Maybe Ethan hadn't forgotten his promise to her, Patch mused. Maybe he had only been waiting until his mother was well before he came for her. If so, she had saved him the time and trouble of going to Montana after her.

"Has a doctor examined your mother?"

Leah stiffened. "Doc Carter took a look at her."

"Did he say what's wrong with her?" Patch asked.

"Nothing he can fix," Leah replied in an agonized voice.

Patch dropped the subject. It would be better to ask Ethan the questions she wanted answered than to distress Leah any further.

While Leah dried the last of the dishes, Patch started looking for something to make for supper. "As I recall, Ethan used to love biscuits."

"He still does," Leah said. "Only, the ones I make taste more like shoe leather."

"Those used to be my favorite kind," Patch said with a chuckle.

Patch found the flour and began looking for the other ingredients she needed. Every step of the way Leah said, "That's not how Ma does it." Or, "Ma always does it this way." Patch obligingly changed her methods, each time involving Leah in the preparation of the biscuits. Before long, Patch had the dough ready to cut into circles.

"Ma always let me do that," Leah mumbled.

Patch handed over the cup she had intended to use. "I'll get some beans started."

Before long there were biscuits in the oven and beans on the potbellied stove. Leah showed Patch where she could find a smoked ham. Between them they set the table.

"Too bad we don't have some flowers for the table," Patch murmured.

"There's some black-eyed Susans out back. I mean, if you gotta have flowers."

"Thanks, Leah." Patch put a hand on Leah's shoulder, but Leah stepped out from under the caress.

"I better go pick those flowers."

"I'll check on your mother."

Leah paused on her way out the door. "Ma would like what you did to the house," she conceded.

"Thanks, Leah."

"Yeah, well, don't thank me. You did most of the work." A moment later she was out the kitchen door and had shoved it closed behind her.

Patch shook her head. She knew some of the things Leah must be feeling. She remembered her own turmoil when her father had advertised for a mail-order bride and Molly Gallagher had shown up with her two children. Patch had bitterly resented their intrusion. She had hated Molly on sight and felt an equal animosity toward Whit. She remembered labeling Nessie a whining crybaby.

But she hadn't come here to be Leah's mother. Leah already had a mother.

Who might be dying.

Patch wondered what was wrong with Nell that a doctor couldn't fix. She hoped it wasn't as serious as it appeared. From her little acquaintance with Nell Hawk, she already liked her.

Patch eased Nell's bedroom door open slowly, but the hinges obviously hadn't been oiled in a while, because they squeaked loudly.

"Is that you, Leah?"

"It's me," Patch answered.

There was a moment of silence.

Patch stepped into the room. The old woman was obviously agitated, but Patch wasn't sure why.

Nell sniffed the air, frowned, then sniffed again. "How long have I been asleep?" she asked irritably.

Patch glanced out the window at the unbroken view of rolling prairie. The sun was low in the sky. "Most of the afternoon. It's nearly suppertime. In fact, I came to see if I can bring you something."

"I'm not hungry."

Patch raised a brow. "When was the last time you ate?"

"I had a gla.s.s of milk and some mush for breakfast. I ... I don't remember what I ate for lunch."

Patch was alarmed. Ethan's mother certainly couldn't get well if she didn't eat. "Could you manage some ham and beans and biscuits."

"Is that what smells so good?"

"Yes."

Nell smiled with relief. "Oh, dear. I thought I'd gone crazy for sure. I smelled ham and biscuits, and I couldn't figure out how that was possible since I haven't been out of this bed to cook for weeks."

"Leah helped me."

Nell's eyes went wide. "She did? My Leah?"

"She insisted I make the biscuits just the way you would."

Nell's chin began to quiver.

Patch was desperate for a diversion that would take Nell's mind off the illness that kept her bedridden and unable to take care of her family. Just at that moment, Max moved in her ap.r.o.n pocket. Patch reached down and pulled him out to display him in the palm of her hand.

"Look what I have. His name is Max."

Patch didn't see Leah come in behind her. Leah peered around Patch, curious to see what Patch was showing her mother.

"It's a mouse!"

Leah's excited cry frightened Max, who scrambled up the arm of Patch's shirtwaist. Patch grabbed for him, but he shot off her shoulder onto Nell's pillow.

Nell shrieked "Catch him!" and covered her head with the quilt.

"He's gone off the other side!" Leah shouted as she leapt over the bed in pursuit. "I think he dropped to the floor!"

Patch fell to her knees and peered under the bed, but all she saw was Leah on the other side.

Drawn by the commotion, the calico cat appeared at the bedroom door and let out a loud "Mrrrrrrow!"

"How did the cat get in here?" Patch cried. "She was still outside when I covered up that hole in the kitchen floor."

"I brought Calico in," Leah replied. "Her babies were crying for her."

Patch met Leah's hazel eyes across the bed. "That cat of yours will kill Max if she catches him. You get her, and I'll try to catch Max."

Nell lowered the covers enough to ask, "Have you found him yet?"

"No, but-"

"There he is!" Nell pointed at the mouse as it ran along the foot of the bedstead and shot off onto the quilt and down over the side of the bed again. Nell shouted orders as Patch and Leah scooted under the bed.

"Get the cat!" Patch screeched at Leah.

Patch and Leah found themselves face-to-face under the bed. The calico cat had the mouse cornered between the carved leg of the bed and the wall.

Leah grabbed the spitting, clawing cat by the scruff of the neck and dragged her away. "Ow! Hurry up, Patch. She's scratching me!"

Patch caught Max as he made a break for it. "Got him!" She wriggled back out from under the bed, f.a.n.n.y first. She lifted her head too soon and caught it on the edge of the bed. "Garn! That hurts!"

She sat up triumphantly on the floor at the side of Nell's bed and held the mouse aloft in her hand. Her scarf had come off and pulled her hair down with it. Blond tresses dangled over one eye. A piece of fuzz was stuck on her nose, and she could feel grit on her cheek. Obviously, Leah hadn't cleaned under her mother's bed lately. But at least Max was safe. The ridiculousness of the situation hit her all at once and a silly grin split her face.

Patch heard a footstep behind her. She looked up and found herself staring into a pair of disbelieving male eyes.

"What on G.o.d's green earth are you doing down there, Patch?"

It was Ethan. He was home.

Ethan had spent the better part of the day rounding up stray cattle. He was appalled at how few there were to gather. The only way he had survived the seven miserable years he had spent in prison was by imagining how wonderful it would be when he returned to his family and the Double Diamond a free man. His homecoming had been an awful disappointment, a rude awakening to the cold light of reality.

His father was dead. The ranch was in ruins. His mother was sick. His sister was a stranger who watched him with wary eyes. He had felt like crying. But he hadn't. He had gone instead to see Boyd Stuckey, who had been his best friend when they were kids growing up. He had shared everything with Boyd, both his joys and his troubles. In the face of the disaster he had found on his release from prison, he had needed a friend.

Boyd had welcomed him like a long-lost brother. "Ethan! It's great to have you home!"

They had shaken hands, and Ethan wasn't sure which of them had made the first move, but a moment later they were hugging and patting each other on the back. They parted and grinned at each other. They were men now, but the friendship they had forged as boys was a bond that had never been broken. Each knew he could trust his life in the other's hands. In the West, that was about as deep as friendship got.

"You've changed," Boyd said.

"You haven't," Ethan said.

Boyd gestured Ethan to a bra.s.s-studded leather chair, one of two situated across from each other in front of the stone fireplace in Boyd's parlor. Once Ethan was seated, Boyd took the other chair.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"Whiskey, if you have it."

"Theresa," Boyd called. "Some whiskey, por favor."

A pretty Mexican girl brought a tray with a bottle of whiskey and two gla.s.ses and set it on a nearby table before she disappeared.

Ethan whistled his approval. "Very nice."

"My housekeeper," Boyd said with a dimpled grin as he poured them each a whiskey. "What shall we drink to?"

"Freedom," Ethan said.

When their gla.s.ses were empty, Boyd refilled Ethan's and settled back in his chair. "How have you been?"

Ethan hesitated. A man kept his hardships to himself. And there wasn't much good to share.

"That was a stupid question," Boyd said. He turned his empty gla.s.s in his hands. "I'm sorry about your pa."

"It's hard for me to believe he's been dead for two years." Ethan shook his head. "And I can't believe what bad shape the ranch is in."

"Careless never did find out who rustled all your pa's cattle," Boyd said. "I did the best I could to help your ma, but she said she'd never taken charity and never would. Wish I could've done more."

"I thank you for being there for both of them while I was gone."

Neither man spoke about the events of seventeen years ago that had forced them to go their separate ways, to lead separate lives, and put their friendship in abeyance.

"I never had a chance to thank you for speaking up for me at the trial," Ethan said.

"It was the least I could do. You're the best friend I ever had." Boyd paused and added, "I missed you, Ethan."

The moment might have gotten maudlin, but neither man could have tolerated that.

Boyd grinned. "With you gone, it's been as peaceful around here as a thumb in a baby's mouth. Maybe there'll be a little excitement now that you're home."

Ethan grinned back. "Likely you'll see so much of me now that you'll start barring the door when you hear me coming."

They had laughed and talked about other, happier, things and finally, when he had worn out his welcome, Ethan left. He felt better. And he felt worse.

Ethan had shared everything with Boyd when they were children, because Boyd had owned nothing. Their circ.u.mstances were nearly reversed now. Boyd was obviously very well off, while Ethan was barely making ends meet. It was a sign of what good friends they had been-still were-that Ethan could be happy for Boyd, rather than jealous of him. But after that first visit, he avoided Boyd because seeing his friend reminded him too much of all he had lost.

Sometimes, when Ethan saw how much work it would take to bring the Double Diamond back to what it had been, he wished his mother had sold out. She'd had several offers for the ranch, including one from Boyd, back when it had been in better condition. Then he would look around him, at the land he and his father had worked together, and feel a well of emotion so great he almost couldn't breathe. In those moments he was glad-and grateful-that his mother had struggled, tooth and claw, to save his heritage for him.

But he wondered about the cost of her sacrifice. She had been confined to her bed constantly since he had returned home. Lately he had come to believe that Doc Carter was right, that his mother was dying of the same wasting sickness that had claimed his father. And, though he fought against admitting it, he was afraid she hadn't much longer to live.

It was plain to see the effects of all that calamity on Leah. His younger sister had sad, wise old eyes that belied her tender age. Leah hadn't even been born when he had been forced to flee his home. He had seen her briefly when he was on trial-a spindly child of five, all eyes and ears, hands and feet. But now, seven years later, she was a stranger to him, and it felt awkward treating her like the sister she was.

Leah was so tough on the outside that it had taken him a while to see how frightened she was inside. She kept to herself, and he was having a hard time breaching her defenses. His sister reminded him a great deal of another rebellious tomboy he had known.

Patch.

Ethan had tried not to think about Patch, but the image of her as she lay beneath him at the Oakville Hotel kept creeping back. He had spent the day wondering what she was doing in south Texas and wishing that his life were in better shape than it was. She had grown up into a beautiful, desirable woman.