ill Garnet had run fast, but he hadn't run far. He didn't go to Santa Fe; it was too likely he'd eventually run into one of the Sarratts, damn their black souls to hell. He'd gone to Albuquerque with the handful of men who had run with him, and hunkered down there to think things over.

All in all, he didn't much like his position. He could keep on drifting, change his name, and that didn't matter much to him if he thought the Sarratts would let the matter drop. Hell, they had their damned ranch back, didn't they? But he'd met up with Floyd Hibbs in one of the saloons; Floyd had been out in one of the upper ranges when all the fighting had gone on, but he hadn't much liked the way things had changed and had packed up his gear and left. What really worried Garnet was that Floyd said Jake Roper and Jacob Sarratt were one and the same, and that his brother was one mean-lookin' son of a bitch, too.

So, both of the Sarratts had lived, and the older one had been right under his nose for months. He'd always known there was a reason why he didn't like the bastard. The Major was dead, and damned if Roper—Sarratt—hadn't married McLain's high-nosed widow. Garnet remembered Jake Sarratt's cold green eyes, and he didn't think there was a snowball's chance in hell that he and his brother wouldn't be coming after him.

He could run, but he didn't think they would give up until they got him. He had put lead in both of them, something they weren't likely to let pass.

It didn't set right with him, letting Sarratt hunt him like he was a rabbit. So the thing to do was something they wouldn't expect.

He still wanted that little gal, Celia, more now than before. He dreamed about her at night, dreamed how close he'd been to getting her. He'd about been ready to put a bullet in McLain himself when the Sarratts had rode in, and if he'd just done it a day sooner, nothing would have kept him from having her.

He still wanted that ranch, too. It should've been his. McLain hadn't done nothing but shoot the Sarratt woman after humping her; it had been he, Garnet, who had put a bullet in Duncan Sarratt's head, and who'd shot up the two boys. The little bastards should've died. Hell, McLain had been right all along when he'd been yapping about not finding the bodies, that the Sarratts were coming back. He'd been crazy, but he'd been right.

Garnet thoujght about it a lot. He didn't want to rush into nothing; he wanted everything planned out real careful. But he wanted that ranch, and more than anything he wanted the girl. If he could get together enough men, he just might consider turning the table on the Sarratts one last time.

The situation between them had stretched into two miserable weeks before Jake sought her out. "Don't you think this has gone on long enough?" he asked curtly.

She didn't look up from the button she was sewing on to one of his shirts. "What has?"

"This situation."

"Actually, no. I expect it to go on for some months."

He clenched his teeth. He'd set his mind to apologize several times, but she always froze him out. Whenever he came near her, that patrician little nose would go in the air and she would leave the room. If she had to speak to him, she did it in tones so frosty that no one was left in doubt that the boss wasn't on good terms with his missus. And it went without saying that she never looked at him anymore.

His temper was frayed from the strain. He'd been infuriated when she had moved out of their bedroom, but at the time he'd decided it was better if they slept apart. His own rage had still been too close to the surface. But he was in control now and decided they should make the best of the situation. It would be easier on everyone in the house if they declared a truce.

"I want you to move back into our bedroom."

"Thank you, no."

With that cool dismissal she put the shirt in her sewing basket and got to her feet. Knowing that she was about to leave him talking to an empty room, Jake grabbed her arms.

"You're staying right here until I'm finished," he snapped.

She didn't bother to struggle. "You're hurting my arms."

He eased the pressure, but didn't release her. This close he could see the velvety texture of her skin, reminding him of the swelling and bruising that had so recently faded from her face. Every time he'd looked at her, the knowledge that he'd struck her that hard had burned like acid in his soul. "I won't ever hit you again, Victoria," he said in a low voice. "I give you my word."

She didn't respond; she was like stone, staring straight ahead. Her faint sweet scent teased him. He fought the urge to lean down and press his face to her neck in pursuit of that elusive fragrance. He began to grow hard but wasn't surprised. Hell, not even knowing that she was carrying McLain's brat could stop him from burning for her. He didn't know how far along she was, but her waist was still slender and she still walked with that provocative grace that drew him like a lodestone. That walk might turn into a pregnant waddle soon, but for now it made his heart pound.

He wanted her back in his bed, while there was still time. After the baby became obvious, it would drive him crazy to lie beside her and know it wasn't his, to be reminded every time he looked at her that she had belonged to McLain. Damn the bastard, even from the grave he had reached out to destroy his life.

"Did you hear me?" he asked.

Victoria looked straight ahead. "Yes, I heard you. Believing you is something entirely different."

His hands clenched again. "I give you my word."

"I put as much faith in your word as you do in mine."

Jake released her, dropping his hands as if she had burned him. He was fed up with the situation. It was time for it to end. "Move back into our bedroom. Tonight."

"No."

"I'll do it for you if I have to."

"Are you going to kick down my door?" she asked without interest. "Drag me screaming into your room? Because you'll have to do that, Jake. I won't walk back into that room as if nothing has happened."

"I'm not asking you to pretend nothing happened. I'd give a year of my life if I hadn't hit you, and ten years if you weren't carrying that little bastard—"

She slapped him, the sound sharp in the room. It happened before she realized she was going to do it. She had never felt such blind rage before and she had put all of her strength into the blow. Part of her was aghast that she had done such a thing, but another more primitive part was dismayed that she had done so little damage. The blow whipped his head around, but he remained solidly on his feet.

She was looking him in the eye now, as he'd wanted, but he didn't see any love and forgiveness in her face. She was white and trembling with anger, her eyes like blue fire. She went up on tiptoe to thrust her face close to his.

"Don't you ever call my baby a bastard again." The words were even and said through clenched teeth. She looked ready to kill him, or die trying.

Desire hit him in the gut. He'd seen Victoria bravely facing down Garnet, gentle with Celia, wild and passionate as he made love to her, an icy queen disdaining even to look at him, but this was new, this was a tigress ready to claw him to pieces. His erection pushed painfully against his pants as lust fogged his brain. He was reaching for her, everything forgotten but the burning urge to mate, when she suddenly turned even whiter and stepped back.

She clapped her hand over her mouth and swallowed convulsively. Astonishment wiped the rage from her face. She swallowed once more, then turned and ran.

She prayed she would make it to the privacy of her bedroom and not disgrace herself by vomiting on the stairs. Cold sweat broke out on her, and she staggered a bit on the steps. She should have gone outside; even if someone saw her it would have been better than the mess she was about to make…

She made it to her bedroom, and the basin. Her insides felt as if they were coming up. She heard someone shouting, but she was heaving so convulsively that her ears were roaring. It had hit her with the force of a train, following immediately on the heels of that incredible, blinding anger, and she hadn't been prepared for either.

There was a strong arm around her waist and a hand on her forehead; without them she would have fallen. She was dimly aware of others rushing into the bedroom, of sympathetic murmurs. She sagged and was caught up in Jake's powerful arms. She knew it was him, knew it was he who had held her upright over the basin, but right now she didn't care.

"Put her on the bed, Señor Jake," Carmita instructed.

He did as Carmita put a cloth into Emma's hand. Victoria became aware of someone washing her face with a wonderfully cold, wet cloth. She saw it was Emma and was so relieved she murmured, "I've never been so sick before."

Emma murmured words of comfort as Carmita moved toward the door. "Keep washing her face, señorita, while I get her something to eat."

Jake stared at the housekeeper as if she had lost her mind. "She doesn't need anything to eat," he told her. "She's sick."

Carmita patted his arm. "She is sick with the baby," she explained as she left to go to the kitchen. "It will settle her stomach to have something in it. Trust me, I know."

Sick with the baby. He stared at his wife, lying limp and pale in the bed she didn't want to share with him. He knew women were nauseated when they were pregnant, but from the information he'd heard tossed around in saloons it came real early in the pregnancy. Victoria should have felt it well before now, but she had sounded frightened by what had just happened to her. And if she'd been vomiting for the past month or so, he hadn't known.

He went to the bed where Emma was slowly wiping Victoria's face with the cloth. Victoria's breathing was slower now, but she was still deathly pale and her eyes were closed. "Shouldn't she be getting over this by now?" he asked, his tone rougher than he'd intended.

Emma didn't look up. "It's just beginning."

He stepped back. Either Emma was lying or Victoria had duped her, too. Once he would never have believed Victoria capable of such deception, but then he would never have believed her capable of the killing rage he'd seen in her eyes just a short while ago, either. He couldn't understand why she was so fiercely protective of the baby she carried, since she had hated its father; he felt as betrayed by that as he did by the fact that she had tried to give it his name. But a mother of any species was ten times more dangerous when protecting her young than a hungry male ever was. He had underestimated the strength of that instinct in Victoria. When he looked at it like that he could almost forgive her.

Carmita rushed back into the room with a plain tortilla and a cup of water. She sat on the bed and tore off a small portion of the tortilla which she pushed between Victoria's lips, despite her weak protest.

"You must eat it, señora. It will settle your stomach, you'll see."

Victoria didn't much care; she was beyond caring. But she chewed the flat-tasting tortilla and swallowed. To her vague surprise her stomach didn't revolt. Carmita fed her half of the tortilla, then gave her a small sip of water. "That's enough for now, señora. Rest and soon you'll feel much better."

Victoria willingly closed her eyes. She heard rustles of clothing and retreating footsteps, then the door closed and she inhaled once, deeply, and slept.

It was a short nap, but when she woke half an hour later she felt so well that it was hard to believe she'd been so violently ill less than an hour before. She lay still for a moment just to be sure, but her stomach was blissfully steady. She opened her eyes, sat up, and found Jake watching her.

She was shocked to realize he'd been sitting there the whole time. She saw a faint red mark on his tanned cheek. It was the only remaining evidence of her slap, and it astonished her anew. She'd never before in her life struck another human being.

"Why are you here?" she asked, sliding off the bed. With Jake anywhere close by, lying on a bed was risky.

"I wanted to make certain you're all right."

"I feel fine." She walked to the mirror and began repairing the damage done to her hair.

He came up behind her, dwarfing her reflection. "Come back to our room, Victoria."

She could feel the force of his will like an iron hand pressing down on her. He fully expected her to obey him; after all, his will had prevailed in everything from the very first. He had the power to enforce his orders and was willing to do whatever was necessary. She had been trained to believe it was a wife's duty to obey her husband; if the issue had been anything less important, she knew she would have given in without a struggle. But she couldn't give in on this. She gave her head a slow shake. "No."

He put his hands on her waist and drew her back against him. His head dipped and he pressed his mouth to her hair. "You need someone to look after you if you get sick during the night."

The heat from his body made her weak. What he offered weakened her, all the more so because it would have been so right for her baby's father to lie beside her during the nights and hold her while she was ill. But she couldn't go back into his arms knowing he hated the life growing in her, knowing that he wanted her back only for the sexual pleasure she could give him. It would be impossible for him to deny that charge, she thought, since she could feel his hard length against her buttocks.

It would have been so easy to let herself relax, to lie back against him and let his strength support her. Because it was so easy, she didn't dare let herself do it for a minute. She straightened and returned her attention to the task of pinning up her hair. "If I need anyone, I'll call Emma."

"Why disturb Emma when you could be in bed with me?"

"Why be in bed with you when I could disturb Emma?"

Anger darkened his face and drew his brows down. "I've tried to reason with you, but now I'm telling you. Put your things back in our bedroom and your ass back in our bed tonight, or I'll do it even if I have to carry you over my shoulder for the entire household to see."

"Maybe if you're violent enough you'll be able to make me lose the baby."

Her hissed words stunned him. For the first time he realized that if he did move her back into their bedroom he really would have to use force to do it. Until now he'd imagined that their estrangement had continued due to his own grievances, that when his anger calmed enough for him to tell her to return, she would do it. He'd expected her to balk, expected recriminations, expected to have to give her his sincere apology for having struck her and his equally sincere promise that it would never happen again, but he'd also fully expected to have her back in his bed that very night.

But now he saw that while he might be ready to end their estrangement, she wasn't. She wasn't about to forgive him. She was angry at him, and he had his stinging cheek to prove it. If his cheek was still burning, how had her face felt after his blow? Her slap had snapped his head around, but his had knocked her off her feet. A woman was helpless against a man, and he knew it. He'd never felt anything but contempt for a man who raised his hand to a woman, and now his contempt was turned on himself.

"No," he said in a tight, strained voice. "I won't do anything to hurt you or the baby."

"Then you'll leave us alone."

"Jesus." He was suddenly tired, as if he'd put in a long day branding calves. Victoria was as unbending as steel, and he didn't know what else he could say. He'd sworn he wouldn't hurt her, but it hadn't made any difference. Maybe he hadn't given her enough time, maybe her pregnancy was making her irrational. He didn't know what it was, but he was wary of pushing her too far.

"All right, I'll leave you alone. When you decide you're ready to sleep with me again, all you have to do is open the door and crawl into bed. But don't wait too long. I might find some other woman who's willing to do what you won't."

She waited until he got to the door, then said, "Like the Major?"

He froze for a moment, his back stiffening, then left the room without a word.

Victoria dragged through the days. The symptoms of early pregnancy were upon her with a vengeance. Some mornings she was so sick that nothing seemed to settle her stomach. Even on the days when she thought the nausea would be mild, it took only a stray odor to send her stumbling for a basin or chamberpot. Her bladder seemed to be permanently and uncomfortably full; her sleep was so disturbed by her frequent trips to the chamberpot that she was dull and sleepy during the day. Most of all, her emotions were rioting. She cried easily, and lecturing herself had no effect on the endless tears.

The household was divided into those who knew and those who didn't. Carmita, Lola, Juana, and Celia knew only that Victoria was pregnant and were full of cheerful planning and advice on childbirth, child-rearing, and names. They knew Jake and Victoria had quarreled, but didn't begin to suspect the extent of it.

Emma and Ben were the only other people who knew the circumstances behind Victoria's move to a separate bedroom. Ben was scrupulously polite to her, but there was a chill in his eyes. Emma didn't rebuke Jake by either word or deed, but she was cold to Ben because she felt he didn't have any right to pass judgment on Victoria.

The only censure Jake felt was from Victoria, and he endured it. What else could he do? She was too sick for him to press the issue, and as the days became weeks his biting anger changed to concern. Rather than gaining weight, she had lost several pounds. Her waist was reed-slender and her dresses were becoming loose. Her complexion was alternately pale, gray, and greenish, and there were permanent dark circles under her eyes.

She should be showing her pregnancy by now, if everything were normal. He lay awake at night, tormented by the worry that something had gone wrong. Why wasn't the sickness going away as he'd heard it should well before now? He wasn't concerned for the baby, but about the possibility that he might lose Victoria, too. He began remaining close to the house as much as he could, so he would be on hand if she became seriously ill. God, if she would only stop vomiting so much. Almost nothing stayed down.

But being so ill hadn't changed her hostility toward him. It was in her eyes every time she looked at him, in the way she carefully kept out of his reach and answered him only in a one-syllable monotone, if possible.

She hadn't forgiven him. He was the one wronged, but she hadn't forgiven him. For the first time he began to wonder if she really would leave after the baby was born, and how he would handle it if she chose McLain's child over him. The only alternative, though, was to let her raise the child here on his ranch, and that he couldn't do.

"Victoria and Jake aren't happy," Celia told Luis, lying in his arms beneath a tree. They were in the middle of a copse, hidden from view by anyone who might happen by. They had become adept at finding places to make love, and Celia mildly enjoyed the intrigue. These past weeks had been the happiest of her life, as if all the pieces had finally come together and she was what she had been meant to be. Making love with Luis was so natural and perfect that she didn't give a thought to the rules and restrictions Victoria had taught her. Celia was by nature a complete sensualist, and she had taken to lovemaking with guilt-free enthusiasm.

"No one is happy all the time," he said lazily. They were lying naked on a blanket, and he was sated from their loving.

"But they aren't happy at all now. Victoria looks so ill; I'm worried about her. And she won't speak to Jake at all unless he speaks to her first."

"They've just had a quarrel, that's all. They'll make up."

"It's been weeks now, and they haven't made up."

Luis acknowledged that Jake had certainly been in a bad mood for a long time now. He hadn't wondered at the reason, having more or less assumed it had something to do with Victoria being pregnant. Pregnant women could be hell to live with, he knew. And with Victoria being so ill Jake obviously hadn't been finding any pleasure in bed, which in Luis's opinion was enough to make any man bad-tempered.

Celia propped up on an elbow, her golden hair spilling to the side and covering his shoulder. Her dark blue eyes were sad. "I don't think Jake wants the baby."

"Why do you say that, chica? Most men are proud when their wives become pregnant."

"He doesn't like to talk about the baby. He doesn't seem excited about it at all, and a lot of times he'll get up and walk out of the room if we start talking about it."

It sounded to Luis as if there was very serious trouble with the boss's marriage, but there was nothing he could do about it. The delicate beauty of Celia's breasts drew him, and he circled one nipple with his forefinger, fascinated by the contrast between his brown skin and the milky fairness of hers. She stopped talking and drew in a breath, as he had known she would, her eyes getting darker and her lashes lowering.

"Perhaps they aren't happy, but I am," he said in the slower, deeper tones of arousal.

She smiled, the calm, confident smile of a woman that was new to her. She stroked her hand down his sleek, powerful body and closed it around his erection. "Yes, you look happy," she said as she bent to kiss him, but the real happiness was in herself.

He was so beautiful he took her breath away. She lived every day for the time when they would slip away and she would be in his arms again. Loving him was so wonderful she couldn't associate what they did together with what the Major and Garnet had wanted to do with her. Celia didn't dream of Luis in terms of marriage and babies, ideas that were alien to her because she had always lived only for the moment. She dreamed of him as he was now, naked and reaching for her, his dark eyes hot with passion.

Victoria was having a good day, finally, so Emma took advantage of it and slipped out to the stables. She quickly saddled her horse and rode out, desperate to get out of the house for just a little while. If all women got as sick as Victoria had with this baby, she didn't understand how a woman could bear to have more than one. If it went on much longer, Victoria would be dangerously weak.

The gelding had been feeling pent-up, too; she gave him his head and he stretched out in a full gallop. The rush of air cleared the cobwebs from her mind. She lost some of her hairpins and her hair came tumbling down, but she didn't care. For just an hour she was free.

Over the thunder of her own horse's hooves, she didn't hear the other horse coming up behind her until a bobbing head stretched out past her knee and a gloved hand reached in front to take her reins. Startled, she swung her riding crop before she saw who it was, and Ben flung up his arm to keep the whip from landing across his face.

"What the hell are you doing?" he yelled, pulling both horses to a stop.

Emma was stricken at what she had nearly done. "I'm sorry," she said, her cheeks losing their color. "I didn't know who it was. Why did you grab my reins?"

"I thought the horse was out of control."

She shook her head. "No, I was just letting him run. He's been as cooped up as I have." She gave him a quick glance. "It seems we both were mistaken, weren't we?"

Ben ignored that. "I told you not to ride alone."

She sat in the saddle and looked at him with an expression that calmly denied him the right to tell her what to do. She was too tired to fight, but she simply wasn't going to sit in the house like a child if she wanted to ride.

He sighed and kneed his horse away from hers. "If you want to ride, then let's ride."

She did, joyfully. She was surprised to see it was late summer; the grasses were getting brittle and had a hint of yellow to them. They had arrived in the spring, but she didn't really remember much about it; the strain of surviving those weeks with the Major had taken all of her attention. It had been June, hot and dusty, when they had tried to escape. Now it was late in August, with only a few short weeks left before the first frost. She had missed the summer. It was disorienting.

She let the gelding run until he slowed of his own accord, blowing and tossing his head with joy. She patted his steaming neck as Ben reined in to keep pace with her.

She looked around at the broad meadow, with the craggy peaks bordering it to the north, and the tall grasses waving in the slight breeze. You could see for miles and she was amazed at the beauty of the land.

The horses slowed, then halted completely, lowering their heads to crop at the grass.

Ben removed his hat and wiped his sweaty forehead on his sleeve. His dark hair was damp, too, and his face was dusty. His hazel eyes were clear and penetrating. He said quietly, "Emma girl, are you ever going to come to me?"

A pang went through her. If he had tried to seduce her she thought she could have resisted him more easily, but it was incredibly hard to deny this simple invitation. "I want to," she said, the truth somehow easy to accept and admit out here in this high, empty meadow. "But how can I?"

"Easily. All you have to do is open my door. Or hold out your hand to me right now. That's all. I'll do the rest."

He saw the flicker of fear on her face and was puzzled. "I won't hurt you," he said in husky promise. "I won't lie and say the first time won't be hard for you, but I'll take care of you. I'll make certain you enjoy it, too. You don't need to be afraid of me."

"I'm not afraid, not of you," she quickly denied. Her brown eyes were as velvety as a doe's.

"Then what are you afraid of?"

She looked away from him, her eyes going to the mountains and the blue sky beyond. "All of it, I think. The act itself. It isn't the same for a woman as it is for a man. From what I can tell, for a man it's a few minutes of pleasure, forgotten as soon as he gets up, without meaning to him until the next time he wants to do it. For a woman…"

"For a woman it's a huge step. It's trusting a man not to hurt her. It's taking a chance of pregnancy, which will ruin her life and the life of her child if she isn't married, and could kill her even if she is married. It isn't just taking a man into her body, it's taking him into her life, because the same act that means nothing to him can affect her for the rest of her days."

"It doesn't matter that much to whores."

"Is that what you want me to be? A whore? They do it for money, with any man who has the money. It's sad. They're sad."

He said harshly, "I don't want you to be a whore." He didn't want emptiness in Emma's eyes when he made love to her, he wanted to see wonder, and blind pleasure, and trust. He wanted her to see only him. "I wouldn't abandon you if I made you pregnant. I'm here to stay. Look at Jake; he didn't abandon Victoria, and it's not even his baby."

Emma rounded on him so fiercely he drew back, wary that she might use her riding crop on him after all. "Jake's a fool," she snapped. "Of course it's his baby."

He didn't take kindly to having Jake called names, and his eyes narrowed. "She told him just a mite too soon, don't you think?"

"She knew right away." Emma wasn't about to get into a discussion of how Victoria had known so quickly, but she wasn't finished. "It couldn't be the Major's child, because he didn't… do that to her."

"Yeah," Ben said cynically. "She tried to convince Jake of that. But why would any man not make love to his wife? Victoria's a good-looking woman."

She was flushed with anger. "He tried, but couldn't."

"Why couldn't he? It's common knowledge that he could with Angelina."

"I don't know why he couldn't with Victoria. He tried the first two nights they were married, but couldn't do it. He left her alone after that."

"How do you know? Were you in their bedroom watching?"

"She told me the next morning," Emma answered. "I know most women don't talk about things like that, but Victoria and I are very close. We've been together all of our lives. She was so frightened on their wedding night because she didn't know what was going to happen. She married him only because we were all starving and he said he'd give money to her parents if she'd marry him."

Emma's words were strong and certain. Ben frowned, thinking. What if Jake was wrong?