Sully carried her her out into the hall, past the boggling eyes of two of McKay's soldiers, and up the stairs to the second floor.  They entered the recovery room recently vacated by Dorothy.  Though the room was in darkness, the kerosene lanterns hanging outside allowed enough light to spill through the windows for Sully to make his way to the French doors that fronted on the balcony.  Recognizing his intention, Michaela reached out and turned the handles.  Sully nudged the doors open with the toe of his boot, spreading  them wide.

     He bore Michaela out onto the gallery, carrying her over to one of the two rocking chairs near the rail.  "Your chair, Madam," he said with a flourish, smiling at her.

     "Can we share?" she asked invitingly, smiling back.

     "I think that can be arranged," he said.  Carefully he lowered them both into the chair, so that she was curled snuggly in his lap.  He wrapped the edges of the quilt around her against the chill of the night, and held her close within the warm circle of his arms.

     "What an inspired idea this was, Sully," Michaela told him, nestling her head in the niche between his neck and shoulder.  "It's so good to see the outside world again.  Even the Gold Nugget looks beautiful to me after being secluded in that room day after day!"

    "If the saloon's startin' to look good to you, then you really *have* been cooped up too long," Sully joked softly.  "Want me to go over there and get you a whiskey?  For medicinal purposes, of course!"  He grinned slyly.

     Michaela's soft explosion of laughter came to him in the dark.  "I'm not quite *that* far gone!" she declared.  "I'm just so enjoying the feel of the night air, and being here in your arms."

     "That was the plan," Sully said.  They looked down at the street below, illuminated by the bright glow of lights in the windows of the Gold Nugget.  A lively strain of music issuing from inside, along with the rise and fall of men's voices, faintly reached their ears.

     Other men stood on the porch of the saloon, or milled about outside.  Sully and Michaela watched them contentedly, feeling as if they were concealed in their own private cocoon.

     Just then they saw the distinctive figure of Hank come striding down the street from the direction of the sheriff's office.  His black hat, coupled with a black vest and overcoat, would have caused him to blend in almost completely with the surrounding darkness, were it not for the long, blonde tresses which flowed down his back, as well as the revealing glint of his sheriff's badge.  He came up onto the porch of the Gold Nugget, greeting the various customers, and clapping one or two of them on the back.  One of the men said something to him, and his laugh rang out on the night air.  Then, as Jake appeared in the open doorway and spoke to him, Hank followed his partner inside.

     "Looks like Hank and Jake ain't hurtin' for business," Sully commented.

     "I'm glad," Michaela said.  "The explosion must have been terrible—it's a miracle no one was killed."

     "Yeah, it is," Sully responded.  "I'm glad the Gold Nugget's open, too," he added unexpectedly.

     "Really?" Michaela said in surprise.  "I wouldn't have thought to hear that from you, seeing as how you have no use for the saloon."

     "I got no interest in drinkin', or cards, or—other things," Sully agreed.  "Though I wouldn't stop any other man from findin' his entertainment there.  But I was thinkin' more of how much Hank and Jake put into the hotel, and how it's kinda like Jake's—legacy—from his pa.  I wouldn't have wanted to see them lose it all—‘specially as a result of somethin' I started."

     "Sully, what happened here in town was *not* your fault—‘ Michaela began to protest, but he interrupted her.

     "I know, I know—it wasn't my fault, not directly," he acknowledged.  "But I can't help bein' relieved that the effects of the raids were just temporary.  Even though I didn't exactly cause all this, I always woulda felt partly responsible."

     "I'm glad to see that your attitude has altered—that you're not blaming yourself as much," Michaela told him.  "What caused the change?" she added curiously.

     Sully was silent for a few moments, carefully considering the answer to her question.  Finally he said, "Well, you recoverin' was the most important thing.  When I saw that the spirits had brought you back to me, I was filled with gratitude—and I thought that maybe it was their way of forgivin' me for what I done.  And then there was the townspeople—like Loren, and Jake and Horace.  In the last few days they seem to have come around, and been willin' to forgive me for hidin' out and makin' you lie.  But I think the main part of it was Hank.  Him and me have done a lot of plain speakin' lately—probably more than we ever done.  I think we realized we both made a lot of mistakes, and done things we wished we could take back.  We ain't never gonna be 'best friends'—but I think we've reached an understandin'.  'Sides, I owe him for everythin' he did to track down Flagg and Bancroft and make them pay.  He's got a debt on me—one I hope I can repay someday."

     It was Michaela's turn to lapse into thoughtful silence.  After a long pause, she said softly, "Sully, speaking of Flagg and Bancroft—“

     "I'm sorry," he cut in hastily.  "I didn't mean to bring up bad thoughts.  This was 'sposed to be our time to enjoy each other, without worryin' about anythin' else."

     "But I'm glad you mentioned them," Michaela said.  "You told me about everything else—the shooting, the transfusion, McKay—but we never really talked about your trial."

     "Sure we did," he said.  "I told you—Matthew says I got a good chance.  In a little less than a week, the circuit judge will be here, and this whole thing will finally be resolved, one way or the other.  And then we can move on."

     "But how can we be sure?" Michaela asked, troubled.  "I want to believe that McKay is convinced of your innocence—or at least that you meant no harm.  And I pray that the judge will see your actions in the same light.  But sometimes, no matter how just the cause, things can go badly—or not the way we expect.  Remember what happened when Ethan challenged us for custody of the children?"

     "That wasn't the same thing," Sully replied.  "We hurt our case 'cause we covered up the bad things Ethan did to protect the kids.  By the time we told the truth, the judge wasn't willin' to listen to reason.  This time, the law is favorin' me, and there's nothin' the army can do—they can't break their own rules," he added reasonably.

     "Can't they?" Michaela demurred, still unconvinced.

     Sully gazed into her face in the warm glow of the lantern light.  "Michaela, so much has happened to us in the last few months.  It wasn't so long ago that I nearly died—but I pulled through.  A few days ago, I almost lost you—but the spirits brought you back to me.  We beat the biggest odds any human bein' can face—we're still here, we're still together—no matter how hard our enemies have tried to pull us apart forever.  After all that, a little thing like this trial ain't gonna stop us."

     "But Sully, it's not such a little thing," Michaela said.

     "I don't want you worryin' about this no more," Sully told her firmly.  "Our love is bigger, and stronger, and deeper than the deepest ocean on this earth.  Set against that, my trial is no more than the tiniest ripple in a pond.  It's gonna be all right," he finished in a whisper, and, cupping her face in his hand, he kissed her passionately—driving all coherent thought from her mind.

     When their lips finally parted, Michaela was content to lay her head back down on his shoulder, feeling loved, secure and reassured—for this moment in time, at least.

* * * * * * * * * *

     "You gettin' cold or tired?  Ready to go back inside?" Sully asked her sometime later.

     "I'm warm enough," she replied.  "And I've been resting far too much to feel tired.  Couldn't we stay out here just a little longer?" she inquired.

     "Whatever you want," Sully said.  "I just don't want to chance you gettin' a chill."

     "There's no danger of that—not with this quilt and your arms around me," she said.

     He hugged her to him more closely.  "We aim to please," he answered.

     Idly they continued to watch the street below.  It was nearly deserted, save for the activity around the Gold Nugget.  Just then, however, a figure approaching the clinic from the direction of the army camp caught Michaela's eye.  She could tell that it was a man, but could identify no other details about him, obscured as he was by the gloom.

     "Who's that?" she asked curiously.  Sully followed the direction of her gaze.  At that moment, the figure emerged out of the shadow into the light of the lanterns illuminating the clinic porch.

     "McKay," he said.  "Probably comin' to see me," he speculated.

     "What do you think he wants?" Michaela said, sounding slightly nervous.
 
     "Nothin' bad, I'm sure," he said to her soothingly.  "I 'spose I oughta go down and speak to him.  Want me to take you back to your room first?" he added, as McKay knocked on the clinic door below.

     "That's not necessary," Michaela told him.  "I'll be fine here till you return."

     "You sure?" Sully persisted.

     "Completely," she said.  "Just—don't be too long."  She smiled at him in the dimness.

     "Count on it," he declared, then rose to his feet, cradling her in his arms.  Gently he set her back down in the chair, wrapping the quilt securely about her.  "Be right back," he whispered, kissing her lightly.  With three quick strides he was back inside the French doors, heading through the recovery room to the hallway.

     Michaela suddenly felt a twinge of unease.  She turned to look after him as spontaneously, his name escaped her lips.  "Sully?"  But he was already gone.

     Michaela turned back around in her chair, drawing the quilt around her more tightly, trying the quell the accelerated beating of her heart.  Talking of Sully's imminent trial had simply made her a little anxious, she reasoned to herself.  There was no need for alarm.  Nonetheless, she stared over the railing, tensely waiting to hear Sully answer the door.  She wished she could see the clinic entrance from here, but her location made her blind.

* * * * * * * * * *

     "I continue to hear encouraging reports of Dr. Quinn's progress," McKay said after he and Sully had exchanged pleasantries.

     Sully leaned against the frame of the open door.  "It's true," he said.  "She's feelin' better and gettin' stronger every day.  "Fact is—“  He started to say that she was sitting just above them on the balcony, but then thought better of it—preferring to conceal their nocturnal *hideaway.*  "Fact is, Andrew told her she could be up and around a bit tomorrow," he added instead.

     "That's splendid news," said McKay.

     "Thanks," Sully said.  "Sergeant—I want to thank you again for releasin' the Indians," he said suddenly, changing the subject.

     "You're welcome," McKay responded.  "Though I must confess that I would feel more confident about their release if I knew more of the situation with Black Moon.  However . . ."  He paused, studying Sully's face.  "However, as you requested, I will trust you for the time being."

     "Obliged," said Sully.  He came all the way outside, and the two men gravitated to the edge of the clinic porch.  "So was that why you come by—to talk about the Indians?" he asked.   "You expectin' trouble?"

     "Why would you think that?" said McKay.

     "I seen a lot more of your men lurkin' around the last twenty-four hours," Sully replied, nodding toward two soldiers that stood a few yards down from them.  "I figured you'd stationed extra men around town in case folks didn't take too kindly to the Indians goin' free."

     "Oh—well, yes—it's better to be safe than sorry," McKay agreed vaguely.  "As a matter of fact, it's just about time for the men to make their nightly patrol."  He raised his voice slightly.  "You men check around town, make sure  everything is quiet and secure," he called to the soldiers.  "After that, report back to me before you, uh, return to camp."

     The soldiers nodded, then turned and walked away in the opposite direction.

     "Well, what *does* bring you by?" Sully repeated, returning to his earlier question.

     "As a matter of fact, this isn't an 'official' visit," McKay remarked.  "Actually, I had hoped to pay my respects to Dr. Quinn.  This action with the Indians, as well as other army matters, have kept me extremely occupied, and caused me to be remiss in my manners.  I had hoped to make amends."

     "That's real kind," Sully said after a moment's hesitation.  "But—fact is, Michaela's restin'.  She had a lot of visitors today, and it kinda wore her out."

     McKay nodded.  "Of course.  It *is* getting a bit late.  I'm sorry I couldn't come by any sooner.  Well, perhaps tomorrow?"

     "Yeah, sure," Sully said in relief.  "That'll be fine.  Well, if there ain't anythin' else, Sergeant—“

     "If you don't mind, I would like to remain here until my men return," said McKay.  "I hope that's not a problem?"

     "Uh, no—‘course not," Sully answered, sighing inwardly.  "Suit yourself."  Unobserved by McKay, his eyes drifted upward uneasily to the balcony above their heads.

* * * * * * * * * *

     Michaela huddled in her chair, accutely aware now of the steadily increasing chill.  Sully's and McKay's voices drifted up to her from below.  She couldn't make out the words, but their tones sounded cordial, no voices raised.  That should have reassured her, but she couldn't rid herself of the tension that tightened her chest and permeated her limbs.

     She heard the floorboards creak as the two men moved to the edge of the porch.  Their voices came to her a bit more clearly now, but it was still difficult to distinguish exactly what they were saying over the the sound of the music from the Gold Nugget.

     Just then she did hear McKay's voice raised, and for a moment her heart skipped a beat—until she realized that he was merely giving orders to his men.  On the heels of his instructions, Michaela heard the echo of boots on the wooden boards of the sidewalk as the soldiers moved away.

     Would McKay *never* leave? she thought restlessly.  It seemed as if he and Sully had been talking forever, though she knew it could only have been a few minutes.

     Michaela's eyes drifted over to the saloon once again.  The deepening cold had finally driven the last of the stragglers inside.  The customers' voices were growing more boisterous, and the music more raucous now as the evening progressed.  Michaela longed for the soothing quiet of her room, instead of this cacaphonous noise which assaulted her ears.  She began to regret than she hadn't let Sully carry her back to bed.  Perhaps she hadn't been as ready for this little "outing" as she had thought.  Her nerves were on edge, and her hands felt like ice.

    "Please, Sully, please come back," she pleaded silently.