"You don't have to forgive me for leaving when Ma died, either."

Hen didn't turn around, but Madison could see his back stiffen.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I was a coward to leave. Either way, it doesn't matter now. Keeping you alive does."

Still Hen didn't turn around or speak.

"Okay, have it your own way. You always were so d.a.m.ned sure you were right and everybody else had to be wrong. Well, you listen to me, William Henry Harrison Randolph. Doing what you despise, trying to be what you aren't, isn't always right, especially when it turns you inside out and bleaches the life out of you. There's a lot that's good about you, but you're too hard and unforgiving, You hate far better than you love. You hold grudges easier than you forget. You stick to your principles more readily than you understand how those principles might destroy another person's life.

"You can think I did the wrong thing. Sometimes I agree with you. But I'm not dead inside," Madison said, thumping his chest. "I can still feel. And one thing I feel real strongly is that you didn't kill Troy Sproull. I intend to prove it, because I'll be d.a.m.ned if I'll let you hang.

"And you know why I'm going to make sure you stay alive? Not just because I can't stand by and see my brother die for something he didn't do. And not just because of the pain it would cause the rest of the family, especially George.

"It's because I want you to walk out of that courtroom knowing you owe your life to me. I want you to know that the despised brother who deserted you when you were only fourteen is the only reason you're alive. I want you to be forced to thank me. And you will. You'll hate it, but you're so d.a.m.ned stubborn you'll make yourself do it, even if you choke on the words.

"And you know what I'm going to do when you finally say those words? I'm going to tell you to go to h.e.l.l."

Silence. Hen didn't say a word. He didn't move. He just sat facing the wall. Madison left the jail.

When he reached the street, he was so angry he was shaking. He hadn't expected his brothers to welcome him with open arms, but he hadn't expected this unending reproach. Rose was the only one who seemed to be glad he had come.

It would serve them right if he got back on the train and never left Boston again.

But he knew he wouldn't leave. The same feelings that had made him leave Boston, which had forced him to risk seeing his brothers again, would force him to stay in Kansas until they had reached some kind of settlement. He understood now that that was why he had come. Hen's trial was merely the impetus. If it hadn't been that, it would have been something else.

It surprised him how much his brothers' rejection hurt. He had never felt alone before. Not really alone. He had had Freddy's family, but he'd always felt that his own family would be there if he needed them.

Now he wasn't certain.

He shrugged. He'd think of something, he always did, but not tonight. Right now he'd better see how that rebel in leather and sheepskin was getting along.

He told himself he wouldn't be going if he didn't feel guilty. He told himself he wouldn't feel so concerned if it hadn't been his fault. He told himself a few other things, all of which were true, but none of them changed the fact he was going because he wanted to see her. Try as he might, he couldn't forget the feel of her body pressed against his, of his lips on hers, of the softness of her breast as she leaned against him.

He told himself not to worry that she fascinated him so. It wouldn't come to anything. This feeling of kinship, of a common bond, was just an illusion. He would go back to Boston in a few weeks and forget all about her.

''She was very lucky," Rose told Madison. "She could have been killed."

Madison had found George and Rose sitting together on the front porch when he reached the Abbott house. William Henry played close by.

I tried to stop her," Madison said, pulling up a chair.

"From the little bit I've seen of you two," Rose said, "I imagine there was as much provoking as placating."

"I seem to have that problem with everyone lately."

"I gather you had no success with Hen," George said.

"He won't even speak to me."

"I'll go see him," Rose said.

"It's no use," Madison said. "He's still angry about my leaving."

"I don't care what he's angry about," Rose said, getting slowly to her feet, "it's no reason to refuse to talk to you when you're trying to defend him. Keep an eye on William Henry, George. He can sneak off almost as fast as Zac."

George started to say something, but Rose didn't pause.

"This is the most stubborn, hard-headed family I've ever met. I can tolerate it most of the time, but not when it could cost Hen his life."

"Wear a shawl," George said. "It gets cool at night."

She entered the house.

"Aren't you going to stop her?" Madison asked.

"Do you think you can?"

"No, but"

"Neither can I."

"I don't understand," Madison said. George had always been able to control everybody, even his father on occasion.

George smiled, rather complacently, Madison thought.

"You wouldn't," George said. "Not after living with Ma and Pa. I wasn't sure I could understand either. I wouldn't have tried if Rose hadn't forced me. Now sit down. If anybody can make Hen talk, it's Rose."

Rose came out of the house. "Is there anything you particularly want to know?" she asked Madison.

Madison didn't understand how this pet.i.te woman could make a stubborn man like Hen cooperate when his own threats had failed.

Probably the same way Fern has captivated you.

But Madison wasn't willing to admit to that just yet.

"I need to know where he rode that night, who may have seen him, and exactly where he was at the time Troy Sproull was killed. If I could prove where he was, nothing else would matter. Failing that, I've got to figure out who did murder Troy. I'll need to know everything Hen knows about the man, even the smallest detail."

"I'll do my best."

"How is she doing?" Madison asked, nodding his head toward the house. "Go see for yourself," Rose answered, her expression lightening. "You'd better stand in readiness, George. If the last twenty-four hours are any example, it shouldn't take more than three minutes for the fireworks to start."

Madison had started to get up, but he sat back down. "I'm not going in there if she's going to start yelling at me."

"I don't know what she's going to do, or what she did, but you owe her an apology."

"Me? I didn't push her into that stream." Madison had admitted his guilt to himself, but he didn't like hearing it from somebody else.

"Maybe not physically, but you drove her to run away. Now go in there and talk to her. She feels guilty, too. Will you be here when I get back?"

"If she doesn't chew me up too badly."

"Does he always talk about women like this?" Rose asked George.

"He didn't used to."

Madison threw up his hands and went inside. As long as everybody was determined to have a piece of his hide, he might as well let Fern have her share.

Chapter Seven.

Mrs. Abbott looked up from her needlework when she heard the door open. "Where are you going?" she demanded.

"To see Miss Sproul."

"Not in my house. I don't permit men to visit ladies in their bedrooms."

Madison bit back the retort that came to mind, reminding himself that George and Rose were staying here.

"I'll leave the door open, and I promise not to approach the bed," he said, striding past.

"Mr. Randolph! Mr. Randolph!" he heard Mrs. Abbott calling to his brother. Either Rose or George must have found a way to allay Mrs. Abbott's fears, because no one came after him.

He raised his hand to knock on Fern's door and realized he didn't know what to say. How do you say you're sorry to someone you've been intentionally aggravating? It didn't seem fair that he should have to take all the blame, but he knew the fault was his. Feeling guilty made him angry, and his mood wasn't very contrite when he knocked on her door.

"Come in."

She didn't sound too sick. Maybe he could make a quick apology and leave. He felt in need of a good stiff brandy.

Madison came to an abrupt halt the moment he stepped through the doorway. If he hadn't known he was in the right room, he would have sworn he was looking at a stranger. The Fern he knew wore pants, a baggy shirt, and a hat. The woman in bed wore a very attractive pink nightgown and allowed her long dark-blond hair to fall becomingly over her shoulders. Big blue-gray eyes stared at him, somewhat apprehensive, somewhat accusing. She seemed to draw within herself when he stepped into the room.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. It was a dumb question. She had to be feeling like h.e.l.l, but he couldn't ask the question he wanted answered: How had the tomboy he'd helped undress turned into the woman in the bed?

Fern could feel the heat of embarra.s.sment engulf her body until it reached her toes. This man had undressed her, had handled her body. She would have pulled the covers over her head if the pain of even the smallest movement weren't excruciating.

"You took my clothes off, didn't you?" She shouldn't have asked himshe didn't want to know the answerbut she couldn't help herself.

"What makes you think . . . Why should . . . Why does it matter?"

"Why does it matter?" she echoed. "How would you like it if some woman knocked you out, put her hands all over your body, then took off your clothes?"

"I didn't knock you out," Madison responded testily.

She felt that Madison had violated her privacy. She felt almost as vulnerable and defenseless as she had that night so long ago, the night she had tried so hard to forget.

"At least I didn't touch your chemise."

Fern flushed a deeper shade of crimson. No one, not even her father, knew about the lace-trimmed chemises she had ordered directly from Chicago. It mortified her that after trying to appear so hard-nosed, after bragging she could do anything a man could do, after demanding she be treated like one of the fellas, that Madison, of all people, should know her secret. It made her feel like a fool. A silly female. A pathetic fraud.

"Besides, it's your fault as much as mine," Madison said. "Do you always pull crazy stunts when you get angry?"

Fern would gladly have hit him if she could have lifted her arms. She also was a little frightened of him. She never felt in control when he was around. She didn't act like herself; things didn't happen the way she wanted. If she didn't put some distance between them, he might try to kiss her again. Even worse, she might want him to.

"I try to fall off my horse every time I find myself alone with a tenderfoot," she snapped. "They tend to get depressed, what with being so helpless once they're out of the city. Carrying me into town gives them something to do, makes them feel useful."

"You sure gave a convincing performance," Madison said, his temper rising.

"I do my best for Boston lawyers with a penchant for forcing themselves upon helpless females. Besides, if I hadn't run away, I might have been so overcome by your good looks I'd have compromised myself."

"It takes two to be indiscreet," Madison replied, too angry to weigh his words. "You don't tempt me that far."

Madison regretted his angry response as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He felt all the more like a heartless bully when he saw the hurt in Fern's eyes. She seemed to have a unique ability to make him forget even the most basic tenets of civility. Then make him feel bad about doing it.

"Look, I didn't come here to argue with you," he said, struggling to get a grip on his temper. I just wanted to see how you were doing and apologize for what I did. I have a nasty temper. It doesn't take much to set it off, and I've discovered an abundance of fuel in Abilene."

d.a.m.n! When was he going to learn to shut up before he put his foot in his mouth?

"Then you shouldn't have come here. We don't have one law for Texans and another for everybody else."

Madison could feel the last thread of his self-control snap.

"Miss Sproull, I sincerely hope that one day in the very near future you are accused of something you didn't do. I hope there isn't a single man, woman, or child in Abilene who believes a word you say. I want you to sit in that jail thinking the hanging rope is your certain end. Because then you'll know what you've done to that boy."

She opened her mouth to speak.

"And don't prate to me about justice. You're only interested in vengeance. Otherwise you wouldn't close your mind to anything that might throw light on the events of that night. You'd sift through every piece of evidence, every clue, over and over again until you knew what took place that night."

"n.o.body can know what happened."

"The killer knows."

"But that's Hen."

Talking to her was like talking into the wind. Trying hard to keep his expression from showing his frustration, he said, "Suppose I can prove Hen wasn't anywhere near the Connor place that night."

"You can't."

"But suppose I could. Do you hate Texans so much you'd rather see Hen hang and the real murderer go free?"

He could see the battle going on within her. If she said she wanted Hen to die no matter what, she condemned herself.

"If you can prove he was somewhere else that night," she said, struggling with each word, "I'll do everything I can to help you find the killer. But"

"Good. Now you'd better get some rest. We have a lot of work to do before the trial."