Elliot farm?”

“Could,” the boy said and fell silent.

“Would you?” he pressed.

“Whatcha want with them?”

“I’m a friend of the family.”

The boy snorted. “Sure ye are.”

Seth reined in his impatience. He would have to get used to being treated like the enemy. Here, he still was.

“Regardless,” Seth continued, “I’ve been asked to come there. If you can’t direct me, I’ll find someone who can.”

The boy smirked. “Nah. I can tell you where it is.”

“But, Billy—”

The kid punched the little girl in the arm. They must be related. She swallowed what she’d been about to say.

“Go directly down this road.” Billy gestured with a grubby finger, “’bout two miles and you’ll see a lane to the right. That’ll take you to the house.”

“Thank you.” Seth hesitated. “Out of curiosity, how did you know I was a Yankee before I even opened my mouth?”

Billy spit into the dirt directly in front of Seth’s horse. “You got shoes and a horse that ain’t been et.”

Seth couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so he nodded good-bye and headed out of town.

Things were worse in Virginia than he’d anticipated. Of course, being in the Union army was a far cry from being in the Confederate. As Billy had pointed out, the North had shoes and food. The men who’d worn the gray had run out of both long ago. So what did that mean for the civilians ravaged by two armies for so long?

By the time Seth reached the Elliot farm, the sun had disappeared. Stars sparked to life with a brilliance he had not seen since his nights in the field. That had been the only good thing about those times, the purity of the sky above the sacrilege below.

The outline of a large, two-story farmhouse appeared on the horizon. From their talks at West Point, Seth knew that Henry came from a long line of gentleman farmers. His family had never owned slaves, depending on their own hands and that of their many children, as well as hired labor and indentured servants, to do the work.

Despite Northern propaganda, a minority of Southern men owned other men. Slaves were expensive. A large plantation and centuries of family money were needed to warrant them.

The steady clip-clop of his horse’s hooves down the dirt lane that led to the house became a soothing cadence at odds with the horrific sounds that too often lived in Seth’s head.

In Boston, Seth had hoped to find solace. Instead, the loud city noises, the shouts, the startling bangs and bumps had made him more nervous than ever before. He was always waiting for the next cannon blast, even though he knew there would be none, and when something did blare unexpectedly, Seth was thrown back to a time he prayed to forget.

How could he assume the mantle of leadership his father had left behind? How could he marry a socialite wife and propagate the family name as his mother expected when he never knew if he might lose his mind in the middle of an important meeting or a simple embrace?

He had no idea. But for the moment he was at peace. He wasn’t waiting for the next loud noise, expecting the next disaster. Therefore, when it happened, he wasn’t prepared at all.

The distinct snick of a shotgun echoed loudly through the silent night.

Two

Gabriella Fontaine kept the shotgun aimed at the man on the horse.

“You better turn around and get, mister, or I’ll shoot you right here and bury you over there.”

“I’m looking for the Elliot farm.”

Ella’s eyes narrowed. Yankee. Carpetbagger. Damn. She should shoot him. But then she would have to bury him as she’d threatened, and she just didn’t have the time.

As if to emphasize the point, the baby started howling in the house. Poor thing. She was hungry. Every time Ella picked her up she clawed at her shirt, needing something Ella couldn’t give her. The cow was dry; the goat pert near. Ella was at the end of her tether. And now this.

A carpetbagger sneaking down the lane after dark. She really, really wanted to shoot him.

“You can’t have this farm, Mr. Carpetbagger. It belongs to some fool Yankee major.”

A man Ella never expected to see. No rich Union boy would come all the way down here and take responsibility for a failing farm and—

“I’m not a carpetbagger,” he murmured.

His voice was the most annoying she’d ever heard. Even when he spoke soft, like now, the words were harsh, flat, just plain strange. Oh, how Ella missed the rolling tones of a Southern man. But they were all dead and gone.

“If you aren’t a carpetbagger, then who are you?” she demanded.

“I guess I must be that fool Yankee major you were talking about.”

She couldn’t see his face, but she heard the amusement in his damnable voice. Ella was of a mind to show him how well she could shoot this shotgun, but that would scare the baby, who was shrieking loud enough to raise the dead already.

Peering through the shadows, she took stock of his weapons and sighed. He wore Army Colts at his hips and carried a Spencer rifle in the saddle holster. She could probably blow a pretty big hole in him, but he still might shoot her back. She couldn’t do that to the children.

“How do I know you’re who you say you are?”

“I have the letter from the solicitor right here.”

A pale glow of parchment hovered in the shadow of the moonlight, and she sighed. With great reluctance, Ella lowered the gun. “You’d best come to the house. I need to pick up that baby before she hurts herself.”

“Yes, ma’am. Would you like to ride?”

Ella shot him a withering glare, then tossed her head. “I’d sooner crawl, Major.”

To his credit, he said nothing in return. He even got off the horse and led it along, like a gentleman would, rather than ride while she walked, which was what she’d expect of a Yankee.

With him closer and the moon so bright, she could make out his features. He was handsome enough, for the enemy, tall and broad, with a certain gait and gentle hands on the reins of his horse. Ella forced herself to look away.

“You know my name, ma’am, but you have me at a loss for yours.”

“Gabriella Fontaine,” she answered shortly. “I live on the next farm east. Georgina and I have been friends since we were children. I’ve been taking care of the—the—”

Unexpectedly, tears filled her eyes and she choked. She missed her friend something awful—as much as she missed her mother, her father, her brother, and her fiancé. All dead because of men like him.

“The baby,” he finished, seemingly oblivious to her heartache. “Is it—um, I mean he? Or she?”

Ella refused to scrub at her eyes and let him know of her weakness. Instead she cleared her throat and soldiered on.

“She is named after me. But we call her Gaby.”

The wails grew louder as they ambled down the lane. “I can hear why.”

Defensiveness rose in Ella. “She can’t help it. She’s hungry.”

“Feed her.”

“With what, Major? Are you hiding a wet nurse in your saddlebags?”

He coughed, shuffled his feet. He was no doubt blushing at her gauche reference to the realities of life. Men. They were no damned good at anything but killing each other.

“You said ‘we,’” he blurted.

“What?”

“‘We call her Gaby.’” They reached the house, quiet except for the squalls of the baby. He tossed his reins over the porch rail. “Who else is here?”

Ella gaped. Could he be serious? The expression on his face said he was.

“What did your letter say?” she demanded.

“That Mrs. Elliot had died and I was to take care of the child and the farm.”

“Child?”

“Yes.”

Ella didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “You’d better come with me.”

She led him inside. The farmhouse was large, airy, intact—one of the few left so in the region. Winchester had changed hands seventy times during the war. The fields were charred, the population devastated. No family had emerged unscathed.

The Elliots were no different. Even though their house still stood, the inside had been ransacked. There was little left to sell. The animals, but for two, were gone. The crops that weren’t hauled away had smoldered.

Ella retrieved one of their last stubs of candle wax. She could find her way through the house just fine. But she didn’t want a Yankee, friend of Henry or not, behind her in the dark. Besides, she had something to show him, and she wanted to see his face when she did.

While she lit the candle, the major stood in the hall, glancing right and left, taking in the bullet holes, the missing paintings, the lack of furniture. He made no comment. What was there to say? He’d no doubt done his share of pillaging while he wore the Union blue.

After removing his hat, brand new from the looks of it, just like his suit and boots, he set the thing on the sole chair that remained in the hall. His hair was as dark as a crow’s wing, long at the collar and over his ears, as if he hadn’t had time for a trim before he’d begun his journey. The lack of a barber made him appear younger than the lines on his face implied.

Ella led the way upstairs. At the first room, she handed him the candle, stepped inside and scooped the sweaty baby into her arms.

Gaby had worked herself into fine form. After tugging on Ella’s bodice a moment, she went limp with exhaustion. In her sleep the child hiccuped, trying to catch the breath she’d lost by screaming.

Even though the baby appeared at rest, Ella knew better than to put her back in bed. Gaby would only wake right up and start screaming again as soon as her tiny blond head touched the mattress.

“Is this what you wanted to show me?”

“Shh,” Ella admonished.

He had the grace to look sheepish. He didn’t look that way for long.

Ella stepped inside the next bedroom. When he continued to stand like a lump in the hallway, she beckoned. He joined her and she lifted her hand to indicate that he should raise his. The warm, wavering light of the candle filled the room, illuminating two tiny forms on corn shuck mattresses.

“Elizabeth”—she pointed to the nearest lump—“is two years old.”

The baby fussed, and Ella shifted so that she rested against her shoulder. Sometimes having her aching belly pressed to Ella’s body helped Gaby’s disposition. Sometimes.

“Delia,” she continued, indicating the lump on the bed closest to the window, “is three. Henry and Georgina made the most of those quick visits home between battles.”

Without waiting for the major to speak, Ella sailed past him and into the hall. He followed her meekly to the next room. There, two tousled blond heads shared a single mattress.

“Joshua is seven,” she said. “Cal’s the oldest at twelve. Georgina lost two babies between Joshua and Delia, and there was another sister born between the boys, but she died of a fever when she was three. Georgina couldn’t bear to think about another baby for a while after that.”

Ella smiled softly. She loved every one of these children as if they were her own—perhaps because she might never have any of her own.

Her smile faded and she preceded the major out of the room, then turned to face him. He appeared shell-shocked. Good.

“Five?” he whispered. “There are five of them?”

“You didn’t know.”

Though her words weren’t a question, he answered anyway. “No.” He shook his head, then repeated, “No.”

“Henry never mentioned them?”

“What?” He blinked and at last recovered from the blow. “No, we haven’t corresponded since we left West Point.”

Ella frowned. Why on earth would Henry leave the care of his children to a man he hadn’t spoken to in over twelve years and a Yankee at that?

Because Henry was a fool. Even if the major had once been someone to trust, the war could have ruined him as easily as it had ruined so many others. Though he obviously had money and could feed, clothe, and house them all, she didn’t want him here. From the panicky, trapped expression on his face, he didn’t want to be here, either.

“Never mind,” she said. “You can just run along home now. I can handle everything. Don’t worry your head anymore about us.”

He had been staring into the boys’ room, but at her words he turned that gaze on her. His eyes were blue, very light against the sun-bronzed shade of his face. Were the shadows from the flickering candle or the past?

Ella stiffened. What did she care about his shadows or his past? They all had their problems. Hers was getting rid of him.

“You think I’m going to just up and leave?”

She shrugged. “You thought there was one child. You didn’t know about the other four. No one would blame you.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level. “No one would even know.”

His eyes, already cool with shadows, became icy with contempt. “I’d blame me, Miss Fontaine, and I would know.”

Ella’s heart began to beat faster. He wasn’t going to leave. The baby, as if sensing her agitation, wriggled and mewed. Absently Ella patted Gaby’s back while her mind scrambled for a solution.

If he stayed, she couldn’t. Live in a house with a Yankee? What would folks say?

She knew what they’d say. She’d never be able to hold up her head in Winchester again. Not that she had any hope of marriage or family. Even if there were any eligible men left alive, which one would want to take on the burden of five children who weren’t even hers? But, husband or not, she had to live in Winchester. She had nowhere else to go.

“You can head on back to your place in the morning, Miss Fontaine.” He lowered his head in a formal dismissal that made Ella grit her teeth. “I’m sure you’ve neglected your duties since taking up mine.”

She had no duties to neglect, no one to go home to. But she wasn’t going to tell him that.

The candle flickered, dancing with the shadows in the hall. As if in answer to a prayer, an idea bloomed, so wonderful, so devious, so perfect, she smiled.

The major blinked and stared, which made Ella pause. She’d forgotten how it felt to dazzle a man. That he could be dazzled when she stood before him in a four-year-old gown, her feet bare and baby spit on her shoulder, told Ella one thing—Yankee women had to be dog ugly and fashion foolish.

“You’re so right, Major. I’ve let my place go something awful. In the morning, I’ll just be on my way home.”

She’d leave, all right. But she wouldn’t stay away. She didn’t trust any Yankee as far as she could spit, and she certainly wouldn’t trust this one alone with her children.

Ella left Major Torrance in the hall and returned to the baby’s room, her smile widening on the way. She wouldn’t have to do anything to get rid of him. There were five experts just waiting to do it for her.

Three

Seth was dragged from sleep by the thud of muted marching as the sun spread light and warmth across his face. At first he thought he was back at war, his men trotting off to die as he lay sleeping.

He leaped from the bed, forgetting it was merely a rough mattress placed on the floor of the room where Georgina Elliot had died. Misjudging the distance, he stumbled and smacked his knee against the wall. Cursing, he yanked open the door.

Four curious, yet hostile, pairs of brown eyes met his. The explanation for his marching dream stood in the hall in various states of undress—the little girls still in their nightdresses, the younger boy in pants but no shirt. The elder boy had both. None of them possessed shoes, which explained the muted nature of the marching.

“Uh, hello,” he began.

“Ella says you’re our new keeper.” The oldest boy—Cal, Seth recalled—spoke for them all. “But I’m here t’ tell ya, we don’t need none.”

Seth winced at the child’s choice of words. One of his first duties would be to hire a governess. The Elliot children, as well as many others in the area, no doubt, had had their educations sadly neglected. He doubted schooling was high on the list of priorities when food was at a premium. But now that he was here, that would change.

He studied Cal. The boy studied him.

“I’m sure you don’t need a keeper,” Seth allowed.

“No nanny, nor governess neither. Not that you look like one.”

Well, thank goodness for small favors.

The wail of the baby made all of the children flinch. Without further comment they turned tail and ran, thundering down the stairs with all the grace of wounded buffalo.

Figuring Ella would get the baby, Seth stepped into his room and quickly dressed in another of the new suits his mother had bought for him. When he’d returned from the war thinner at the waist and broader at the shoulders, none of his old clothes had fit, which gave his mother leave to order more new clothes than he’d ever need and twice as many as he’d ever want.

Seth scowled at the array he’d hung in the small armoire last night. His mother had planned for him to attend business meetings, balls, and other nonsense. So his selection of dark frock coats and morning jackets were woefully out of place on this tiny farm at the base of the Shenandoah Valley, but he had nothing else.

The baby continued to howl. Seth could bear the noise no longer and strode down the hall to her room. Ella was nowhere in sight.

Odd. She’d seemed very attached to the baby last night. Watching her hold the child had touched Seth as he couldn’t recall being touched before. What would it be like to be held in someone’s arms as if you were cherished and adored unconditionally?

Seth had never experienced such love. He wouldn’t experience it with Ella Fontaine, either. She loathed him.

Not that he blamed her. He was sure she had her reasons, reasons he probably did not want to hear. Women like Ella loved with their whole hearts, which meant they hated with their whole hearts, too.

It was his misfortune to be drawn to her. Not Ella’s fault that the generous curves outlined by the sheen of the moon had haunted him, making him dream of something other than death for a change. How long had it been since he’d had a woman? He couldn’t recall, which was the only reason he’d found himself imagining things he had no business imagining.

The crying continued and Seth glanced into the baby’s crib—such as it was—an old apple crate fashioned into a tiny bed. Gaby saw him and increased the volume of her wails. He was reminded of certain battles when the Rebels howled so loudly the Union lines trembled. He’d never heard anything like the Rebel yell—until now.

“Uh—um. Shh.” He patted her head. She stopped wailing, squinted at him, then drew in a long, deep breath.

“Uh-oh,” Seth murmured.

She released that breath on a shriek of such fury the house seemed to rattle. Without thought, Seth scooped Gaby into his arms, as he’d seen Ella do the night before, and settled her against his shoulder.

She was soaked from tip to toe. The scent of urine wafted over his face, even as warmth seeped through his new jacket and into his clean shirt. But she stopped crying, so Seth was loathe to peel her away.

“Now what?” he asked.

The baby merely snuggled closer, rubbing her wet body all over the front of his clothes.

“You gotta change ’er, then feed ’er.”

Seth spun around to find Cal leaning in the doorway. The kid was too skinny, his pants too short. His long, thin feet were dirty. He appeared both younger and older than twelve, perched between a boy and a man. Seth was surprised Cal hadn’t run off to war. Nearly everyone else had.

“Where’s Ella?” he asked.

“Gone.”

“Gone?” Seth repeated, dumbly.

“Yeah. She said you sent her on home.” The boy’s lips tightened mulishly. “Said we should mind you and our manners.”

From his expression, Cal didn’t plan on doing either one.

“You know how to change her?”

“Do. But won’t. You wanna be our keeper so bad, be it.”

“Why do you keep calling me your keeper?”

“That’s what Ella said.”

Unease pricked at Seth’s spine. Why would Ella call him a keeper, as if the children were animals? He didn’t like that one bit.

“I’m your guardian,” he said. “Your father and I were friends, and he wanted me to take care of you. Didn’t he ever mention Seth Torrance?”

“All the time.”

Seth smiled gently. “He trusted me. Can’t you?”

“Nope. Just ’cause Pa trusted the enemy don’t mean I have to. We don’t need you. We don’t want you.”

“You have no choice.”

The boy lifted, then lowered one bony shoulder. “That’s nothin’ new to me.”

Cal strolled out, then clomped back down the stairs. Interesting that he’d approached with all the stealth of a Rebel sniper, yet couldn’t seem to return the same way.

Seth knew very little about children and even less about babies. But he could learn. Why he didn’t just hire a nanny, a housekeeper and a governess, instruct that the bills be sent to him, and hightail it back to Boston immediately, Seth wasn’t sure. He’d have to eventually, but right now he wanted to stay.

Ever since he’d returned from the war he’d felt adrift, as if he had no purpose and no future, even though he did. Or at least he’d had one assigned to him.

But the idea of making weapons sickened him. His mother thought he’d get over it. Seth wasn’t so sure.

However, he was sure of one thing. His friend had trusted him with all he held dear. Everyone thought Henry had lost his mind. Seth wasn’t going to prove them right by betraying that trust. Together he and Henry had learned about honor, duty, and friendship. They might have lost touch with each other, but they had never lost touch with that.

***

Three days later, Seth felt as if he’d refought the Battle of Gettysburg. He was hot and dirty; he smelled. He hadn’t eaten decently or slept the night through since he’d arrived. How could five children get the better of a hardened Union officer?

He wasn’t exactly sure when he’d lost control. Was it when he’d changed Gaby’s diaper that first day, thrilled to have accomplished the simple task, only to lift the child and have the cloth fall to the floor? Gaby had giggled and promptly wet on his socks.

Or maybe it had been when he’d gotten them both cleaned and clothed, then hurried downstairs, intent on making breakfast for the rest of the children.

Entering the kitchen, he cheerfully called out, “What shall I have for breakfast?”

The two little girls had burst into terrified tears.

Seth fought the urge to run back the way he had come. “What did I say?”

Cal shrugged. Joshua appeared uncomfortable. The girls continued to wail. Gaby joined in.

“Are you ill?” he questioned. “Does something hurt?”

“N-noooo,” Elizabeth cried.

“Then what is it?”

But the girls were too little to articulate what had scared them so badly.

“Ah, I’m gonna milk the goat,” Cal snapped and disappeared.

After that, things really got loud. Seth had fought in many battles. He’d triumphed with death all around him. But the shrieking of the girls, which seemed to hit unknown levels of sound, made him more edgy than facing a Rebel charge.

“What is the matter with you?” he demanded.

They stopped crying, drew in deep, deep breaths. Seth learned quickly; he knew what was coming. Obviously Joshua did, too, because he clapped his hands over his ears seconds before the girls let out a full-bodied howl. For lack of anything better to do, Seth jiggled the baby. Joshua pressed on his ears harder. The girls kept screaming.

Finally, the boy opened one eye, then another. He stared at Seth with a pitying expression, then lowered his hands with a wince and climbed off his chair. After crossing the room, he tugged on Seth’s trousers and beckoned him closer. Then he whispered in his ear, “Cal told them that Yankees eat little Reb girls for breakfast.”

Seth straightened. Well, no wonder they’d started screaming the minute he’d asked what was for breakfast.

When Cal came back with the baby’s milk, Seth made the boy set his sisters straight. Still they looked at him as if he were an ogre—or maybe just the enemy.

The rest of that day and the next passed in a blur of crying, cleaning, and chaos.

By the third day, they needed supplies. Since Seth couldn’t very well leave Cal in charge of the little ones—by the time he got back they’d think Seth was Satan himself—he loaded all five children into the wagon.

The trip wasn’t one of his better ideas. Delia and Elizabeth couldn’t seem to grasp that they shouldn’t stand up in the wagon. They fell over and bumped various body parts several times. The rattling of the wagon kept Gaby awake—not that she slept much during the day . . . or any time, he was beginning to think.

Joshua was so excited, he couldn’t sit still. His wiggling made Seth’s horse more nervous than pulling the wagon already had. Cal just smirked the entire way. Seth soon found out why.

The girls had never seen a store before. They ran wildly through the aisles. Elizabeth knocked over a tower of tin cans. Delia yanked a sack of flower off the countertop before he could stop her. It exploded against the floor, covering her with white powder. She laughed and began to dance in the dust.

Joshua tried to help pick up the cans and dropped one on his toe. He didn’t howl, but large, slow tears dripped down his cheeks.

Cal continued to smirk. Seth jiggled the baby. The storekeeper filled their order and hustled them out in a hurry.

Before the man could slap the rump of Seth’s horse and send them on their way, Seth asked, “Do you know of a wet nurse I could hire for the baby?”

The storekeeper glanced at the children, then back at Seth. He spat into the dirt beneath the horse’s hooves. Remembering the greeting he’d received from Billy the first night he’d ridden into Winchester, Seth wondered if that was the way folks in Winchester said, “Howdy.”

“Can’t say I know of anyone who’d work for a Yankee,” the man said.

Seth blinked. “But it’s not for me. It’s for the baby of Henry Elliot.”

“Who was killed by such as you. No one’s gonna come out there and help, ’specially a woman. You can put that right out of yer head.”

“If you feel that way, then why did you sell me supplies?” Seth asked.

The man shrugged. “Gotta make a livin’. Only folks with money these days are Yankee scum carpetbaggers. Better the money’s in my pocket than yours.”

Cal snickered. Seth glared. The shopkeeper looked pleased with himself.

Seth drove home wondering what he’d gotten into. He needed help. He could not take care of five children alone. But if the storekeeper was correct, he wouldn’t be able to get any help. If he couldn’t, he’d have to take the children back to Boston with him.

Seth cringed at the thought of showing up on his mother’s doorstep with five ragtag Rebel youngsters. She’d treat them like servants; she wouldn’t be able to help herself. Their accents alone would ensure none of the children their age would play nice. They’d be clean, fed, clothed, and educated, but they’d be miserable.

He glanced at Gaby, sleeping momentarily in Cal’s arms. He couldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t do it to any one of them.

They approached the farm, which was silent and still, empty but for the goat and the cow. Delia began to cry. “Want Ella!”

“Me, too.” Elizabeth’s lower lip trembled.

Joshua blinked, hard and fast, then ducked his head to hide his face.

Gaby awoke and began to wail. Cal dumped her in Seth’s lap and took off. Seth sat on the buckboard with weeping children all around him and admitted defeat. He had to have help. No one would help him.

Except maybe . . . Ella.

He’d have to beg. Probably offer her the stars.

At that instant Delia, still covered with flour which had mixed with sweat from the long, hot ride, as well as her tears, leaned against his side. She stuck there like glue.

Suddenly the stars didn’t seem too high a price to pay at all.

Four

Ella couldn’t sleep. The moon shone directly into her eyes through the open roof of the barn. Not that she’d have been able to sleep even if the moon had been new. She missed the children so badly she ached with it.

Three days had passed. Three days! She hadn’t believed Seth Torrance would last through one.

She’d crept over to the Elliot farm several times, careful to stay out of sight lest the children see her and cry. She didn’t want to upset them, but she had to be certain they weren’t hurt or worse. She had to make sure Torrance didn’t pack them up and take them away. If he did, she’d follow and she’d take them back any way she could.

Ella stroked the barrel of the shotgun, which she kept by her side always. A woman couldn’t be too careful.

As if in answer to that thought, footsteps dragged through the brush outside her resting place. Ella sat up slowly and, taking the gun with her, crept to one of the many holes in the side of the barn.

The moonlight revealed the waste that had once been the Fontaine homestead. The house had been burned to the ground soon after Chancellorsville, when Federal troops retreated willy-nilly across the state. Ella recalled watching it burn as her mother and her father mourned the loss of Stonewall Jackson in that very same battle. The great general had housed his headquarters at Winchester, and the townsfolk adored him. When he’d died after losing an arm, then succumbing to pneumonia, everyone had draped their windows in black for a month.

“The South has won a victory,” her father said, “but the loss of that one man may prove too great.”

He’d been right, but he hadn’t lived long enough to know that. Thank goodness. He’d joined the army soon after, and within the year, both he and Ella’s mother had followed General Jackson across the river to rest beneath the trees.

Their gravestones sprang from the ground behind the ruins of the house, a constant reminder of what Ella must never forget. They had died at the hands of the enemy, the same as her fiancé, Jamie McMurray, the same as Henry Elliot and countless others.

Perhaps even herself, if this heavy-footed intruder proved to be another foe. So far she’d been able to scare off the scum with the sight of her gun alone, but one day she’d probably have to shoot someone, and then she’d better kill him. She knew what happened to Southern girls when they crossed a Yankee these days. She’d rather die than be an enemy plaything.

Ella pressed her lips together and cocked her gun. A bird flushed from the trees, startling her. But she held steady on the trigger.

Unfortunately, the intruder shifted course and approached from the front of the barn. She heard the footsteps clearly, walking all the way around the structure, then advancing inside.

Ella held her breath. Maybe if she kept quiet, whoever it was would go away.

She waited, listening. No, the footsteps continued on—closer and closer. She carefully swung her gun away from the wall and aimed it at the top of the ladder that led to her home in the hay mow.

Sure enough, the ladder creaked. Her visitor started up.

A dark head appeared, the face one she knew. He saw the barrel of the gun pointed at his nose and froze.

“What do you want?” Ella demanded.

Seth Torrance scowled. “Do you greet everyone everywhere with that shotgun?”

“Only fool Yankees who walk through the woods like fat old mules.” She pointed the weapon at the nonexistent ceiling and uncocked the thing. “How on earth did y’all win the war tramping around like that? Any Reb boy would have heard you coming for miles.”

“I wasn’t trying to be quiet. I want to talk to you.”

The major pulled himself into the hay mow. In her tiny space, he seemed so much bigger than he had the other day. More dangerous; quite handsome.

Ella narrowed her eyes, annoyed with the thought and herself for having it. “You just stay over there,” she ordered. “I can hear you fine.”

He gave an impatient exhale. “You think I came over her to ravish you? I’ve got too much on my mind for nonsense.”

Nonsense? Ella wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. She was a bit insulted, and that was the most nonsensical thing she’d ever known.

“State your business, then.” Regardless of his words, she kept her gun handy.

“I’d like you to come back and take care of the children.”

She resisted the urge to smirk. Though he’d held out two days longer than she’d expected, in the end he’d behaved predictably. A man like him wasn’t going to stay here and care for five children.

As if she’d refused his request, the major hurried on. “They miss you. The little ones call your name. I should have realized how attached they’d be.” He shrugged and looked away. “I can’t bear to hear them cry.”

Knowing how loudly the girls wailed, Ella could imagine why.

Everything could go back to the way it had been before he’d arrived, which was just what she wanted. She’d still have the problem of making the farm profitable again. However, that was the same old problem—which she’d deal with another day.

“When are you leaving?” she asked.

“Pardon me?”

“You. Leaving. I’ll come back and take care of the children then.”

“Who said I was leaving?”

Some of Ella’s joy faded. “You can’t mean to stay.”

“I mean exactly that. At least for the next month. I’d like to hire you to take care of the children.”

“You want me to be a nanny?”

“And their governess, as well. I can tell by your speech you’ve been educated. The children need schooling. Can you do that?”

“I can, but I won’t.”

“Why not?” He peered through the holes in the barn, his gaze touching on the ashes that had once been her home, the gravestones, the empty barnyard, before coming back to her. “You have something pressing to do here?”

How ungentlemanly of him to refer to her reduced circumstances. But then, he wasn’t a gentleman. And he was right. She had to eat. Nevertheless, she tried one more time to convince him to go.

“Major, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of the children on my own. You can run back to wherever it is you call home. I’ll even write you a letter every month and tell you how they’re doing.”

“A letter would be lovely. Thank you.”

Her heart lifted with hope. Then he dashed it with his next words.

“But I won’t be needing one just yet. I plan to stay until I’m sure the children are settled and safe. Right now I need help. The children love you, and I thought you loved them.”

Ella winced. Trust a Yankee to hit at her weakest point.

He kept pushing. “I can pay you. Cash money. From what I hear, that’s slim in these parts.”

Another rude comment, though no less than the truth. Ella bit her lip. She could go back to the children, sleep in a bed, have a roof over her head and food in her belly, even get paid for the privilege. Or stay here and . . . Ella glanced around the dilapidated dwelling. She didn’t want to think about staying here.

Sooner or later the major would be called home to more important things. She’d be left with the children and his money. She could get the farm going again and keep them all together. Her reputation would be ruined, but she wasn’t using it anyway.

“All right, Major. I’ll come back for the children.” He smiled. She continued, “And the salary of fifty dollars a week.”

He stopped smiling. “But—but—that’s outrageous!”

“Isn’t it?”

Ella waited. She had him. After sending her away, he wouldn’t have come begging unless he had no choice. She could well imagine the kind of response he’d received if he’d asked for assistance in the town of Winchester.

“All right,” he conceded. “Fifty dollars it is.”

Ella turned away so he couldn’t see the triumph on her face. It appeared as if her years at Miss Duvray’s School for Girls were going to be worth something more than the memories.

The first battle was hers. Ella planned on winning the entire war.

Five

Ella was thrilled to be back. The children were thrilled to have her. But life on the Elliot farm was not the way it had been. With the major there, how could it be?

Still, her days were so full taking care of the children, and teaching them, too, that she barely noticed Seth Torrance at all. Barely.

He spent the first week fixing the inside of the house. He patched the bullet holes, painted over them, brought in pictures from Lord knew where and hung them over the places paint and patch did not help.

The second week he worked on the outside of the house as wagons pulled in and out, bringing furniture, beds, clothes, and linens. He’d even ordered a hand-carved crib for the baby. No more apple crate for her.

Each child now had several sets of clothing for everyday wear, plus shoes, stockings, undergarments, and hats, as well as an outfit for special occasions. They were overwhelmed.

So was Ella, who was treated to the same gifts. Though she should refuse them, she found she could not. Having worn the same dress, in rotation with one other, for nigh on to four years, she couldn’t keep her pride in place any longer. Wearing a garment that hadn’t been hacked off at the ankle to keep it from dragging along the ground, since she no longer possessed a crinoline, was too wonderful to turn up her nose at.

She’d known the major was wealthy—his horse, his clothes, his boots, and his manner had all pointed in that direction—but she hadn’t realized he was sinfully rich. To be able to order whatever he wanted and have it delivered wherever he chose on a whim seemed like magic.

The third week a heat wave descended. The baby developed an ill humor; Ella developed a headache. Several times each day she bathed Gaby with lukewarm milk and water, then sprinkled the heat-induced eruptions on her skin with rye flour. Nothing seemed to help until the middle of a very long night, when a cool breeze whispered in from the east.

Ella stepped onto the porch, Gaby in her arms. The baby gurgled with pleasure as the wind caressed her face. Even though she was in her nightdress and robe, Ella strolled to the lone apple tree at the far edge of a burned-out field.

There, beyond the remaining elms that shaded the house, the breeze blew strong and sure. The night was peaceful, until someone struck a match. The sharp snick, the sudden flare of light, the acrid scent startled her so much she gasped, whirled, and pointed the derringer she always kept in the pocket of her robe at the man who stepped from behind the apple tree. The flame touched the tip of a cigarette and illuminated a face she knew very well.

“Do you have to sneak up on me all the time?” she snapped, her heart thundering, and not just because the major had frightened her—again—but he wasn’t wearing any shirt. Ella had never seen a man’s chest before. She couldn’t stop herself from looking at it now.

A curling mat of dark hair began just below his collarbone, growing finer and lighter as it dusted from chest to belly, then disappeared. The skin of his arms was smooth, the muscles rippling with every move that he made. The Colts slung low on his hips only emphasized the ridges across his stomach and the leanness of his thighs. For a soft Yankee major, he appeared awfully hard.

“I didn’t sneak,” he said. She yanked her eyes from his muscles and back to his face. “I was here all the time.”

“Hmm,” was all she could manage with him standing there half naked.

He drew in a mouthful of smoke, then set it free. “Out of curiosity, how many guns do you have?”

She still pointed the derringer at his chest, so she put it away. “Enough.”

“For what?”

“To be safe.”

“I’m here now. You don’t need to worry.”

She snorted. “You’re one of the things I worry about.”

He frowned, but he didn’t argue. Instead he took another long pull on his cigarette, then gestured at the gnarled branches of the apple tree. “How did this survive?”

“I’m not sure. The damned Yankees—” she broke off, glanced at him, shrugged, and started over. “The soldiers spared the house but burned the fields. We’re still not sure why. But this tree survived, and it produces. We’ll have apples come fall. The resiliency of this land amazes me. When I think of all it’s seen, all it’s endured and yet it thrives, I’m stunned by the miracle.”

He was watching her closely. “You love it here.”

“Why wouldn’t I? This is my home. I’m part of the land and the land’s part of me. I never want to be anywhere else.”

“Hmm,” he murmured, echoing her, and continued to smoke as he contemplated the tree and the sky.

The night was enjoyable, the air between them cool and quiet—until Gaby lost her happy thought and began to cry. Exhausted, Ella nearly cried herself.

The major took one final draw on his cigarette, then ground the rest into oblivion with the heel of his boot before holding out his arms for the baby. “Hand the little creature over.”

“You’d better put on a shirt first.” Ella’s face heated. “Skin to skin, she’ll stick to you like a leech.”

He glanced down, surprise lighting his face, as if he’d forgotten he was waltzing around in the night half dressed. Perhaps that was what Yankees did, and they never thought twice about it.

“Excuse me.” He picked up the garment from the ground at the base of the apple tree and shoved his arms into the sleeves.

Gaby’s breath started to hitch, the sure sign of a coming explosion. Before Ella could object, or he could button his shirt, the major snatched the baby and settled her into the crook of his arm.

Ella tensed. Gaby did not appreciate being flung about like a sack of potatoes. Every time one of the children tried it, there was an eruption of sound and tears. Instead, she took a deep breath, let it out on a contented sigh and closed her eyes.

Ella blinked. “How did you do that?”

“What?”

“She went to sleep.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Shh, you’ll wake her.”

Effectively silenced, Ella had nothing to do but watch the baby sleep, which led to watching the major’s chest rise and fall.

Why did seeing him with his shirt open and unbuttoned entice her more than his bare skin had? Because now she knew what lay beneath the white cotton, and she could imagine it all night long.

Ella shook her head. What was the matter with her? He was a Yankee. The enemy. And he was leaving, just as soon as she could get rid of him.

However, the picture he made with Gaby in his arms tugged at her. The baby adored him. Whenever he came near, she laughed and waved her hands, kicked her feet. If she cried, only his arms could quiet her. It was infuriating. Sometimes Ella wanted to scream, she was so jealous. But she also had to wonder what the baby sensed in him that she did not.

“Come here,” he whispered.

Ella jumped. “What? Why?”

He tossed her a mildly annoyed glance. “Must you question everything? Come here and look.”

He tilted his arms, tipping the baby forward as if to show Ella something. Concerned, she came closer.

“Is that the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?” he murmured.

Gaby’s sweetly bowed mouth puckered and released, puckered and released.

“You think she’s eating in her dreams?” he asked.

“Either that or kissing you.”

Their eyes met. His were so blue they reminded her of the sky on a sunny day, even in the dead of night. The air smelled of cool breezes and the fading tang of apples, at war with the scent of male heat and sultry smoke. What would he taste like if she put her lips on his, dipped her tongue inside, savored the warmth and the heat of him?

He would taste of ashes. The death of the South.

She had to remember that the demise of all she’d held dear had begun and ended with men just like him. He was forbidden, yet she wanted him just the same.

And because of that he had to go—or she did.

Ella whirled and headed for the house.

Six

Seth watched her go, the white nightdress trailing out behind her with the wind. The baby, content and sleeping in his arms, kept him from chasing after Ella and kissing her as he wanted to.

She’d wanted the kiss, too. He’d seen it in the way her lips had parted, the way her eyes had lowered to his mouth and clung, the way her breath had quickened, making the soft, full mounds of her breasts rise and fall with a tantalizing rhythm.

She was a beautiful girl. Of course he wanted her. But why would she want him?

As Ella had said over and over again, he was the enemy. She hated him on principle, and she didn’t even know the full extent of his perfidy—that he’d participated in the very battle which had killed Henry Elliot. That his family, his legacy, his wealth was based on so much death.

What would she say if she knew everything? He had a pretty good idea.

Ella was a Southern woman. They were tough, loyal, and stubborn as the old mules she’d once compared him to. Even if she was attracted to him physically, that didn’t mean a thing. She’d die a slow, painful death before she’d admit the feeling, let alone act upon it. She would never let him touch her, take her and make her his.

He’d been here three weeks, and the older children still looked at him as if they expected him to breathe fire from his nose or develop a sudden craving for blood.

Seth gazed down at the sleeping baby. Only Gaby was innocent enough to see the man inside the Yankee. He couldn’t explain how much she meant to him, how deeply he adored her for that alone.

The cool breeze, the scent of the apple tree, the acres upon acres of land that were his soothed Seth as nothing else ever had. The pace here was slower, the countryside quieter. The loudest noises were the cries of children.

Since he’d come to Winchester, he’d had no recurrence of the frightening fits he’d endured in Boston. Even the cannon fire that lived inside his head had stilled. Perhaps this place was all that he’d needed to heal.

He had no job, no friends, no future. He didn’t belong here.

So why did it feel as if he did?

***

When Ella reached the house, Cal stood on the porch. He contemplated her with a somber expression. Had he seen her with the major?

What if he had? Nothing had happened. Not that she hadn’t wanted it to.

The thought brought her up short. She could not, would not, be attracted to this man. He wasn’t going to stay.

Seth Torrance did not belong here. He might play at taking care of his friend’s children and farm, but he wasn’t a farmer and he never would be. Sooner or later he’d go back to where he had come from and leave his toys behind. She didn’t plan to be one of them.

“I don’t like him.” Cal stared at the distant silhouette of a man holding a child beneath the apple tree.

Ella climbed the porch steps and put her hand on Cal’s shoulder. Poor child, unable to be a child, forced too soon to be a man. But he was only one of a thousand others just the same.

He must have grown two inches in the last month. Thank goodness Seth had the money to buy Cal new clothes. What would she have done if he hadn’t come to help?

Ella put that thought out of her head, too. She could not depend on Seth. She could not depend on anyone but herself. If she did, she’d only be disappointed.

“He’s not for you to like or not, Cal.” She pulled him closer and smiled softly when he let her. “He’s your guardian, and he’s here to stay until he decides to go.”

“And when he does, will everything go back to the way that it was?”

Frowning, Ella tilted her head so she could see his face—eager and hopeful in the moonlight. “The way that it was when, sweetie?”

“When just the six of us were here. I liked it then. Didn’t you?”

Thinking back, Ella didn’t miss the time when there was barely enough food, no money to get more, carpetbaggers strolling down the lane any old time, and deserters or worse slinking about ready to take what little they had left. She’d been scared every minute before Seth showed up.

Though she’d been able to take care of them with the aid of her guns, Seth was a battle-seasoned soldier. His eyes scanned the horizon whenever he stepped outside. He wore his Colt as if he knew what to do with it, handled his rifle the same way. She hadn’t realized how safe she felt just having him near.

And that scared her so badly she blurted, “Yes. I liked it then, too.”

“I can make him go.”

The quiet, sure statement made Ella blink. “What? What do you mean?”

“If me and the others put our heads together, we can make him hightail it all the way back to where he came from. He isn’t going to stay, Ella. Better he goes now than after she gets too attached to him, don’t you think?”

His gaze rested on her face so intently that for an instant Ella wondered if he could see into her thoughts. He’d put them into words so well. Somehow she didn’t think Cal was just talking about Gaby when he used the word “she.”

Ella glanced at the apple tree where Seth still stood with the baby. She frowned.

When had she begun to think of him as Seth rather than the major? She couldn’t recall, and that in itself wasn’t good. When she thought of him as the major, she could remember he was the enemy. But Seth? He seemed more and more like a friend.

She looked at Cal once more. “Yes,” she murmured. “Better that he go now than later. Before she gets too attached.”

As Ella went inside, she considered that it might already be too late for her.

***

Seth awoke to a din reminiscent of the Battle at the Wilderness. He leaped from the bed, knocked his beleaguered knee against his new nightstand, and stumbled into the hallway. A bucket of icy water hit him full in the face.

As he stood there sputtering, drowning, trying to get his breath, the noise stopped. When he opened his eyes he found the four eldest Elliot children staring at him. Predictably, Cal held the empty bucket.

“What—what—what was that for?” he managed.

“Cat fight,” Cal said simply. “Only way to get ’em to stop is to toss some water on ’em.”

“Cats?” Seth glanced around the hall. “What cats?”

Cal shrugged. “They were here a minute ago. Weren’t they?”

Joshua, Elizabeth, and Delia all nodded, but none of them spoke. Seth narrowed his eyes, opened his mouth, and the baby began to cry.

“Never mind,” he said. “Where’s Ella?”

“Makin’ bekfast,” Elizabeth said.

“All right. Run along and eat. Tell her I’ll bring Gaby.”

He hurried into the baby’s room, dripping all the way. As he quickly crossed to the crib, first one foot, then the other, came down on something hard, round and mobile. He scrambled for purchase, lost, and landed on his butt—hard. Gaby’s crying stopped and she giggled.

Marbles were strewn across the scarred wood planks. Seth tightened his lips, got to his feet, and rubbed his bruised behind.

Ten minutes later, he and Gaby entered the kitchen. Ella glanced over her shoulder. The mere sight of her brought back everything he’d felt last night—awareness, tenderness, desire.

She appeared as beautiful in the sunlight as she had by the light of the moon. While she worked, the skirt of her dress swayed provocatively, drawing his gaze to her soft curves. The hem played hide-and-seek with her ankles. She wore no shoes, as usual. And while his mother would think this made her common, Seth only thought it made her Ella.

Meeting her, knowing her, touching her had brought color and sound and light back to his life. The inertia that had plagued him in Boston was no more.

“What was all the racket up there?” she asked, her voice brisk, all business, as if they’d never stood half naked in the night.

Seth looked at each child. They stared back with brown-eyed innocence. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he answered.

Three children glanced away. Only Cal held his gaze. But then, Seth had known Cal was the one to watch all along. He’d invaded the boy’s territory, just as the North had invaded the South.

Which was why the war had dragged on for four long years, despite the Union’s far superior resources of money, munitions, and men. When a country was invaded, the citizens were honor bound to fight back and fight back hard.

But Seth had begun to think of this as his place and these kids, despite their hostility, as his, too. He hadn’t lost a fight yet. He didn’t plan to lose this one.

He took his chair. Something squalled and struggled beneath him. Seth jumped up as a huge black cat shot across the room and out the open back door.

“Told you there was a cat,” Cal muttered.

Ella choked, coughed, and put her napkin to her lips—no doubt to hide a smile.

Seth had to struggle not to smile back. Cal was clever and he kept a cool head. Even now, the boy ate his breakfast as if he hadn’t just masterminded the morning. Still, he would have to do better than this to get rid of Seth Torrance.

“I need to go into town.” Ever since he’d arrived, Seth had been meaning to stop by the attorney’s office and pick up a copy of Henry’s will and any other pertinent papers pertaining to the children and the farm. “Anyone want to take a ride with me?”

He figured no one would, but it didn’t hurt to ask. He was surprised when Cal got slowly to his feet. “Me and Delia will go.”

The boy wouldn’t meet Seth’s eyes. What did the little terror have planned for him now?

He considered changing into one of his suits to meet with the attorney. He’d been wearing Henry’s work clothes for the past several weeks, and while they had felt odd at first, now he was more comfortable in the loose trousers and shirts that had been washed soft through years of wear than he was in his own things. Seth didn’t care if he ever put on a suit again. So he plopped his wide-brimmed straw hat onto his head and herded the two children out to the wagon.

The trip into town was uneventful. Delia sang a song about a pony at the top of her lungs and just a tad short of the correct key all the way there. Since it kept her entertained, and him as well, Seth let her. Cal merely stared straight ahead and ignored him. Perhaps that was for the best, though Seth couldn’t help but wonder what deviousness he was plotting behind those somber eyes.

Once in town, however, Cal spoke up. “Can I buy Delia some candy, Major? She’s never had none before.”

The utter joy on the little girl’s face made Seth feel guilty for suspecting Cal of hatching a new plot. The poor girl had never had candy, a situation that must be rectified immediately.

“Of course. Let’s get her some right away.”

He stepped toward the store, but Cal laid a hand on his arm. “No need for you to go. Best you do your errand whilst I get the candy. These days it isn’t a good idea to leave the women and children alone for too long.”

The reminder of the still dangerous nature of the countryside cast a chill over the warm summer day. But Cal was right.

The boy had seen his share of bad things, which had forced him to grow up too quickly. Seth only hoped he could give him back some of the childhood that had been stolen away. Candy was a step in the right direction.

“I’ll just head over to Mr. Blair’s office, then.” He reached into his pocket and handed Cal more than enough money for candy. “Get yourself a treat, too, and some for the rest at home.”

In lieu of a thank-you, Cal nodded, took Delia’s hand, and disappeared into the general store.

Within a half an hour they were on their way home. Delia slurped on gumdrops, which kept her from singing. Cal continued to stare.

“Don’t you want to eat your candy?” Seth asked.

“No, Major. I’m gonna save mine.”

Seth wanted to ask why, but he doubted Cal would tell him.

“You could call me Seth if you like,” he offered.

“No, sir, I couldn’t.” Cal went back to contemplating the breeze.

Seth had hoped a day together and a little bit of sugar would soften the boy. He should have known better.

Seven

Seth skirted the apple tree and strolled through the blackened fields. He knelt in the dirt, sifted some through his fingers. He wished that he knew more about farming, but he didn’t.

He glanced back at the house. The afternoon was proving as uneventful as the morning, which only made Seth nervous. Cal must be planning something extraordinarily devious if he was behaving himself for this long.

Ella had put Gaby down for a nap. When he’d left, she’d still been howling her displeasure, so Ella had taken the others outside for their lessons. He could see four blond heads and one dark one beneath the shade of the elm tree in the yard.

Ella had proved to be an excellent teacher. The children adored her and did things for her they wouldn’t do for anyone else. As a result, they were making great progress in their studies.

Seth smiled at the picture they made. He was due to return home in one week. He didn’t want to go. But he’d come to fulfill a duty. He would have to return to Boston for the same reason.

Afternoon faded to evening. Supper went smoothly. The children thanked him for the candy, though he’d seen none but Delia eating it. Everyone headed for bed without argument. Seth sat on the porch expecting . . . Lord knew what.

But nothing happened.

He heard Ella through the open window upstairs, murmuring to the baby. From the girls’ room he caught traces of a whisper, from the boys’ nothing at all. They must be asleep.

When all sounds ceased, he climbed the stairs, hesitated in the hall. Tempted to look in on them, he resisted. He didn’t dare start treating them like his or he’d never be able to leave.

He cast one longing glance at Ella’s room and forced himself to go to bed. If he touched her as he wanted to even once, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop.

Sleep came quickly; the dreams followed. Rebs snuck into the perimeter. He heard them whispering from the tall grass, sensed them creeping ever closer, the thud of their muted footsteps a death knell.

This had happened before—another time, another place. Mayhem. Murder. Too many of his men and theirs lost forever. He hated the war, hated the necessity as well as the horrific waste. Hated the most his presence in the middle of such strife.

When the first shot sounded, Seth sat up in bed. Darkness surrounded him. He didn’t know where he was; he only knew that they were coming.

With a roar, he leaped to his feet, reaching for the gun at his hip that was not there.

Another shot sounded behind him, then another to his left, to his right. He whirled, flinched, put his hands to his ears, but the shots continued. Faster, louder, they confused and terrified him.

Icy sweat dewed his skin. His belly lurched. He feared he’d disgrace himself right there on the battlefield. Where in hell were his Colts, his rifle?

A thud in the darkness made his heart pound faster. Light poured from an unknown source, illuminating his pistols. He dived for them.

Someone shouted his name, grabbed his wrist just as he reached for a gun.

Another shot was fired, this one so close the scent of gunpowder filled his nose. With a roar of fury, Seth yanked the intruder forward, and together they tumbled to the ground.

Ella fell on top of Seth. Thankfully the guns remained on the nightstand.

He struggled beneath her, shouting, “To your posts, soldiers! We’re under attack.”

“It’s me. Ella.” She tugged at her arm, but he held on too tightly. “Let me go.”

Instead, he flipped over, pinning her beneath him with the long, hard, heavy length of his body, then yanking her hands over her head. One of his legs slid around hers, aligning them center to center.

Ella’s eyes widened. “Oh, my,” she murmured.

“Ella?” Cal’s voice came from down the hall. “You all right?”

Dear God, the children! She had to keep them from seeing Seth like this. They’d be so frightened.

“Stay in your rooms,” she ordered. “Don’t come out no matter what you hear.”

“But—”

“Don’t argue, Cal! The major’s ill. I’ll take care of him.”

Doors closed and she relaxed—at least as much as she could with Seth plastered to her. His breath was labored, as if he’d just run a mile in the heated air, the movement rubbing his chest against hers in the slow, sensuous, rhythmic manner of a forbidden dance.

Ella shook off the desire to explore such sensations further. Something was wrong with him. Now was not the time to wonder if his lips were as soft as they looked, his kiss as seductive as his chest.

She peered into Seth’s face. His gaze darted around the room, searching for something. But what?

The loud pops that had awakened her even before his shouts had sounded like gunfire. But when she’d entered the room, he’d just been reaching for his gun. If someone had shot from outside, they’d be inside by now. So what had happened?

“Are you all right?” she whispered.

He was trembling. Sweat beaded his brow. The hands that held hers prisoner were ice cold.

Ella frowned. He was scared half to death.

She knew what to do about that. The children had nightmares all the time and woke very much like this.

“Hush,” she murmured. “You’re safe. Nothing will hurt you now.”

Her gentle tone must have reached him, for he blinked, then shifted his gaze from the shadows to hers. He still did not seem to know her. His eyes remained cloudy, in another time, another place. But he let go of her wrists, so she touched his face.

Stubble scraped her fingertips as she caressed his jaw. She ran her hands through his shaggy, soft hair, kneaded the tense cords of his neck, whispered, “You’re all right, you’re all right,” ten times before he kissed her.

Boys had stolen kisses behind the barn, at a dance. She’d rapped every one with her knuckles or her fan and put a stop to such familiarity in an instant.

Jamie had always said good night in a chaste and proper manner. They’d had a lifetime for intimate embraces, or so they had thought.

Of course, if Jamie had ever kissed her as if he were ice cold and she was a flame, if he had ever nibbled her lips, sucked her tongue, explored her mouth with his body pressed to the length of hers, she might have fainted.

Or begged for more.

Her fingers tangled in Seth’s hair, holding him close. Her mouth opened; her tongue danced with his. Desperate whimpers clawed at the back of her throat. Her breasts, beneath the light cotton of her nightdress, ached and throbbed, wanting, needing his touch. Where he was pressed against her down low felt too good to abandon, so she arched against him, and bright lights flared behind her closed eyes.

What was happening to her?

A moment later he ended the kiss and his forehead dropped to hers. His hair brushed her cheek. She held him as his heart slowed, and his breathing evened out along with hers.

“Did I hurt you?”

His hoarse voice startled her. She recalled hating Seth’s voice when he had first come here. Now she missed the strong yet gentle tones, lost to terrors she could not even imagine.

“Of course not,” she said briskly, though it was hard to be so nonchalant with him still pressed intimately against her. “You would never hurt me.”

He sighed and rolled away, sitting up with his back against the bed. Feeling foolish, Ella did the same. He inched away from her just a bit, as if afraid she would touch him. That hurt after what they had just shared.

What hurt even more was the guilt that flared to life as the passion thrumming in her blood dissipated. She had never felt such things for Jamie—the man she had sworn to marry, the man whose children she had promised to bear. How could she feel them for the enemy?

“I don’t know what I might do when I’m like this,” Seth muttered. “I’d hoped the spells were gone, but I guess not.”

“This has happened before?”

“Ever since the war. But usually it’s a loud noise that makes me forget where I am. I must be worse instead of better to have lost my place in the middle of a peaceful night.”

“No.” Ella shook her head. “There was a loud noise. Several, in fact. They woke me, too.”

She stood and lit the lamp. Scattered across the floor were the remnants of several firecrackers. Their eyes met.

“Cal,” they said together.

Ella sighed. The boy had gone too far.

“I’ll talk to him,” she muttered. “This is my fault.”

“Why?” He shoved his fingers through his damp hair, mussing it more than she already had. “Did you declare war? Send me off to fight it? Make me so weak I couldn’t take the death and the destruction?”

“You think you’re weak because the war haunts you? If it didn’t, I’d be worried.”

His lips twitched but he didn’t smile. “Then why is this your fault?”

“I encouraged Cal to harass you.” Ella looked away. “I wanted you to leave. It wasn’t very adult of me. I’m sorry. But I never suspected he’d do something like this.”

“Even if you had, how could you know gunfire would make me lose my senses?” He snorted. “Hell, I still can’t believe it.”

She should say good night, pretend the kiss had never happened, then escape to her room, but she couldn’t. She’d held Seth in her arms as he trembled, touched her mouth to his as he shook. She could not just walk away and leave him alone. So Ella sat on the floor once more, closer this time, and he did not move away.

“I’m sure these spells will fade with time,” she offered.

“I thought so, too.”

“The war’s been over only a few months. You can’t expect to forget four years of horror so quickly.”

“What if—” He stopped.

“What?”

“What if I never forget? What if I’m always like this?”

“What if you are? There are worse things, Seth. Much worse.”

It was the first time she’d called him by his given name out loud. She discovered that she liked the sound of it on her lips nearly as much as she liked his lips. Would she ever stop thinking about that kiss? Not likely.

“Do you know where I get all my money?”

She blinked at the sudden change of subject. “What?”

“My money. My family is the proud owner of Torrance Munitions. We’re very well off. But then, there’s always a need for instruments of destruction.”

Ella didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t wanted the largesse he’d brought to them because it was Yankee charity. Now, knowing the charity had been bought with money made from killing her countrymen, she wanted it even less.

However, seeing Seth in the throes of his pain had shown her a new and disturbing truth. He had suffered the same as any Confederate soldier. Death and destruction did not pick and choose. Nightmares came to them all.

“You can’t help what your family does for a living. But you don’t have to keep doing it.”

He shook his head. “All my life it’s been understood that I’d take over. I went to West Point. That’s what men in my family do. The only thing I’ve been trained for is killing and building things made to kill. I hate it.”

She didn’t know what to tell him. But now that he’d begun to talk, he didn’t seem to need any encouragement from her to continue.

“I was at Saylor’s Creek.”

Ella glanced at him. “So were a lot of people.”

“For all I know, I might have been the one to kill Henry.”

“And you might not have been.”

He glanced at her in surprise, and she made a sound of derision.

“Did you think I was going to pick up a stone, or maybe that gun? Seems to me you’re a doing a fine job of flaying yourself alive over something you couldn’t stop.” Ella spread her hands. “You think if you hadn’t picked up a gun they wouldn’t have fought? You think if your family wasn’t making munitions they’d have all laid down their weapons and shaken hands?”

“No.” He sighed. “Of course not. But—” He rubbed his face. His palm scraped over the stubble on his chin. “What shall I tell the children?”

“Nothing. What possible good would it do to tell them? Henry was . . . well, I’m sure you know. If it weren’t Saylor’s Creek, it would have been another battle. If not the war, then something else. Henry was like a falling star—bright, brilliant, and set to burn out very young.”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t argue, either. Ella wasn’t sure why she felt the need to comfort him. Perhaps because, as she’d said, he was doing such a good job of torturing himself.

“I want to make sure everything will be all right here before I go,” he said quietly. “But you don’t have to worry. I will go.”

Suddenly his leaving held very little appeal. Unable to stop herself, Ella reached for Seth’s hand and laced her fingers with his. “But not yet,” she whispered.

He hesitated an instant. Then his hand tightened on hers. “No, not yet.”

Eight

When Seth arose with the dawn, he felt good. Remarkable, in fact, in the face of what had happened last night. But if he’d come out of every other spell with Ella in his arms, he would never have needed to drown his fears with a bottle. He hadn’t touched whiskey since he’d arrived in Winchester, and he hadn’t missed it.

As Seth dressed, his mind went back to the previous night. He couldn’t believe that he’d kissed Ella, or that she’d let him. In times past, his behavior would have earned him a shotgun wedding. The prospect wasn’t as unappealing as it should have been.

From the front porch, he enjoyed the sight of a cool mist hovering over the fields. Soon the heat of the sun would wash the fog away, but right now it appeared as if heaven had come to Virginia.

Seth took a deep breath of the damp morning air. What if he stayed? Married Ella, raised these children, and had a few more?

They’d all starve, that’s what. The only way to keep them alive was for him to return to Boston and an existence he loathed.

The door opened, and Cal stepped out. The boy looked as if he hadn’t slept a wink. Good. He needed to learn that actions had consequences. Always.

Cal joined him at the porch rail, and together they watched the mist disappear.

“Where did you get them?” Seth asked.

“I didn’t buy candy yesterday—’cept for Delia.”

“Hmm.” Seth had paid for his own torture. He couldn’t fault the boy’s cleverness. “You lied to me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I understand that you want me off your place. I’d feel the same way.”

Cal glanced at Seth quickly from beneath his overgrown bangs. “You would?”

“Sure. You were handling things just fine without me. Then a stranger, and a Yankee to boot, shows up and starts taking over. Hard for a man to just sit back and let that go.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Seth saw Cal straighten, throw his shoulders back, nod. He stifled a smile.

“So while I can understand what you did, even applaud it, I can’t let the lying pass. When I leave, you’ll be the man here again, and you have to set a good example. Honorable men don’t lie or cheat.”

“No, sir.”

“I think a day digging holes in the field behind the apple tree ought to make you think twice about lying again, don’t you?”

“Sure will.”

Seth let his smile break free. “Have breakfast and get started, then.”

Cal paused at the door. “I didn’t mean to scare you with the firecrackers.”

Seth’s smile faded. “You heard?”

Cal hung his head, nodded. “When you came I only saw you as the enemy. You were alive and my father was dead. It made me mad.”

“Me, too.”

The boy shot him another quick glance. “I’ve seen our soldiers come back all pale and jumpy. But I never thought about Yanks havin’ the same troubles.”

“We do.”

“I guess that would follow. Anyway, I’m sorry I did what I did.”

Cal disappeared into the house. Seth felt as if he’d turned a corner, though he wasn’t sure to where.

***

The weeks that followed were the happiest Ella could recall. Seth and Cal had come to an understanding. Not that they’d suddenly become pals and gone fishing, but Cal no longer plotted tricks and Seth no longer avoided him.

With the lessening of tension between the two “men” of the house, the other children relaxed, as well. Joshua followed Seth around like a newborn fawn after its mother, the girls climbed into his lap whenever he sat down, and Gaby continued to adore him. The baby had known from the beginning that Seth was someone special.

Ella found herself humming as she worked, dreaming simple dreams of a prosperous farm and children of her own. Several times while she watched Seth repairing the barn or the corral fence, she slipped into delicious fantasies of clandestine meetings and midnight kisses.

Seth had been with them for over five weeks, and Ella could barely recall what it had been like when he was not. She didn’t want to contemplate what it would be like when he left.

“Let’s all go on a picnic,” Seth announced one heated Saturday afternoon.

The children jumped up and down, clamoring their agreement. Seth swept Delia, then Elizabeth into his arms, put one on each hip and twirled them round and round in a circle of sunshine. Their giggles punctuated his laughter, and Ella’s heart filled with love. She turned away as tears sparked in her eyes.

He was no longer the enemy. He’d become something much more dangerous indeed.

“All right,” she said briskly to hide her softer emotions. “I’ll pack a basket. We’ll eat by the creek. The children can go wading afterward.”

Within the hour, all seven of them lounged beneath the shade of an ancient dogwood tree. Water gurgled over smooth stones and a lukewarm breeze stirred the branches above them. Contentment flowed through Ella’s soul.

“I love it here,” she murmured, watching the children stick their toes into the creek, then shriek with laughter.

“Me, too,” Seth whispered as he rubbed Gaby’s back. The baby was nearly asleep on the blanket between them.

Their eyes met. Ella leaned forward. So did he.

“Ella!” Cal shouted. “Delia fell in.”

They pulled back with a guilty gasp. Ella glanced at the children. Cal had his hand on a dripping Delia’s shoulder as he marched her toward them. No one stared at Ella in reproach. No one had seen anything amiss.

She looked at Seth. His eyes promised a repeat of their one-time embrace. Her body tingled in anticipation.

The next several minutes were spent undressing the little girl and hanging her clothes up to dry. Then she fell asleep beside her sister, wearing nothing but a damp shimmy. Elizabeth soon joined them. The boys chased tiny flitting fish through the shallows.

“I’m going to follow the creek aways,” Seth said. “I won’t be long.”

Ella nodded, then lay down next to the girls.

A shadow passed over the sun. Had she fallen asleep?

Confused, Ella opened her eyes. The silhouette of a man blocked the light. At first she thought Seth had returned and she smiled in welcome. Then a second man joined the other and her smile froze.

“Howdy do, pretty lady.”

Alarmed, Ella sat up. She blinked quickly to make the dancing stars of sunlight fade. When her vision cleared, she saw three men in a circle around her and the girls.

They were rough and dirty, desperate from all appearances. From the sound of the man’s voice and the tattered remnants of their uniforms, they were desperate Yankees—either former soldiers who’d gone home to find nothing left for them there, or deserters fled south to pick over the dead. They were nothing she hadn’t encountered before, many times.

Ella’s hand crept to her pocket and her heart gave a painful thud. Of course, she’d never encountered any before without a gun.

She cursed the feminine impulse that had made her change to a more attractive dress before they left. Her derringer still rested in the pocket of her blue gown, which hung on a peg in her room.

Her gaze drifted to the creek. The boys were headed in their direction at a run. She shook her head, but that only served to make the intruders turn that way.

“Well, whatta we got here? More of ya. You just come on over and sit down next to yer ma.”

“That’s right,” Ella said brightly. “Come sit by me.”

The boys did as they were told, but they didn’t look happy.

Ella cut a glance back to the creek, hoping, praying to see Seth return. Nothing was there but the wind across the water.

“We’ve come a long way,” the first man said.

His companions appeared tongue tied or mute. Ella didn’t care for the way that they stared.

“You must be hungry.” Ella shoved the picnic basket forward with her toe. “Help yourself.”

“Oh, we intend to.” He grinned, exposing several gaps where teeth ought to be. “To more than the food.”

Cal tensed at her side. Ella laid her hand on his arm. Nothing would be gained by fighting. Not only were these men desperate, they were armed. Or at least the one with the big mouth was.

The three fell on the remnants of the picnic like wild animals. Their smacking lips and magnificent belches awoke all the children but Gaby. Ella gathered them behind her and waited. Where on earth had Seth gone?

When they were done, the leader crooked his finger at her. “Come with me.”

“I don’t think that I will.”

“Think again.” He drew his pistol and pointed it at the baby. Ella leaped to her feet.

“Cal,” she said, her eyes on the gun. “You keep everyone here, all right?”

He didn’t answer. She glanced at him, but he was looking at the creek. She did, too. And nearly fainted with relief.

Seth had returned.

***

As the situation grew clear, Seth’s fury became so great he could barely control his need to shoot all three of the men dead where they stood. But he wouldn’t do so in front of the children—unless he had no choice.

He’d heard there were those who preyed on the South, believed it, too, but he was still shocked to see former Union soldiers behaving like pigs.

As if they sensed him, the three turned. The one with the gun grabbed Ella and put the barrel against her forehead. Seth’s fury boiled, but he forced himself to remain calm. One thing he’d learned in the war: emotion got people killed.

“Soldier, I hope you have a damned good reason for your behavior,” Seth snapped.

The man blinked at Seth’s tone. Perhaps used to following orders, he hesitated, but only for an instant. “I’m not a soldier no more.”

Seth’s lip curled. “Obviously.”

The stranger’s face darkened at the insult. “Who the hell are you?”

“Major Seth Torrance. And you’re on my land.”

“You don’t sound like no Reb to me.”

“There aren’t any more Rebs. Or haven’t you heard?”

“I’ve got me one right here,” he sneered. “And a passel of little ones, too. They’ll be Rebs until they die. They don’t change just because a piece of paper says that they do.”

Seth took a few steps closer, and the man pressed the gun more firmly against Ella’s head. “Hold on there, Major. Drop them Colts.”

Seth’s eyes met Ella’s. She was afraid, though not as terrified as one might expect. She’d been taking care of herself and the children for quite a while now. No doubt she’d met men like this before. He’d respected her strength and her courage from the first. Seeing her calm in the face of this danger only made Seth admire her more.

He reached for the buckle on his gun belt and Ella frowned. But Seth would never take any chances with her life.

He dropped the weapons, spread his hands wide. “Now what?”

“Now we take the lady off for a little private party, and you stay here with the brats.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t get to think.”

“But I just can’t help myself. Gaby, wake up,” he shouted.

His sharp, loud voice roused the baby from a sound slumber. As always, she woke up howling.

The sudden noise made all three men glance at the baby. The gun came away from Ella’s head for an instant, and she slammed her elbow into her captor’s belly. He released her.

Seth grabbed the gun and they struggled, but not for long. At West Point he’d learned to be honorable, dutiful, an officer. But in the war he’d learned something equally valuable. How to fight hand-to-hand and dirty.

Seth’s knee hit the stranger’s privates so hard he fell to the ground and appeared to choke on them.

A scream from the second man made Seth spin that way, only to find Elizabeth had bitten his ankle. Ella punched him square on the jaw and down he went. He didn’t move. The third tried to run away and tripped. Cal and Joshua landed on his back and went to work.

Seth smiled. They made a pretty good team.

Nine

While Seth drove the ruffians into town, hogtied and gagged in the back of the wagon, Ella brought the children home. Fearing they’d be upset, crying, and unable to rest, she was surprised when they excitedly discussed the afternoon’s activities like an adventure.

No one seemed the worse for their exploits. After taking baths and eating supper, they went to sleep without a quiver. Perhaps taking part in the downfall of what had frightened them had allowed the children to get past it more easily.

Such was not the case for Ella. She sat on the porch with the shotgun across her lap and trembled. She’d been terrified that something would happen to one of the children or to Seth.

The echo of a horse’s hooves rambled down the lane ahead of the horse. Ella’s hands tightened on the weapon until she saw the familiar outline of Seth’s horse, her wagon, his head. She stood and waited for him to come to her.

After unhitching the animal and taking care of its needs, Seth joined Ella on the porch. “Everyone asleep?” he murmured.

“Yes. As soon as their heads hit the pillows, I think.”

“Too much excitement.”

“Absolutely.”

Ella released her death grip on the gun. Her fingers ached with the force she had applied. She didn’t know if she’d ever be able to leave the house again without it.

The leering face of the soldier flashed before her eyes; she felt again the chill of the pistol against her temple and shivered.

Then again, maybe she shouldn’t.

“Are you all right, Ella?”

She glanced up to find Seth staring at her hands, which had somehow crept back to the gun and locked there. She snatched them away, then sighed. “I’m scared.”

“You’re never scared. Not even when that fool had the gun against your head. I’ve never met anyone braver than you, Gabriella Fontaine.”

She laughed, and the sound was a bit crazed. “I’m only brave when I have a gun and I’m sure that I can win.”

“Which just makes you smart, too.”

Ella shook her head. “Seth, I was so scared this afternoon I thought my heart would burst out of my chest.”

“Anyone would be with a pistol pressed to their head.”

“I wasn’t afraid for me, but for the children and—”

She hesitated. But the events of the day had convinced her of one thing. Somewhere along the line she’d fallen in love with the enemy.

When had that happened? Perhaps the first time he’d held Gaby and the baby had stopped crying, then fallen asleep against his broad, strong chest.

Then again, it could have been the morning he’d taught Joshua how to whittle, his soft, gentle voice and infinite patience a balm to the child’s troubled heart. The sight of the boy’s brilliant smile after he’d mastered the task had tugged at Ella’s troubled heart, too.

Or had it been when he’d forgiven Cal without a qualm, punishing the child like a fond father, then letting the matter fade into the past?

Maybe she’d tumbled into love when he’d played hide-and-seek with the girls until the sun went down, then collapsed with them in a heap on the cool grass and showed them the stars.

It could not have been when he trembled in her arms, then kissed her until she forgot who she was, who he was, who they’d both once been.

The war had taught her many things, the chief of which guided her now. Life was too short to hide what she felt. Even if Seth left tomorrow, at least they would have tonight.

Ella looked into his face. “I was scared for you.”

“Me?” He grinned. “You’ve been trying to get rid of me since I got here. Seems having a bunch of renegade Yankees shoot me would have worked right into your plans.”

“Don’t joke about such things.”

His smile faded. “Hey.” He came closer, put his fingertips to her chin, and lifted it so he could peer into her eyes. “You were really scared, weren’t you?” His voice held a note of wonder. “For me?”

She stood, put the shotgun aside and went into his arms. “For you,” she agreed. “Hold me, Seth. Make me forget them. Make me feel safe again.”

She offered him her lips, and without hesitation he took them. The kiss was gentle at first, different from the one they had shared before, yet somehow the same.

He tasted like the night, midnight blue and cool. His arms strong at her back pressed her close, kept her safe. Images of him with no shirt and the smooth supple sheen of his skin in the moonlight made her want to touch him as she’d never touched any man before.

What she wanted was dangerous—as forbidden as he was. But nevertheless she wanted it. She might never have another chance to discover the secrets between a man and a woman. If she was to learn them, she would learn them with him.

Ella broke the kiss. His mouth followed hers—damp, seeking—then his eyes slowly opened. He touched her face. “You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever known.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. No one had ever called her amazing before. She was who she was—a product of centuries of women who had loved this land, their men, their children. She did what she had to do. But having Seth call her amazing made Ella feel amazing, too. Still she wanted to know what he saw in her that no one else ever had.

“Why?” she asked.

“Why are you amazing? Why aren’t you? You work from sunup until sundown with no complaint. You’ve taken on the responsibility of someone else’s children, and you love it. Love them. I wish . . .”

He stared over her head into the night. A wistful, yearning expression crossed his face.

“What do you wish?” she whispered, hoping against hope it would be what she wished for, too.

“Nothing. Never mind. You’re just . . . special.”

“Like you?” His startled, confused glance made her smile. “Everything you’ve said about me I could say of you. I think you’re pretty amazing, too, Seth Torrance.”

“For an enemy.”

“For anyone.”

Ella recalled when she’d seen every conversation, every encounter as a battle in her own personal war with him. But the war was no longer. The time had come for peace, love, and understanding.

Taking Seth’s hand, Ella led him to the door. Together they climbed the stairs. At his room she stopped and he kissed her again. Sweetly, gently, a brush of his lips and he was gone.

“Good night,” he murmured.

She took a deep breath and dived. “May I come in?”

He blinked. “Pardon me?”

“Your room. May I come in?”

“Why?”

“Why do you think, Seth?”

“Um, well, I, uh—”

It amused her to hear the smooth, in-charge Yankee major stutter. That she could do this to him with a mere kiss made her feel powerful, stronger just by being near him, and some of the pulsing, paralyzing fear that had consumed her all day faded.

She reached out, put her palm against his chest, and pushed him into the room. He stood there with his hands at his sides, clenching, unclenching, confused, uncertain.

Ella shut the door quietly, then propped a chair beneath the knob. “We don’t want any surprise visitors.”

He continued to stare at her as if she were a stranger. “This isn’t a good idea, Ella.”

“On the contrary,” she murmured as she lit the lamp, “it’s the best idea I’ve had in a long, long while.”

She crossed the room quickly, lest he come up with more excuses to keep them from being together tonight. Her hands worked at the buttons of his shirt, needing to feel the warmth and strength of him beneath her palms. When at last she did, he groaned a surrender and kissed her, exploring her mouth as she explored his body.

But touching wasn’t enough. She wanted to see in the flare of the lamplight what had enticed her beneath the moon. So she pulled her mouth away, shoved the shirt from his shoulders, and gazed at his smooth, sun-gilded skin sprinkled with fine, dark hair.

Curious, she twirled her finger around a curl, then spread her palms flat. A finger grazed a nipple, and the nub hardened beneath her touch. More curious still, she flicked both nipples with her thumbs, once, twice, again. Mumbling a curse that sounded like an endearment, he picked her up and carried her to the bed, then followed her down.

His fingers shook as he undressed her, but no more than hers shook as she undressed him. She had never been naked in front of a man—never been naked in front of anyone, in truth, not even herself. Such things were not done. In her world, women even bathed in their shimmies. However, being naked with Seth was not only arousing, but acceptable—more right than anything she had ever known.

His large, newly work-roughened hands caressed her belly. Then his fingertips stepped up each rib until they cupped her breasts. His thumbs flicked over her nipples, once, twice, again, and she understood why he had cursed. Instead she moaned, and when his dark head dipped and his heated mouth replaced his thumb she arched beneath him, then pulled him ever closer.

“We shouldn’t.”

His whisper against her skin made her shiver. She tangled her fingers in his hair and lifted his head so she could see his face.

“We should. Make love to me, Seth. Show me something good can happen after so much bad.”

He stared into her eyes, and she saw love reflected there. Hers alone, or his as well? She wasn’t sure, but it no longer mattered. She needed to be one with him in a way she’d never needed anything else.

He hesitated no longer, teaching her with gentle strokes and whispered endearments the joys of physical love. She smoldered, and when he probed at the source of the fire, she gasped. Their gazes held, as mouth against mouth, flesh against flesh, they found a perfect peace with the joining of their bodies.

The pain she’d expected for her first time was lost in a relief of the fiery ache. Having him inside of her eased the anguish in her soul. If her suspicion was correct and this was the only night they had, at least she’d held him as close as possible for a few moments in time.

A near unbearable tension built at her center whenever he left the shelter of her body. Then he was back, filling her so completely, so wonderfully she tried to hold him forever within by will alone. At last he pulsed deep inside and the pressure broke on wave after wave of sensation.

She stroked his hair and caressed his back while they trembled together. Having Seth there with her made the ever-present fear abate. Foolish. He wasn’t going to stay. She couldn’t depend on him to keep her safe forever. But for now it was nice to have someone to share the burden of the children, the house, the farm, herself.

Seth shifted, and she clutched him to her. “Don’t go.”

“I’m too heavy, Ella.”

“No. No, you’re not. Please, I want to have you near me for a little while longer.”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t move away, either. She held him and tried not to think of what would happen when he left first her body and then her life. But she couldn’t stop those thoughts from coming; she was, above all else, a practical woman.

She would go on just as she always had. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have plenty to do, those who depended on her. Twenty years from now, she’d look back on this night fondly. But it wouldn’t pain her as much as it did now. At least she hoped not.

Seth raised his head and stared into her face. When he brushed Ella’s hair from her brow, she caught his hand and pulled it to her cheek, nuzzling his palm.

His eyes heated, and he stirred anew within her. She moved her hips upward, desiring once again the closeness they had shared. He muttered her name, then rolled to the side where he lay staring at the ceiling.

For a moment she felt cold, alone, abandoned. Then his hand groped for hers and their fingers entwined.

What would it be like to have him with her for always?

Ten

Seth lay with Ella in his arms and understood that the home he’d been searching for was here. The thought of leaving her or any of the children made him physically ache. However, if he stayed, what would he do to support them?

The problem gnawed at him so deeply he couldn’t sleep. Instead he stared at her beautiful face and contemplated the future. What if he married Ella and took her and the children to Boston?

Seth winced, and Ella shifted in his arms, murmuring and turning toward him with a sigh. Her hand lay above his heart. His chest tightened. He loved her so much. He wouldn’t do that to her.

He could imagine the life she’d live in the North so soon after the war. Snubs, sneers, a deep down coldness that rivaled the winter air. She wouldn’t be happy there, where she couldn’t walk through the fields barefoot or spend her evenings on the porch gazing at the land she loved.

The thought of returning to Boston and spending his days making instruments meant to kill in a place full of loud noises and stifling air didn’t appeal to Seth, either. Despite the money he’d make, all the things he could give them, he’d be miserable and so would they.

Honor and duty tugged him both to the North and to the South. Confused, uncertain, Seth untangled himself from Ella’s warm embrace and went to the window.

Dawn burst over the horizon, spreading orange, pink, and red fingers of light across the land. The apple tree on the far side of the field stretched, strong and full, toward the sun.

And suddenly he knew what he had to do.

***

Ella awoke in her own bed alone. Vaguely she recalled Seth carrying her there. She’d been sleepy, happy, content. He’d kissed her on the forehead and murmured—

“Good-bye?” She sat up, scowling.

Gaby’s cries had Ella scrambling to get into her nightdress before one of the children walked in. Her mind still puzzling over the memory of Seth, she changed the baby and walked down the hall to his room.

The door was open. She could see his bed—empty. Her heart began to thud with fear. He’d touched her, loved her, then left her. She shouldn’t be surprised. Had she truly expected Seth to stay?

From the ache in her chest, Ella guessed that she had. Still, she stepped into the room and checked his closet and the dresser drawers. Also empty. Her eyes burned with tears.

The sound of the other children moving about had her blinking the tears away. She would not let them see how Seth’s desertion pained her. There would no doubt be tears once they knew he was gone, but none of them could be hers. At least not where anyone could see.

She hurried downstairs and fed Gaby before she raised the roof with her howls. The child was doing so much better—had been since Seth arrived. For him she drank her bottles and took her naps. She’d begun to gain weight as a baby should. Ella pushed aside the thought that Gaby would suffer the most without her favorite man in the house.

Thunder on the stairs made her straighten, pat her cheeks to ensure they were not damp, and force a cheery morning smile onto her face before the children streamed in for breakfast.

No one asked the inevitable question until they’d eaten and cleared the table. As the others filed outside to do their chores, then play, Cal hesitated. “Where’s Seth?”

Ella turned away. Sooner or later she had to tell them, but right now she could barely breathe.

“Ella?” Cal stood at her elbow, concerned dark eyes intent on her face. “What’s the matter?”

She hesitated again, sadness and guilt nearly overcoming her. If she hadn’t been selfish, if she hadn’t needed his strength, desired his touch, maybe he wouldn’t have left. Or at least he would have stayed a little while longer. Ella swallowed the thickness in her throat and plunged ahead.

“He’s gone, Cal.”

Surprise replaced the confusion, immediately followed by anger. Ella braced herself to hear horrible insults hurled on Seth’s lying, Yankee head.

“You’re wrong!” he shouted. “He wouldn’t leave without saying good-bye. He wouldn’t leave at all. I don’t believe you!”

Ella blinked. “I thought you wanted him to go?”

“Not anymore. He’s not like everyone else.”

“What’s everyone else like?” He hunched his shoulders and looked away. “Tell me, Cal.”

For an instant she didn’t think he’d answer, then the words came tumbling out. “I loved my pa, but he was . . .” His voice trailed off as he struggled with a way to impart the truth, yet keep from being disloyal.

“Your father was who he was,” Ella said gently.

Cal sighed, nodded. “He was a friend. He loved me. But he didn’t try to make me a better person. He never punished me. He’d laugh when I acted up and pat me on the back.”

Ella resisted the urge to roll her eyes. That sounded just like Henry Elliot. She found it interesting that Cal understood what he needed better than his own father had.

“But Seth . . .” Cal shrugged. “Even though he’s a Yankee, he knows what’s right and wrong, and he wanted me to know, too. I thought he’d live here and keep us safe for always. He’d marry you. Then you’d be our ma and he’d be our pa. We could stay here, and things would be the way they were before.”

Ella put her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Nothing’s ever going to be the way it was before, Cal. I’m sorry. Those days are gone.”

“Mama always said that when morning comes things look brighter. And things were startin’ to look brighter with Seth around. He came after the dark times. He’s our morning, Ella.”

She smiled at the poetry in a young boy’s heart and tried to draw him to her. But he pulled away and ran upstairs. She let him go. What could she say?

Truth was truth and Seth was gone.

Exhaustion weighted Ella’s shoulders and she leaned against the stove. Not only had she been selfish to welcome Seth’s embrace, but foolish, too. What if she were with child?

A small sob escaped her lips—not of fear, but of joy. Seth’s child would be a gift. A living, breathing memory of the one and only time she’d known love. She’d cherish the gift and care for the child as she’d care for the others in her charge.

Gaby, left too long in her basket on the table, began to wail. Ella ran the heels of her hands over her eyes to blot the tears. Before she could turn and get the baby, someone stepped through the door. Gaby immediately stopped crying and giggled.

Ella forgot to breathe. The baby never stopped crying like that unless—

She spun about. Seth held the little girl aloft, grinning at her as the sun through the kitchen window caught in her hair and turned it gold.

“Seth!” she cried, and he glanced at her.

“Morning.”

Ella had to sit down. When that didn’t help, she put her head on the table and forced herself to breathe.

“What’s the matter?”

“I—I—I thought you were gone.”

“I was. To town. I had things to do.”

Ella laughed and the sound was a bit hysterical. “Things to do? Like what?”

“Send a few wires. Talk to a man.”

Cal skidded into the room, took one look at Seth, and threw his arms around Seth’s waist. “I knew it wasn’t true. I knew it.”

Seth’s face creased in confusion. “What wasn’t true?”

“Ella said you left us.” Cal glared at her. “But she was wrong.”

“Left you?” Seth echoed and frowned at her over the boy’s head. “Why would you think that?”

“I woke up and—” Ella went silent and glanced at Cal.

“Cal.” Seth brushed a hand over the child’s unruly hair. “Run outside and round up your brother and sisters, please.”

“Sure.” Cal ran out, banging the door behind him.

Seth raised an eyebrow and waited for an explanation.

“You were gone,” Ella blurted. “Your clothes, too. What was I supposed to think, Seth?”

“Not that I’d had my way with you and disappeared into the wilderness. What do you take me for, Ella?” He held up his hand, jiggling the baby with the other. “Don’t answer that. I’m a no-account Yankee. A carpetbagger. The enemy. Will you ever trust me?”

“I want to. I’m sorry. But you have to admit, it looked bad. Where are your clothes?”

“In my suitcase.”

“Aha!”

“In your room.”

She blinked. “What?”

Sighing, Seth kissed Gaby and put her into the basket. Then he crossed the short distance between them and brushed the loose hair away from the nape of Ella’s neck. She shivered at the memories his gentle touch invoked.

“I was hoping to hang them in your closet. After you marry me.”

“Marry you? But—”

“I had to go to town and see a man about a wedding. I figured I’d be back before you woke up. But while I was there, folks kept stopping me on the street to thank me for bringing in those deserters. I hear they’ve been causing trouble up and down the border. People were downright cordial to me today. Not that they kissed me and welcomed me into their homes but—” He shrugged. “Maybe someday I might fit in. Anyway, I brought the pastor home with me. I hope you won’t have me carting him back without earning his pay.”

Ella opened her mouth, shut it again, frowned.

“Is that a no?”

“No. I mean—” She didn’t know what she meant.

“I’m not doing this right.” Seth got down on one knee, took her hand, kissed her palm. “I love you, Ella. Say you’ll marry me. Today.”

Still she hesitated. Marrying Seth was a dream come true, but there were other people to consider besides herself.

His smiled faded. “Was I wrong in thinking that you love me, too?”

“Of course not. I do love you, Seth, but—”

“No buts. That’s all that matters.”

“No, it isn’t. What about the children? This farm? My farm? Your life in Boston? Your job? All the other things that matter make my head spin.”

“I’ve taken care of them. Don’t worry. You always worry.”

“Someone has to.”

“From now on we’ll worry together. And I have to admit, life might get rough.”

She snorted. “Rougher than it’s been?”

“Good point.” His hand tightened on hers. “Maybe if we’re together, rough won’t seem so . . . rough. And in answer to your questions, the children will be ours. The two farms will become one. Like us.” He winked and Ella blushed. “As for your other questions, I sent two wires this morning. One to my mother informing her I wasn’t coming home.”

“Oh, Seth, that’s not the way to tell her.”

He shrugged. “It’s done now.”

“You got a reply?”

“Yes. And here’s where things get disagreeable. She disinherited me.”

Ella gasped. “Because of us?”

“Because I refused to take my proper place in society.” He grimaced. “I loathe society. I loathe Boston and the job she had planned and the wife she had picked out.”

“Wife?” This was the first she’d heard of one.

He waved away her question and the wife as if they were no more important than a fly. “Her choice, not mine. I barely knew the woman.”

“Oh, well, that explains it then.”

He raised an eyebrow at her tone, but let the matter drop. Ella decided to do the same.

“I was raised to do my duty to my country and my family. I was confused and torn, until last night. My family is here. So is my home. I can’t do the job my father did. Hell, I’m not sure I can do this one, either.”

“Which job is that?”

“Do you know anything about apple orchards?”

“Apples?” Confused, Ella shrugged. “A bit.”

“Good. Because the other wire I sent was to buy as many apple trees as I could get my hands on. I think they’ll grow very well here, and there’s going to be a demand for Southern fruit products now that the war’s over.”

“I thought you’d been disinherited. How will we pay for the apple trees?”

He grinned. “I do have a little money of my own. Soldiering doesn’t pay much, but what it paid, I put aside. Enough to get us started. Then we work.”

She’d once thought he wasn’t a farmer and he never would be. Yet here he was becoming one. Of course, she’d thought she would never marry, never have children of her own.

Ella’s heart fluttered with hope. Life would never again be the way it had once been. It would be better.

“Marry me?” he repeated.

“Please.”

Ella put her hand in Seth’s. Together they left the house, gathered their children, and promised forever beneath the apple tree.

And Cal was right. When morning came, everything did look brighter.

Read on for a peek at the first Western-set historical romance in the Once Upon A Time in the West series by Lori Austin

BEAUTY AND THE BOUNTY HUNTER

Available October 2012 from Signet Eclipse

A half hour later, Cat reached Alexi’s tent, which was large enough to serve as a Rebel hospital. Mikhail stood outside. “Hitch the horses,” Cat told him. He moved off without argument.

Cat drew aside the flap and ducked in. Alexi was sprawled on a feather tick, one arm around a blonde and another around a brunette. The women were naked and fast asleep. Alexi lay naked and wide-awake.

Cat’s gaze swept his body. Everywhere.

He smirked. “Care to join us?”

“We need to be on the road.”

His lips flattened. “What did you do?”

“Now, Alexi.”

He came to his feet, tumbling the blonde onto the ground and the brunette into the dip where his body had been. Both awoke with a jolt and a gasp.

“Leave.” He flicked one hand as if shooing a fly. The girls were obviously familiar with Alexi because they snatched their scattered clothes and fled. “Should we expect a posse or merely the sheriff?”

“Hard to say.” Depended on whom she’d knocked out—citizen or visitor—and what kind of friends he had.

“I need to know, cara,” Alexi said softly.

Since he did, Cat quickly told him what had happened. Alexi didn’t say she shouldn’t have gotten involved. He knew she couldn’t turn away. He also knew she’d been right.

Alexi might have more bed partners than hairs on his head, but they were always willing. He would consider it a terrible breach of his principles to take what wasn’t given freely. Women offered their bodies, men offered coins, horses, jewels. After a few hours, sometimes even moments, with Alexi, they just couldn’t help themselves.

Alexi struck the tent—folding it over and over, then shoving it onto the floor of the wagon and placing the feather tick that had been his bed on top. Mikhail hitched the horses, the two of them performing their tasks so smoothly it was obvious they’d done so many times before. In less than an hour they left St. Louis.

They traveled five miles that day without incident, setting up camp near a thin stream of creek as the sun set. Cat was exhausted, but camp had to be made, horses watered, fed, and hobbled, fires started, food prepared.

She’d just sat down with a plate of rice and ham, along with the coffee she’d wanted so badly that morning, when Alexi strode up. The tent rose behind him, a white cloud against the ebony night. The dancing flames of her fire threw shadows across his face, making the fine bones even more pronounced. His dark blue eyes swept over her. “You have to change.”

“Don’t you like me just the way I am?”

“No time, querida.” Reaching down, he hauled her up by the arm. “They’re here.”

Cat didn’t bother to ask how he knew. Alexi always knew, because Mikhail, whose large ears seemed to hear better than anyone else’s, always told him.

She still wore her boy’s clothes. Driving a wagon in a skirt was always a mistake, but she should have thought ahead, realized that dressing like this—a woman in pants—was an even bigger one after the events of that morning.

She shoved her plate and cup at Alexi. He nearly dropped them, sloshing coffee over his hand and dumping the plate onto the ground. He cursed, several languages all mixed together so that they sounded kind of pretty, then called after her, “Costume, bébé. You know what to do.”

Cat stripped out of her boy’s clothes and shoved those at Alexi too. He’d dispose of the evidence, probably in her own fire, then, wearing only her underthings, she ran to the tent and ducked inside. Not an instant too soon. Seconds later the steady beat of horses’ hooves drifted on the night and someone hailed the camp.

Cat’s gaze swept the interior, lighting on the valise where she’d once stored her costumes sitting atop Alexi’s bed. She couldn’t believe he’d kept it for over a year. She tore through, pulling out a brightly colored skirt with many flounces that ended well above the ankle. Cat found an equally bright blouse that dipped low enough to distract just about anyone.

Add large Gypsy earrings that would sparkle and twirl and capture every gaze, then scrub some water through her hair until it appeared tousled by lustful hands and slap on a bit of makeup to darken the skin. Her light green eyes were a problem. But if she kept them cast down and let her hair fall over them, maybe in the dusky light—only one lantern burned within the tent—they’d mistake her for someone Alexi had picked up south of the Rio Grande.

Thanks to Alexi, her Spanish was quite good, and what she didn’t know, she’d invent. She doubted anyone in a Missouri posse would notice.

“Everyone out of the wagons and tent!” The man sounded like he meant business. Whoever the fool in the alley had been, he seemed to have good friends indeed.

Cat peered into a hand mirror. The woman gazing back smiled seductively. She shoved her blouse off of one shoulder, tugged the waist of the skirt a little higher to reveal more of her calf. She just might do.

“Exactly who are you searching for, gentlemen?” Alexi sounded half asleep, as if he could care less who invaded his camp or rifled his property.

“Cat O’Banyon.”

Ah hell. Cat recognized the voice. Obviously she hadn’t hit the man in the alley hard enough.

Alexi began to laugh. “The bounty hunter? Why would he be here?”

“Word is that O’Banyon’s a woman who likes to dress as a boy.”

“You think a woman could get the drop on all those desperate characters?” Alexi’s voice dripped with scorn. “I heard that in Abilene three men caught Cat O’Banyon red-handed, chased him for thirty miles. Although . . .”

He drew the word out, and even Cat, who knew Alexi’s tricks, found herself leaning forward in expectation of what he might say next.

“The man is quite clever,” Alexi continued. “What better way to throw everyone off the trail than to pretend to be a woman?”

Silence descended. Cat held her breath, hoping that Alexi’s talent at lies had saved them again. She should never have made the idiot in the alley say the words. That must have been what gave her away. But she hadn’t been able to help herself.

“Doesn’t matter,” the leader said at last. “Even if the woman we want ain’t O’Banyon, she assaulted a citizen. We gotta take her in.”

“Why would you think she’s here?” Alexi asked.

“Folks along the river said you left in an awful hurry.”

“Is that a crime?”

“In my experience, a quick exit usually means something’s fishy.”

“I assure you we’ve done nothing wrong.” Alexi’s voice held just the right amount of sincerity and outrage. He was so damn good at this.

“Then you won’t mind if we look around.”

“Be my guest.” The statement was followed by clangs and thumps as they searched the wagons. They wouldn’t find any elixir; Mikhail always sold every last bottle before leaving, which made it easier to deny ever selling it at all.

A short while later, the tent flap parted and several big, rough, dusty men strode in. The leader was easily distinguishable by the big tin star on his burly chest, the man in the alley equally recognizable by both the huge knot on his forehead and the sway of his enormous belly.

Cat had been peering into a hand mirror so she could see them enter without staring at the doorway as if she were expecting them. When they crowded into the tent, she spun, gibbering Spanish, berating them for invading her domicile, demanding to know who they were, calling them every name and every curse word she remembered.

None of them paid any attention to her words, her face, or anything else but the slow slide of the brightly colored material as it cascaded downward, catching on the swell of one breast.

Cat stroked her collarbone, making everyone who watched wonder how her skin would feel right there, stretched taut over such a fragile bone. While they considered that, she used the other, unwatched hand, to tug on the hem of the blouse so that the neckline dipped low enough to tantalize. Perhaps they might catch a hint of nipple if the garment would only slip just a little . . . bit . . . more.

Every man in the place, except Alexi, who’d already seen this show, held his breath and prayed.

Cat sauntered across the room, chattering in español. Speaking it brought back memories of the sudden spring snowstorm in South Dakota, the deserted cabin with more holes in the walls than boards. They’d huddled around a fire, and to pass the time Alexi had shared every word and phrase that he knew.

She was very good at learning languages, and she made up for her lack of vocabulary with a flair for invention, adding a few words that sounded like Spanish but weren’t anything at all.

Her skirt twirled, revealing more leg than was proper. Her feet were bare; she’d tied a piece of red string around one ankle. Several of the men couldn’t take their eyes off it.

Another thing Alexi had taught her—some men liked legs, some breasts—so it was best to give everyone a peek at everything. If they were to survive, people such as Alexi—and Cat—needed to use each gift they’d been given.

Though few could drag their eyes above her neck, she’d let her hair fall over her too-light-for-a-Mexican-peasant eyes, and she kept her distance from the fat man with the knot on his head. From what Cat had observed of the fellow so far, she should have hit him harder.

Cat glanced at Alexi, gibbered louder, waved her hands, which served the dual purpose of distracting attention from her face even more and making her breasts jiggle enticingly beneath the thin cotton blouse. One of the men choked, another muttered, “Holy hell.”

She thought Alexi managed, just barely, not to smile.

The lawman shook his head hard and dragged his gaze from Cat’s chest. “Why didn’t you come out when we called?”

Alexi pushed his way through the crowd until he stood at Cat’s side. “I’m afraid she doesn’t speak English.”

“None?” The leader of the posse sounded skeptical.

Alexi grabbed Cat by one wrist and yanked her close. “No need,” he murmured, running his palm across her bare shoulder.

Cat shivered. Good Lord, those hands.

Alexi brushed his thumb along the soft skin at the crook of her elbow, and Cat planted that elbow in his stomach. She proceeded to give him a piece of her furious Spanish mind. If they weren’t careful, she’d end up in jail or worse.

Alexi, who had turned his back to the others, rolled his eyes and smirked, but he let her rant on. They both understood that the more Spanish she spoke, the less Cat O’Banyon she appeared.

“What’s she sayin’?” whispered the heretofore silent man. Considering his high-pitched voice, Cat understood his reticence to speak.

“How should I know?” muttered the lawman. “This is Missouri, not Texas.”

Alexi winked at Cat, then turned. “I doubt very much you’d want to hear the translation.”

The leader’s gaze narrowed. “I say we do.”

Alexi shrugged. “She says you are the sons of swine to barge into a lady’s tent. She believes your mothers were . . .” Pausing, he tilted his head. “Well, I should not repeat that in the presence of a lady.”

“She said it,” one of the others pointed out.

“Nevertheless,” Alexi continued. “Something about how you will die. Blood, sweat, pain, your intestines in a fire.” He waved one hand. “It all blends together after a while.”

The men shuffled and murmured. Cat was certain she heard one of them say, “Witch.” She tensed. Being accused of witchcraft didn’t happen often these days, but it happened. And it always ended badly.

For the witch.

“What good is she if she can’t speak English?” the lawman asked.

“Ah, but, gentlemen.” Alexi glided in behind her, then dipped one hand down the front of Cat’s blouse, boldly cupping a breast and thumbing the nipple until it peaked and drew every eye, every thought, in the room. “She is so very good at everything else.”

Cat gritted her teeth and waited for the men to leave. Unfortunately, Alexi was giving them a performance for free that they couldn’t find outside a raree-show for several dollars.

He kept his hand down her shirt, palm around her breast, thumb just brushing the nipple. She wanted both to elbow him again and to lean back against his shoulder and sigh. It had been so long.

However, it hadn’t been long enough that she could overlook an audience.

“Vete,” she muttered.

Alexi put his mouth to her ear, as if he were nuzzling her. “Patience, chiquita,” he murmured, then licked the lobe.

The moan that escaped her was low and full of promise. A couple of the men watching answered in kind.

Alexi lifted his head, but he kept his hand right where it was. “Pardon me. I had forgotten you were there.”

Cat couldn’t see his smile, but she heard it in his voice. Felt it in his—

He pulled her more firmly against him. Yes. He was definitely smiling with more than his mouth.

“You will understand if I ask my associate to show you out.”

Cat risked a quick glance through the curtain of her hair. Mikhail stood in the opening, and she hadn’t even heard him arrive.

“Hold on, now,” the lawman began, and turned. When he had to lift his head, then lift it some more, for his gaze to reach Mikhail’s, the remainder of what he’d been about to say faded to a gurgle.

Everyone else appeared frozen, staring as well. Obviously none of them had seen Alexi’s show or purchased his elixir. Which was probably for the best.

Mikhail cracked his knuckles—the sound like gunfire in the sudden silence—then swept aside the tent flap. The posse filed out, though each one could not resist throwing a final glance over his shoulder. Perhaps to make sure the big man was not going to break their necks as soon as they turned their backs. Or, more likely, to discover if Alexi would be unable to wait until they were gone to toss her onto the mattress, throw up her skirt, and—

He pulled his hand free of her shirt, and Cat had to stop herself from snatching it back. What was he doing?

She spun, clapping a palm to either side of Alexi’s head, narrowly missing the boxing of his ears—she was out of practice at the art of grabbing a man with anything other than violence—and yanked his mouth to hers.

One of Alexi’s first rules: If you give an audience what they want, they don’t look beneath the surface for the how or the why or the what. Therefore, Cat hoped if she gave the posse what they wanted now—a peek at what they thought would be happening later—they could quit dragging their feet and vete!—

Go!

She also wanted them to leave with the picture of Alexi and his Mexican peasant woman foremost in their mind. They would imagine what occurred after the lowering of the curtain—or in this case the tent flap—and they would forget about Cat O’Banyon. If not forever, at least for the time it would take the three of them to disappear. However, as Alexi’s lips touched hers, Cat was the one who forgot things. Or perhaps she merely remembered.

The taste of his tongue—iced whiskey, maybe wine. Its texture worn satin—smooth, familiar—both comfortable and infinitely exotic. Her hands gentled, her fingers sliding into his hair, one lock curling about the base of her thumb, then fluttering against her wrist, causing gooseflesh to race up her arms, across her chest, down her back.

His tongue withdrew, and she nipped his lip in case he was thinking of following it. Instead, he trailed kisses to her neck, her shoulder, the warmth of that clever mouth burning every last shiver away. He’d always known exactly what she needed. Alexi knew what everyone needed before they even knew it themselves.

His lips brushed the tops of her breasts; his hands skated the backs of her legs, pausing when they encountered nothing but skin. “You were short on Mexican peasant woman drawers,” she murmured into his hair.

“Do Mexican peasant women wear drawers?” he whispered, breath casting across the damp trail left by his mouth.

“You would know.”

“Perhaps.”

She smiled at the words, lips curving against the top of his head like a caress. Typical Alexi, to agree but never to answer. She thought back on the times she’d asked him questions about himself. Had he ever told her anything at all?

His tongue slipped beneath the bodice of the blouse, sliding over a nipple, and for just an instant her mind went blank.

She fought her way free. She could not afford to let her body cloud her thoughts. Better if Alexi’s body clouded his. Best to keep him off balance. It was the only way to remain in control.

“They’re gone,” she murmured and stepped back, crossing the tent as if she hadn’t just been clasped desperately in his arms and wishing she never had to leave them.

Keep reading for a special excerpt from a beloved title by Lori Austin writing as Lori Handeland, available as an eBook for the first time

BY ANY OTHER NAME

Available November 2012 from InterMix

Ryan watched Julia as she slept, and he forgot every argument he’d ever had for not marrying her and making her his forever. Even in sleep her inner strength was visible, from the determined set of her mouth, to the slight line between her brows that showed her serious bent. Still he could as easily see her smile, hear her laughter. If he did not take her for his wife, he might never see that smile nor hear that laughter again.

He would not let her go. He would not let her marry any other man, especially a man who would crush her spirit and take her will. The things about Julia that he loved the most were her courage and her determination. She might easily have given in to the demands of a hard life, to the hatred preached by her father and the viciousness practiced by her brothers to become a completely different woman. But she’d fought on, with her dreams and her will, to remain strong and gentle and kind.

He did love her, mistake though it might be, and he always would.

She opened her eyes then, stared straight into his. He tensed, expecting her to run, or shout or spit at him. Instead she smiled, a sleepy smile that made his throat close and his loins harden. He went still, afraid if he moved he would make time march on, and he wanted this moment to last forever.

But nothing lasts forever, and as she came completely awake he could see the memories tumble forward, dulling her smile, shadowing her eyes. She sat up, fumbled with the buttons of her gown, an embarrassed flush spreading from her chest up her cheeks.

“I thought you’d go away.”

“If you hid long enough, you mean?”

“Yes.” She finished the last button, but her blush still heated her face. She kept her eyes averted.

“No. I wasn’t going until I talked to you about us.”

She made a derisive sound and continued to contemplate the plank floor. “There isn’t any us.”

“There can be.”

“No.” She sighed, deep and sad, and traced a fingernail across a flaw in the wood. “I know I dream too much. I didn’t have much else but work and dreams. Silly things, dreams. My mama always told me I’d fall in a hole some day while dreaming and never know it ’till I starved to death down there.”

He didn’t want her to stop dreaming, become beaten down and despairing like other women. “Dreams aren’t silly. Sometimes they might be frightening, but never silly.”

She flicked a glance and a frown his way. “Frightening?”

“I’ve had some whoppers.”

“Nightmares.” He nodded. “I’m sorry. I don’t have nightmares. None that I can recollect anyway.”

He smiled. “I’m glad.”

They remained silent for a long while. Ryan didn’t know how to begin, what to say, if he should say anything. The silence moved from companionable to awkward. Julia bent her legs as if to stand.

“Wait,” he blurted, putting his hand out to stop her.

She hesitated, her green gaze reminding him of a cat that had just been kicked but was too stubborn to run away, instead waiting to see if an apology would follow, but expecting another kick just the same. “A minute,” she allowed.

“I made a mess of things.”

“You don’t have to explain, Ryan. You owe me nothing. I can take care of myself.”

“I’m sure you can. But—”

He stopped, uncertain again. Would she be angry if he said he wanted to take care of her? That wasn’t what he wanted from her—her devotion, her dependence. He wanted her to remain just as she was, except with a different name.

His.

“Ryan? We should go.”

“Ah, hell, Julia. I’m no good at this.”

“What?”

He leaned back against the stone wall, stared out at the descending sun. “Soft words. Tender touches. Roses and poetry.” He looked back at her and shrugged. “I’m not that kind of man.”

The wariness in her eyes faded as a gentle smile transformed her face. “You’ve done all right so far. I remember your touches, every single one, and they were quite tender, the words you whispered all the poetry I’ve ever wanted to hear. I’ll remember them and you forever.”

“That sounds like good-bye.”

“It is.” She stood.

Panic flared inside him, loosening his tongue. “No. Don’t go. Please.” He stood, too, making his way around the platform until he stood next to her. The wariness had returned to her eyes, the kicked cat look again, though he had a feeling this cat would scratch and bite if provoked. Slowly he reached out a hand that shook just a bit and smoothed the curling hair at her temple away from her eyes. When his fingertips brushed her skin, she shivered and a tiny gasp of surprise escaped her mouth. He had to taste that mouth or die with wanting to.

He pressed his lips to hers, drinking her sigh, drowning in her scent, roses and tears. She didn’t respond at first, but when he continued to kiss her, then whispered her name in a choked pleading voice he barely recognized as his own, she gave a sob of surrender and wrapped her arms about his neck, kissing him back with a desperation that matched his own.

He wanted her so much he ached with it. His hands swept over her back, her waist, paused beneath her breasts. She moaned and arched against him. The beat of his heart sounded in his head, a primitive drum blocking out sense and reason. He wanted her. Now.

The cool breeze shifted, bringing the scent of flames and ashes, mementos of a world gone mad. His madness receded. They broke apart to stare out the window. On the horizon, smoke billowed, and the sun bled red, reminding them of all that awaited. She leaned against him, limp, and he held her as they watched the smoke and the flames mingle.

“Marry me, Julia,” he said to the blood red sun.

“Yes,” she answered, and the wind howled.

Keep reading for a special excerpt from a beloved title by Lori Austin writing as Lori Handeland, available as an eBook for the first time

AN OUTLAW FOR CHRISTMAS

Available December 2012 from InterMix

Ruth dipped her fingertips into the jar, then spread the salve along the jagged line of stitches. Noah didn’t cry out, but his muscles fluttered and bunched beneath her touch. She couldn’t help it; she kept touching him. His side, his ribs, his belly, soft skin and crisp hair, hard muscles and bone, unyielding yet mortal. She swirled her fingers over his wound then traced her thumb around the flat, tight dip of his belly button.

Noah grabbed her wrist and yanked it away none too gently. “What in hell is that stuff?”

“I’m not sure. But it heals the horses quickly enough.”

His eyes widened. “Horse liniment?”

“It won’t kill you.”

“No, but you might,” he muttered.

She didn’t understand. “I wouldn’t hurt you. I only want to help you.”

Ruth tugged on her wrist, but he tightened his hold to something near painful. “You have to stop touching me, Ruth. It’s wrong and you know it.”

“How can this be wrong? Don’t you feel it, too?”

“Yes, damn it.” He released her with a shove and a growl. “If you don’t stop, I’ll show you exactly how wrong this is.”

There were times when she caught a glimpse of the boy she’d loved lurking in his eyes. But more often than not she saw a man she did not recognize, a man that frightened her a little with his hard hands, his mysterious scars, his rough words and mercurial moods.

Noah had been in her heart for years, in her dreams, too. But in them he’d only walked back into her life. There the dream had ended. In her girlish fantasies there had been none of the awareness that set her on edge whenever she was with him and made her half crazy with longing whenever she wasn’t. Ruth had a feeling any dreams of Noah from this point on would be quite different.

“What is this?” She placed her palm against his chest, and Noah’s heart thudded in time with the pulse in her wrist.

He caught his breath, closed his eyes and his face tightened. She took the tiny respite, smoothing her hand over his heated skin, across to his breastbone, then down, and down some more, her fingers tangling in the softer hair that furred his belly.

Before she could touch what she’d only gotten a hint of yesterday, he opened his eyes. “Stop it, Ruth.”

The longing in his gaze warred with the weariness in his voice. His face pale and drawn, he looked older than she knew him to be.

Ruth removed her fingers from the top of the sheet and softly touched his hair. “I’m sorry. You’re tired.”

He pulled his head away. “You don’t understand what you’re playing with.”

Her hand, hanging bereft in the air between them, clenched. “I’m not a child, Noah. I know what I feel.”

“Lust. Plain and simple.”

He sounded so certain, and Noah should know. He’d been out in the world. He’d been a man for a long time. Still . . .

“What I feel when I touch you isn’t plain and it certainly isn’t simple. I—”

“You’re right.” He cut her off, a bit desperately she thought. What did he think she’d meant to say? That she loved him?

She had. She did. She always would.

“Desire isn’t plain or simple,” he continued. “Especially the first time you feel it.”

Ruth narrowed her eyes, unconscionably furious that he’d felt this before with someone else. What they shared was special—had been from the beginning and was only more so now.

“I’m flattered you feel this way about me, Ruth.”

“Flattered?”

She was getting angrier by the minute. He acted as if she were an ignorant child, as if he found her amusing. He behaved as if he did not feel the same way, and she knew that he did.

Oh, he might not love her, but he wanted her. She glanced down at the sheet draped over his hips. He couldn’t deny that.

Noah put his hands in his lap. “We come from two different worlds—”

“No. We come from the same world. That’s how we got to Kansas.”

“Even then you and I were different. I was a thief. You were a child. I came to that train on a leash, Ruth. Maybe you’ve forgotten that, but I never will.”

The bitterness in his voice made her pause. At the time he hadn’t seemed to care about the rope. She’d thought him proud and brave. But maybe he’d learned to hide his humiliation at a very young age.

“I haven’t forgotten.” She put her hand atop his, refusing to retreat when he started. “I’m the one who set you free.”

His face, hard and angry, smoothed, then gentled. “You tried at any rate. But there are some things a man can never be free of.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

He shook his head. “Marry the sheriff. Have ten kids. Forget about me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t know why you want to deny that what we have is special. What’s between us is too powerful to go away.”

Before he could divine what she was about, Ruth kissed him, using what little she knew, combined with everything she’d learned, to pour all that she felt into him.

For a moment he resisted, his body rigid, his mouth stiff and tight. But when she traced the seam of his lips with her tongue, teased the corners, too, then feathered her fingers into his hair and cradled his head between her hands, he relaxed, bit by bit, and soon he was kissing her back.

At first he did not touch her, squeezing his hands together in his lap as if to keep some part of himself under control, and that would not do.

She moved closer, her breasts pressing against his bare skin until his warmth seemed to seep through the excessive layers of her clothes. He groaned, the sound a delicious vibration against her lips and her chest, then wrapped his big hands around her hips and held on.

Ruth did nothing but kiss his mouth and touch his hair. To be truthful, she wasn’t exactly sure what else to do. One of her most vivid memories of Noah was waking up with her cheek against his chest, his arms holding her safe and tight. The peace she’d experienced then still existed, yet at the same time she felt anything but peaceful.

Back then he’d smelled of winter wind and summer salt. He still did. If she put her cheek against his chest now, she would be unable to stop herself from tasting that scent, walking her lips over the glorious expanse of muscle, flesh and bone. She wanted to open her mouth and take part of him within.

Insane longings bubbled inside her, and if she acted on any one of them, he would push her away. She wasn’t so foolish as to believe he’d lost his head as much as she had. Though she wanted to kiss him until the night blew away, Ruth broke the embrace before Noah could.

Eyes closed, lips wet, he was so beautiful tears burned in her throat. Not wanting him to see how much he affected her, she inched away. His fingers clung to her hips, then slid free as she stood and turned.

“Think about that while you sleep, Noah. I know I will be.”

Lori Austin is a pseudonym for Lori Handeland, who sold her first novel in 1993. Since then she has written many novels, novellas, and short stories in a variety of genres. She has won multiple RITA Awards from the Romance Writers of America. Lori lives in southern Wisconsin with her husband and enjoys occasional visits from her grown sons.