ictoria excused herself and sought out the ladies' convenience, needing to get away just for a moment from the chatter and social smiles, and from the unexpectedly harrowing nearness of blue uniforms. It was silly, because the war had been over for a year, and in the meantime she had certainly become used to the sight of blue uniforms on the streets of Augusta. But never before had she been required to meet Union soldiers socially. She had no hate for them and wasn't bitter, as so many Southerners were, but when the first Union officer had bowed over her hand, she had felt afraid, as if they were still foes. The soldiers certainly did nothing to calm her already frayed nerves.

She had used rigid control to survive the evening. She hadn't allowed herself to think of the gaping hole in Pledger's chest, the ugliness of death, the boneless sprawl. Nor had she let herself remember the vile things he had said or the chilling way Jake had smiled. Most of all, she had blocked from her mind the hot, endless moments she had spent in his arms. It shouldn't have happened and must never happen again. She had to forget it forever.

The hallway was deserted, and though two lamps illuminated it for the benefit of the guests, the light seemed dim, absorbed by the rich but rather dark patterns of the wallpaper and carpeting. She longingly thought of the simple white walls and clear, uncluttered lines of the hacienda. If she enjoyed her marriage half as much as she did that house, she would have been very happy indeed.

The convenience was at the back of the house. As she passed an open doorway, it was filled with a dark, massive figure. She was startled but not frightened, merely thinking it another guest. An arm stretched out of the shadows and grabbed her, jerked her into the room, and only then did she become alarmed. She inhaled jerkily to scream, and the man clapped his hand over her mouth.

"Damn it, don't scream," he muttered.

The simple recognition of his voice twanged at her nerves. She jerked her head away from his hand. "What are you doing? You shouldn't be in here! How did you get in?"

"I'm here because the Major doesn't go anywhere without backup. I've been walking around outside, keeping an eye on things. This door was open, and I could see in through the window. From the parade of ladies going up and down the hall, it didn't take much brain to figure out where they were going."

"So you sneaked in the back door?"

"Crawled in the window."

"And grabbed the first woman who came by?" She was incensed and thought she might still scream. He hadn't let go of her, his fingers were still hooked around her waist, and the way he was holding her so close made her uneasy.

"No, I waited for you." He let go of her and walked to the open door, which he eased shut without even a click. "I wanted to talk to you."

Without the light coming from the hallway, the room at first seemed totally dark. She moved closer to the windows, both to put some distance between them and to see better. She lifted her chin. "What do we have to talk about?"

"Pledger."

She flinched a little at the name. "You killed him. What more is there to say?"

"Plenty. Don't let your high-nosed conscience push you into confessing. Pledger was dirt. He murdered and raped, and enjoyed it."

"Like you enjoyed killing him?"

He was silent a moment, then gave a low, harsh laugh as he moved toward her, into the light from the windows. "Yeah, I enjoyed it. I felt like I was doing a good deed."

Victoria clenched her hands. "You killed him to keep him from telling the Major that you were in my room. You shouldn't have been in there at all; it's my fault a man is dead, and I lied to hide why he was shot."

"Not much else you could do."

"Is a life, even his, so cheap? What could have happened if you hadn't shot him, if he had told? You'd have been fired and the Major would have been angry with me, but that would have been his right—"

"Wake up," he snapped, still keeping his voice low. "This isn't about a job! McLain would have told Garnet to get rid of me, and he wouldn't mean just throw me off of the ranch. But even if he didn't kill me, if he just fired me, where would that leave you? Where would it leave your little sister?"

"Celia?" Victoria stared up at him, trying to see his features in the faint light.

"If I'm gone, who'll keep Garnet away from the girl?"

She hadn't thought of that. She felt dizzy, as if she had almost walked off a cliff and seen it just in time. Good or bad, and for his own reasons, Jake Roper was the only protection Celia had—or, come to that, she herself had. He had killed to protect them. But why?

She didn't delude herself that he cared anything about her; how could he? He didn't know her. True, he had kissed her, but she was learning that didn't necessarily mean anything to a man.

Whatever she saw in his cold green eyes, she was certain it wasn't tenderness. His reasons for protecting them were his own. She felt as if she were being used, but she couldn't see how. She had no power, no influence for him to hope to exploit.

She inhaled. "I won't say anything," she said, her tone stifled.

"Just make sure you don't. What about your cousin? Did she hear what was said?"

"I think so, but Emma would never say anything."

"And Celia?"

"She won't tell, either."

"Can you trust her?"

Her anger was immediate, but she tamped it down. He didn't know Celia, couldn't understand that her peculiar characteristics in no way indicated an un-trustworthiness. But perhaps her anger was because all her emotions were so close to the surface tonight. Because of that, she restrained her immediate retort and instead merely replied, "Yes."

"Make sure she understands."

"She already does, Mr. Roper." She said it through her teeth, her control slipping a bit.

"Jake."

She stepped back. "I think not. This afternoon was a mistake, one that won't be repeated. It would be best if we—"

"It won't, huh?" He almost laughed, but instead took her by the shoulders and pulled her to him. He wrapped his arms around her, forcing her into full contact with him from knee to breast. "Do you think I wanted to be attracted to you? I didn't, and I don't like it, but that's the way it is, and I'll be damned if I let you treat me like I'm invisible."

Uselessly she shoved against his chest, then turned her head to the side as his mouth lowered. He caught her chin and was bending to her again when there was a faint scratching at the door, and Emma said in a low voice, "Victoria?"

Jake released her as Emma opened the door and slipped inside, swiftly closing it again.

Victoria drew herself up, sharply aware of what Emma must be thinking.

Emma carefully navigated the dark room until she was standing before them. "You had been gone too long, so I came looking for you," she said in her quiet voice. "I heard your voices when I passed the door. We'll go back in together, and no one will think anything of it." To Jake she said, "I didn't have the opportunity earlier to thank you for what you did, Mr. Roper. I'm deeply grateful."

Tears stung Victoria's eyes. Dear Emma. Her love and loyalty, her support, never wavered.

"No thanks are necessary," Jake said.

"Perhaps not, but then you weren't on the other side of that door." Emma put her hand on Victoria's arm. "Give us time to get back to the party before you leave."

Amused, he said, "I'll go out the same way I came in, through the window."

"Be careful, Mr. Roper. And thank you again, whether or not you think my gratitude is deserved."

They left together and when they were in the hall, Victoria gave a low, shaky laugh. "I still need to use the convenience."

"Of course."

Emma didn't say anything else until they were returning to the party. Then she whispered, "Be careful."

Victoria shuddered. "I hope the situation never arises again," she said, and hoped that Emma understood she had no intention of becoming embroiled in an unsavory relationship with Jake Roper. He frightened her, even though she felt this sordid physical attraction for him. He made love as casually as he wiped his boots, and he killed the same way.

She ignored the sudden chill she felt and pasted a bright smile on her face as she and Emma rejoined the party.

That goddamn Roper was up to something.

Garnet didn't know what it was, but he felt more and more uneasy as he thought about Pledger. He lay in his bed in the hotel, his booted feet crossed carelessly on the white bedspread, smoking in the dark while he thought about it. Pledger had been a mean son of a bitch, but he hadn't been stupid, and the fact was it was plain stupid to draw on Roper. Yet Pledger had done that very thing and earned himself a pine coffin. Roper's explanation had made sense right up to the part where Pledger drew on him.

It had been an easy life on the hacienda, but maybe it was time to be thinking about changing things. There was trouble in the air that he couldn't identify, but he could feel it. Maybe the Major was losing his grip on things. Maybe it was time for a stronger hand.

He smiled, a cold little smile. Yeah, maybe that was it. The Major was so damn impressed with Roper's gun that he wouldn't hear of getting rid of him, so maybe the thing to do was get rid of the Major. That would put Roper put of a job, neat and simple. Garnet would be rid of him without trying to get the drop on the son of a bitch. Once Roper left, the little corn-haired gal would be all his; her high-falutin' sister wouldn't be able to do a damn thing about it.

Hell, no, that wouldn't work. Roper was too friendly with the Major's wife. Kill the Major, and Roper would be the one who stayed to comfort the grieving widow and her pretty sister.

The solution was pretty simple. It didn't take him longer than a second of consideration to settle on it. All he had to do was kill the Major's wife as well as the Major. He'd have to figure out some way to do it so no one could put the blame on him, but it could be done. On a ranch the size of the kingdom, there would be plenty of opportunities. The bitch had helped him by getting this bee in her bonnet about riding. There would be lots of times when she'd be all by herself, with no one else within sight or earshot. Garnet was a fair shot with a rifle; it would be no trouble at all to put a bullet in her head. Then the Major, and after that it would all be his.

Garnet lay in the darkness, so satisfied with his plan that he could almost taste it, so impatient to feel the little yeller-haired gal beneath him that he had to reach down and rub his aching loins. The best part of his plan was that he wouldn't have to do nothing about Roper—he could just fire him!

Garnet was like a great many people in that he used himself as the measure by which to judge others, which was what had kept him alive for so long. He automatically expected the worst of someone, and because of that he was extraordinarily wary. Trust was alien to him. He believed himself to be safe with the Major only because he knew too much and had made the Major dependent on him, which was the only smart thing to do. Garnet's one weakness was that he was blind to the possibility of someone else's greater sense of purpose. If it were Garnet who lost his job, he would pack his saddlebags and leave, so he expected Roper to do the same. It never occurred to him that Jake might be so enraged by the death of the Major's wife that he'd stay, because Garnet himself would never risk his life for a woman, especially a dead one. Nor did he know that Roper had another, more compelling reason for remaining on the Kingdom Ranch.

So he lay in bed and planned, so hungry for the power that was within his grasp that he couldn't sleep. He kept rubbing slowly at his crotch, thinking of both the ranch and Celia Waverly, until they became intertwined in his mind. He could have easily left his room and found a whore, but a strange hot compulsion kept him in bed. He didn't want to stick it in some gaudy, cheap-smelling whore; he wanted to stick it in Celia, and nothing else would satisfy him.

The return trip to the ranch was just as arduous as the journey to Santa Fe had been. They spent most of it in the bone-racking buggy, lurching over rocks and into holes, and choking on dust kicked up by the riders in front. The only comfort was late in the day, when they stopped to make camp. The heat began to cool, the dust settled, and they could stretch their legs. While the simple meals were being prepared, Jake worked with the three new horses and Victoria's gaze was often lured in that direction. She told herself it was just to watch the animals, but Jake's deep voice drifted on the quiet air like velvet, instructing, soothing, praising. Against her will, it worked the same spell on her as it did on the horses.

Celia's dark brown mare was the fastest to pick up on the proper behavior for a horse wearing a sidesaddle, a fact which pleased the girl and made her even prouder of her mount. She named the mare Gypsy, a name that was considerably flashier than its bearer, and lavished the animal with attention. Jake figured the mare would be ready to ride by the time they reached the ranch, but didn't say anything to Celia because he knew she would immediately start demanding to ride out by herself. It was better if she didn't know until the others could go with her.

The gray gelding Emma had chosen didn't present many problems, either, but Victoria's mare was another story. The beefy man had lied; she wasn't even half-broken to the saddle. What's more, she didn't like it. She tried to bite him every time he put the saddle on her back; she blew up to keep him from tightening the cinch (a trick she abandoned after he kneed her the first few times she did it); and she wasn't above a well-placed kick. He didn't even try mounting her; he figured that was going to be a real battle and didn't want to start it until he had her in a corral where she couldn't run away if she managed to throw him. When he didn't have the saddle on her she was as affectionate and playful as a child, but the saddle just plain made her mad. She plain made him mad, too, but he told himself ruefully that it was his own fault for volunteering to train the horses. He'd get her gentled for Victoria if it killed him, and he thought it just might.

Victoria herself was acting as if he were made of thin air, looking right through him. He let it pass, because he had plenty of time once they got back to the ranch. Much as she tried to deny it, she liked the way he touched her. So he watched her with hooded eyes and bided his time.

They arrived at the ranch late the following morning. The Major strode into the house yelling for Carmita, leaving the women to get down from the buggy unaided. Jake swung down from his horse and reached the buggy in time to help Emma. Celia, of course, had already jumped down and raced off. Emma smiled at him and murmured a thank-you. Jake turned back to reach for Victoria, and his eyes locked with hers for a second before she looked away. But he'd seen enough to read her reluctance to let him touch her. He smiled grimly and grasped her around the waist, rather than simply giving her his hand to help her balance. Swinging her to the ground, he said, "Ma'am," politely, and touched his hat.

"Thank you, Mr. Roper." Her voice sounded a bit strained.

"I'll be working with the mare tomorrow morning, ma'am, and you need to be there."

She'd gotten only two steps away; she stopped and turned back. "Why is that?"

"If I do all the work with her, ma'am, she's going to think she's my horse. Don't reckon you want that, do you?"

Victoria stared at him. Common sense told her that all she required was a good horse for riding; what difference would it make if the mare was fonder of Jake than of her? Then anger roiled in her, not lessened at all by the knowledge that she was reacting exactly as he wanted. It was her horse and she didn't want just a mount; she wanted the mare to give her the equine version of friendship. It would forever eat at her if the horse went more willingly to Roper than to her, and if that was small of her, then so be it.

She looked away. "What time?" She kept her voice calm, as if it didn't matter.

"Ten. That'll give you time to sleep late, get rested up."

He knew she was tired. The knowledge softened something inside her, something that she couldn't allow to soften. She tried not to let his casual solicitude touch her, but it did. For whatever reason, Jake was protective of her and she was forced to acknowledge that it did matter. She wanted to go into his arms and let her head rest on his shoulder, just for a moment.

Her face was flushed as she walked into the house, but thankfully that could be put down to the hot sun. Emma was standing in the entrance foyer removing her bonnet and gloves. From the back of the house came the Major's muffled shouts as he discovered something that displeased him. Celia ran down the stairs with a quick drumming of her heels and would have dashed past had Emma not stepped in front of her.

"Goodness, where are you off to in such a hurry?" Victoria asked as she began removing her own bonnet.

"To the stables. Jake said he'd teach me how to curry Gypsy."

Emma's mouth curved in amusement. "Don't you think you should change out of that dress into something more suitable?"

Celia shrugged. "A dress is a dress."

"There are old dresses and new dresses; old dresses are better for currying horses."

Celia looked down at her dress, then said, "All right," and darted back up the stairs.

Victoria laughed. "She'll never appreciate the difference."

"She missed so much, didn't she?" Emma mused. "The parties, the dances, the flirting. Can't you just see how all the boys would be clustered around her?"

The smile faded from Victoria's face as she placed her bonnet and gloves on the table. "What will happen to her, I wonder? She's so trusting. I want her to find someone wonderful to love, a man who's gentle and will cherish her as much as she deserves." She continued in a low voice. "I worry, because I haven't seen a man like that out here."

Emma said, "For any of us." She had loved Jon, and grieved for him, but her man had been dead a long time now and she was still young. She, too, wanted to find love, marry, and have a family. She admitted to herself that she'd come out here with high hopes, for Victoria's marriage had signaled an end to hunger and poverty, and she had dreamed… vague, romantic dreams of handsome cowboys, virile, adventurous men who had taken on this wild country and won. Instead, they were isolated on the ranch, which seemed to hide a layer of ugliness and hatred beneath the beauty. With few exceptions, the men were hostile and leering.

Nor was Victoria's situation better, if anything, it was worse. Emma shuddered at the thought of being married to the Major, of having to submit to him in bed if he chose to visit her. The idea would have been unthinkable if they'd still been back in Augusta, but now Emma wouldn't think one whit less of Victoria if she took what comfort she could from Jake Roper. He was a man, not a loathsome slug like the Major. He was too much man for Emma's taste, but Victoria was stronger than she, perhaps even strong enough for someone like Roper.

McLain stomped to the front of the house. Both women moved out of his path, and he passed them without a word, his face dark with a scowl as he climbed the stairs. Neither of them dared ask him what was wrong.

McLain slammed the door to his bedroom and kicked a chair across the room. He'd asked about Angelina's whereabouts first thing, and Lola, with a smug look, had told him that Angelina had gone off with one of the hands that morning and wasn't back yet. He was enraged; not only was she not there when he wanted her, but he knew damn sure the cowhand wouldn't be doing any of the work he was supposed to be doing. The goddamn whore! He'd teach her a lesson when he got his hands on her.

There was nothing he could do about it now, however, and that made him even angrier. Maybe that girl Juana… naw, hell, he'd had her once, and she hadn't been any better than his fist. Not as good, because she'd just lain there and sniffled. He didn't even consider taking his wife to bed; his mind shied away from that possibility to the extent that the thought never formed. He was bothered enough with his haunting fears of the Sarratts; in fact, his nightmares and jumpiness seemed to be getting worse lately, as if the ghosts were closing in for the kill. He sure as hell didn't need his stiff lady wife reminding him of Elena. The sound of Victoria entering the adjoining bedroom unnerved him to the extent that he left his room as quickly as he'd entered it.

He stood in the hallway, red-faced with anger and looking for a scapegoat. The cheerful sound of humming at first made him even angrier, and then he noticed that it was coming from Celia's room, where the door had been left slightly ajar. Now there was a beauty, prettier even than Angelina. And she wasn't as all-fired proper and straitlaced as her sister. She just might like having a man if she tried it. The more the Major thought about it, the more he liked it. Celia was a Waverly, too, after all; she just wasn't a lady in the same way that her sister was. He knew Victoria would be busy for at least five minutes changing out of her traveling clothes. He balanced caution and temptation by tiptoeing down the hall until he could see through the narrow crack between door and jamb.

Celia was in her petticoats and chemise, still humming as she selected one of her older dresses from the armoir and slipped it on over her head. It had the advantage of buttoning down the front, which was why she had chosen it, and she bent her head to the task.

McLain watched her, struck by the golden creaminess of her bare shoulders and arms. She had nice big tits, too, with the dark centers plain under the thin cotton chemise. The sunlight streaming through the window illuminated her hair, and he had the uncharacteristically fanciful thought that she looked like an angel. God, she was a beauty! And a little hoyden, not like Victoria at all. Certainly nothing like Elena. The ache in his loins had intensified while he stood watching her, and he thought about what it would be like to have her. He'd have to keep it secret from Victoria, but he thought he knew a way to accomplish that.

He glanced furtively down the hall, then back at Celia. She was nearly finished dressing, so he slipped away as carefully as he had approached. His heart was pounding with anticipation.

He went downstairs to the library and took an opened bottle of bourbon from the desk drawer. There was a glass in the drawer, too, but he ignored it and tipped the bottle to his mouth. The liquor burned down his throat, a pleasant warmth that matched the one in his gut. By God, here was something to look forward to! He drank once more in celebration of his own cleverness. The only thing was, he'd have to make sure Victoria didn't find out. She was high-nosed enough that she'd pack up and leave if she found out he was diddling her little sister, and the humiliation would be unbearable after all the strutting and bragging he'd done in Santa Fe about his patrician wife. He could always lie about it, of course, but there were so many people on the ranch that someone would blab and the truth would get out.

But he was confident he could bed Celia all he wanted, and the girl would never tell. She was a simpleminded little idiot. All he had to do was threaten her somehow… He mused about it for a minute, trying to think of something that would scare her. Finally his face split into a grin. That was it, by God! He'd tell Celia that if she ever told, he'd hurt Victoria. He thought about saying he'd kill Victoria, but thought that might be pushing too hard. The girl might panic. The beauty of the plan was that it was a lie, but she was so simple she'd believe anything he told her.

He'd have plenty of time to put his plan into action, too. Buying those horses for the women had been a stroke of genius. Since they didn't know their way around, they wouldn't go far by themselves, but he could always tell Roper to go with them, give him orders to show them the ranch or take them to someplace far enough away that he knew they'd be gone a couple of hours. From what he'd gathered, Celia didn't ride well enough to make that kind of trip, so she'd have to stay behind. Then she'd be his.

If that didn't work, he'd manage something else. Bribe her with a promise to ride Rubio, maybe, and get her away from the house. He was in a fever of anticipation, thinking of it. Celia wasn't a whore like Angelina; she'd be all tight and fresh…

He squirmed in the chair and took another swig of bourbon. Roper would have to hurry up and get those damn horses trained.

Another sip emptied the bottle. With a disgusted curse, he shoved the empty bottle across the top of the desk, dislodging some papers, and a silver glint caught his eye.

He froze, his insides clenching. When he finally managed to move, his hand was shaking. With a jerk he pushed the papers completely to the side, uncovering what he'd only glimpsed.

A knife. The blade was sharpened to a razor edge.

It wasn't his. He hadn't left it there.

His eyes darted left and right. He was afraid to move, afraid to look behind him. He strained his ears for any sound that would indicate someone was in the room with him. And then his mind went over the edge.

Sarratt!

The bastard boys weren't dead, or their ghosts had come back to get him. He had to watch out for them now.

He didn't pick up the knife. He couldn't. His thighs clenched together protectively.

Maybe he wouldn't understand what the knife meant. Juana stared at the closed door, her eyes burning with hate. It didn't matter if he knew; she knew, and she meant it. If he ever touched her again, she would kill him. The hate had festered inside her since the night he had raped her, and she hadn't forgotten. She would never forget.

"Why did your sister marry McLain?"

Jake hadn't meant to ask the question, and he was furious with himself for letting it slip out. But it had been nagging at him; he needed to know. Celia looked at him over Gypsy's back as she continued to stroke the curry brush over the horse's shoulder and sides.

For a moment there was a very old look in her dark blue eyes. "So we wouldn't be hungry," she said after a moment.

Of all the answers he might have anticipated, that wasn't one of them. He narrowed his eyes at the girl. "Hungry?"

"We didn't have any food or money. The Major said he'd give a lot of money to Mama and Papa if Victoria would marry him. So she did."

The simple explanation hit Jake hard. Victoria had practically been sold; she hadn't married McLain to help herself, but to help her family.

He didn't ask anything else, and Celia brushed in silence for several minutes before she looked at him again and asked, "When can I start riding Gypsy?"

"In another week, about."

"Why so long?"

"I want to make certain she understands how she's supposed to act when her rider is sitting sidesaddle."

"Why do I have to have a sidesaddle? Why can't I have a saddle like yours?"

"Because ladies don't ride astride." He personally thought sidesaddles were stupid and dangerous, but if he told her that then he'd have to explain why she had to use one anyway and he didn't want to get involved in that kind of discussion with her.

If he'd known Celia better, he'd have realized that she didn't drop a subject until she understood it.

"Why don't ladies ride astride?"

He pulled his hat lower over his eyes. "Because their skirts would be pulled up and show their legs."

"Then why don't women just wear pants like men do?"

"Because that would show their legs, too."

Her head popped up over Gypsy's back. "No more than it shows men's legs," she said indignantly. "How are women's legs different from men's legs?"

Jake reflected on how easy it was to get backed into a corner. He thought of a lot of answers he could give her, but settled on a literal one. "They're prettier."

Her head bent as she evidently surveyed her own legs, hidden though they were by her blue skirt. "But if they're prettier, why hide them?" she asked, now totally perplexed. "It seems to me that men should wear skirts to hide their legs if they're ugly, and women should wear pants."

His lips twitched again, but he controlled his laughter. "Men have to do a lot of heavy work," he pointed out. "They couldn't do it if they were hampered by skirts, now could they? Can you imagine the Major wearing a dress and branding steers? He'd catch his petticoat on fire."

Celia giggled. Another thought occurred and she narrowed her eyes at him, which made her look like a ferocious kitten. "Women wear skirts while they're cooking."

"Men are clumsier than women. Women can manage skirts; men would get their big feet tangled in all that cloth and fall down."

"Sometimes I do, too. That's why I think I should wear pants."

He surrendered, and did the only thing a man could do. "Why don't you ask Victoria about it?"

Celia sighed regretfully. "No, she'd never let me."

She returned to brushing Gypsy, and Jake watched her with a little smile. She was delightful; he could see why Victoria was so fierce in protecting her. He could even see why she had let herself be married off to McLain; after all, she didn't know what kind of bastard the man was, and she'd done the best she could to provide for her family. Privately Jake thought that their father must be a weak, lily-livered son of a bitch to sell his daughter to a man twice her age, but that didn't make his daughter any less a lady.

Celia and Emma would become Jake's responsibility when he married Victoria. He realized that he'd probably have a lot more of this kind of conversation with Celia and didn't know whether to laugh or groan. At least he could always send her to Victoria when the topic got too much for him to handle. Maybe he could get her to ask Ben some of her questions. It had been a long time since he'd seen his brother discomfited; he looked forward to it.