ake walked into the dining room while they were ting dinner. He didn't look around, because he hated to see this house and know that McLain lived in it. He looked straight at Victoria, his face grim, and knew by her expression that she hadn't said anything about what had happened. He didn't know why, but it wasn't his concern.

"Somebody shot at Mrs. McLain today," he announced abruptly to McLain, who had looked up in surprise at his entrance. "If her horse hadn't shied she'd have been killed."

McLain's face turned dark red. "Shot at her! There ain't nobody on the ranch who'd shoot at my wife."

"I found where he waited. Somebody tried to kill her. No mistake."

Celia was very still in her chair, her gaze unreadable but riveted on McLain. "It was the Sarratts," she said in a small, clear voice.

McLain jerked, then swiped his plate to the floor with a motion of his thick forearm. He half-rose to his feet, his eyes bulging from his head as he glared down the table at the girl. "It ain't the goddamn Sarratts!" he bellowed. "They're dead, all of them!" His voice was both fierce and desperate, too, as if he didn't believe his own words. He slammed his fist down on the table, making their plates and glasses jump and rattle. "That goddamn Duncan Sarratt and his bitch of a wife, they're both dead, and their two half-Mex whelps with them! They're dead, I tell you!"

Jake controlled the urge to put his pistol to the man's head right now and be done with it. Hate blinded him to the Major's obvious fear. The strength it took to control his rage left Jake so raw he could barely speak. "I don't want the women out riding until I find whoever it was. I went out this afternoon and trailed him as far as the river, but it got dark before I could find where he left the water. I'll try again tomorrow."

"Find him," McLain said, breathing heavily to control his rage. "And kill the son of a bitch."

Jake nodded at the women and left as abruptly as he'd entered.

McLain was still blowing air like a bull, his bloodshot eyes fastened on nothing. Victoria quietly excused herself and hustled Celia out of the room. When they were out of earshot, she grabbed her sister's arm. "Why did you say that?" she whispered fiercely. "You saw how he got last night when Juana mentioned their name!"

Celia looked up, her expression raw. "I hate him. I wanted to see him afraid, like he was last night. I hate him!" She tore loose and ran up the stairs to her room, where she slammed the door.

Emma was standing behind Victoria when she turned around; her cousin's face was white and drawn. She was shaking. She looked at Victoria with something close to terror in her fine eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked in a taut voice. "My God, someone tried to kill you!"

"And failed, though Jake was wounded in the arm. I didn't want to worry you." Nor had she wanted to talk about it. Beneath her surface calm, she felt frightened and vulnerable. Something was going to happen and she didn't understand what or why; she only sensed the increasing instability of their lives.

"We have to leave here," Emma said.

"I can't!" Victoria started to speak again, then motioned with her head for Emma to follow her. She didn't want to take a chance on anyone overhearing them talk. They went to Emma's room and firmly closed the door. Victoria walked to the window. "We went over this last night. I can't leave without Jake."

Emma sat down on the bed and clasped her hands. "Do you love him?"

It sounded as shocking now as it had the first time she'd said it to herself. She was a married lady, a Waverly from Augusta; he was a hired gun, a man who killed without a flicker of emotion. It was still shattering to realize how little any of those things mattered. "Yes."

"Does he love you?"

"He—he wants me."

It was hard to evade Emma. "But does he love you?"

"No." The admission filled her with pain. She had seen lust in his eyes, but not love.

"Then how can you afford to risk your life to stay near him?"

"Would you have left Jon?" Victoria asked in a choked voice. "Even if you had known that he didn't feel the same way about you as you felt about him, could you have left him?"

Emma's lips trembled and she stared down at her hands. "No," she finally said. "No, I couldn't."

"Then you know why I'm staying. You and Celia can leave, go back to Augusta."

"I won't leave you, either. And you know there's nothing for us back in Augusta."

And maybe nothing here, in this wild, hard, beautiful land, except death at the hand of someone who had some reason for wanting her dead. Out here, it seemed, that reason didn't have to make much sense.

"If something happens to me, I want your promise that you'll take Celia and leave immediately."

Emma stared at her, white-faced. "Don't let anything happen," she whispered in reply.

After leaving Emma's room, Victoria tapped on Celia's door. She found her sister sitting quietly by the window, staring out at the courtyard. She didn't look up and smile as she usually did.

Victoria put her hand on Celia's shoulder, wondering what had happened to take the happiness from her eyes and leave behind that strange remoteness. "Is anything wrong?" she asked in a gentle tone.

A shiver racked Celia's slender body. "He was calling me," she whispered. "Like you'd call a cat. It scared me and I hid in the loft. I watched him through a crack in the floor, sneaking around, looking in all the stalls and calling my name. I hate him. I wish the Sarratts would kill him."

Victoria's throat was tight with fear. "Who?" she asked. "Garnet?"

Celia looked up at her, dark blue eyes fierce with mingled fear and hatred. "No. The Major."

Victoria lay awake that night, too tense to sleep. She simply couldn't keep her eyes closed. She stared at the ceiling, wondering if she was making the right decision in staying, if she had any right to subject Emma and Celia to such danger. But did she have any choice? Lying there sleepless, she swore an oath: if the Major touched Celia or hurt her in any way, she'd kill him herself.

The connecting door opened, and her entire body went cold. She turned her head to look at the thick-set figure swaying in the doorway. Dear God, no…

"Is he in here?" McLain asked, slurring the words. The stench of whiskey emanated from him.

She wet her lips and eased into a sitting position. What did he mean? Had someone seen Jake kissing her? She stared at him, tensing her muscles to jump up and run if he came any closer. "Who?"

"Sarratt. That damn basserd. Is he in here?"

She could barely understand his words. "No." Her throat was tight. "No one is in here. You can see."

"He's trying to kill me, an' he'll kill you, too, jus' to get even with me. Nothin' a Sarratt would like better than to get his hands on my woman." He sounded almost boastful as he swayed back and forth, a willow in an invisible wind.

"The Sarratts are all dead. You said so."

He laughed, a strange, cackling laugh. "Yeah, but mebbe not. Mebbe not. Never could find the boys' bodies. Did you know that? Never did find their bodies. If Sarratt's back, he'll kill us all in our beds, especially you. That's jus' where he'd like to find you. Yep, in a bed. He'd enjoy plowin' you and listenin' to you scream, just the way his mama screamed… You sure he's not in here?"

Her throat was dry; she had to swallow before answering. "I'm certain."

"He won't be able to sneak up on me," McLain muttered as he backed into his own room. "I'm keeping a sharp eye out for him, and the lamps lit. Yeah, lots of lamps… no shadows." The door closed on his mutterings.

He had gone mad. Victoria stared at the door. She couldn't believe that he had a conscience, but his murderous past was coming back to him, twisting his mind. Even knowing he was insane she couldn't stop a chill; if it were true that one of the Sarratt sons had survived, she could understand that he would stop at nothing to wreak his vengeance on McLain, to destroy him and his family as he had destroyed the Sarratt family.

Someone had shot at her today. If it hadn't been for Jake… if Sophie hadn't acted up at just that moment…

Was someone trying to kill her as vengeance against McLain? She could easily imagine him having enemies.

He'd never found the boys' bodies.

If one of the Sarratts had survived, would he hate McLain enough to destroy an entire family, as McLain had done? Hate enough to deliberately set out to kill McLain's wife?

She shivered, because she knew the answer was yes.

The next morning Jake put Rubio in the pen with Sophie. The big red stallion squealed as he caught the mare's scent, and shoved his nose at her hind quarters. His erection was already jutting out from his body. Sophie danced nervously away, though she had stood still not half an hour ago while another stallion sniffed at her. Jake cussed her contrariness, but in a rueful, accepting tone. He'd already hobbled her front feet, so she wasn't going anywhere.

Rubio squealed again, this time angrily, and nipped the recalcitrant mare to teach her who was boss. Sophie's head whipped around and she nipped back, enraged. Rubio tried to mount her and she jerked away, neighing with fright. Had she been a wild horse she'd have been running across the hills in an effort to save her maidenhead, and the stallion would have run her down. Hobbled in the pen, though, Sophie didn't have much chance.

Rubio reared again and caught her arched neck with his teeth as he penetrated. Sophie screamed, shuddering under the stallion's weight and impact, but now she stood still for him as her instincts dictated.

Victoria heard the mare scream and concern puckered her brow. She put aside her sewing and walked to a window, but the angle was wrong and she wasn't able to see anything. Curious as to what was causing the uproar, wondering if Sophie was getting the best of Jake again, she went out on the patio and looked toward the barn.

Rubio was out of his stall and was attacking Sophie. Sheer panic shot through her and without thinking she began running toward the pen. She had always known that horse was a killer; something inside her went cold every time she saw him—

Then she saw Jake watching calmly, and a few of the other hands standing around. She saw Rubio biting Sophie's neck, saw the lunging thrusts of his hindquarters, and stopped as if she had hit a wall. Dear God! They were mating! Her beautiful, spirited mare was being mated to that vicious killer. It revolted her as much as the thought of McLain climbing into her own bed.

"Stop it!" She hadn't meant to yell, but the words burst out of her.

Jake turned his head. Victoria was standing halfway between the house and the stable, her eyes wide with horror. She began running toward him.

Some of the men were standing around to lend aid if needed, and he scowled as he realized he didn't want Victoria watching the horses mate, with the men watching her. He left the pen and strode toward her, catching her arms when she tried to bolt past.

"Stop him!" she gasped, trying to pull free of his grip. "Get him off her!"

He shook her a little, swinging her around so his body blocked her view of the horses. "I can't stop it. What's wrong with you?"

Her face was white, her eyes huge as she stared up at him. "I didn't want her bred," she said in a strangled tone. "You knew that. Not now. Especially not to him!"

Her missishness irritated him; it was common sense to put the best stallion on the best mare to get the best foals. His hands were rough as he turned her around and began forcing her back toward the house. "Did you think we'd breed her to some scrub?"

His fingers were biting into her arms; he was almost dragging her in his haste to get her inside, out of the sight of the other men. Some deeply possessive instinct was outraged that they had seen her witnessing a sexual act, even one between two animals. He didn't stop until they were on the patio. "Get back in the house. You shouldn't have come out here."

His total lack of understanding was like a slap in the face. She didn't expect sympathy, but she did expect at least an acknowledgment that she had a right to feel as she did. She pulled away from him and turned her head from the sights and sounds of the two horses mating. "I thought she was my horse," she said in a small, clear voice. "I didn't give permission for her to be bred."

"I suggested breeding her to Rubio before the Major ever bought her," Jake said impatiently. "That's the only reason he bought her, not to give you a pleasure mount. I talked him into letting me train her for you; otherwise you'd be riding something like Emma's gelding. We decided yesterday to put Rubio in with her. This isn't hurting her, and you'll have a fine foal out of her."

"No, I won't." Her eyes were clear and stark as she stared at him. "The Major will have a fine foal from her." Her back was rigid as she turned away from him to go into the house.

He clamped his hand on her shoulder and jerked her back around to face him, angered by the way she'd turned her back on him. "Stop acting like a fool. This isn't your precious South; we can't afford to let a good animal go to waste. Did you really think she was bought only for you to ride?"

Victoria lifted her chin, pride keeping her hurt from her face. She wouldn't have been so upset if it had been any stallion other than Rubio, but he'd scoffed at her objections to the horse. Her voice expressionless, she said, "I suppose I did. After all, Emma's gelding hasn't been used for ranch work, nor has Celia's mare."

"They aren't the same quality as Sophie." He tamped down his impatience and tried to get her to see reason. There was just no sense in this kind of behavior. "Like I said, this isn't hurting her. When I've found whoever shot at you yesterday and it's safe again, we can go riding just like before."

Her expression didn't flicker. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Roper," she said, and once again turned to enter the house. "I don't have a horse."

So it was Mr. Roper again, was it? Anger burned in his gut as he stalked back to the corral. The horses were finished, but none of the men would approach Rubio and Sophie was acting up whenever one of them got close to her. The unfamiliar situation had made her nervous, and a nervous Sophie was a biting Sophie.

Still fuming, he put Rubio back in his stall, patting the muscled red neck and telling the stallion what a good job he'd done. Rubio snorted, his ears back a little. Jake didn't turn his back on the horse as he left the stall and shut the door. If the foal's temperament was a mixture of sire and dam, he thought dourly, they might as well shoot it when it was born because no one would ever be able to ride it.

Sophie moved awkwardly away from him, lifting her hobbled feet high as if trying to step out of the rope. She had blood on her neck where Rubio had bitten her; it was black against her dark chestnut coat. Damn him, the stallion was always rough on a mare. Jake murmured soothingly to Sophie until she finally stood still and let him approach. He patted and stroked her, watching the wild look fade from her eyes. When he bent down to remove the hobble, she butted him affectionately with her head.

Damn it, was everything female just naturally contrary? He wanted to give Victoria a good shaking. She'd acted as if she would never be able to ride Sophie again and had taken it out on him.

Patience. He just had to have patience. But it was hard, and getting harder.

During the days that followed, Victoria didn't leave the house. Neither did Celia nor Emma. The three women passed the time with the mundane chores of everyday life, giving each other strained, silent looks but carrying on with an outward air of calm. What else could they do? Hysteria wouldn't solve anything.

Celia remained close to her sister and cousin, instinctively seeking the safety of their company. She could barely remain in the same room with the Major long enough to take her meals.

McLain looked increasingly awful as the days passed. His eyes seemed permanently red and swollen, his face haggard and unshaven. Victoria doubted that he was bathing, because a persistent sour smell clung to him. She could hear him at night, pacing on the other side of the door and muttering to himself, and the sound made her shiver. He was mad. She couldn't manage to feel any pity for him; this punishment seemed all too fitting to his crimes. But she did fear what could happen when he made the final descent and reality no longer had any meaning for him. He could convince himself that one of the Sarratt boys was in a room with them, and start shooting. Or, even worse, he might decide that she was the Sarratt woman, the one he had raped and murdered, and reenact his deed. She would rather be killed outright than endure his touch.

She didn't know how much longer she could bear it. The days were spent close to the house, making certain Celia was always watched, unable to ride out as she longed to do. The nights were also spent watching the connecting door, listening to the Major's increasingly crazy mutters and bursts of laughter. The very air was full of menace and she was helpless to escape it, because it was outside as well as in. No matter which way she turned, there was danger.

Narrow-eyed, Garnet watched McLain. The damn fool was going crazy, talking to himself about the Sarratts coming back to kill them all. Things hadn't worked out as he'd planned. He'd missed his shot with the woman, and since then she hadn't been riding at all. Damn Roper, too, while he was at it. Garnet had sweated until he'd been able to reshod his horse, knowing Roper had looked real good at the hoofprints leading away from the failed ambush. Now he couldn't get a shot at the woman, and McLain was getting the men all stirred up with his howling about Sarratts coming back from the grave to get them.

Maybe he should do what he'd originally planned and just kill the Major. At least it would shut him up. Only problem was he couldn't do that until he'd found some way to get rid of Roper. Garnet never allowed himself to think that he was actually afraid of Roper, he thought of it as caution, because the man was cat-quick with a gun and as mean as a wounded grizzly. Will Garnet prided himself on not being afraid of no man walking, but he also prided himself on being smart enough to know there were some people you just didn't mess with. Roper was one of them.

Jake Quinzy halted beside him, also watching the Major reel back toward the house. Quinzy spat in the dust before he spoke. "Major's gettin' spooky. I been here a long time, but I been thinkin' maybe it's time to be movin' on."

Garnet sneered. "That crazy talk about the Sarratts scare you?"

Quinzy spat again. "Don't reckon." His eyes were cold slits. "Don't reckon I like workin' for no crazy man, neither."

Garnet didn't like telling anyone his plans, but he needed Quinzy's gun. "The Major might not be around much longer."

Quinzy grunted and rolled that around in his mind. "You thinkin' of takin' over?"

"Don't see why not, do you?"

"No skin off me." He paused. "Unless you plannin' on hurtin' Miz McLain. Guess I'd have to part with you on that."

Startled, Garnet looked at him. He couldn't remember Quinzy balking at anything before. But now wasn't the time to buck him on it. Instead he said, "I got plans for the little sister, not Miz Roper. Good plans." He laughed.

Quinzy chuckled, too. "Yep, she is right purty, ain't she? Reckon the fuzz a-tween her legs is as yeller as her head?"

Just thinking about it made Garnet start breathing faster. That was something else he was mad about; he hadn't seen Celia leave the house in days. The women were holed up inside like Injuns were attacking or something.

"When you plannin' on makin' your move?" Quinzy asked.

"Don't know." Now he wished he hadn't said anything, because if he didn't do something it would make him look like a coward. On the other hand, he couldn't do anything until he could get at the Major's wife.

So all he could do was wait it out.

A lone, dusty rider approached the ranch late one afternoon, slumping in the saddle with fatigue. Angelina Garcia was the first to see him and her eyes brightened at the thought of having a new man, but she didn't move from her languid slump against the barn wall.

The next one to see the rider was one of the gunhands. He nudged Garnet, pointed out the stranger to him. Garnet looked without much interest; it was just another down-at-the-heel wrangler, one of the thousands who had poured west after the end of the war, drifting and looking for work.

Jake watched the man ride in and made no effort to speak or attract his attention. Time enough for that later. What the hell was he doing, riding in here like this? If anyone noticed their resemblance, people would get suspicious. But when the rider turned his head, Jake stifled a grin as he saw that the man had grown a short, dark beard. Smart.

Work was what the man asked about, and Garnet considered it. He didn't have to ask the Major every time he hired a cowpuncher because they tended to drift out as often as they drifted in. But, as dirty and tired as he was, this man didn't have the look of a cowpuncher. Maybe it was his eyes, cool and guarded; maybe he just looked a mite too comfortable with the iron strapped to his hip, the handle worn smooth with use. If he guessed right, this was a gunnie, maybe on the run. They could always use another gun, but the Major liked to look them over himself. Of course, the Major had been acting so loony lately, Garnet would be surprised if he could talk sense.

To hell with the Major. What he liked wouldn't make a difference much longer, anyway. "Yeah, find a place to bunk down," Garnet said. "You any good with that piece you're wearin'?"

"I'm alive," the man said flatly as he swung down from the saddle.

"How're you called?"

"Tanner." He offered just the one name, and Garnet didn't ask if it was the front or the back one. Hell, it probably wasn't his real name, anyhow.

Tanner took care of his weary horse before seeking any sort of comfort for himself. He watered and fed the animal, brushed the dust from its coat, and put it in an empty stall. Slinging his saddle onto his broad shoulder, he went in search of the bunkhouse.

Like all of the buildings except the wooden barn, the bunkhouse was made of thick adobe, so it was cool in the summer. Regardless of that, weather permitting, a lot of the men preferred to sleep outside rolled in their blankets. Tanner had his choice of empty bunks. They didn't look too dirty, and he didn't much care. He was so tired he thought he'd probably be able to sleep standing up. Figuring there wasn't anything he could do or find out that wouldn't wait until morning, he pulled off his boots, slid his.44 under the thin pillow, and went to sleep. He didn't feel the lumps in the mattress.

It was a little after midnight when he woke, feeling human again. Not wanting to disturb the men nearby—including Garnet, he saw—he silently slid the.44 back into his holster. Patting his pockets for the makings of a cigarette, he carefully rolled, licked, and lit it with a straw he'd stuck into the stove. He then picked up his boots and tiptoed out like a man who just wanted a smoke in the middle of the night. Outside, he pulled on his boots and started wandering around, smoking and looking at the stars. It was a moonless night, but that made the stars just that much brighter. It was the kind of night when sound carried for long distances.

He walked to the corral and leaned against the fence while he finished the cigarette. Only then did he go into the stable to check on his horse, which was dozing comfortably. Still wandering, he next visited the barn.

"About time you woke up," a low voice said, and he turned to look at his brother.

"Anyone around?" Ben asked in an equally low voice.

"No." Jake had waited through the long hours to make certain no one entered the barn. Still, he and Ben walked deeper into the building, away from the doors. Rubio snorted and stamped a hoof, a signal that he didn't like being awakened.

"What the hell's going on?" Ben felt he was entitled to the ill-temper in his voice. "Your telegram said to get here as fast as possible, that things had changed. I started rounding up the men we've hired, then left the rest of it to Lonny with orders for him to get them here pronto, and I lit out. I damn near rode my horse into the ground, then I get here and everything seems quiet. I figured they'd found out who you are." He didn't say that he had halfway expected to find his brother dead, but both of them knew the consequences if anyone found out who they were before their men got there to back them up.

"The Major has got himself a wife."

"So?"

"So when he dies, she inherits."

Ben was silent as he absorbed what this meant to their plans. "Shit," he said.

"Yeah. She's a lady, young enough to be his daughter. Her cousin and little sister live here now, too."

"So what're we going to do? We can't kill an innocent woman."

"No, but a widow can remarry."

Again Ben was silent, thinking it through. "You'd marry her?"

"Can you think of any other way?"

"No, but there's another side to it, too. Will she marry you?"

"Yes," Jake said. Victoria was still pouting over that damn horse, but he'd held her in his arms and felt the strength of her response often enough to know he could make her do whatever he wanted.

"There's going to be some shooting when we take the ranch," Ben pointed out. "There's a chance the women might be hurt."

"Not if I can help it. When we have some backup, I'm going to call McLain out, make him face me. If I go up against him while you and the men watch the others, there shouldn't be any wild shooting."

"Hold it right there." Ben moved around to face his brother. "You're not going up against him alone."

"It makes sense."

"The hell it does. This is my fight, too, and I'm going to have it, not stand around while you take all the risks."

In the darkness Jake couldn't see Ben's face, but he didn't have to. There was no way he could keep Ben out of the fight. "All right. How long will it be before the men get here?"

"A few days, maybe a week. Lonny will push 'em hard."

A week at the most. Everything in Jake tightened at the thought of it finally ending. He wanted McLain dead so much it hurt. He wouldn't even let him be buried on Sarratt land. A week, then the land would be theirs again—and Victoria would be his.

"McLain's going loony," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He was tired, but every nerve in his body had been jumping since he'd seen Ben ride up. "There's no way of telling what he'll do. He's started running around and babbling about the Sarratts coming back—"

Ben stiffened. "Well, hell, he's right, but how did he know?"

"He doesn't. That's just it. Every time something happens, he starts slobbering and muttering about the Sarratts getting him. If a steer dies, he thinks it's been poisoned. If he hears a shot, he thinks it was fired at him."

"Looks like the bastard's sins are coming home to roost, after all."

"The point is when we move we'll have to move fast. We'll have to come in at night quiet and slow. Most of the men are out with the herds at any one time, so we'll only have to deal with about a third of them here at the house. We'll take the bunkhouse first, and we'll have to do it without any shooting. When those men are taken care of, we can get the house. McLain sleeps in the big front bedroom." It had been their parents' bedroom. "We'll go in quiet and bring him out." Victoria would be in the bedroom, too, he thought. He didn't want to see her in bed with McLain, but he'd do whatever he had to do, even if it meant killing McLain in front of her.

Ben nodded. "We can't take a chance on anyone seeing our men, then. I'll leave in a couple of days to meet them. But once I leave, I won't be able to just wander back in without making Garnet suspicious. I'll hold the men at Parson's Pass. We can't move without knowing if you're ready or not, so you'll have to come tell us."

Jake didn't like the idea of leaving the ranch even for the four days it would take to get to Parson's Pass and back, but there was no other way. The women would just have to do what they'd been doing anyway and stay inside the house.

"This is the one and only meeting we can have," he said. "It's too risky; someone might see us together. From now on you don't know me."

Ben yawned. "Never saw you before in my life, feller," he said as he walked away.