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Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three

He counted each bill as it hit his palm. The sheriff looked respectable enough, but one could never know for certain in the west. Men were bought and sold with a flick of the wrist.

"Thank you, um, Mr. Undertaker," the sheriff nervously sputtered, handing over the last of the money.

The infamous Undertaker acknowledged the remark with a nod. He turned to face the open doorway, tucking the bounty into his pocket. Standing still for a moment longer, he tested the sheriff's honor with his back. When nothing untoward happened, he bared his teeth in what resembled a smile but fell short, and stepped out of the cramped building.

With the Howard's hunting him down, nothing could be taken for granted. He scrutinized the small town noting every alley, every man, missing nothing. Although he saw nothing that alerted him of his enemies, he stayed wary. It didn't matter that he was hunted, so far he'd been a faster draw.

Until he found her, nothing would matter.

His parched throat led him to the single saloon in town. The half-doors creaked in protest as he pushed past, leaving them swinging in his wake. The smoke filled room resembled any other saloon in the west; tobacco juice littered the rough-hewn floor, half-dressed whores eyed new arrivals with hope of an easy dollar, and men involved with a game of cards. None seemed to take particular notice of him.

Sauntering up to the bar, he ordered a double. The barkeep slapped the requested refreshment into his hand, spilling half the drink onto the dust-strewn bar but he barely noticed. His gaze had traveled around the length of the room, observing each patron, when one in particular froze his roaming eyes.

He couldn't believe his luck.

The filthy rodent sitting at the card table matched the glimpse he'd caught of her husband. Could it be? Could fate smile on him that easily?

Casually strolling to the table, he pulled a chair up and straddled it, crossing his arms over the back. The men already playing glanced around in irritation, but the face of the newcomer discouraged their objections. They averted their eyes and remained silent as the stranger was dealt in.

He fell into the rhythm of the game, allowing himself to lose for several hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the man next to him, hoping for confirmation of his suspicions. It finally came, when another player spoke to the man.

"Buck, them cards ain't treatin' ya well tonight, huh?" The man laughed at the scowl on Buck's face, but the Undertaker merely ground his teeth in satisfaction.

He had him. After all the years of searching, he had him.

He began to win then, methodically divesting everyone of their earnings. Finally, all the men but Buck had folded and left the game. They sat close by to watch, their blue cigar smoke dancing in the flickering light. Buck didn't lose graciously. His face was splotched red with anger. His nose flared with every hand laid on the table. More than once, Buck's hand drifted to the rusty shotgun propped by his leg.

After being stripped of all his money, Buck slammed his fist down, scattering the money and cards.

"Ya lousy son-of-a-bitch, yer cheatin'!"

The Undertaker stood, scraping the chair back against the filthy floor. His hands caressed the cold metal of the pair of Colts at his hips. The room fell silent as all waited for the death of the foolish man called Buck.

"I suggest you watch your mouth, friend. The next time I'll lay you out on the floor with a bullet 'tween your eyes."

Buck paled but his mouth thinned, anger still at the forefront. "I can beat ya, I know I can. Let's raise the stakes."

The Undertaker narrowed his eyes, wondering what the man had in mind. He nodded his head but remained silent, waiting for Buck to throw down his idea.

"My land n'house for yer guns n'all that-there loot."

The Undertaker bared his teeth, pleased. He could afford any number of guns; his bounty on warrants allowed him that freedom. What really got him excited was that he'd learn precisely where she could be found. Buck was her husband; it stood to reason that she would be wherever his land was.

His nose flared slightly as the memory of her smell drifted through his mind. Lavender, she had always liked lavender.

He sank back into his chair, nodding his head for the deal to begin. The dealer, a former player, broke out in sweat, his eyes darting back and forth between the two men.

Buck jerked the cards from his grasp, smiling maliciously. "Ya don't mind if I deal 'em, d'ya?"

The Undertaker shook his head, his expression bland. None of his anticipation showed for the spectators. He'd been around outlaws too long to reveal so much on his face.

Anyone with half an eye would notice Buck dealing from the bottom of the deck. The Undertaker remained quiet. Either way, he would find her. She would answer as to why she'd married this fool.

His hand was good. A sigh escaped his lips and Buck took it as defeat, laying his cards down with flourish. Success flashed in his eyes when he saw Buck's hand, but it lasted only seconds before he tamped it down. One by one he laid down his cards, until the last lay face up, for all to see.

The men in the saloon hollered with astonishment and congratulations to the stranger. The noise died down as the spectators wondered off to the bar or a private table, to discuss, over their whiskey, the big game of cards that night.

Buck still glowered with hatred. He had no intention of handing over the deed. It may be needed for another bet some night. He'd skipped out on signing it over before. Tonight would be no different. A slice of pleasure wedged into his brain as he decided to have a little fun with this over confident man first. A good beating put many men back in their place in life. He didn't expect one of the pistols the stranger wore to be raised and aimed squarely at his head.

"If one of your friends move, I'll blow you to hell."

Buck's face drained of color and he nodded in understanding.

"Send someone for the sheriff. Now!" he hollered out in the saloon. Immediately the half doors swung open, emitting someone into the night. All the patrons sat on the edge of their seats, wary of where this would lead.

When the Sheriff rushed into the saloon moments later, the scene hadn't altered; the colt .45 was still aimed at Buck's forehead.

"What's all this 'bout?" the Sheriff asked, his tone authoritative. When he recognized the Undertaker holding the gun, the sheriff visibly relaxed. His expression changed to one of obvious respect.

"I need you to witness the signing over of the property this man owes me." His gaze stayed on Buck. He had no intention of releasing Buck from his sights until the deed had been signed and he knew where to find her.

Buck piped up then, a smug smile on his face. "I can't write."

"The Sheriff can write it for you. You can make your mark. We have enough witnesses to know you did it."

Reluctantly, he released the hammer on the Colt. Another full minute passed before the gun was lowered and replaced into its holster.

The transaction took place, with Buck signing an "X" in place of his name. The Undertaker eyed the document, recognizing the area the land was located at. It was legal. It was all his. The land and the woman. Finally, he would find her.

His eyes cast down, the Sheriff spoke quietly, "Mr. Undertaker, would you mind leaving with me. These parts can't be trusted for fair fights."

The meaning was clear to all in the room. Before the bounty hunter acquiesced, he bent down close to Buck and whispered into his ear.

"If I ever see you again, you bastard, I'll kill you on the spot. Stay away from Kristian!" A grin slid onto his face when Buck gasped with shock.

With that parting shot he left, straddled his horse and headed for his new home. Nestled somewhere in the Colorado Rockies she waited for him. His vision blurred with images of wild chestnut hair and flashing emerald eyes.

She didn't know it yet, but he was her savior.

CHAPTER 1

1869 in the Colorado Territory

He was dead. Honest to God dead, and she couldn't be happier. She felt despicable because of her joy, but that didn't change the overwhelming emotion. No tears of sorrow shone in her eyes. No sobs were held back behind her tightly pressed lips, but rather a sigh of relief.

She was free. Free to live her life. Free to make her own decisions. Free to raise her daughter, Reggie. No longer would she have to live in fear everyday, putting on a brave front for her child. The abuser was dead.

A sliver of grief was present for what could have been and never was. Heartless as it seemed she couldn't raise any grief for the man lying in the pine box in front of her.

She hadn't been allowed to view his body, having been several days since his passing. While this made her a bit uneasy, it made sense. She had no desire to see a rotting body. The sheriff in town had assured her he'd witnessed the body being put in. That was good enough for her.

Kristian could hear Reggie sniffling softly beside her but she suspected it was more from shock than sorrow. The five-year-old little girl had seen far too much in her lifetime. Kristian would change all that now.

With a hidden tranquillity at her newfound widowhood, she kept her head bowed in mock mourning and turned from the coffin. It was a cheap wooden box. No extras for a son-of-a-bitch like Buck Rosell. No doubt he had been reunited with his beloved Emily, who'd preceded him in death. Bless her precious soul, she had left him half a man when she died, which wasn't saying much to begin with.

Kristian had taken to Emily the first time they'd met. Two years older than her, Emily had been fascinating. She'd seemed so worldly and all-knowing. Intuitively, Kristian had despised Buck on their first meeting, some inner voice warning of his evil.

If only she had listened to that insight and stayed away from the pair.

All the wasted years.

How many times had she wished she could change the choices made in haste? But Reggie had been worth it. If nothing else, Buck Rosell had allowed her to keep her daughter.

Gathering Reggie close to her side, Kristian proceeded down the long church aisle. Reaching the enormous solid oak doors at the back of the church she paused, hand flattened against the wood, eyes closed.

She felt as though she were leaving behind a part of her life, like a snake shedding skin, that, thank God, she would never have to return to. For her and Reggie only good things lay ahead in the future. She'd make damn sure of it.

She didn't fool herself into believing it would be easy, nothing came easy for a woman living in the west. At least now she would be making the choices for them, not an imbecile impersonating a man.

Reggie tugged slightly on her hand, anxious to leave the coffin containing the dead man behind. With an encouraging squeeze to the small hand tucked inside hers, Kristian pressed ahead and spared not one glance back for her deceased husband. The coffin lay alone in front of the rustic pine pulpit, underneath a finely carved and polished cross, the single pride the homely church possessed.

It seemed ironic to Kristian that the one time Buck Rosell attended church he lay inside a pine box, no longer breathing. How many times had the man said that he'd die before setting foot in any "damn" church? He'd gotten his wish, she thought.

The bright sunshine falling upon her face brought a smile to her lips. She heard the racket belonging to the town of Dover as the residents went about their daily rituals, oblivious to her liberation. Turning her face up to smile at the sun, and feel the warmth splaying across her closed eyelids, she sent a prayer of gratitude up to the heavens.

As she and Reggie descended the steps from the church, she glanced toward the three horses tethered to the hitching post. Five people had been inside the church to witness her husband's last rites. That included her, Reggie and the preacher, Reverend Lowell.

Earlier that morning the sheriff had unexpectedly shown up. He'd come out to tell her Buck was dead. He said the coffin was at the church in town and it would be buried before noon. He'd informed her a bullet in the chest had killed Buck. Kristian, hope mingling with doubt, had quickly gathered Reggie and hitched the wagon.

Upon her arrival, Reverend Lowell had whispered tender condolences, patting her hand. Kristian, distracted by the pine box looming at the front of the church, hoped she'd responded appropriately. She never once looked upon the kindly preacher's face, her shock so great. Her eyes had been riveted to the coffin, refusing to believe her sudden release from hell.

The other two men there sat in the back pew, eyes boring into her back. She didn't know them, didn't want to know them, for that matter. They looked disreputable, and the good Lord knew, she'd known her share of disreputable characters. She assumed they were some of the friends Buck had gone whoring and gambling with.

The crisp fall breeze swirled around her ankles billowing the thin, blue calico skirt. A stir of optimism that had been missing from her bone-weary soul, welled deep inside. Energy filled every marrow of her being, making her feel stronger than she'd been since the first time she and Buck Rosell's fist had met in bloody confrontation.

Resolving to look toward the future and close the door on the past, Kristian gathered her skirts in one hand, Reggie's hand in the other and confidently stepped toward their rickety buckboard.

Now that the strain Buck had always placed on the ranch was at an end; she could possibly turn a healthy living from it. In the past, every time she had started to get the ranch to turn over a profit, Buck would show up and ruin it all. Raping the funds, running off the help and turning everything into chaos. Then he would leave again and Kristian was left to pick up the pieces and try to put food on the table for Reggie.

Clucking softly to the horse hitched to the wagon, Kristian and her daughter began their two-mile trek home. The church stood at the far end of Dover, forcing her to ride through the center of town.

The small town had been steadily growing in the last few years. Of course, Kristian didn't know any of the other people living here. Buck had said it was a waste of time, socializing with folks.

Kristian hadn't agreed about the women of Dover. They had seemed approachable when she first arrived. Now, however, she presumed, they had formed their opinions of her. And, as she had learned in the past, opinions were hard to change once formed.

At times she had been lonely, but she had Reggie who certainly kept her busy. She once wanted a whole swarm of children but no more. She knew now that marriage was not for her. Being at the mercy of a man like Buck Rosell was enough to break anyone of their dreams.

Their wagon passed by Mrs. Gumby's Boardinghouse and the schoolyard, the general store and Dr. Redcliff's house. Nearing the Matheson's Stables, Kristian's thoughts strayed to the ranch. She had so many plans rushing through her mind, all the changes she was going to make at the Lazy R ranch.

Preoccupied with her ideas, she cried out in surprise when a man stepped out in front of the wagon. Kristian pulled hard on the reins, the horse's head rearing back from the force. The horse shied and nickered in protest, fighting his head for the bit.

"Whoa! Easy Nugget!" she called to the animal. The buckboard creaked and moaned as the tawny horse jumped and sidestepped with panic. Finally, she managed to get the animal settled down.

Holding tight to the reins, Kristian glanced over to the man standing a few feet away. "Pardon me, sir. I'm so sorry!"

Obviously taken by surprise, the man looked up at her from under a black felt hat. A shadow, cast from the brim, covered all of his face, except for the tip of his jaw. He possessed a deep cleft in the center of his chin, dark stubble tinting it. He wore a white shirt that had seen better days, a black vest and tight black trousers. A worn and faded black gun belt was strapped onto his hips and he carried a rifle with ease.

Kristian unconsciously held her breath as he raised the rifle with deliberate slowness and tapped the tip of his hat. With that one act of acknowledgment, he crossed the manure littered road and sauntered toward the town's single saloon, The Damnation.

The air she had been unaware of holding seeped out between her parted lips. Still rattled from the near accident, her gaze involuntarily followed the tall stranger.

His midnight black hair was a tad too long, curling over the back of his collar. The black trousers fit snugly over his buttocks, emphasizing his narrow hips. In awe, she stared at the expanse of his shoulders. They were wide enough to carry the weight of the world on them and still have room to spare. A quickening in the center of her body sent tingles reverberating through her.

"Mama," Reggie whined, tugging on her sleeve. "I'm cold."

Kristian snapped her head around and smiled at the girl. She patted Reggie's knee and reassured her, "I know dumplin', we'll be home soon. Here, let's cover up your legs, that'll help."

Pulling a threadbare blanket from the back of the buckboard, Kristian spread it across Reggie's lap, shielding her from the cool fall breeze. Winking at the child, she brought the reins down across the horse's back, starting them on their way again.

Kristian tried to concentrate on the ranch and the changes she'd been planning only minutes before. Her mind rebelled, repeatedly straying to the dark stranger she'd just about run down. Her reaction to him shocked her.

The man struck a cord of familiarity. She couldn't think of where she would possibly know him. She'd never joined Emily in pursuing men, shrinking from their leering stares instead. This man had seemed different in some way.

Nearing the homestead she stopped the horse and stared out over the lovely countryside that now belonged to her as Buck's widow. Dover lay nestled in a valley of the Colorado Rockies. The ride leading home was uphill and bumpy. The trail, worn from time and wagon wheels, coursed a barren scar across the otherwise green country.

The beauty of the dark blue and purple mountains combined with the breathtaking sunsets more than made up for any discomforts. Kristian had grown to love this place in the four years she'd lived here. The winters were long and hard, but she loved the serenity and clean beauty of the snow.

The homestead was built on a flat plateau cleared of trees. Soaring pines and evergreens surrounded her home and barn. The tops of the buildings could be seen from this distance. A long rutted path between tree trunks led into the ranch's yard.

"What are you doing, Mama?" Reggie asked.

Glancing down at the upturned face Kristian smiled. "Just looking, baby, just looking," she answered with a sigh. They sat for a few silent minutes, staring towards the homestead.

It was all hers now. She would answer to no one. It wouldn't be easy to run the ranch, but she would manage.

Looking down at her daughter, a merry twinkle in her eyes, she whispered, "It's all ours now, dumplin'. Everything is going to be alright. No more being afraid."

To her surprise Reggie flung herself into her mother's arms. "Oh, Mama! I feel horrible!"

Kristian absently rubbed her cheek against Reggie's bent head. She didn't have to ask what Reggie was speaking of. "It's alright. He was your father and it's normal to feel bad when someone you love passes on." Kristian stroked her daughter's long, velvety, black hair.

"But...But...I don't miss him! I'm, oh Mama," Reggie sobbed, tears streaming down her plump cheeks. "I'm glad he's gone! He was so mean to you. But I feel bad for being like that. I don't want to hurt his feelings!"

Poor little Reggie, Kristian thought. Her daughter had a kind heart that easily wept for those around her. She had lived in constant fear of drawing attention to herself lest she bring her father's wrath down upon her. Buck had never raised a fist to his daughter but Kristian had feared for the future. He had constantly reminded Reggie of her downfalls, the biggest being that she was a girl. Despite this, Reggie had never given up the hope of pleasing her father.

Bringing her daughters head back to her shoulder, Kristian reassuringly petted her locks. "It's alright, honey. He won't know how you feel. He can't ever hurt us again. Do you understand me, Reggie? He is gone and it's just you and me now."

With a tiny nod, Reggie sat up and smeared her tears across her cheeks with the back of her hand. She was growing up so fast and always trying to act older than she was. Buck had taunted her about being a baby and Kristian worried that would affect her the rest of her life.

Resolutely, she snapped the reins to prod Nugget to life again. It was time to move ahead. Time to make changes.

Slamming back the shot of whiskey, he savored the burning sensation as it slid down his throat. It cleared his mind of the emotions triggered by seeing her again, reminding him of his motivation. She had betrayed him, betrayed them, the love they had shared.

The sight of her had been unexpected. Arriving in Dover only moments before she almost ran him down, he'd been unprepared to see her. The bitter wall of pain around his heart quivered at the memory of seeing her perched on the wagon, concern flashing brightly in her emerald green eyes. After so many years, he'd not been disappointed.

She, however, had not recognized him. Not at all. The ache in his heart surprised him. He hadn't thought a woman like her would fall into his arms gushing tears, but he had thought she'd at least recognize him.

He knew he looked different now. How could he not? Acid did make changes in one's appearance. Everything about him was different. His innocence and boyish enthusiasm for life, erased by the truth of war. Hell, even his voice had changed, his screams breaking it for eternity.

Only thoughts of her had kept him alive. Memories of their pleasurable night together had kept him sane after the leagues of aching in the field hospital. By the time the war had neared completion, the traditional medicine no longer existed. Carbolic acid served as solvent and disinfectant; painkillers such as laudanum long since drained of supply.

Those wounded either made it or died. That simple. He'd lived, but only for her love. But two minutes ago standing within a few feet of her, she didn't know him.

"I said fill it up!" he growled, the menace in his voice causing his fellow drinkers to scoot away.

He liked it that way. No one bothered him, save the damn Howard's. Idly, he swirled the amber liquid in his glass. Maybe it was time to let them catch up to him.

After he had dealt with the scrap of flesh due him by the woman.

CHAPTER 2

Chins raised high; mother and daughter rode into the ranch yard. Kristian could see Reggie imitating her out of the corner of her eye and pride filled her heart.

Seemingly from every available spot, ranch hands poured out at their arrival. Kristian stood on the buggy and eyed the growing number of surly men. The majority openly perused her body. Gritting her teeth, she stared back at each one, just as boldly.

She noted that her wretched brother-in-law, Broody, was no where in sight. It didn't take any stretch of her imagination to deduce his whereabouts. Most likely, he was in the surrounding forest availing himself of the woman Buck had brought home, presumably as the cook for the hired hands. To her knowledge the woman, Rose, had never even warmed a pot of water. Rose satisfied an entirely different sort of appetite. The men were only too happy to cook for themselves.

She had appreciated the diversion Rose created and couldn't care less how many times the men of the ranch used her. There were several things that annoyed Kristian with Rose, one being her laziness. She spent her days lying around the house, half dressed, eating sweet treats that one of the hands would bring her. At the crook of a finger she would giggle and take off with whatever man wanted her. She often received presents from the hands, grateful for her tender ministrations.

All that sweet attention had not only gone straight to Rose's head, but also noticeably enlarged her dresses, or what there was of them. All these things, Kristian could probably have overlooked if Rose had steered clear of Reggie.

For unknown reasons Rose despised Reggie. Constantly picking at the girl. Taunting the child with her father's scorn and whenever she found her alone, doing all she could to cause bodily harm. Kristian rarely allowed Reggie to be out of her sight, but on one such occasion Rose had purposely tripped Reggie, sending her face down into a mud puddle. Rose had laughed uproariously while bellowing for all to hear that the clumsy child should watch where she was going.

Kristian, rushing out to check on her child, saw the tears that slipped silently down Reggie's cheeks and lost the tight control she held on her temper. Gritting her teeth, a snarl curling her lips, she marched up to Rose. The larger woman stood with her arms crossed and a smug smile splayed wide across her face.

In that moment, she hadn't thought, merely acted on instinct. Using all the strength she kept in reserve, Kristian punched Rose square in the nose. Rose, so sure that she wouldn't react, was caught unprepared and stumbled backwards, falling right into a large mud puddle. Her widening backside caused such a splash, she found herself covered from head to foot with gooey mud. With gratified vindication for her daughter, Kristian had gloated down at Rose with loathing.

Only Buck's cold order for her to await him inside had brought Kristian back to reality. She allowed no one to see her shaking, and ignored the smile that came to Rose's lips. Chin held high; she had assisted her daughter up and returned to the house. When Buck followed her, he beat her for daring to render punishment to someone under his control. Rose had celebrated for days over Kristian's black eye and bruised cheek.

Kristian knew she'd do it again if she had to. Reggie was her daughter, and she'd do anything to protect her. She held only contempt for Rose and the quicker she got her off the ranch the better.

Coming back to the present task at hand, Kristian drew herself up to her full height of five feet four inches and glared down at the ranch help. "It's true, Buck is dead. I'm the owner of the Lazy R Ranch now." She paused to let this sink into their stubborn hides. "Anyone who will not take orders from a woman needs to be off my ranch by nightfall! Come by the house on the way out and I'll pay your wages." A staggering amount of men turned to collect their gear. Kristian did notice, however, that all the men who were leaving had been hired by Buck.

"The rest of you get back to work," Kristian said to the rest. She had hired the remaining men while Buck was away. Each of the men dipped their heads in silent answer and walked away.

An old cowboy, simply called 'Cowboy', came up to the buggy, his hand extended to aid Kristian's descent. She pointedly ignored his offering and stepped down from the wagon on her own. Handing him the reins, she turned back to wait for Reggie.

"Never did like Buck," Cowboy growled out. He waited for Reggie to descend before adding, "Anything you need Ms. Rosell, you just holler for me. I'll make sure things go smoothly." With that sentiment he tipped his hat to her and Reggie and led the horse and buggy towards the barn.

Kristian watched him hobble away, his gait irregular from an unspoken accident. He was an ageless man with white hair and deep wrinkles decorating his skin. He seemed to perpetually have a hunk of tobacco in his lip, but she'd never seen him spit. His clothes appeared relatively clean, compared to most hired hands. He seemed to be in fairly good shape for a man his age except where his shirt stretched tightly across his mid-section, pulling at the bone buttons that held the cotton shirt precariously together.

She had never picked up any animosity from Cowboy toward Buck. But then, she reminded herself, you never could judge a person by outward appearance. After all, hadn't she pretended a lot of things just to make it through her marriage alive? She wasn't sure he could be trusted yet, but was glad, whatever his reasons, for the show of support.

Turning around she faced the two-story, white-washed, hacienda-style house. Momentarily awed by the independence she felt, Kristian gazed at the small structure with tall thin windows as though seeing it for the first time. So many bad memories were enfolded within its walls. If she didn't start afresh from this very second she might not ever be free of Buck.

With a determined stride and a little hand tucked trustingly inside her own, she took the sturdy wooden steps leading up to the front door. The bottom floor of the house was divided into two rooms. The front entrance opened into the larger of the two.

Kristian ran her gaze around the room, skittering across the rickety furniture and the imposing stone fireplace opposite the door. Through the large oversized entryway to the kitchen she could see the back door. It opened to a covered porch stretching the length of the building. Three apple trees stood next to the flourishing garden, east of the back porch.

She didn't know who had built the home, but they had done a good job of blending it in with the property. Her property. Pride welled within her. It wasn't much; a simple house, a leaky barn, and broken down corrals, but she could make it into something. Of that she was certain. She had several hundred head of cattle and with luck she would double the number by next spring. She would change the name of the ranch. Lazy R, indeed. It would become much less lazy around here.

After a quick check around she discovered Broody wasn't inside, either. Reggie bounded up the stairs, eager to resume her playing. Kristian grabbed a flour sack from a carefully folded and stacked pile in the kitchen, and began to gather Buck's items from around the house.

What began as an act of cleaning became an act of vengeance. While he was alive she'd been unable to defend herself from him, but now he was dead and stuffing his remaining clothes and personal items into the sack made her feel good. Eventually, she retrieved more sacks and began throwing Rose and Broody's items in as well.

"Mama, should I get a sack and pack my things, too?" Reggie asked.

Pausing while holding one of Rose's black garter belts, she looked up at her daughter. So engrossed, she had been unaware of Reggie's presence.

Shaking her head, Kristian answered, "No, dumplin', only uncle Broody and Rose are leaving. You go on up to your room and play with the doll I made for you, alright?"

Reggie smiled, bobbed her head in agreement, and then scrambled up the stairs in a flurry of cloth. Nobody is going to scare that little girl anymore, Kristian thought with fierce determination. She dropped the bags by the front door, with a decisive thump. Before turning away, she brought down the old shotgun from the shelf above the door and loaded it with precise, determined motions. Tonight she wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.

She kept the rifle by her side as the fleeing men arrived with their callused hands open, expecting their pay. Doing so took almost all the money she had, but it couldn't be helped. She would have just enough to buy a decent horse and food for the winter. Come the snow, she would have to let the hands go, save one or two, if she were lucky. That couldn't be helped either.

After checking on Reggie upstairs, she started a small dinner for the two of them. The kitchen boasted a large wood cooking stove, a small icebox and a pump over the washing tub. All of which had already been here when they moved in.

Kristian set the table for their simple meal of fried side pork and cornmeal mush, covered with homemade syrup made from molasses and water. She placed cut lavender on the table. She took extra pains to make the meal nice for the two of them.

She wanted Reggie to realize the fear was over, that today really was the start of a new life for them.

The man rode on the horse as if born there. The two glided across the open fields and around the large boulders decorating the green scenery. He avoided the rutted wagon road, unwilling to draw attention upon himself. Strategically he remained in the shadows of the soaring pines and evergreens.

When he was close enough to see the homestead he slowed the horse down to a walk. It wouldn't do to reveal his presence before he was ready. Soon, he whispered, soon he would have her again.

The hands leaving the ranch rode close on their way out, but didn't glance his way. They didn't even appear to notice him. The same was true for the remaining hands. He almost wished someone would notice him. He would welcome a fight right now.

As the velvety darkness of night fell over the land he waited. As soon as the sun was completely cast aside by the rising moon, he planned to take a better look inside that house.

Perhaps he would even stake his claim tonight.

Kristian leaned over the stove to taste a bit of the homemade syrup. She blew on the hot brew not wishing to singe her taste buds. Suddenly, the hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end. Whirling around, spoon in hand sloshing syrup across the floor, she caught Broody insolently leaning against the wall, leering at her derriere. After several uncomfortable seconds passed, his gaze traversed up her body, lingering at her breasts before reaching her eyes.

When his brown eyes clashed with hers, she took an involuntary step back. The heavy fog of rising desire shadowed his expression, sending shivers of forewarning down her spine. Kristian seemed to be a constant source of lust for Broody. Her skin crawled simply from his gawking at her, but seeing that haze descend over his eyes made her want to vomit. She would have thought he'd already found his ease with Rose.

Kristian fought not to wrinkle her nose at his stench filling her kitchen. He believed bathing to be a waste of time and only on rare occasions suffered through it. The thick patch of brown hair on his head stuck to his skull. His face and fingers were stained with ground in dirt; imbedded so deep she couldn't tell the new from the old.

His languid smile exposed black teeth. Gaping holes replaced almost every other tooth, lost from rot.

Kristian's face skewered up into one of disgust despite her valiant attempts not to. She blanched as the muscles on his jaw tightened and his fists clenched. His lips tightened into a narrow line on his pockmarked face as his eyes narrowed in malice. With predatory steps, he stocked her, advancing without appearing to move.

"Whatta hell is going on aroun here, Kristian? I leave for only a lil' bit and when I return ya've run off half the hands. I don't know what ya're thinkin but it's gonna take a lot to keep me from telling Buck when he comes back. Of course--"

"Buck is dead!" Kristian declared.

Momentarily stunned, Broody stopped his pursuit. "It was true then," he whispered. "I would've never believed it." He was silent for a moment as he stared at the floor, then his head snapped up. "Did ya see his body?"

Slowly she shook her head. "No." Her brow furrowed with renewed doubts. "He was already sealed in by the time I got there. Two men brought his body in and the sheriff supported the claim."

"Ya shoulda told me you were going, Kristian!" He gritted out through his remaining teeth, causing a hiss to escape between the gapes in his mouth. "I hadda hear about it from the hands!"

Fury filled her. She wasn't about to apologize for not finding him.

"You should be easier to find, Broody Rosell! Not always out consorting with Rose! I will not keep her in my home any longer! Nor you!" she yelled, jabbing the gun at his chest.

"Yer home? Now, now Kristian! Ya aint thinkin I'm gonna just walk out o'here?" He mocked her, waving his hands in the air.

"Yes! You are going to turn around, grab your bag of belongings there by the door, and leave." She was surprised at her own tenacity. Her knees were knocking together so hard it was a miracle she could still stand. The firepower in her hands gave her the strength to continue.

"I'm warning you Broody, don't ever return here. I won't take it kindly." With just a slight wave of her shotgun, she indicated the front door.

With uncharacteristic agility, Broody used her momentary lapse of concentration to lunge forward. Gripping the barrel with one hand and wresting her hand away from the trigger, Broody fought for the gun. Kristian knew she was no physical match for him, if she lost the only weapon she had she'd be at his mercy.

Throwing her weight into it, she twisted the barrel of the gun with all her strength. Suddenly, an ear-splitting noise filled the air as the gun discharged. Kristian looked up in shock. A large hole had been blown through the wall connecting the kitchen and great room.

Broody wrenched the gun from her hands and pressed the barrel to her throat. With his free hand, he gripped her arm, painfully squeezing.

The front door burst open and a frazzled Rose came running in. Her flaming red hair stood out around her head and trailed down her back. Her wan blue eyes wide with worry.

"What the world is happen' Broody, honey?" She hollered her voice high and tight. Usually she attempted an obviously false southern belle accent, but now, in a state of panic, she forgot to apply it.

"Get out, Rose!" Broody demanded, his violent dark eyes never leaving Kristian's.

"Oh, well, you don't have to be like that," she replied indignantly and turned to go, pausing just on the threshold. She cast a smug smile at Kristian then simpered to Broody, "Do you want me to be waitn' for you out back?"

"No!" Broody yelled, "Outta here all together. If I'm not mistaken, one of them bags atta door contains yer pitiful belongin's. Take leave from here and don't return."

Rose's eyes widened further and her splotchy skin deepened in color. Stammering, she spit out, "But...But...Broody, darlin' surely you're not a meanin' to throw me out in the cold! You said you'd --"

"I don't give a damn where ya go, just getta hell out and don't ever come back! You ain't wanted here no more. I've had my fill of you, darlin'." His gaze finally broke from Kristian's as he tossed a glance over his shoulder, eyes narrowed with warning. "Anyway, ya're a whore; ya'll find work. Now git!" Taking it for granted that she would leave, he turned his attention back to Kristian, the barrel still pressed firmly to her throat.

Rose persisted, her voice raised with panic, "But...Broody...How am I supposed to get there?"

Broody replaced the gun on Kristian's throat with his hand, and swung the confiscated gun to aim it at Rose. He gritted out between his putrid teeth, "I don't give a damn. I haven't shotcha yet, but if you don't scoot, I'm gonna!" Frantically, she scanned the room, desperate for anything to use against Broody. She deliberated screaming but decided that it would only escalate Broody's fevered anger.

After Rose collected her small bag and left, he returned his stormy-eyed gaze to her. Kristian shivered. The cold hate brewing in his soul obvious in his expression.

Recklessly, she lifted her chin and announced in her most authoritative tone, "This ranch is mine and I want you off it as well. I have had enough of you, too, Broody Rosell! I won't have scum like you contaminating my daughter's home! I have already packed your bags. Buck's things are by the door, too. You can have them if you want them, if not I'll just burn them. I'm starting over and you're not welcome here anymore!"

Amazingly, he smiled. "But darlin', I wantta be here. And a lil' thing like you ain't enough to drive me away. Besides, we've had some good times. Ya wouldn't go forgetten those, now woulda?" He reached out to smooth the stray chestnut locks back from her face with as charming a smile as he could muster.

She cringed away from his touch. Anger thinned his lips. Plunging his hand into her hair, he ripped the pins from her hair. She bit her lower lip until she tasted blood, managing to restrain her cries of pain. It would get worse. It always did.

"Broody, I just want to start over. Surely you can understand that. I'm sure you'd like a new start, too. Let's just each go our own ways."

She knew she wouldn't be able to cope with having his hands all over her again. Her tenuous string of sanity might dissolve. Over the last six years of abuse, thoughts of her precious daughter had held her together mentally. Physically, her own blasted stubbornness held her up.

"No," Broody drawled, "I've everythin I want right here at our lil' ol' ranch. Now that Buck is dead, I own ya." As he spoke he backed her up against the counter, pinning her with his body.

She pressed herself against the counter hoping for more room, but only succeeded in cutting the edge into her hips. His fully extended erection pressed into her soft stomach. She pushed at his chest, refusing to look up in fear he'd kiss her. His foul breath fluttered across her face, gagging her. He grabbed her wrists and held them down to her sides, trapping her.

Panic began swirling in the midst of her mind. It was happening again! No! She couldn't, wouldn't, tolerate this one more time in her life.

"No!" she screamed. "I will never belong to any man again; much less some disgusting vermin like you! You make me sick!" The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them. She hadn't meant to say it, but knowing his intent, the words just came out on their own.

"Ya're gonna pay for that! That little brat of yers will too!" Broody grinned when she paled. Releasing her wrists, he ran his hands up her arms.

Terror seized her throat, constricting it. "I'll kill you before you ever hurt her!"

His decaying smile flashed again, sending slivers of dread spiraling through her body.

"Not if ya're dead!" he leaned into her, rubbing his hard flesh against her. "Oh don'tcha worry none. I'll treat her real good. May even wait a year or two before I start teachin her the finer points of bein a woman."

"You son of a bitch!" Kristian yelled, launching at him with nails and teeth bared.

He caught her easily, once again pinning her hands to her side.

"Kristian, I'm surprised. I never knew ya were jealous of me!" He feigned dismay. "That brat is young enough to be trained to my needs."

"No!" She screamed trying futilely to break free. She had to save Reggie and escape!

Bringing his face close to hers, he sneered, "Oh yea!"

Before she could see it coming, Broody backhanded her, knocking her to the floor. Kristian tried to curl up in a ball, but Broody plunged his fist into her hair and pulled. She willed her hair to be pulled out, but he held too much. He struck her again, sending her across the room.

She landed with a thud on the floor of the entryway. Automatically, she attempted to stand, rising to her hands and knees. She saw Reggie crouched behind one of the crude chairs in front of the fireplace.

Mouthing the words, lest she draw attention to her daughter, Kristian fiercely instructed, "Hide!"

Reggie and she had played this very scene out so many times, Kristian had lost count. Reggie knew she would come for her when it was safe again. This time was different though. Reggie stayed rooted to the spot, staring back at her mother, shaking her head.

"Go!" she mouthed to her daughter. She could hear Broody yelling curses and stomping towards her. The moment was upon them, Reggie had to flee. She had to!

Finally, with tears spilling down her cheeks, Reggie scampered to the door. Kristian breathed a sigh of relief just as Broody pulled her back up. She could taste blood and her mind reeled, more so it seemed than before she'd seen Reggie.

A pleasant fog began to descend over her. She welcomed it with open arms, seeking refuge within its anonymous oblivion. Her daughter was safely hidden away, and, hopefully, Broody would have his fill of her and then she could escape. She knew that, while her body would be present for the rape, her mind would escape reality. The darkness had helped her through these times more than once; they were old friends.

With one swipe of his arm, he knocked all the items laid out on the kitchen table to the floor. She barely heard the shattering of dishes over the thrumming in her ears. His hand in her hair, he dragged her behind him. Picking her up with one arm, he flung her battered body onto the table.

She needed to fight him, to defend herself, but she couldn't ward off the fog descending upon her. Wasn't even sure she wanted to fight the darkness, her refuge lay within its safety. Inside her gut twisted with utter repugnance at this man's hands on her. But her mind befuddled from the abuse, whirled with confusion. She received these blows so often in the past few years that one would think she'd become accustomed to them.

Broody tore her thin blue calico dress from the neck hem down, tearing the chemise with it, exposing her for his view. Tearing her drawers, he tossed the ruined garment aside.

His face turned red and his eyes bulged with excitement. He fumbled with his trousers, his other hand groping her bare breast.

She pinched her eyes together, fighting the rising bile in her throat. The stench of his pungent breath filled her nostrils. Her head ached, her body throbbed with pain, and panic filled her soul.

Suddenly, Broody's hands stilled and his dead weight collapsed onto her prone body. Fighting to focus her eyes, she blinked repeatedly. When the fuzziness seemed to thin out a little, she looked up over Broody's body and couldn't believe what she saw. She squeezed her eyes shut tight again, but when she reopened them she saw the same thing.

There in her kitchen stood the tall, dark stranger from town. The shadow cast from the brim of his hat covered most of his face, as it had earlier, but she knew it was he. Not only from his clothing, but also that beautiful cleft chin he possessed.

All at the same moment, she felt profoundly embarrassed for anyone to see her in such a state and eternally grateful that he had come along when he did. A derisive smile briefly twitched at her lips as she lay back, pulled what she could of her shirtfront together and slipped into blessed unconsciousness.

He knelt down, avoiding the broken dishes strewn across the floor, and picked up the lavender. He raised it to his nose, breathing deeply of its fragrance, his eyes drifting shut as memories assailed him. He'd regained first hand knowledge that she still liked the scent. He'd known she would.

She was still unconscious and lying on the bed where he'd left her to sleep. Her body, while battered and broken, would heal. Nothing fatal had occurred to her. Although he couldn't say the same thing for her assailant.

The door leading outside from the kitchen creaked open a crack breaking through his thoughts. He couldn't see who it was, but acting out of sheer habit, he rose to his feet and slipped behind it. Silently drawing out his colt, he waited patiently. Life had taught him that the first to move was the first to die. He'd lived this long by out waiting a number of his foe.

Soon, the door swung completely open but no one followed it in. With deadly efficiency, he pulled the hammer of the Colt back with his thumb.

"Mama?" the words were a whispered croak, terror filling its depths.

He groaned. He'd forgotten about the kid. The child she'd had with her husband.

Holstering his Colt, he stepped around the barrier. The little girl's eyes widened and she bolted toward the end of the porch. Reaching her before she could take off into the dark woods, he gripped her little arm. His grasp was purposefully gentle and loose but she caught him by surprise when she turned on him, pummeling him with tightly clenched fists.

Before she could hit something vital, he knelt down in front of her. He stilled her hands with one of his. With the other hand, he swept her cheeks of their tears.

"Its all right, child. I won't hurt you."

He heard her gulp in fear before her frightened voice broke the silence. "Will you hurt my Mama?"

His gut twisted. He'd never hurt a female, but Kristian pushed that limit.

"No," his gruff words sent her backing up again. He swore beneath his breath. "Look kid, your Ma is all right. She is upstairs asleep."

Biting her lower lip, Reggie shuffled her feet back and forth. Finally she nodded, her black hair bouncing around her face.

"I'm Reggie."

"Reggie?"

She nodded again. "Did you help her?"

He knew she spoke of her mother. "I helped her."

A small smile touched her lips. "Thank you."

He didn't say another word, but stood up, frowning.

"Come on. I'll fix you something to eat." He started to turn away but Reggie grabbed his hand. He froze. Damnation, he didn't want to like the kid. They were close enough to the door that he could see her face tilted up to his. The trust in her eyes proved to be his undoing. A grimace tilted the corner of his mouth. It was the closest thing to a real smile anyone had seen out of him in six years.

They ate in silence. The food slightly burnt but edible. The kid, Reggie, didn't even complain, which won her even more points in his book.

"How did you get the scars on your face?"

His eyes snapped to her face. Her question shocked him. No one had ever dared ask him that. He grappled with his hat, irritated with himself for forgetting to keep it lowered.

"I had an accident," he snapped. Then added in a softer voice, "Kind of."

"I bet it hurt."

He noted her rounded emerald eyes, so much like her mother's, were filled with compassion and his resentment faded.

"Yea," he nodded. "It did."

The two stared at each other for a moment longer.

"I have a scar on my knee. Want to see it?"

He almost laughed. The innocence on her face told him he didn't repulse her. Her reply told him she shared his affliction. It was the funniest thing he'd heard in a long time. Then he sobered. Her mother wouldn't think it was so funny.

"Actually, don't you think you ought to be heading to bed?" he stood gathering their dirtied dishes, attempting to isolate himself.

"Will you stay?" she asked, fear in her voice again.

He glanced down at the girl. Her face reminded him so much of her mother. The emerald green eyes were only the beginning. The soft timbers of her voice a perfect imitation of Kristian's.

"Yea, I'll be staying."

CHAPTER 3

Stretching her arms high above her head, Kristian opened her eyes, blinking at the blurry images before her. Using the back of her hand, she wiped impatiently at her eyelids. Squinting to focus, she peered at the crackling fire dancing in the hearth.

She sat up on her elbow looking around the dark room in confusion. She was lying in her own bed but couldn't remember getting here. Everything seemed in order. The lantern turned low for the night. The door closed to retain the warmth of the fire.

Something was eating at the edges of her subconscious, but she couldn't quite grasp it. The harder she tried to recall it, the more elusive the memory was. She knew she shouldn't be here in bed. She could see night had fallen outside her window, but she couldn't remember preparing for bed. Or eating dinner for that matter.

Kristian laid her head back down on the soft pillow, tugging the faded patchwork quilt up to her chin. She held her breath trying to search for answers in the intangible fog condensing around her brain. Questions seemed to fly out at her, attacking the memories lurking at the back of awareness.

All at once, the day's events swamped her. Buck was dead. Broody had beat her and almost succeeded in raping her. The very man she'd almost run over in town earlier that day had rescued her.

Kristian covered her face with her arms in mortification. He had found her laid out like a strumpet. Spread for a man's taking. There was no telling what he would expect from her now. Hot tears coursed down her cheeks.

Then another thought broke through her horror; she could feel the soft cotton of her nightdress insulating her body, keeping it warm between the cool sheets. Lifting the quilt, she hoped with all her heart that she was wrong. Grimacing, she saw that not only had she been changed; her body had been cleaned of all traces of blood. Pulling the covers back up, she squeezed her eyes shut. How would she be able to face that man?

The throbbing in her head intensified, demanding attention. Her jaw ached with every beat of her heart. Her body felt raw, used. The relief of being saved from Broody's attentions eased her mind but her body silently howled in discomfort.

Suddenly alarm coursed through her sore body. Reggie! She had forgotten about Reggie still out there hiding. She had to find her!

Throwing back the covers, she jumped out of bed ignoring the protests from her battered body. The room swayed, appearing to alter origins. Kristian couldn't discern up or down, left or right. The spinning in her head turned the world on end. Without being aware of moving, Kristian felt the cocoon of the feather mattress and rumpled covers absorbing her weight, buffering her fall.

Allowing herself but a moment of stillness, she sat up, swallowing the bile surging her throat. The room began to spin again. Kristian gripped the edge of the bed, closing her emerald eyes shut. As the swirling abated, she opened her eyes and attempted to stand, again. Stumbling towards the wall, she pressed her head and shoulders against the solid structure, grasping for her bearings.

Moments passed as bright stars flashed in front of her eyes, permeating the confusing darkness. When the dark curtain lifted she took measured steps to collect her wrapper from the end of the bed. Wrenching the door open, a wave of dizziness threatened and she clung to the doorframe.

"Reggie!" She yelled, staggering down the hall. Her daughter's room was next to hers, a mere twenty feet, but the distance felt doubled to Kristian. Opening the door, she released a sigh of relief.

Reggie lay sleeping peacefully, her dark hair fanned across the white pillowcase. Her covers not wrinkled except for the small lump her body formed. Hot embers simmered in her fireplace, lit by the stranger, Kristian assumed.

The room was small, like the rest of the bedrooms, and sparsely furnished, like the whole house. A worn mattress laid across a simple wooden frame was the extent of Reggie's possessions. Two pegs on the wall by the door held the little girl's two dresses and hole-ridden stockings. Her scuffed, too-small, button-up boots laid haphazardly underneath the hanging clothes.

Slumping against the doorframe, she inhaled a deep breath, releasing the tension in her shoulders. As long as Reggie was all right the rest she could deal with. If something were to happen to Reggie...She just couldn't bear to even think about it.

As the worry of her daughter's safety dispersed, her thoughts returned to the stranger. At the knowledge that he had undressed and cleaned her, a small tremor ran through her body. She wasn't sure if her reaction was delight or aversion.

For years she had loathed being touched by anyone other than her daughter. Avoiding all forms of touch, by any methods necessary. When she paid for any supplies or the men their wages, she took pains to not touch hands or brush fingertips. Buck's heavy hand had taught her well.

The stranger intrigued her natural curiosity, showing up as he did, but she remained wary. Her experience with men wasn't very good. He had rescued her and now he would undoubtedly ask something in return. She just hoped she'd be willing to give it.

Kristian knew without a doubt that she couldn't give her body to any man. She would never be intimate with a man again; even the thought of the primitive deed sent bile bubbling up her throat. It seemed to be an act that was made specifically for men.

Even with Robbie she hadn't liked it. Sweet, sweet Robbie.

Shaking her head to clear it of unwanted memories, she pushed away from the frame and quietly pulled the door shut. Padding silently down the hall, she talked herself into facing the tall dark man she knew was downstairs. With an unexplainable awareness, she could sense his presence. Her stomach seemed to drop to her toes as pictures of him flittered across her mind's eye. The man's very demeanor commanded attention. He was, in itself, a warning of danger.

Reaching the top of the stairway, Kristian suddenly stopped. Uncertainty coiled tightly within her.

How was she supposed to handle this situation? The man had saved her from a brutal rape and possible death. She couldn't exactly ask him to leave after that, could she?

Kristian tremulously smiled; her mother would surely roll over in her grave at this. Her mother had raised her to be the proper lady, hostess for tea parties and grand balls. The fact that the War and Buck had changed her future irrevocably didn't erase the habits instilled in her.

Granted, she had learned that the rough Colorado territory was not a place for a placid woman, but she was still the practical and gracious host when the situation dictated. Which hadn't been often in the last six years of hell she had lived through. She had usually hid from Buck's acquaintances as much as possible, lest they corner her alone.

But she couldn't very well ask her liberator to sleep out in the barn after saving her from Broody. Could she? Of course not, she scolded herself. But what if he wanted more from her than she could give? And what of Broody? Was he still here? Well, she told herself, you'll never know if you don't go down there.

Taking a deep calming breath, cinching the belt on her wrapper tighter, she took one step and quickly retracted it. Pausing only to look down the stairs to make sure no one had heard her, she fled down the hall. Acting like a coward rubbed against her natural tendency of facing problems head on. But, she reasoned, one attempted rape was enough for tonight.

Stopping at her daughter's room, she gathered the soft little bundle into her arms and hurried to her own room. Laying Reggie down on the bed, Kristian pulled the quilt up, tucking it under the girl's chin. Reggie turned onto her side and snuggled against the pillow, never waking. A crooked smile flittered across Kristian's lips. Gazing down at her daughter, she smoothed back an errant lock of hair on the girl's cheek and replaced it with a light kiss.

Turning back to the door, Kristian started to close it. Just before the door would have snapped into place, it bounced back at her.

Startled, Kristian jumped away with a gasp. Splaying a hand across her chest to still her thumping heart, she waited to see who would appear. The door opened so slowly, she thought she'd perish in anticipation. When at last the door revealed the intruder, Kristian didn't know if she should be relieved or not. There, standing in the deep shadows of the hall, was her stranger. He pulled his hat off, but the shadows of night still hid his identity.

"I see you're awake," he stated the obvious.

Fascinated with his gruff but soothing voice Kristian could only nod. Realizing that he might not be able to see her nod in the dark she squeaked, "Yes." Her throat was so tight she was amazed anything came out at all. She was appalled at herself for acting so stricken, but was unable to snap out of it. His size and stature made for an intimidating force.

"Good. I'll be downstairs," pausing, obviously reluctant to offer further assistance came through in every strained word. "If you or, or the little one need anything." Then he turned around and shut the door in one fluid motion.

Kristian gaped at the door for a few minutes, expecting him to reappear, disappointed that he didn't. With sudden cognizance, she pressed one hand against the door and turned the key in the lock with the other. It made her feel safer to lock out the world.

Leaning her forehead against the door, she breathed deeply. His crisp outdoor scent still lingered, filling her lungs with his essence. Soap and pine, she noted. The odor was exhilarating.

There was something very familiar in his voice, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. His voice was oddly soothing to her. Whatever the man wanted, at least he had saved her from Broody. If he hadn't came along who knows what would have become of her and Reggie. For that, she owed this man.

She wondered what had happened to Cowboy. Perhaps all his talk of being there for her had been just that: talk. She mentally shrugged; men were given to long- winded declarations. Rarely did they follow through.

Kristian crawled into bed. Drawing the little girl's warm body close, Kristian kissed the top of her head. With a sigh she closed her eyes, it wasn't the first time a man hadn't done what he said he would. She was sure it wouldn't be the last.

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