ake had Carmita move Victoria's things back into his room. If he had thought Victoria would do so he was disappointed, but he knew well enough that their situation had improved to nothing more than a truce. She didn't again try to fight him physically, but her manner was reserved, her eyes still cool, and he knew he wasn't forgiven. It was enough, for now, that she was back where she belonged.

The next day Ben asked, "What happened?"

Jake tersely explained.

Ben shook his head. "Damn. I don't understand women. Whatever you expect, they'll do the exact damn opposite, even when you expect the opposite from what you first thought anyway."

Jake grinned in sympathy. Ben had gotten exactly nowhere with Emma. "Are you giving up?"

"Might as well. Yeah, I guess I am. Saloon girls are a lot simpler than ladies. I'm going to take a trip into Santa Fe before winter gets here, and have myself a good time."

Garnet had moved back toward Santa Fe, lying low and watching his back. Nothing was going to happen very soon, anyway. Winter was coming on fast, and spring would be a better time for what he planned. He had parted company with Bullfrog several weeks back; the other man was going to try to round up some of his old cronies in time to meet up again around the end of February. Garnet felt better with Bullfrog gone; he hadn't trusted the bastard not to put a bullet in his own back and carry on with Garnet's plan by himself.

He always sat close to the back door of a saloon, because you never knew when a quick exit might be needed. He was at just such a table when a tall, dark-haired man sauntered in and headed toward the bar. The well-worn pistol tied low on the man's thigh bespoke his ease with the heavy weapon, as did the easy, self-confident walk. It wasn't a strut; only hot-tempered kids looking to make a reputation felt the need for that, or for cutting notches in their guns. This man walked like he knew he could handle whatever got in his way. He had a presence about him that was strangely familiar.

Garnet peered at the stranger's face and a cold chill ran down his spine. For a minute there the man had looked like Jake Sarratt, but then Garnet saw that it wasn't. The resemblance, though, was strong. It was damn eerie.

A dark-haired saloon girl with a painted face and tired eyes perked up a little as she ran her experienced eyes down the stranger's tall form. She sashayed up to him, batting her eyelids and letting her hand trail down his thigh. He looked down at her and grinned, then nodded.

They turned away to go up the narrow stairs. Garnet quickly ducked his head so that his hat hid most of his face. He heard the stranger say, "What's your name, sugar?"

The voice was familiar, too, but not real familiar. It was like he'd seen the man once or twice, but hadn't gotten to know him. Damn if he didn't look like Jake Sarratt, though. Garnet kept his head down. It could be the other one, the brother. Wild elation shot through him. God, what a chance this would be! Give him five minutes to get started humping, then when he was going at it hard, kick the door in and put a bullet in the bastard before he knew what hit him. The only thing that kept Garnet in his chair was that he didn't know if Jake Sarratt was anywhere around.

Where had he seen the man before?

Then it came to him, and he turned pale. He'd had a beard when Garnet had met him, but there was no doubt it was the same man. It was Tanner, the gunslick who had ridden in late one afternoon and hired on, but only stayed a day or so before leaving as quietly as he'd come. But his name wasn't Tanner; it was Sarratt, and he would know Garnet on sight.

Garnet gave the room a good look, but didn't see anyone he knew. That didn't mean anything. The Sarratts had hired a lot of new men. There could be any number of Sarratt men in here right now, surrounding him.

There was no way he was going to go up those stairs. There'd be another time, and a better chance.

Being careful not to catch anyone's eye, he got up from the table and slipped out the back door. When he was in the sour-smelling alley he started running, slipped and almost fell, but caught himself at the last moment with his hands. His left hand was in something foul-smelling and squishy. Garnet cursed viciously as he got up and scraped the sticky crap off his hand the best he could, rubbing it against the rough side of the building. That was just one more grievance he had against the goddamn Sarratts.

He waited until he was a piece down the street before washing his hand in a horse trough, then he hurried to the crib where he was sleeping. It wasn't anything more than a lean-to built against a stable, and the walls were made of unfinished planks nailed across some logs. The cracks were big enough to shoot through, and it had started getting damn cold at night. He'd have to find something better soon.

He was sharing the crib with Quinzy, who was already rolled up in his blanket and snoring his head off. Garnet nudged him with his boot. "Quinzy! Wake up. One of the damn Sarratts is in town, maybe both of them."

Quinzy came awake without any of the mumbling and wiping his eyes that most men did. He sat up. "Is it Jake?"

"I didn't see Jake. It's the brother, I don't remember his front name. He's the son of a bitch who rode in calling hisself Tanner, and left right after that. Guess he came to talk to Jake about something. Goddamn bastards were planning it right under our noses!"

Quinzy was silent. This latest plan of Garnet's was stupid, but there was no talking sense to him. He had it in his mind that the little gal was his, and that he had a right to the ranch. Damned if Garnet hadn't gone as loony, in his way, as McLain had. Quinzy had drifted along with Garnet out of habit, but it looked like the time had come to part.

"Don't look like I'll be riding back to the kingdom with you, Garnet," Quinzy said. "Heard tell the land up along the Snake is mighty pretty and mighty lonesome, a good place for me to lay low for a spell. Reckon I'll do that. Twenty years ago I was game to take on the Sarratts, or anybody else come to that, but I'm twenty years older and twenty years slower. It's time for me to think about retiring."

"I hate to hear you're not going with me, Quinzy," Garnet said. "We been together a long time, but a man's got to do what a man's got to do."

"Glad you're being understanding about it, and all. I'll ride out early in the morning, before anybody gets a good look at me. Don't know if any of the Sarratt men know who I am, but iffen they don't I'd like to keep it that way."

Quinzy rolled back up in his blankets and listened to Garnet doing the same. After a while Quinzy began to snore again. He never heard the quiet snicking of a hammer being pulled back. If there was a fraction of a second after the trigger was pulled that he heard the explosion of the shot, it was too tiny a slice of time for it to do him any good. Garnet's bullet plowed into the back of Quinzy's head, splattering a big portion of the front of it across the wall.

Garnet rolled up his blankets and got his gear. There wasn't much chance of a single shot in this part of town being investigated, but it was best to clear out anyway. He looked down at the body. "Like I said, a man's got to do what a man's got to do," he said in an undertone. "If you ain't with me, you're against me."

It snowed early that year, a light dusting that barely covered the ground but gave hint of the coldness to come. That morning when Victoria left the bed to look out the window at the layer of white, she felt the child move for the first time. She went very still, her hand pressed to her lower abdomen as she waited for it to come again.

Jake looked up from stamping his feet into his boots, noticing her stillness. "What's wrong?"

"The baby moved," she replied in a low tone.

He came over to stand beside her. She had donned a shift but nothing else, and he felt a surge of lust as he looked at her. She lifted her hand and his replaced it on her belly, while his other arm circled her and pulled her against his body. They stood motionless and finally it came again, a flutter so faint that Jake barely felt it. He caught his breath, his heart pounding at this evidence of life. Until now, the baby had been defined by symptoms, most of them unpleasant for Victoria. But this was different; this was life.

She let herself lean against him, knowing it would do no good to try to put distance between them. He made love to her whenever he wanted, just as he had before, with a searing sensuality that became more intense with time, rather than weakening. There was no part of her body that was sacred from his touch, and pregnancy seemed to have made her that much more responsive. Even her skin felt sensitized. Sometimes she felt she would drown in sensuality, but the loving playfulness that she had found with him before their fight didn't return.

Instead she resented his physical power over her, because he wielded it without love. Even after all that had happened, she still loved him; he would not have been able to hurt her so deeply if she hadn't. He cared for her, she thought, but she was carrying his child, so why wouldn't he feel some concern? And he enjoyed sleeping with her, that was plain enough. But not one word of love ever crossed those hard, chiseled lips.

She bitterly resented his lack of faith in her. It still rankled every day that he could believe her capable of such betrayal. His accusation had sprung from the legacy of hate he still carried around with him; even though McLain was dead, the hatred in Jake hadn't dissipated. Sometimes Victoria could almost feel McLain still in the house, with the ghosts of Jake's parents, keeping the hatred alive.

It would be best if she took the child and left. She didn't want it to grow up surrounded by hatred; she wanted it to grow up happy, in a house without shadows. The idea of leaving teased her mind every day, but the difficulty of it defeated her. How could she leave? Where could she go? Moreover, neither Emma nor Celia would want to leave. Emma might watch Ben with great sad eyes whenever he wasn't looking, but the ranch had become her cousin's home. She wouldn't want to leave it or Ben, even if he had apparently lost interest.

Celia was growing up, rapidly leaving her helter-skelter ways behind. She was calmer, more dignified, more thoughtful. Her hair was usually neat now, her dress tidy, and she walked instead of skipping. She still spent a lot of time crooning to Rubio and trying to make friends with the great stallion, but she no longer seemed so obsessed by it. No, Celia wouldn't want to leave.

Jake turned her in his arms, his hand sliding up to cup her breasts. Victoria looked up at him, her eyes grave. He looked back at her with his intention plain. He'd just finished dressing, but the clothes came off as easily as they went on. He led her back to the bed, and it was another hour before they left the room.

The winter months came with a vengeance, with more bitter cold than snow, though there was enough of both. Victoria grew increasingly rounder, her pregnancy immediately apparent to anyone who took the time to look. Her mood changed, becoming both calmer and a bit dreamy as she was increasingly preoccupied by the changes in her body. Everything was out of her control. At least the last of the morning sickness had gone and physically she felt wonderful, though she still tired easily.

She would have thought that her increasing bulk would dampen Jake's carnal desires, but not so. He handled her with increasing care and made love to her in various positions that put none of his weight on her body, but he seemed to find her as desirable as ever. If she had thought about it she would have been reassured, but it never occurred to her to wonder if other men remained as attentive to their wives during pregnancy.

In the middle of December, Angelina gave birth. The woman had been in hard labor for over an hour before any of the men paid heed to the cries they heard coming from her small, cluttered room. Both Carmita and Lola were reluctant to attend the woman. Despite her own distaste, Victoria felt that she had to do something for her. Perhaps it was her own pregnancy that made her feel more deeply for Angelina's plight. For whatever reason, she wrapped herself in her warmest shawl and trudged across the yard to the far buildings. Carmita threw up her hands and followed.

Angelina turned her head on the soiled pillow as Victoria entered. Her teeth drew back in what was meant to be her usual insolent smile, but it became more of a grimace. "So! You want to see how it will be when it's your turn?"

The lack of cleanliness in the room was appalling. There was a small fireplace but the fire had burned down and Angelina hadn't been able to replenish it, so the room was decidedly chill. Despite that, sweat beaded on Angelina's grayish face as she suddenly contorted in another pain.

"Quickly, rebuild the fire," Victoria instructed. She wasn't herself too certain what to do, but warmth and cleanliness seemed a good place to start. With Carmita, she managed to get clean linens on the bed, though the mattress beneath was grimy. Carmita was the experienced one and took over with Victoria's blessing. The soiled negligee Angelina had been wearing was removed and replaced by one of Carmita's own, as hers were voluminous enough to fit over Angelina's swollen breasts.

The woman strained in labor all afternoon and into the night. Her lovely dark eyes sank back into her head and her lips were raw and bleeding from the scrape of her teeth.

Jake knocked on the door and tugged Victoria outside when she opened it. He pulled her within the folds of the heavy sheepskin coat he wore, wrapping her inside his own warmth. "Let Carmita handle it," he growled. "You don't need to be out here."

The wind bit through her skirts, and her breath fogged the air. "If it were me I would want all of the help anyone could give." She leaned against his muscled body, and his child moved strongly within her. "I think she's going to die," she whispered, strangely desolate. It wasn't just that she would be enduring childbirth herself in a few months, but that Angelina was so alone and would die so unloved.

If Angelina was truly going to die, Jake didn't want Victoria in there watching it. He tried to bully her back into the house, but she refused to budge. He was on the verge of physically carrying her when she lifted her wan face and said, "How can I expect anyone to help me if I'm not willing to help when I can?"

"Your situation is different. You have family—"

"Angelina doesn't. She has no one." She lifted her fingers to his lips, the first time she had touched him voluntarily outside of bed since the day she had told him she was pregnant. The light touch seared him all the way to his soul, and he trembled. He caught her hand and turned her palm against his cheek, cold and beard-rough.

"Shall I send Emma to help?" he asked in a hoarse voice. He could barely speak.

"No." Victoria's smile was wry. "She isn't married. It wouldn't do at all. But perhaps—if Lola will come. Ask, but don't order her. It should be her decision."

He let her go back inside the dingy little room with its coppery odor of hot, fresh blood and wished that she had just a little less the lady of the manor's ingrained sense of responsibility.

Lola did come, along with the news that she had prepared a light meal for them and left it in the kitchen; she would stay while they ate. Carmita took herself off for a hasty meal, but Victoria didn't feel that she could endure food right then. She was tired, and her stomach was a little queasy.

Angelina had been lying with her eyes closed for over an hour. She didn't open them now, but she said in a surprisingly strong voice, "You might as well eat. I would if I could."

"I'm not hungry," Victoria replied, sponging the woman's face. The time between contractions was short. For a while they had been almost constant, but nothing had happened and now they were spaced a bit further apart.

It was the last time Angelina spoke. Close to midnight she was delivered of a fat little girl with a crop of thick black curls like her mother's and the cord wrapped around her blue neck. Victoria wrapped the small body in a towel, her heart breaking.

They couldn't stem the flow of blood and Angelina was too weak to fight. She was unconscious and never knew that her daughter had died while trying to be born. A few hours later she too died.

Carmita and Lola took charge of cleaning the bodies for burial and refused to allow Victoria to help. She was sent back to the house, her body weighed down with weariness. Her own child was merrily kicking her ribs, letting her know that it was doing well.

To her surprise, Jake was sitting in the kitchen hunched over a cup of coffee that was no longer steaming. He looked up when she entered.

"They both died." Victoria's voice was colorless.

Jake got up and held her in his arms. As he carried her to their room, she clutched his shirt and wept, her tears hot against his shoulder.

Neither life nor nature paused. Work on the ranch went on, and Victoria's girth continued to increase. Though she knew she would get much larger before it was finished, her shifting center of gravity made her feel constantly off-balance. Stroking her belly now during the baby's more acrobatic movements, she could discern a foot from an elbow, a hand from a knee.

"Jesus," Jake said one night, amazed at the force with which a tiny foot had thudded against his hand. "This feels like two wildcats in a sack fighting to get out."

"Thank you, how reassuring."

He grinned and continued stroking his hand lazily over her belly. "Do you think it could be two?"

"No. I've counted one head, two feet, two knees, two elbows, and two hands. In whatever position, there's only one baby."

He was relieved. The thought of her in labor with one child was scary enough.

Late in January Celia filched an apple from the storeroom and carried it out to Rubio. It was a beautiful morning, cold and crisp. A few inches of snow covered the ground, but the sky was cloudless. Her blood was singing through her veins; perhaps, just perhaps, Luis would be able to join her in her secret place in the loft. It was harder to find privacy now that winter kept the men close to the house. When spring came, she thought, she and Luis would ride out to a private place and spend the entire day making love.

Rubio was prancing around in the largest corral, snorting and shaking his head as he enjoyed his exercise. Dual trails of steam blew from his wide-open nostrils. He cavorted like a colt, and his red hide gleamed like polished mahogany in the bright sun.

Celia climbed on the fence, content just to watch him. He was seldom playful, so she didn't try to coax him to her to take the apple. In time he would work out his kinks, then he would come over to her for his treat. It had been weeks since he had tried to snap at her and he no longer shied when she patted his sleek, muscular neck.

He was beautiful, she thought, beautiful in much the same way that Luis was. They were both magnificent animals, dangerous and simple in their instincts.

Luis. Celia shivered. Just the forming of his name in her mind made her go soft and warm inside, the way she felt when they were making love. Her breasts tingled, and she thought of his mouth sucking at them. Luis.

Her grip on the apple loosened and it fell to the ground. She knelt and reached for it through the fence, but it was a good foot beyond her fingertips. Rubio was on the far side of the corral, his proud head lifted high. She was safe enough, she thought, and climbed over the fence.

Even inside the house they heard the piercing screams of an enraged horse. There were shouts and the sound of men running. There was another scream, only one, but this one was different. It went through Victoria's heart.

She ran. Emma tried to catch her. "Victoria, no!" Emma had a hard grip on her arm, but Victoria thrust her aside with violent strength. She didn't notice her unwieldy body as her feet flew over the snow.

"Celia!" she screamed. There was no answer.

In the corral a knot of men on horseback had thrown several ropes over Rubio's head and were fighting him to a standstill. Jake was one of the men. He dismounted and ran to a small crumpled heap on the ground. As he went down on one knee, he saw Victoria flying toward them, her face a white mask.

"Ben, grab her!" he yelled.

Ben ran, intercepting her before she could reach the corral. He held her by wrapping his arms around her from behind, locking them under her breasts. She kicked and heaved, but his iron strength held her.

"Let me go!" she shrieked, trying to claw his face. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "Celia. Celia!"

Jake shifted his body so that he was between Victoria and Celia, but she could see the blue of her shawl, matted now with mud. The tan of her skirt. The white tumble of petticoats. A small shoe, lying by itself in the snow. A silky blond lock, stirring in the wind. And a lot of red. Celia hadn't been wearing anything red.

"Get a blanket," Jake called sharply over his shoulder, and someone ran to do his bidding.

Victoria twisted, still trying to tear herself free. Ben was talking to her, trying to calm her down, but his words didn't make any sense. Emma was standing rooted to their left, her hands pressed over her mouth as if to hold her own screams inside. Her eyes were black in her colorless face.

The blanket was brought and Jake wrapped it around the small bundle. Luis rode up and a stark look tightened his lean face. Without a word he swung down and climbed through the fence.

As Jake started to lift Celia, Luis said, "I'll take her." His voice was tight. "You see to your woman and I'll see to mine."

Jake gave him a sharp look, seeing what was etched in Luis's eyes. He looked back down at the small, still girl and touched her bloody cheek with gentle fingers. Then Jake left Celia to the man who had loved her, and walked to Victoria.

She was no longer fighting Ben, but stood motionless in his grip with her eyes the only spot of color in her face. She didn't even have a shawl.

Ben released her and she stood alone, her body rigid. She searched Jake's eyes for any sign of hope and found none. Still, she had to ask, had to hear it said. "Is she alive?"

Jake wanted to sweep her up and carry her inside, have her warm and cosseted in bed before he told her what he had to tell her, but she was waiting, holding herself tight inside, and he knew she wouldn't leave until she knew.

"No," he said.

Victoria swayed and he reached for her, but in the next instant she drew herself up straight, her chin high. "Bring her inside, please," she said in a brittle but controlled voice, as if she would shatter if she let her control slip at all. "She'll need… she'll need washing."

Luis carried Celia inside, his face rigid as the wind blew her hair over his arm and teased his cheek with it. Victoria and Emma were behind him, their shoulders back despite their sudden haggardness. Jake and Ben followed, both of them watching the slender, unbending spines ahead. Jake wanted to take Victoria in his arms and give her what comfort he could, but held back. Comfort now would soften her, and she needed all the strength she could muster.

Carmita and Lola were sobbing softly into their aprons, while Juana had her hand stuffed into her mouth. "We'll need water, please," Victoria said softly as she directed Luis upstairs.

He placed Celia on her bed and knelt beside it, slowly wrapping a bright tendril of hair around his finger. The blanket covered her face, but her hair was free. "I love you," he said to the motionless girl, but there was no answer, and his heart was dying inside him.

Victoria put her hand on his shoulder. She hadn't known, but now she realized that she should have guessed. Celia had changed in the past months, since meeting Luis. "She loved you, too. You made her happy."

He swallowed and carried her hair to his face. It still smelled like Celia. "We were lovers," he said thickly. "It never felt wrong."

"It wasn't wrong." It went against everything they had ever been taught, but it wasn't wrong. Victoria was struck by how much their lives had changed, how much she had changed, since coming to this wild land. When she had first stepped down on territory soil, her life had been ruled by what society designated as proper or improper, but propriety no longer mattered to her when measured against love.

Love had changed Celia from a child into a woman. She had been content, no longer running from flower to flower as if in search of enough beauty and happiness to satisfy her need for it. She had found it in Luis.

Still sobbing, Carmita brought the water, but as she put it down she said, "I will wash the señorita, if you like."

"Thank you, but Emma and I will do it," Victoria said gently. It was the last thing they would be able to do for Celia.

Jake came up and took Luis away with him. Ben was overseeing the building of a coffin and having a new grave dug. Gently Victoria and Emma cut away Celia's torn clothing and began washing the mud and blood from her pale body. Rubio's sharp hooves had opened numerous deep cuts, but they were mostly on her back; she must have cowered with her arms over her head in a futile effort to protect herself. The back of her skull was flat and soft where the killing blow had landed, but her face was unmarked except for a small scrape on her forehead. They washed her hair and brushed it dry. Her eyes were closed like a child's in sleep, her long lashes resting on marble-white cheeks. Looking at Celia lying on the bed as they dressed her in her favorite clothes, Victoria thought that she looked as though she would wake if only they shook her, but the essence of Celia was gone.

Victoria didn't sleep that night. Jake insisted that she go to bed, and she did, but lay in his arms with her eyes open and burning. She had cried, but the tears hadn't brought a sense of release and now they wouldn't come at all. The pain clenched at her heart, sharp and unending. She had never been able to imagine life without Celia. Her sister had been as bright as the sun, and without her everything now had altered, become darker.

Her baby moved, and Victoria touched it. "She was looking forward to the baby so much. Now she'll never see it."

Jake hadn't slept either. He was too aware of Victoria's suffering, and his own sense of loss was acute. There would be no more conversations about riding astride or determining the sex of kittens, no more small shocks every time she opened her mouth, no more searches for items she had left in bizarre places.

He held Victoria close; he hadn't released her all night long and didn't intend to. "If it's a girl, would you like to name her Celia?"

Victoria's voice almost cracked. "I couldn't. Not yet."

An hour later she said, "She looked pretty, didn't she?"

"Like an angel."

"We'll have to take care of her kitten."

Dawn was a miracle of colors, gold and red and pink streaking across a lightening blue sky. Celia would have been entranced. Victoria looked at the sky and thought of all the dawns that would be less appreciated now, without Celia there to watch them. She got up and dressed. She had no black dresses for mourning, but out here it didn't seem as important as it had in Augusta. Grief was in her heart, not her clothes.

She twisted her hair into a careless knot, and Jake fastened her dress for her. She looked out the window again and said, "I want that horse destroyed."

Jake knew the need for revenge, knew how it could burn and fester. His hands tightened on her shoulders. "He's a dumb animal, Victoria. We had warned her time and again to be careful around him."

"He's a killer. He trampled one of the Mexican hands after you'd left that time, did you know? He should have been shot then."

The plans Jake had made for Rubio's get would never come to pass if he put the stallion down. Sophie was with foal, but he'd planned on buying other mares good enough to mate with the stallion. He wanted to produce a whole line of big, strong, fast horses. His heart ached, but destroying the animal wouldn't bring Celia back, wouldn't accomplish anything except Rubio's death and with it his outstanding blend of speed and strength. Victoria had been irrational about the stallion from the beginning, so Jake didn't expect her to make a rational decision now.

Still, it might become necessary to put him down. If no one could work with him without fearing for their lives, there would be no choice. Jake wanted to wait and see before he did something irrevocable.

"I won't order him shot," he said, and watched her face become even more withdrawn. He whirled her around to face him. "Not yet. I'm not saying I won't, I'm just saying that I'm going to think about it before I do something that can't be undone."

"Celia can't be brought back. Is that damn horse worth more than she was?"

"No, damn it, but killing him won't bring her back, either."

"It'll accomplish one thing, at least."

"What?"

"I won't have to look at the barn and know he's in there, safe and warm and well-fed, while my sister is in her grave."

They buried Celia with the sun shining brightly on her coffin, making the pale new wood gleam with a golden hue that almost matched her hair.