Robert E. came further into the room.  In one hand he held a cheery bouquet of autumn flowers.  From his other hand dangled a small cloth sack tied with rawhide.

     "These are for you," he said, approaching Michaela's bed and holding out the flowers.  "They're from Grace and Anthony and me."  Michaela accepted them with pleasure, as Robert E. set the bag on the floor.

     "They're lovely, Robert E.," she said smiling.  "You must thank Grace and Anthony for me."

     "I'll get a vase," Matthew offered.  Michaela handed him the flowers, and he disappeared out the door.

     "They're real nice, Robert E.," said Sully.  "They'll really brighten up the room."

     "That's what Grace was thinkin'," Robert E.said.

     "How are Grace and Anthony?" Michaela asked.

     "They're doin' fine," Robert E. replied with his slow, easy smile.  "Anthony's enjoyin' havin' Brian share his room, and playin' 'big brother' to Katie."

     Michaela looked at Sully quizzically.

     "I meant to tell you," he said.  "Grace and Robert E. offered to have Brian and Katie stay with them till you was feelin' better."

     "How kind of you both," Michaela said gratefully. "They couldn't be in better hands than yours and Grace's."

     "It's our pleasure, Dr. Mike," Robert E. told her.  "We just wanted to help out, any way we could.  Speakin' of that, Grace is busy right now with the dinner rush, but she said to tell you she'll be by soon as it's over, with some of her 'famous' chicken soup."  He grinned.  "She swears by it.  Says it can cure anythin'.  Andrew said you could have a little, if you was feelin' up to it."

     "I can't think of any medicine I'd like more," Michaela said sincerely.  "I'll look forward to Grace's visit."

     Robert E. reached down and picked up the sack.  "I brought somethin' else, too," he said a little shyly.  Holding out the sack, he added, "It's for you, Sully."

     A look of surprise crossed Sully's face as he took the sack from Robert E.  He untied the rawhide cord and reached into the sack, withdrawing a new fringed leather belt.  Hanging from the belt was a new tomahawk with a handsomely carved handle and a shining silver blade.  Suspended from the opposite side, a duplicate of the knife he used to wear was snugly gloved in an attached leather sheath.

     "Robert E.—“ he began with a delighted smile, admiring the fine craftsmanship—then stopped, at a loss for words.  After a moment he added, "How—how did you get it past the guards?"

     "Weren't none," Robert E. replied.  "I guess since Sgt. McKay was here, he gave them some time off."

     "Guards—Sgt. McKay?" Michaela repeated.

     "No need to trouble yourself," Sully told her quickly.  "Sgt. McKay and me was just talkin' 'fore I came in here.  And puttin' guards on me was the only way they'd allow me to stay here at the clinic, 'stead of bein' locked up at the jail."

     "They?" said Michaela.

     "The sergeant and Hank," he explained.  "It's all right, Michaela," he added, seeing the worry lines that had appeared on her forehead.  He squeezed her hand.  "I promise, we'll talk about all this later."

     "All right," she acquiesced.

     Sully drew the tomahawk from its loop on the belt.  He hefted it, enjoying the familiar weight and feel of it in his hand.

     "That's mighty fine work, Robert E.," he said.  "But they'll never let me keep these."

     "No reason they got to know about it," Robert E. said.  "Keep them here in the clinic, some place safe where you know you can find them if you need them."

     Sully nodded.  He caressed the smoothness of the belt, inhaling the fragrant scent of new leather.

     "But how did you—“ he began.

     "Started workin' on it the day you came back to town," Robert E. said, anticipating him.  "I saw you wasn't wearin' your old one—figured you must have lost it in the fall.

     "I thought maybe you could use a replacement," he finished, looking pleased at Sully's reaction.

     Sully stood up and wrapped the belt around his waist.  As he fastened it, he thought how perfectly it fit, as if he had always worn it.  Looking at Robert E., he began haltingly, "I don't know what to say, Robert E.—“

     "I do," Michaela interrupted, smiling up at the blacksmith.  "It's a wonderful present, Robert E."

     "Michaela's right—it's a fine present," Sully echoed.  "I'm grateful, Robert E."  He held his hand out to his friend, and they shook warmly.

     Michaela gazed admiringly at how the belt hugged Sully's waist, thinking how right he looked wearing it.  He appeared almost like his old self again.  Only one thing was still missing.

     But that would be remedied soon, she thought, a secret smile hovering about her lips.

     Matthew came in, bearing the flowers in a water pitcher.

     "I couldn't find an empty vase—had to use this instead," he said, placing the flowers on a shelf where Michaela could see and admire them.  Turning, he caught sight of Sully's belt.

     "Looks good on you," he said approvingly.  "Robert E. showed it to me 'fore we came in," he added in explanation.

     "Feels good too," Sully told him, picking up the tomahawk and running his hand along its length.  "I hope I have the chance to practice with this real soon," he said to Robert E.  "But in the meantime . . ."  He cradled it in his hands, looking around the room for an appropriate hiding place.

     "The mattress," Michaela said suddenly.  "Hide the knife and the tomahawk inside.  The army guards would never find them there."

     "Won't that be uncomfortable for you?" Sully asked.

     "I won't even feel them," she assured him.

     "Well, I sure couldn't find a safer place," Sully agreed.  Bending down, he threw back the bedclothes, then used the blade of the knife to make a long slit in the edge of  the mattress.  He slipped the knife and the tomahawk inside the opening he'd made, then replaced the sheet and blankets.

     "Well, I'd best be goin'," Robert E. said.  "Get well soon, Dr. Mike."

     "Thank you, Robert E.," Michaela replied.

     Sully shook Robert E.'s hand again.  "I'm much obliged, Robert E.," he said.

     "Don't mention it," Robert E. told him.  "You folks take care."

     "I'll walk out with you," Matthew said.  "Colleen asked me to drive her out to the homestead, to pick up some things for Dr. Mike."

     "Could you ask her to bring me some fresh clothes—and a razor?" Sully asked.  "Somebody reminded me I need a shave."  He winked at Michaela.

     Matthew grinned.  "Sure thing," he said.  He came over to Michaela and bent to kiss her on the forehead.  "Have a good night, Ma," he said softly.  "I love you."

     "I love you, Matthew," Michaela whispered back.

     The two men went out into the hall, and Sully closed the door after them.  Returning to Michaela's side, he resumed his seat.

     "We're real lucky with our friends, Michaela," he said.

     "Yes indeed," she answered.

* * * * * * * * * *

     Out in the hall, as Matthew and Robert E. walked toward the exit at the rear of the clinic, Matthew said, "Robert E.—I need to have a word with you."

 * * * * * * * * * * *

     For several minutes, Michaela had been feeling slight twinges of pain—subtle, but enough to make her aware that the effects of the morphine were beginning to wear off.  As long as the twinges remained minor, she was able to ignore them for the most part—or at least disquise the fact that she was experiencing discomfort again.

     But suddenly, a much stronger jab of pain seized her.  Her body grew rigid, and she pressed her lips together to keep herself from moaning and alerting Sully to her condition.  Though she managed not to make a sound, her face paled visibly and her hand clutched convulsively at the coverlet.

     After a moment, the intensity of the pain began to subside.  She realized she had been holding her breath, and she let it out with a shaky sigh of relief.

     Though Michaela fancied she had hidden her discomfort from Sully, she couldn't know how closely he had become attuned to every detail, every nuance of her condition over the past few days.  While he didn't see her body tense against the pain, he immediately noticed her waxy pallor, and the sweat that had broken out on her forehead.

     "What is it, Michaela?" he said, his eyes staring at her searchingly.

     "Nothing," she said lightly, trying to make her voice sound as ordinary as possible.

     He placed his hand on her forehead.  "It ain't nothin," he said gravely.  "You're sweatin'—and all your color's gone."

     "Really, Sully—I'm all right," she tried to say, but another stab of pain made her gasp.  "Oh!" she moaned, unable to hide her distress.

     "Hold my hand," Sully urged her, grasping her hand tightly in an effort to help her ride out the agony.  Painfully she squeezed his fingers, clinging to him desperately as the pain assaulted her.

     "Sully!" she cried out helplessly.  Quickly he sat on the bed next to her and drew her into his arms, cradling her tightly against him.  "Hold on, Michaela," he told her.  "Hold on—I've got you."

     For several agonzing moments they remained that way, till the relaxation of her hand in his told him that her pain was finally ebbing.

     A basin of water stood on the nightstand, along with a soft cloth.  Sully dipped the cloth in the water and wrung it out, then gently sponged the sweat from Michaela's face.  Hectic spots of color had appeared in her cheeks from her efforts to withstand the pain.  She sighed, the coolness of the damp cloth soothing against her hot cheeks and forehead.

      "Better?" he asked softly, continuing to gently bathe her flushed countenance.

    "Yes, thank-you—that feels good," she sighed.

    His relief was palpable, but his eyes were shadowed with worry as he gazed at her.  "I'm gonna get Andrew and have him give you something," he announced, starting to rise from the bed.

    "No," Michaela protested, weakly reaching up to grasp at his sleeve.  "Please don't Sully—I told you, I don't want any morphine or laudanum."

    Reluctantly he resumed his seat.  He took one of her hands in his.  With his other hand, he softly stroked the sweat-dampened hair off her forehead.

    "Michaela, this is wrong," he said.  "I ain't gonna sit here and watch you suffer—I can't."

    "I told you—I'll drink the willow bark tea," she said.  "You can brew me some."

    "The tea ain't gonna be enough," he objected.  "Not for the kind of pain you're goin' through.  I felt your hand squeezin' mine—I could tell how bad it was.  I ain't seen you in pain that bad since you gave birth to Katie."

    "The pain—won't always be this bad," Michaela told him.  "The more I heal, the less it will hurt."

    "And the less you'll need somethin' strong to get through it," Sully replied.  "But for right now, you need help, and I'm gonna make sure you get it—even if I have to fight you on it," he vowed.

    "Sully—it's not just my fear of becoming dependent," she confessed.  "Morphine and laudanum—they make me sleep too much.  And when I'm awake, I'm groggy and light-headed.  My mind feels like it's bundled in cotton—I can't think clearly.  I don't like my senses being dulled.

    "I feel as if I've been—disconnected—for so long," she went on.  "I don't want to feel that way any more.  I can't afford to.  I need to be clear-headed and lucid, so that I can help you."

    "I know how you feel about bein' in control," Sully said patiently.  "And I know how hard it is for you to let go of that control.  But Michaela, you're only human.  Your body went through a bad  shock—you need time to heal.  You *should* sleep a lot—it's the best thing for you.  And you shouldn't be afraid to take medicine that will ease your pain and help you rest.

    "As for helpin' me, there's only one job you got now—and that's the job of gettin' well," he went on passionately.  "Don't you know that you recoverin' is the only thing that matters to me?  The only thing that's important—that's kept me goin'?  No matter what else happens—even if I win my freedom—it all means nothin' without you."

    Michaela looked into the intense blueness of his eyes, clouded now with fear and concern about her.  And she realized that the pain of worry she was causing him was far greater than any pain she might be feeling from the gunshot.

    "Forgive me, Sully," she said.  "I've been selfish.  I haven't been thinking about what all this has cost you.  What you said—it made me remember how I felt when I found you in the woods, lying near death.  I would have done anything, taken any risk, to save your life.  I should have known that you'd feel the same way.

    "I'll let Andrew give me the morphine," she promised.  "You're right, it's the sensible thing to do."  She laid her hand against his cheek, her love for him swelling in her heart.  He took the hand she offered and kissed her palm, tears of gratitude and relief glimmering in his eyes.

    "Thank you," he whispered.

    "I love you, Sully," she said.  "I love you with all my heart."

    "And I love you--with all my soul," he answered.  Then, wiping his tears away, he stood.  "And now, I'm gonna get Andrew.  All right?"

     She nodded, smiling.  "All right," she said.

     He smiled back, and quickly left the room.

     With a deep sigh, Michaela leaned back against the pillows and gratefully closed her eyes.