hey all retired early that night, too dispirited even to try and talk. Emma watched Jake lead Victoria into their bedroom, his arm around her waist both possessive and tender, and the door closed to lock them in their private world where no one else could enter. Ben walked past her with a quiet good night and went into his own bedroom.

Emma carefully closed her own door, went about the nightly ritual of washing and getting into her nightgown, and then was totally unable to get into bed. She sat in a chair with her hands folded in her lap, rocking back and forth in a silent paroxysm of grief.

Death came so suddenly and it was so final, so indiscriminate. In a short time it had taken a nameless infant, an unloved whore, and a girl whose smile had made hearts break. They were promised nothing, any of them, not another year, another week, or even another day. Babies were born and every day of their lives after that was a risk. People could hide from life, but not from death.

Celia had lived life as if it were the greatest joy. She had reveled in its beauty and ignored the ugliness unless forced to look upon it. She had tried to hide from that part of life, but in the end it had found her.

In the end all they had was the moment, the everlasting now. One could plan for the future, one could try, but nothing was guaranteed.

Victoria was with her husband and their child was growing in her body. Celia had reached out with eager hands to embrace her love. But she, Emma, had turned away from the love that had beckoned her. Oh, she had had very good reasons and perhaps the love wasn't what she would have wished, but it had been offered and she had denied it.

How would she feel if Ben didn't survive the night?

A mighty hand squeezed her chest and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. He might never return the devotion she felt for him, but that wouldn't make it one whit weaker. She had turned him away, and he hadn't asked in months now. She was alone, by her own will.

She got to her feet and blew out the lamp. Sitting here brooding wouldn't accomplish anything. She needed to get some sleep.

But she could not get into that bed. She paused, staring at its pale expanse in the darkness. A cold, empty bed, just as she was cold and empty.

She bolted out the door and down the hall. She jerked Ben's door open without pausing to think, her eyes wide and desperate, and came to an abrupt halt when he whirled around with his gun in his-hand. The hammer was pulled back, his finger on the trigger. She looked down the unwavering barrel, dead level with her head.

Ben aimed the gun toward the ceiling and slowly let the hammer back down. "Don't ever do that again."

"No. I won't."

He wore only his pants, and the dark hair around his forehead was damp from his washing. Emma stared at the broad expanse of his chest, muscled and covered with dark hair, and felt her knees go weak.

"What do you want?"

"I want—" She stopped, her throat tightening. Her fingers dug into the wood of the doorframe. "Ben—"

He faced her, waiting.

"I want you to hold me," she whispered, one hand blindly reaching out for him. "Don't let me be alone tonight. God, I don't want to die without knowing what it's like to lie with you."

He sighed as he caught her hand, his rough fingers closing warmly, reassuringly around it. He'd given up hope that she would come to him, though he'd never quite been able to lose the dream. He had ceased to pressure her during the past few months, not because he'd wanted her less but because what he was offering wasn't fair to her. He still found the thought of marriage distasteful, and that was what a woman like Emma should have.

But his newly developed scruples didn't extend to turning her down if she came to his room wearing nothing but a thin nightgown, begging him to hold her.

Desire was already pumping through him, and he looked at her through narrowed, burning eyes. "You know that holding you won't be all I'll do, don't you? There's no way I can lie down with you and not be inside you, Emma girl."

"Yes, I know." She straightened her shoulders, though her soft, wide lips were trembling. "It's what I want, too."

He pulled her inside and closed the door. She was shaking as he gently freed her hair from its nighttime braid and spread it over her shoulders like a dark cloak. He lifted her hands and placed them on his shoulders, then bent and covered her mouth with his. Emma's eyelids fluttered shut, and she sank against him, against his wonderful heat and strength. Now that she had taken the step, she felt a deep calm underlying her sexual arousal, as if things had finally fallen into their rightful place.

He caught the hem of her nightgown and lifted it up and off. She trembled even more, and her hands made slight movements as if to shield herself, then she let them lie trustingly on his shoulders while he looked down at her slender white body. Ben felt breathless. She was so finely made that he felt coarse and clumsy, likely to hurt her with the lust that burned through him. He put his hand over one breast, marveling at the silky warmth of her and the contrast of his tanned, callused hand against the alabaster globe, then he lifted it and bent down to take the nipple in his mouth.

Incredible heat washed over her, more intense than anything he had taught her before. His taste and scent were achingly familiar; she recognized him by the primitive signs with which women have always recognized their mates. When he placed her on his bed, she went willingly.

"I don't know what to do," she whispered.

"I'll show you," he murmured in reply, kissing her neck and ear and then her mouth. He was achingly erect, throbbing with the need to enter her, but this first time control was crucial. "You taste sweet, Emma girl."

Emma moaned as he moved down to her breasts and began sucking at her nipples with a power that sent fire running through her veins. Time swirled and disappeared. His hands and mouth were all over her body, tasting her, feeling her. She received a jolt when he touched her between her legs, though the hot tide of pleasure quickly drowned her surprise. There was another jolt when he slid one long finger into her, testing both her response and the strength of her maidenhead. She winced away from the slight burning, but he rubbed his thumb across and around the sensitive nub at the top of her sex and with a whimper she returned, her hips rotating in search of more.

"Please." She clutched at him with wet hands. "Ben!"

He heeded her cry and stripped out of his pants, then spread her legs apart. He stopped to steady his breathing and regain his control. "It'll hurt just this once," he said roughly.

She lifted herself against the shaft that probed between her folds. "I know," she murmured as he let his weight down on her and settled his hips in the cradle of her thighs.

He entered her with care, pushing forward with slow pressure. She gasped, and her nails dug into his shoulders. Her body was opening for him, stretching painfully. She thought it was unbearable, but found that it wasn't. Her maidenhead gave way and he went deep inside her while tears burned her eyes. He lay very still, but she could feel his length throbbing as she tried to accustom herself to his penetration.

Then he withdrew, and she stared at him with dark, questioning eyes. He managed a tight smile. "No, it isn't finished. I'm just getting started, sugar, but I'm going to make certain you enjoy this as much as I will." Then he bent to her, applying mouth and fingers to the enjoyable task, and soon she was on fire. Just as she arched in her first convulsive climax, Ben thrust deeply into her, and there was no pain, only the intoxicating passion of their two bodies joined.

Two nights later Victoria slipped out of bed. Her eyes were burning from tears and lack of sleep, yet still she couldn't manage to do more than doze off occasionally. Every time she did, she woke with the sound of a single scream in her ears, and dreaded hearing it again.

It was after midnight now. Jake slept heavily, exhausted from the work he still had to do and his own lack of sleep since Celia's death. She didn't light a candle, knowing that it would wake him. His responses were still very much those of a gunslick, becoming instantly alert at the slightest noise or the light from a single candle. This was the first time she had managed to get out of bed in the middle of the night without waking him, which meant that she had awakened him a lot during her pregnancy.

She couldn't accept losing Celia, she just couldn't. Her older brother had been killed during the war and she had grieved, but it had been different somehow. He had been a grown man, and he had chosen to fight. Celia had been on the verge of blooming into full womanhood, a promise that would forever now go unfulfilled; she had not chosen to be stomped to death by a killer horse. Dear God, how she missed her!

And Rubio still stamped about in his roomy stall, healthy and vicious. It was just a matter of time until he killed again.

Unless she stopped it.

She didn't bother with stockings, but put on her slippers. Her shawl was hanging over the back of a chair, and she wrapped it around her head and shoulders. Jake's holsters were also slung over a chair, one sitting next to his side of the bed so he could reach them in a hurry. She tiptoed over and gingerly slid one of the heavy weapons free of the leather.

It weighted down her arm as she slipped from the room and down the stairs. She would barely be able to hold it steady if she needed it. She hoped she wouldn't.

The cold air blasted her in the face as she tugged the door open. New snow was falling, fat, fluffy snow-flakes silently drifting down to cover everything in white. How Celia would have enjoyed it.

The walk to the barn seemed longer than it ever had before. The falling snow combined with darkness confused her depth perception and she stumbled several times. Already her feet and legs were freezing. It would be warmer in the barn with the body heat given off by the animals. Sophie was in there, her barrel swelling with Rubio's foal. And Gypsy, Celia's calm, gentle Gypsy. Several of the other mares had been bred to the stallion, but not Gypsy, and Victoria was violently glad.

She had to struggle to open the barn door, and a horse nickered in curiosity. The blackness seemed absolute. She left the door open, pushing it wide, then swinging the other door open, too. She knew that there was a lantern hanging just inside the right door and fumbled around until she found it and managed to get it lit. The warm yellow glow dispelled the darkness.

Sophie put her head over the top of the stall, and down at the far end of the barn Victoria could see the stallion's well-formed head, showing as a dark shadow rather than the red she knew it to be. How much better it would have been if the double doors at that end of the barn had opened into a free pasture rather than a series of corrals and pens, but they did, which meant she would have to drive the stallion back the entire length of the barn.

She knew she couldn't shoot the horse. As much as she hated him, she couldn't put the gun to his head and pull the trigger. Jake was right; he was a dumb animal. She could have shot him in self-defense or to defend anyone from an immediate attack, but not otherwise.

"You're safe from me," she whispered as she approached his stall, "as long as you don't start in my direction. Do you hear me, horse? Then I will kill you."

His ears went back and he watched her with unconcealed hostility. He began stamping, one hoof thudding down repeatedly. In her stall Sophie whinnied and kicked out, sensing the stallion's agitation.

Victoria gripped the pistol in her right hand and used both thumbs to pull the hammer back and cock it. She had to be ready in case he did charge at her. Then she unlatched the stall door and pulled it open, backing up with it, keeping the sturdy wood between her and the horse at all times.

He screamed and backed farther into the stall. "Get out," she hissed. She never wanted to see the stallion again. She had thought about it and in her exhaustion arrived at the truth: she couldn't live on this ranch if Rubio remained. The hate would fester, and every time she saw him she would remember that he'd killed her sister.

He reared, screaming shrilly again. "Go on, get out!" Victoria yelled. She grabbed a length of bridle from the wall, swinging it over the stall at him. "Get out!"

He bolted out of the stall and down the center of the barn, but halted midway, hooves stamping. His ears were still back and he reared, turning to face her. Victoria braced the gun on top of the stall door. "Come on, then," she whispered.

He screamed and ran for freedom, hooves thundering in the night. Other horses all over the ranch were awake now, kicking and whinnying. Lights were appearing as candles and lamps were lit, men were spilling out of the bunkhouse pulling on their pants and stomping their feet into boots. Victoria was half-frozen and wobbling with exhaustion as she left the barn after extinguishing the lantern. It was all she could do to push the double doors together again and fasten them.

Jake was running toward her with Ben right behind him. Both of them were armed, pistols in hand. When he saw her with his other pistol in her hand, he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. "What did you do?" he yelled.

"I let him go," she said simply, and handed Jake his pistol.

He shoved it into the empty holster. "You what?" Equal amounts of rage and incredulousness were in his voice.

"I let him go. I couldn't live here with him safe and sound in the barn and Celia in a grave. You'll have to make do with the foals he's already sired."

He swore violently, then shut up when he looked down at her. She was as white as her nightgown and shivering with cold; she had only a shawl thrown around her to protect her from the weather. She swayed, and he picked her up. "All right, darling," he said in a far gentler tone. "All right." He carried her back to the house and put her to bed. For the first time since Celia's death, she went soundly to sleep.

March came, bringing hints of spring that lasted just long enough to make them all start hoping. Victoria was awkward and slow-moving, unable to get up out of a chair by herself. She hadn't recovered her spirits, but was able to smile a little when Jake teased her. Her bulk had its own dampening effect on her moods; her back ached constantly now and she was unable to find a comfortable position for sleeping. The baby had settled so low that she found it difficult even to walk. If only this pregnancy would end! She found herself even looking forward to labor, for it would mean an end to this constant physical wretchedness.

Jake had never particularly considered himself a family man, despite the fact that he was now married and increasingly in love with his wife. It was with some surprise that he realized he was staying close to the house these days, just in case. He rubbed her back for her every night, and helped her out of bed for her numerous nightly visits to the chamberpot. The size of her belly alarmed him, for he knew how slender her hips were. Angelina had died in childbirth; he was terrified that the same might happen to Victoria.

The last of March came and went. Everyone watched her like a hawk. The third of April, it began snowing again and Victoria felt like screaming with frustration. Would spring and this baby never get here?

She couldn't sleep that night; she was more restless than usual, and the sheets kept tangling about her legs.

Jake rubbed her back, but it didn't help. She got up to wash her face with cool water, and he got up with her. Since the night she had sneaked out to the barn and let Rubio go, she hadn't been able to stir without disturbing him. Neither of them bothered to light a candle; the snowfall filled the room with a pale, unearthly light and she was able to see quite well though everything was without color.

Suddenly Jake stiffened. She sensed his alertness and looked at him. He was staring out the window. She looked out the window, too, but could see nothing. "Get dressed," he said sharply, and reached for his pants. "Don't light any candles or lamps." He had barely buttoned his pants before he was out the door, buckling his guns around his lean waist.

He called down the hallway, "Ben. Riders."

Ben sat up in bed at the first sound of Jake's voice, disturbing Emma who had been sleeping on his arm. "Get up, honey," he said in a quiet, level voice. "We have trouble."

He was already up and pulling on his pants before she pushed the hair out of her eyes, but his urgency was contagious. She grabbed her nightgown and pulled it on over her head, shivering as the chill struck her bare body.

"Who is it?"

"Doesn't matter."

Victoria would need her. Emma dashed out of the room ahead of Ben, who was putting on his boots, and ran to her own room, which had been largely unoccupied these past couple of months. She didn't know what had kept her from completely moving in with Ben, because certainly no one had been censorious of their relationship. In fact, in the sadness following Celia's death, they had all pulled closer together, and Emma's happiness had seemed to cheer Victoria.

Victoria had never been more aware of her ungainly bulk than she was now, when she was trying to hurry. Jake was back in the bedroom a heartbeat after calling to Ben, putting on his boots, shrugging into a shirt but not taking the time to button it. He grabbed his heavy coat on the way out the door a second time. Over his shoulder he said, "Damn it, Victoria, get dressed!"

She was trying. She didn't bother to remove her nightgown, but pulled on one of her loose dresses over it. Emma came in, dressed herself, as Victoria was struggling to put on her stockings and shoes. "I'll do it," Emma whispered, going down on her knees and rolling the stockings up Victoria's legs. "What's happening?"

"I don't know. Jake saw something and told Ben there were riders."

They listened, but couldn't hear anything. When they went downstairs they found that the men had roused the rest of the household, and the three other women were standing in their nightgowns in a terrified knot. Jake tossed Ben a rifle, then gave Victoria and Emma an assessing glance. "Both of you get a rifle and find a place where you have plenty of cover but can see to shoot. I'm going down to the bunkhouse to wake up the men."

"I'm going down to the bunkhouse," Ben corrected, and both of them thought of Victoria, heavily pregnant. It was better that Jake stay with her.

Before he slipped out the door, Ben put his hand behind Emma's neck and pulled her to him for a quick, hard kiss. It wasn't until he was gone that she realized he had kissed her good-bye, just in case.

"What's happening?" Victoria asked calmly.

"I saw a light where there shouldn't have been one. Someone lit a cigarette, probably."

"What makes you think it was more than one man?"

"Experience." He shoved a handful of shells in each pocket and pushed the box toward them. "Fill up your pockets. Carmita, can any of you shoot?"

"Yes, Señor Jake," she said. "I can, and so can Juana."

"And I," Lola said.

"Good. All of you, get a rifle. It may be nothing, but by God if it's something we'll be ready for them."

"Indians?" Juana posed timidly.

"No. Indians would never have made that light."

White men. Raiders.

Emma watched the door by which Ben had left, willing him to come back through it.

The first shot made them all jump, except for Jake. He ran toward the front of the house and broke out a window with the stock of his rifle. "Find cover!" he yelled.

They scrambled for positions. "Coming in!" Ben yelled from outside, and the door burst open. He came in low, running, and was followed by five other men. "Thought you could use some extra guns in here," he said. Luis was one of them, his lean, dark face more alive than it had been in two months.

The women went upstairs, their hearts pounding as they chose windows. Following Jake's example, Victoria smashed the glass out with her rifle and cold air poured in. "At least I won't go to sleep," she mumbled.

The barrage of shooting opened all at once, and it seemed like it came from all directions. The house echoed with shots and the sharp smell of cordite burned her nostrils. She peered out the window, searching for a target. She could see dark shapes moving around and chose the ones on horseback; their men wouldn't be mounted, she reasoned.

A man on foot raised his head from behind a bush and aimed at the house. Victoria carefully aimed and pulled the trigger. The man fell back in a boneless sprawl.

She had killed a man. It left her surprisingly unmoved. Later, perhaps, would be time for reaction.

There were more shots from the upper floor now, and the others began picking their targets. Victoria shot at a man on horseback, but missed.

A cry of pain came from one of the bedrooms. Victoria started, but didn't dare leave her post. "Emma?" she called.

"I'm fine! Carmita? Lola? Juana?"

Everyone answered except Lola. Victoria heard a low moan.

Just then an orange glow flickered across the white ground. A man galloped toward the house, a blazing torch in his right hand. Terror struck Victoria's heart. They were trying to burn the house! She shot the man in the face and he tumbled backward off the horse, the torch flying from his hand and sputtering out in the snow.

Bullets struck the adobe walls and shattered what little glass was left in the window. Shards rained down on her ducked head. When she lifted it again, she saw another man carrying a flaming torch die before he could throw it at the house.

The adobe walls would be difficult to burn, she thought, as would the clay tile roof, but what if a torch came through one of the glassless windows?

She fired and reloaded, fired and reloaded, for what seemed like hours. Her entire body felt squeezed by a great fist. Terror ate at her, because she didn't know if Jake was still alive or if a bullet had found him.

Emma ran into the room, bent low. "Lola's dead, and Juana has been wounded, but not bad. She's still shooting."

"What about Jake? And Ben?"

"I heard Jake downstairs. I don't know about Ben." Agony was in Emma's voice. Victoria squeezed her hand.

"Who is doing this?" Victoria moaned. Every muscle in her was aching. She didn't know how much longer she could stay on her feet.

"I don't know. It should be dawn soon. At least then we'll be able to see."

Dawn. Had that much time passed? It had seemed like forever, but at the same time she would have measured it in minutes instead of hours.

She caught the acrid smell of smoke.

"Get water!" she yelled. "Fire! Get water!" She grabbed the pitcher of water from the table and ran out into the hallway. Pale smoke was drifting up the stairs. She ran down them, bending over as far as she could. Someone rose up in front of her, a face from hell. It was Jake, his face blackened with gunsmoke.

"Get down!" he yelled.

"The house is on fire!"

He cursed and swung around. None of them had noticed the smoke, but now they could see it coming from the kitchen. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to the floor. "Stay here, do you hear me? Stay here! I'm going to get the others. We'll have to get out of here!"

How could they? They would run into a hail of bullets outside. But as Jake had said, they had to get out. They couldn't fight the fire and the raiders at the same time.

The smoke was getting thicker. She began ripping squares out of her skirt and soaking them in water from the pitcher she had grabbed. Ben crawled up beside her, grinning like a fiend. She hit him in the face with a sodden piece of material. "Tie that over your nose and mouth," she said. Her throat was burning, and she obeyed her own instructions.

"Is Emma all right?" Ben grunted.

"Yes. Jake has gone up to get them. Lola's dead."

Ben called the five other men together, and they pulled back from their positions as Jake came down the stairs with the three women. Victoria gave them all wet squares to cover their faces. Jake hunkered down beside her as he tied the cloth over his mouth and nose.

"We'll go out through the courtyard," he said, his voice muffled. "It's the only way that'll give us any protection. I'll go out first, then another man, then the women. The rest of you come after the women and cover them."

Luis said, "We have to get word to Lonny, or our own men are liable to shoot us."

"We don't have time. Go, now!"

Jake dragged Victoria to her feet and down the hall to one of the courtyard entrances. "We'll take you to the smithy," he said. "It's closest."

The smithy was just a three-sided shed, equipped with the basic blacksmith tools, but it had the advantage of being directly behind the house. They would have some shelter there, but not much.

Jake went out first. He saw a muzzle flash as someone fired, the bullet singing close by his head with the sound of an angry hornet. He fired but must have missed because he saw a shadow dodging to the side. He fired at the shadow, and this time was rewarded by a howl of pain that swiftly disintegrated into silence.

Behind him he could hear Victoria breathing in hard, quick gasps as the smoke got thicker. Then he heard Luis, who came out after him, his dark eyes flashing in the light of the flames that were beginning to flicker through the roof. "Get your wife," he said to Jake. "I'll guard you."

Jake put his arm around Victoria's back and ran. She tried to stay up with him but stumbled, and he held her up with the sheer force of his arm, keeping himself between her and the most likely line of fire. "I can make it, just watch your back!" she gasped.

"Don't talk, just run!"

The men behind them were firing steadily, snapping off shots at anyone who moved. From the bunkhouse and stable came a furious volley, as someone spotted the women trying to flee the house and laid down covering fire so they could reach safety. Bullets zinged overhead, but they ran and ducked and weaved, never giving anyone a steady target.

Jake made it to the smithy with Victoria and placed her on the ground at the back of the shed. He was already turning around to leave her as he said, "Stay down. Don't raise your head for anything." Then he took up position beside Luis, picking his shots and snapping them off, firing for effect rather than cover.

Emma tumbled into the smithy in a tangle of skirts, but she quickly got to her hands and knees and crawled to Victoria, swearing as the cloth tangled her legs again. Illogically, Victoria laughed at hearing those sort of words leaving Emma's proper mouth. Emma looked up and grinned. Most of her dark hair had come loose from its braid, and her pale skin was smeared with soot and gunpowder. "Well," she said, "there's no point in worrying about manners right now."

"I agree." Victoria laughed again, a bit disoriented. They had both killed tonight, so why worry about propriety?

Carmita and Juana scrambled in after them. Juana was bleeding from a cut high on her shoulder where a splinter of glass had sliced through the air. She sank down on the ground, still clutching a rifle in her hand.

Ben's left leg was suddenly knocked out from under him, and he went down as abruptly as if he had been tripped. Emma made a high, thin sound and despite Jake's shouted warning darted out of the shelter.

Ben was already rolling over, trying to get his good leg under him, when Emma slid into the snow beside him. She grabbed his collar and began dragging him, screaming and crying and swearing all at the same time. He was swearing, too, yelling at Emma to let go of him and get the hell back into the smithy, but she refused. Her strength amazed him. Though he far outweighed her, she dug her heels in and pulled and there was nothing he could do to stop her, no way he could break her grip. She dragged him into the smithy and immediately began tearing his pants leg open so she could see the wound.

"How is he?" Jake barked.

"I'll live," Ben replied for himself, though it wasn't by any means certain. The bullet had punched completely through his thigh. Still, if he didn't bleed to death and if he didn't get gangrene, he would be all right.

"Sarratt! Goddamn you, Sarratt, where are you?"

Jake's head came up, and an unholy look crossed his face, a cold glitter coming into his eyes. "Garnet," he hissed. A small smile of anticipation touched his lips, and he snaked a run across the yard. Now he knew who to hunt; it was what he'd been waiting for. This time Garnet wasn't going to get away.

Dawn was slowly turning the sky a pale gray. It was snowing again, the swirling flakes cutting down on visibility. Crimson and yellow light from the burning house illuminated the area in a strange, flickering glow. Victoria turned her head and looked at the house; the fire in the kitchen had burned through to the second floor. She could see flames breaking through the roof and licking out of the broken windows. It was dying, the old, graceful house that had seen both love and savage betrayal, birth and death. She hadn't been able to bring herself to pack away Celia's clothes, but now she wouldn't have to; the flames were destroying every memento, leaving only her own memories.

The fist tightened on her body. She lay panting, watching the flames, and when she could speak again she said, "The baby will be here soon."

Carmita gasped, too overwhelmed by the night's events to comprehend how she could deal with this, too. Emma looked up from where she was applying pressure to Ben's wounds to stop the bleeding, her face tight with strain. "Your pains have started?"

Victoria inhaled sharply, her fingers digging into the dirt. "Hours ago."

Garnet was desperate and losing control. It wasn't supposed to have been like this! It should have happened the way it had the first time, with them riding in and catching everyone off guard or asleep. Instead, those bastards had been awake and waiting for them. It didn't make sense, and it made him afraid. Only the thought of finally getting his hands on Celia kept him from running. This would be his last chance, because he knew that if he failed, Sarratt would hunt him down like a mad dog.

"Sarratt!" he bellowed. "Sarratt!" Even as he yelled, he changed position, working his way around toward the barn. If he could just draw Jake out, to hell with a fair fight. No way was he going to face Jake. Just one shot was all he'd need, a quick bullet in the head or back, and no more Sarratt. Someone had already gotten the brother. The kingdom would be his, and Celia would be his. He'd have to take care of Bullfrog in the same way he took care of Sarratt, but that didn't trouble him any.

Jake didn't answer. He remained where he was, watching. He saw someone quickly sidle into the corral. The light was too uncertain for him to recognize the man by anything other than instinct. Garnet was heading toward the barn, where he would have cover when Jake showed himself.

Jake didn't intend to show himself. On his belly he wormed his way from bush to tree to well-house, then to the bunkhouse. Bodies were sprawled all over the yard, dark, boneless heaps. A lot of men had died that night. He wasn't going to be one of them, but Garnet damn sure was.

"We need heat," Emma said calmly. "Can someone fire up the forge, please? And we need light."

Luis began stoking coal into the forge. "Heat, yes, but there's no lantern. It will be daylight soon."

Victoria didn't care about either heat or light. Every instinct, every sense, was focused inward. She was in the grip of a force that wouldn't be denied, a great squeezing force wrapped around her body and dragging her down. Even though she had witnessed Angelina's labor, she hadn't imagined it would be this bad. It was grinding agony, tearing her pelvis apart and forcing air from her lungs, and it went on and on with only spare moments of relief between the waves.

Ben lay next to the anvil, listening to Victoria's stifled groans. "Take my shirt," he instructed, keeping his voice steady with effort. "Twist it, and wrap it tight around a stick, then set it on fire. It'll give you a few minutes of light."

"All right," Emma said after pausing to consider the idea. "But not just yet. We'll need it more in a little while than we do right now."

Garnet worked his way around to the back of the barn and opened the door just enough to slip in. Fingers of light were beginning to show through the cracks as dawn progressed. He didn't have much time left. He ran to the front of the barn and opened those doors a crack, not enough for anyone to notice that they were open but enough for him to see and shoot. Now all he had to do was wait. Sarratt should be working his way toward the spot where Garnet had been when he'd yelled.

Garnet grinned. Just a few minutes. A few more minutes, and he'd have everything he'd ever wanted.

"Looking for me?"

The words were accompanied by the unmistakable click of a pistol being cocked. Garnet froze, sweat popping out on his brow despite the cold. He didn't dare turn around. Terror ripped through him as he realized that he was going to die. He had shot others with no more feeling than he'd have burst a melon, but the thought of his own death was paralyzing.

"You might as well turn around," Jake said softly. "I'm going to kill you either way. At least if you turn you'll have a chance to get a shot off at me, too."

The gun trembled in Garnet's hand. He'd die as soon as he turned, but he believed Sarratt when he said he'd kill him anyway.

"You should've kept going," Jake murmured. "As far and as fast from the kingdom as you could get."

"You'd have hunted me down," Garnet gasped. "And the girl—I wanted the girl."

Celia. Beautiful little Celia. Jake's mouth tightened with pain. "You'll never have her now," he said.

Garnet threw himself to the side, turning and firing as he did. Jake was prepared for that and had positioned himself behind a bale of hay. Only his head and gun were exposed. He was calm as he fired, the first bullet hitting Garnet in the stomach, the second in the chest. Garnet crashed against the wall, his finger tightening reflexively on the trigger and getting off a shot that went through the ceiling before the heavy gun dropped from his hand.

Jake kicked the gun out of reach, just in case. The only way he'd trust Garnet was dead.

Garnet's eyes were open, his throat working convulsively as he tried to breathe. Red foam bubbled out of his mouth. Jake watched as his chest heaved up and down a few times, then stopped completely. Garnet's eyes glazed over.

There had been a lot of death on this ranch. Jake sighed, suddenly tired of it, but he automatically reloaded his pistol. It was quiet outside, he realized. Maybe it was over. He had to get back to Victoria.

"Boss? You all right?"

It was Lonny. Jake called, "Yeah."

"You better get back to the smithy. Luis says the baby's coming."

Jake had been frightened before; he'd been anxious, worried, tense; but now he felt pure terror. Victoria couldn't give birth like this, lying in a cold smithy, without blankets or anything. He ran, not even noticing the gun still in his hand.

Ben was propped up against the anvil now, shirtless, but someone had given him a coat. He was pale, but a quick glance reassured Jake that the bleeding had stopped. The forge was going full blast, giving off great waves of heat that fought off the chill in the open shed. Luis lighted a lantern and handed it to the back of the shed, which had been partitioned off by several skirts that were hung over a rope strung from side to side. Jake brushed past the skirts and knelt on the ground beside his wife.

Emma, Carmita, and Juana were all in their nightgowns, having sacrificed the clothing they had hurriedly donned over their nightwear for the makeshift curtain. Victoria's nightgown was rucked up to her waist, her knees bent and raised. Jake knelt beside her, his heart in his throat as he stroked her damp hair back from her face with dirty, trembling fingers. Her eyes were closed, her face paper white as she breathed in quick, jerky pants.

Carmita glanced up at him, her dark eyes worried. "Soon, Seüor Jake. I can see the head."

Victoria's eyes opened. They were glazed, but fastened on him like a talisman. She reached up over her head, and Jake caught her hand in his.

"Hold on, love," he whispered. He was frozen with fear. He had brought her to this, endangered her life, reduced her to giving birth in the dirt like an animal, his sweet lady Victoria. He should never have married her, he should have sent her back East, where she could have had the sort of life she'd been born for, a life of comfort and gentility.

Her hand clamped down on his, and her teeth clenched. A low, raw sound built up in her throat, then erupted in an animal scream of pain, followed by another, and another. Her entire body was convulsing, bearing down, and her shoulders left the ground.

With a gush of blood and water, a slippery little body slid out into Carmita's waiting hands. The baby looked purplish and another sort of agony punched Jake in the chest as he stared wordlessly at the silent infant. Then Carmita thumped it on the back and a tiny, choking cry erupted that began building into a wail. She turned the baby, and Jake saw that it was a boy. Tightly clenched little hands jerked as his son expressed his upset at this unfamiliar new world.

Unbelievably, Victoria laughed, a tired, weak sound. "Well, he definitely resembles you," she said.

Jake looked at her in bewilderment, wondering how she could see any resemblance to anyone in the squalling, red, wrinkled scrap, still covered with the blood of his birth. Maybe in the dark hair, but it was wet and might not be so dark when it was dry.

She pulled him down to her, her eyes alight with mischief. Putting her lips against his ear, she whispered, "He's very definitely a male."

Then Jake understood what she meant. He looked at the naked baby and for the first time in his life, a blush reddened his cheeks.

She held out her arms for the baby. "Let me have him. He must be cold."

Carmita cut and tied the cord. The baby was quickly wrapped in someone else's shirt (everyone seemed to be giving up their clothing for the occasion) and placed in Victoria's arms. The baby stopped crying, slowly blinking his unfocused eyes as he responded to the warmth of being held by his mother.

Jake put his arms around both of them, resting his grimy cheek against Victoria's hair. "I love you," he said hoarsely. She was all that was good and strong and gentle in his life. Her hold on him had shattered the core of hatred that he had fed off of for so long.

Victoria tilted her head back, her shadowed blue eyes meeting his green ones. "I love you, too," she replied simply.

"I meant to give you better than this. We don't even have a house to live in now."

"I don't care." She was tired and leaned more heavily against him. "I'm glad the house burned. There was too much hatred locked in it, too much death. I didn't want all of that for him." She looked at her son and gently touched his downy cheek with a finger. He turned his head toward the touch, his rosebud mouth working.

"I can start over," Jake promised. "I'll build another house for you, if you'll stay with me. God, honey, don't leave me. You might as well shoot me if you're going to leave, because I love you so much I won't be any good without you."

He'd never before told her he loved her, never before looked at her with that expression in his eyes, so desperate and haunted and… and afraid. She couldn't imagine Jake Sarratt being afraid of anything, but it was there in his eyes that no longer looked cold to her at all.

It changed everything, his love. The hate was gone, and with it her reason for ever leaving.

"All right," she said, reaching tiredly for his hand. "You build your own kingdom and forget about the past, about that other Sarratt's Kingdom. It's really gone now, and we can start fresh."

Emma knelt beside Ben to check his leg. He grinned at her. "Do I have a niece or a nephew?"

"Nephew." She looked down, her face getting hot as she fumbled with his bandage. "And maybe a son of your own," she mumbled.

"What?" He stared at her in shock. "What?" he asked louder, sitting up straight.

"Hush!" she hissed at him.

He grabbed her arms, holding her still. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"It's possible. I'm not certain yet." She was just a little late, and her system had never been as reliable as Victoria's. But the possibility was there. She had spent too many nights in Ben's bed for her to think otherwise.

He began laughing and pulled her down for a hard kiss. "Emma girl, I haven't been able to think straight since I met you, and things aren't getting any better. I think we'd better get married, don't you?"

"Because I might be—?"

"No, because we love each other and we'll probably have a houseful of kids, so it would make things simpler if we were married."

Emma's dark eyes began to glow. "Ben Sarratt, I do love you."

"That's a yes?"

She nodded. "That's a yes."

Jake sat on the ground, holding Victoria propped in his arms. Unbelievably, she was sleeping and so was the baby. He looked at his son, all red and wrinkled and completely helpless, dependent on him for protection and food and everything else in life. He had to think about the future now, and his future was Victoria and the baby, as well as other babies that might come. The morning carried the stink of smoke and gunpowder, but the snow had stopped and the sun was trying to break through and shine on the new layer of white. There was something else new, something inside him, new and good. The future loomed before him, and he felt good about it.

He had Victoria, their baby was fat and healthy, and together they could build a life of their own without the taint of the past. The territory would see a new Sarratt's Kingdom, the one he and Ben would build, but this one would be as fresh as the snow that lay on the high valley.