"Hasn't been anyone called me Nellie in more years than I can count," Nell said.

"Time somebody did." Corwin sat down in the rocker beside Nell's bed and settled back with his pipe between his teeth. The two talked like old friends, which, Patch discovered, they were. Patch finally had to make Corwin leave so Nell could get a little rest. He promised when he left the house to come visit again soon.

Patch realized that she had found the perfect means of getting her grandfather to end his self-imposed isolation in that dreary boardinghouse room. She would keep him so busy visiting Nell and doing ch.o.r.es around the Double Diamond that pretty soon he wouldn't realize how much time he was spending there.

During the next few hours there was a flurry of activity. The cat and the mouse had to be buried, with appropriate requiems for each. Their deaths were solemnized because they had not been in vain. Leah had to feed the kittens. The sugar water didn't seem to fill them up, and they cried constantly from hunger.

"We'll have to get some milk for them," Patch said.

Leah's eyes looked frightened. "How will we know if it's poisoned or not?"

Ethan's mouth tightened grimly. "I'll go into town myself and get some. And have a talk with Gilley Stephenson."

Patch grabbed Ethan's arm, fearing he would shoot Gilley first and ask questions later. "Gilley only delivered the milk, Ethan. Someone else might have put the poison in it."

"I won't kill him," Ethan promised. "What I want are some answers."

Patch didn't want Ethan to go alone, but he reminded her that his mother and Leah both needed her attention. Patch reluctantly nodded her acquiescence.

Less than a minute after Ethan left the house, she had second thoughts. Patch left Leah in the kitchen and followed Ethan out to the barn. She found him saddling up his horse.

Patch stood at the end of the stall and waited for Ethan to notice her. With instincts honed by years as prey for lawmen and outlaws alike, it only took a second. He spun around, crouched with his gun in his hand. When he saw who it was, his face clouded with anger. He shoved his Colt back in his holster and stalked toward her.

Patch stood her ground.

"What are you doing out here, Patch?"

Ethan put his hands on Patch's shoulders, intending to turn her around and send her back inside. Before he could stop her, she had pressed herself against him and wrapped her arms tight around his waist.

"Promise me you'll be careful, Ethan."

His arms slid naturally around her. "I'm always careful," he murmured in her ear.

She looked up at him. "It'll be more dangerous now. Once you confront Gilley, whoever has been poisoning your mother will know he's been discovered."

"Is there any doubt who's responsible?" Ethan retorted. "Trahern owns the hotel where Gilley works. I wouldn't be surprised if Trahern threatened to fire Gilley if Gilley didn't do what he asked. Not that anything excuses what Gilley's done."

"Maybe Gilley didn't know the milk was poisoned. Maybe Trahern had someone else poison it without telling Gilley about it." Patch stopped. There was no getting around the obvious. Trahern was to blame. Trahern was the one who wanted to ruin Ethan's life.

"Just be careful," she pleaded. "If Trahern knows you've discovered his plot, he'll try something else to get rid of you and your family. Maybe something more direct. More deadly."

Ethan toyed with a stray tendril of hair beside Patch's ear. "Trahern can't try any harder to kill me than he already has. And he won't get another chance to attack my family."

"Let the law-"

"Trahern owns the law in this town! Don't try and stop me, Patch. I intend to make Jefferson Trahern pay for what he's done to my mother. And for killing my father."

Ethan's voice was ruthless, and Patch could see that the years of running, the years of fighting for his life, had made him a dangerous man. "Just don't rush into anything," she begged. "At least give the sheriff a chance to do his job. And come back to me. There's so much we haven't done together. So much I want us to do together."

Her hands slid up his back and, for the first time, down over his b.u.t.tocks. Because she was pressed close to him, she felt his instantaneous reaction. She turned her face up to his, inviting his kiss.

Patch watched the struggle Ethan waged against his desire. His green eyes blazed with fury and frustration and leaping flames of pa.s.sion. His arms slowly tightened around her as he pulled her tight against him.

"d.a.m.n you, Patch. d.a.m.n you for tempting me like Delilah. Daring me to touch what I crave like water in the desert. Begging me to take what I need. I'm just a man, not a saint. And I want you."

Then he was kissing her, his tongue in her mouth, his hands tracing the shape of her body, as though he were a blind man feeling his way in a new world. She was wearing a shirtwaist with b.u.t.tons that came free-tore free-as he forced his hand into her bodice. Then he was holding her breast in his hand. Flesh against flesh.

The frenzy halted abruptly. His eyes sought hers.

Patch let him see the wonder she felt. The terrible need. The fear and trembling at this new step he had taken.

His fingertips moved slowly, reverently, across her breast, and she purred like one of Leah's kittens as her skin responded to his touch. She bit back a groan when his thumb brushed across her nipple.

"Look at me," he said.

Patch raised eyes that were heavy-lidded, lambent with the fire he fanned within her. There was no voice for the yearning she felt, only her body pulsing with excitement as he cupped her breast and made her feel his need.

"Patch, this is crazy," Ethan murmured against her lips. His hand slid her dress off her shoulders, baring her to his gaze. "Don't let me do this."

Patch was beyond caring what was right or wrong. Her body sang with pleasure as Ethan touched her. When he slid his hand down the front of her, down between her thighs, she grabbed his arms and hung on.

Ethan had no intention of stopping. Nor would Patch have stopped him. She was too afraid something might happen to Ethan and rob her of ever knowing what it felt like to be held naked in his arms, to be loved by him as a man loved a woman.

Patch was immediately aware when Ethan tensed.

"Someone's coming," he whispered.

Patch took one look at the disarray of her clothing and frantically began repairing the damage. Ethan helped her as best he could.

"I'll do it," Patch said when his efforts hindered more than helped her.

Ethan turned to face the intruder, using his body to shield Patch, who wasn't quite finished redressing.

"Leah! What are you doing here?" Ethan realized the ridiculousness of the question. There wasn't any particular reason Leah couldn't be in the barn anytime she pleased. He could hardly expect her to know he was having a tryst with Patch. "I mean, is there something you wanted from me?"

Leah was as upset by the scene she witnessed as the two lovers were by the interruption. She wasn't stupid. She recognized Ethan's protective posture in front of Patch. The way Patch's elbows were moving made it plain she was b.u.t.toning b.u.t.tons.

Leah understood why Ethan wanted to be with Patch. She had her own eye on one of the boys at school. But she'd only had her brother to herself for a short time, and she wasn't ready to share him just yet. It was impossible not to feel jealous of the time Ethan was devoting to Patch. In fact, the way things were going, Patch might soon monopolize all Ethan's time.

"I know what you two were doing," Leah said in a disgusted voice. "I wasn't born yesterday."

Ethan's features hardened. "What Patch and I do is none of your business."

Ethan was immediately sorry for his blunt reprimand when he saw the hurt look that flashed across Leah's face. It was replaced by a mulish cast that boded ill for their budding sibling relationship.

Leah was practically snarling when she spoke again. "I only wanted to remind you that Gilley buys all the milk he delivers to us from Mrs. Felber, at the mercantile. Also, Chester Felber earns his living by milking his mother's cows. So maybe you should talk to all three of them when you're in town. That's all I wanted to say."

Leah backed a few steps, then turned and ran from the barn.

"d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n!" Ethan took off his hat, shoved his hand through his hair, then yanked his hat back on, tugging it down low on his brow. "Just when I thought Leah and I were making some progress, getting to know one another, she gets her nose bent out of joint, and we're back where we started."

Patch slipped her arms around Ethan's waist from behind. "My stepbrother and I fought like cats and dogs. But I love him dearly now, and I know he'd give his life for me." Patch gave Ethan a rea.s.suring hug. "Arguing is a treasured part of being siblings."

"If you say so," Ethan muttered. "I just wish I knew how I'm supposed to act toward Leah. She takes everything I say so seriously. I don't want to hurt her feelings, but I inevitably do."

"Keep on doing what you're doing," Patch advised.

"What's that?"

"Love her. Care for her."

Ethan reached down and unclasped Patch's hands from around his waist, then turned to face her. "How did you get so wise?"

Patch shrugged and grinned. "Trial and error?"

Ethan tucked a stray lock of hair behind her car. Actually, it was a d.a.m.ned good thing Leah had come along. He wasn't any closer to understanding his feelings for Patch than he had been the day she arrived in Oakville.

He was having trouble differentiating between the child of twelve he had known and the woman she had become. He desired the grown-up Patch, all right. He wasn't denying that. And he admired the way she had pitched in to help with the work that had to be done in the house, her tender care of his mother, and her understanding of Leah.

But every once in a while he saw flashes of the untamed hoyden she had been once upon a time-her flaring temper, her willingness to fight tooth and claw for what she believed, her impatience, her undaunted spirit. To his surprise, he found he admired those traits as much, or more, than her ladylike demeanor.

He wasn't sure which Patch he liked better. He wasn't sure which Patch was the real one. And he was never quite sure which Patch he was dealing with, the lady or the troublemaking minx. But he knew he would hurt them both if he wasn't careful.

Ethan put Patch away from him and picked up the reins to back his horse from the stall. Patch walked beside him as he led his horse from the barn. Once outside, he quickly mounted.

Patch shaded her eyes from the sun as she looked up at him. "I'll be waiting here for you."

"I'll be back when I get some answers."

It was hard for Patch to watch Ethan ride away. She had convinced herself that Ethan Hawk wasn't really an outlaw. He had shot Dorne Trahern in self-defense. Whatever killing he had done while on the run had been necessary to stay alive. She was convinced he had never committed the rape of which he was accused. Now he had gone hunting human quarry. Would he do it within the bounds of the law? Or would the years of being a law unto himself cause him to take vengeance into his own hands?

She had to find out who had raped Merielle Trahern, and soon. There must be a key somewhere that would unlock the secrets of the past. She had to find it. Because without that key, she and Ethan would never be free.

"h.e.l.lo, Gilley."

The hotel clerk nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the sinister voice behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and visibly relaxed. "Hawk! Why're you sneaking around here like some Injun?"

Gilley turned completely around, which was when he saw the gun in Ethan's hand. Pointed at him. He tugged on his starched collar. He snuck a peek out the brand-new picture window, but the people walking up and down the boardwalk were oblivious to his personal dilemma inside.

Gilley felt the sweat melting the starch in his shirt, making it stick to him. He licked the salty dots of perspiration from his upper lip. "Uh. Something I can do to help you, Ethan?"

"You can tell me why you've been delivering poisoned milk to my house."

"What?" Gilley's eyebrows rose till they nearly met the leftover fringes of hair on his balding head. "I never did such a thing! What makes you think I did?"

Ethan's eyes narrowed as he tried to decide whether Gilley was telling the truth. "Who else, if not you?"

"I get all the milk I deliver to your place from Mrs. Felber. It's already bottled when I put it in my wagon. Maybe she knows something I don't."

"It isn't just the milk that's been poisoned, Gilley. You delivered poisoned whiskey to my father."

Ethan watched the freckles on Gilley's face brighten as his face reddened.

"I swear I don't know a thing about any poisoned whiskey."

"Where'd you get the whiskey you sold to my father, Gilley?"

"From the saloon. I got it from the Silver Buckle."

Ethan frowned. He had been hoping he would find the poisoned drinks had come from the same source. That would mean fewer people were involved in the conspiracy to poison his family. However, now that he had talked to the hotel clerk, Ethan had his doubts whether Gilley was a guilty party. The little man just wasn't terrified enough of the gun in Ethan's hand.

Nevertheless, Ethan said, "Don't leave town, Gilley. Or I'll come after you."

Ethan turned on his heel and headed for the Silver Buckle. It was still early, and there weren't many people in the bar. Slim, the bartender, was sweeping out the old sawdust before laying down new. Ethan was about to seat himself at one of the tables when he noticed the stranger at a table in the corner, with his back to the wall. So Jefferson Trahern had hired another gunfighter to shoot him down.

Ethan seated himself across the room with his back to the opposite wall. He couldn't help smiling at the absurdity of the situation. At least this way they could keep an eye on each other.

In a matter of moments Slim was at Ethan's table. "Can I get you a drink?"

"I'd like a bottle of whiskey."

Slim raised his eyebrows. "A whole bottle?"

Ethan nodded. While he waited for Slim to bring him the whiskey, he studied the stranger. The man wore his gun low, tied down, and the fact he had his back to the wall said a lot about the kind of life he led. He played with a deck of cards, doing tricks, and Ethan suspected that when he wasn't working for hire he played a mean hand of poker.

The stranger didn't bother hiding his interest in Ethan. He stared up from beneath the brim of his Stetson, his eyes glittering intently. He smiled grimly, lifted his gla.s.s to Ethan in a toast, and drank it down.

Ethan's sense of humor told him they resembled two mangy dogs walking stiff-legged around each other, sniffing and growling and seeking out a weakness that could mean victory in the inevitable fight to come. Only, he had to hand it to Trahern. This man looked a cut above those who had been sent after him in the past. It sure didn't appear that he planned to rush any fences.

Slim brought the bottle to Ethan's table along with a gla.s.s. When he started to open the bottle, Ethan stopped him., "Where do you get this stuff, Slim?"

"Comes from Tennessee, I think."

"No, I mean, do you order it yourself, or do you get it from a supplier somewhere?"

"We get it through Felber at the mercantile."

So the tainted whiskey that had been delivered to his father two years ago had its source at the mercantile. As had the poisoned milk more recently delivered to his mother. It was time he talked with Horace Felber.

"Deliver this bottle of whiskey to the gentleman at the table across the room," Ethan said. "With my compliments."

Slim eyed the gunslinger. "Sure you wanta do that?"

Ethan rose. "I'm sure." He felt the hairs p.r.i.c.kle on his nape when he pushed through the batwing doors of the saloon. He half expected a bullet in the back. But it didn't come.

An honorable adversary, Ethan thought with a cynical smile. In days gone by he would have relished the contest. That was before he had recognized his mortality. The several scars on his body were evidence of the lessons he had learned. Ethan didn't want to die. Especially not now, when he had so much to live for.

Patch.