“We told you at the time . . . it wasn’t what it looked like,” Sully managed when he could find his voice again.

     “And ya expected me to believe that?  How many shades of a fool did ya take me for?”

     “No, I knew better than to think you’d take my word on anythin’.  But I thought at least you’d listen to Clarice.  God knows why, but she cared about you.”

     “Yeah, I could see how much she cared.”

     “It looked bad, I admit—but appearances can be deceivin’.  ’Sides, when you love somebody, you’re ‘sposed to trust them.  Clarice was countin’ on you trustin’ her.”

     “Don’t ya think I wanted to?”  The barkeep sounded almost desperate.  “But it’s kinda hard when the minute yer outta the way, yer woman takes another man inta her bed!”

     “I’m tellin’ you, Clarice didn’t do nothin’ wrong,” Sully insisted.  “All she did was take care of me when I was too drunk to do for myself.  If you wanna blame somebody, blame me.”

     “Oh, I blame ya, all right!  Ya knew how things were with Clarice an’ me, but ya still went after her—playin’ on her sympathy, sneakin’ around behind my back, comin’ between us—“

     “I was wrong,” Sully broke in.  “I shouldn’t have taken advantage of Clarice’s good nature.  But I was all torn up over—“  He hesitated, but then decided that at this stage, there was no point in holding back.  “—over Abagail.  I thought I’d lost her, ‘cause of Loren’s interferin’.  I thought she was gonna  marry another man, and it was killin’ me.  Spendin’ time with Clarice—well, it helped me to forget the hurt for a little while.”

     “Ya didn’t look like you was hurtin’ when I saw ya in that bed!  Fact is, you looked like you was doin’ just fine!”

     “I told you I was drunk!  Too drunk to do anythin’, even if I’d wanted to.  I ain’t proud of it, but that’s the way it was. Why can’t you just accept that?”

     “Would you, if you was in my place?” Hank turned the argument around on him.

    “What if you’d found Abagail with somebody else . . . or Michaela?  Would ya be so understandin’ then?”

     “’Course not.  I woulda been hurt and angry, just like you.  But at least I woulda listened when they tried to explain.”

    “I listened,” Hank said evenly.  “I listened to Clarice, and I even forgave her, finally.”

     “Then why are you puttin’ us both through this?  Why are you dredgin’ up the past, ‘stead of lettin’ it stay buried?  Both Clarice and Abagail have been gone a long time now.  Why can’t you just let them rest in peace?”

     “’Cause as much as I wanted ta believe Clarice was tellin’ me the truth, what happened afterwards gave the lie to everythin’ she said.”

     “What do you mean?”

     “Charlotte told her she was pregnant,” Hank announced.  “I found the two o’ ya together in December.  Zack was born the followin’ September.  Do the arithmetic, and then tell me how crazy I am.”

     “I admit the timin’ is a coincidence, but you musta—“  Sully cleared his throat.  “You musta been with her durin’ that time.  And Clarice swore to you that nothin’ happened between her and me—that’s gotta count for somethin’ . . .”  He stared at Hank, willing the man to believe.  But he was sweating again, and inside, his thoughts were chaotic.  Clarice said nothing happened.  She told me nothing happened.  She had to be telling me the truth—she had to.  But oh, God, I wish I could remember . . .

     “You ain’t lookin’ so good all of a sudden,” the aggrieved saloon owner observed.  “What’s the matter?  Not so sure of yer facts as ya thought?”

     “Sully? . . .  Sully!”  He felt her hand gently shaking his shoulder.  “You all right?”

     He looked up from where he sat slumped on the side of her bed.  Clarice sat next to him, watching him with concern.  He was conscious of the warmth of her body pressed close to his—and he was conscious of other things as well.  Stirrings, deep inside him . . .

     He tried to smile, but couldn’t quite bring it off.  “Yeah, I’m all right.  Woolgatherin’, I guess.”  He shrugged an apology.  “Sorry I ain’t very good company.”

     “No need for apologies.  I’m just worried about you.”

     “I don’t mean to cause you worry.”

    “Well, when folks I care about are unhappy, I worry.  I’m odd that way.”  He glimpsed the familiar twinkle in the dark eyes he’d come to know so well the past few days.

     “I’m obliged.  But I’m fine.”

     “You don’t look so fine to me.”

     “It’s the whiskey,” he offered lamely.

     “I’m sure that’s part of it,” she agreed.  “You’ve been drinkin’ an awful lot lately—too much, I’d say.  But it’s why you’ve been drinkin’ so much that’s got me truly worried.”  He shrugged again and didn’t answer.

     Clarice put her hand over his.  “Sully, look at me.”  He raised his eyes reluctantly to hers.  “You’ve been comin’ to the saloon near every night, askin’ if we can talk.  There’s nothin’ wrong with that.  Fact is, I enjoy spendin’ time with you.  But in all the time we’ve been together, you still ain’t told me what’s botherin’ you.”

     “I’m sorry I been wastin’ your time—“

     She regarded him with fond exasperation.  “You’re not wastin’ my time!  But it’s clear you’re nursin’ a whole load of hurt inside.  It ain’t good to keep your pain bottled up, lettin’ it fester.  You need to let it out—you need to talk about it.”

     “I ‘spose you’re right.  But it’s hard . . .”

     “I know it ain’t easy to talk about your feelin’s,” she said.  “To trust somebody with the most private part of yourself.  And it’s all right if you feel like you can’t tell me.  After all, we ain’t known each other that long.  But you should talk to somebody.  Maybe Daniel . . .?”

     “No.”  His tone was decisive.

     “But I thought . . .  I mean, you said the two of you have been friends for a long time, so I just figured—“

     “That’s true,” he interrupted.  “Daniel’s my friend, and I’m probably closer to him that anybody I’ve ever known, but . . .  Well, I just don’t feel right talkin’ to him about this.  I mean, I did that first night, when you saw us together—I guess the whiskey loosened my tongue.  But afterwards, I wished I hadn’t.”

     “Can I ask why?”

    “I guess ‘cause there’s too much history between us.”

    “What kind of history?  If I ain’t pryin’, that is.”

     “No, you ain’t pryin’.”  He sighed.  “Daniel and me . . . well, we both had feelin’s for the same woman.”

    “Oh, I see.  That’s rough.”

    “It ain’t as bad as it sounds.  He was sweet on her for a while, till he saw that she only had feelin’s for me—then he backed off.  But still, it’s kinda awkward . . .”

     “I can see that.  But if you and Daniel ain’t competin’ over this woman anymore, then what’s eatin’ you up so bad inside?”

     He was silent for several moments, and she began to regret her intrusion into his privacy.  But finally he said, “I love this woman Abagail with all my heart, and she claims to love me, too—but her pa don’t want us to marry.  Fact is, he hates the sight of me.”

     “Abagail?” she repeated.  “Abagail Bray?”

     He nodded.

     “Oh, my Lord,” she breathed.  “Well, it all makes sense now.  Loren Bray’s as mean and stubborn as they come.”

     “You know Loren?”

     “That one?  Oh yeah, I know him.  Not that we’re on speakin’ terms, mind you.  Fact is, any time I’ve been in his store he looks at me like I’m somethin’ he scraped off the bottom of his shoe.  ‘Course that never stopped him from takin’ my money,” she said wryly.  “Cash only though—no credit.”

     “Sounds like Loren.  I’m sorry he treats you like that.  You don’t deserve it.”

     Clarice made a dismissive gesture.  “I’m used to it.”

     He was indignant.  “Well you shouldn’t have to be.  You’re a fine woman.  Sweet, and kind—“  He swallowed, then added daringly,  “and beautiful.  Ain’t nobody got the right to treat you like you ain’t as good as anybody else.”

     Clarice favored him with a tender smile.  “Thank you, Sully.  That’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me.  But don’t waste your time gettin’ angry.  When you work for Hank, that kinda thing just comes with the territory.  ‘Sides, we were talkin’ about you and Abagail, not me.”

     “But I’d rather talk about you,” he said, surprising himself with the declaration..  “I . . . I care about you.”  Impulsively he stroked her cheek.  She didn’t draw away.

    “Your skin’s so soft,” he murmured.  His hand drifted down to cup her chin, and he pressed his lips to hers.   For a fraction of an instant she tensed, but then he felt her relax, her mouth parting as she responded.  Desire flared inside him, quickly heightening as he sensed a matching desire in Clarice.  Emboldened, he deepened the kiss, slipping his arms around her and pulling her close.  Her body felt taut and exciting beneath his hands.  He fancied he could even feel her pulse thundering in time to his own.

     Almost without conscious thought, his fingers sought the fastenings of her gown, and deliberately, he began to undo the buttons.  Within moments the material of her bodice surrendered to his assault and slipped off her shoulders.  He gave a sharp intake of breath at the sight of her breasts swelling above the corset.  “You’re even more beautiful than I imagined,” he whispered, and bent to kiss a curve of flesh.  He felt her hands stroke his hair as his tongue teased her skin, and an instant later he heard her softly gasp his name.  Taking it as an invitation, his lips moved across her breasts and trailed kisses up to her throat, as his hand simultaneously loosened the laces binding her corset.  But suddenly her hand was against his chest, gently pushing him away.

     “Sully, wait . . . don’t . . .”

     He held himself back from her with difficulty, the blood rioting in his veins.  “Why—ain’t I doin’ it right?”

     She was flushed and breathless.  “Oh yes, you’re doin’ it right!”  She fumbled with the material of her dress, drawing it awkwardly over herself.  “But that’s just it.  I’m afraid if we go any further, we won’t be able to stop.”

     “Well what’s wrong with that?  I don’t wanna stop.  Do you?”

     She was silent.

     “Clarice?” he pressed her.  “Do you want me to stop?”

     “Maybe I don’t,” she said slowly.  “But that don’t mean it’s right.”

     “What is it?”  He peered into her eyes.  “Is it Hank?  Are you scared of what he might do?”

     “No, that ain’t it.”

    “Come to think of it, where is Hank?” Sully asked.  “I ain’t seen him around all night.”

     “He went to Denver to close the deal on the new saloon he’s buyin’ in town,” Clarice answered.   “Probably won’t be gettin’ back till late tomorrow.  That’s why I decided to bring you here, so we could talk in private.  But now I think that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea.”

     “Well, if you ain’t scared of Hank findin’ out, then what’s worrying you?”  He gazed at her, passion deepening the blue of his eyes. “I want you, Clarice,” he went on softly.  “I think you feel the same.  We’re alone, with the whole night ahead of us.   I promise I’ll be gentle . . .  I’d never do anythin’ to hurt you, I swear . . .”

     “Of course you wouldn’t,” she said.  “I never thought otherwise.  But if I let you get close to me . . . that way—I’m afraid you’ll regret it.”

     He gaped at her.  “Why would I regret makin’ love to a beautiful woman like you?”

     “’Cause it ain’t really me that you want.”

     “’Course it’s you I want!”

     She smiled a trifle sadly.  “You’re a dear man, Sully.  And it would be so temptin’ to say yes . . . for lots of reasons.  But there are just as many reasons to say no—and the most important one is that I’d just be takin’ advantage of your feelin’s for somebody else.   Abagail’s the one in your heart.  She’s the woman you want.  I’m just a—a substitute.”

     “Don’t sell yourself short like that.  You ain’t a substitute.  I want you ‘cause I care about you.”  His voice became huskier.  “I’m attracted to you Clarice.  I have been since the moment I saw you.  And now that I’ve come to know you, I want you even more.”

     “I can’t tell you how flatterin’ that is, and I know you mean it—or you think you do.  But Sully, I believe the attraction you’re feelin’ is for Abagail, not me.  We look much alike, you know.”

     “What I feel for a woman ain’t just based on her looks,” he contradicted.  “I know the difference between you and Abagail—and I know who I want.”

 “But have you asked yourself why you want me?” she queried.  “Is it ‘cause you have feelin’s for me, or ‘cause you wanna bury the feelin’s you have for Abagail?  I’m honored that you’ve turned to me for comfort, Sully—but it shouldn’t be for the wrong reasons.”

    His emotions felt like they were all tangled up, so that he couldn’t tell where his feelings for Abagail left off and his desire for Clarice began.   He wanted to discount Clarice’s warning, but he couldn’t deny the element of truth in her words.

     “I love Abagail,” he conceded.  “I always will.  But what we had between us is finished.  Loren saw to that.  And the hardest part, is I can’t even fault her.  It would be so easy if I could be angry at her, for lettin’ her pa win.  But I can’t blame her for not bein’ strong enough to turn her back on her family.  And if I forced her to make that sacrifice, I’d be no better than Loren.  Worse, even, ‘cause I’d be breakin’ her heart in the name of lovin’ her.”

     “But ain’t Loren doin’ the same thing, by threatenin’ to disown her?” Clarice pointed out.  “Is that the act of a lovin’ pa?”

     “What Loren does is between him and his conscience,” Sully responded.  “I don’t have no control over that.  But I don’t have to add to Abagail’s burden by makin’ her choose between us.  The kindest way for me to prove my love is by steppin’ out of the picture.  She may be hurt at first, but in the long run, it’ll be for the best.”

     “I don’t know,” Clarice mused.  “Seems to me you’re givin’ up awful quick—surrenderin’ without a fight.  And you ain’t even allowin’ Abagail a chance to have her say.”

     “She already did,” he said.  “When she gave this back.”  He showed Clarice the ring he always kept with him.

    Clarice’s features softened in sympathy, but then her expression altered, becoming more practical.  “Did she say for a fact that she wasn’t gonna marry you?  Did she actually turn you down?”

    “No, not exactly.  She said she had to think things through—and that till she did, she wasn’t ready to marry anybody.”

    “Then it sounds to me like it ain’t over.”

     “But even if she chose me, how could I ever be sure that she did it out of love, and not guilt?” he argued.  “She might be sentencin’ herself to a life of misery, just to spare me hurt.  How could I live with myself then?”

     “I think you’re puttin’ the cart before the horse.  Borrowin’ trouble ‘fore you even know what’s what.  Give her some more time to sort things out.  It ain’t the kinda thing a woman can decide overnight, even without all the problems with Loren.

     “Maybe I’m speakin’ out of turn,” Clarice went on.  “But I have a feelin’ that when the dust settles, you’ll be the one standin’.  And not out of some mistaken sense of obligation—but ‘cause she loves you.  Think of this, Sully:  one day, with or without you, Abagail will leave her father’s house for good and start her own life.  And some day even further down the road, Loren will be gone.  When that day comes, do you want to see her all alone, or maybe trapped in a marriage with somebody she don’t love?

     “You have the right to fight for her, Sully," she exhorted him.  Don’t be so quick to give up on Abagail.  Don’t close the book on your future just yet.”

     “I appreciate what you’re sayin’ . . .”

     “But you’re still hurtin’,” she finished.

     “I just . . . I don’t think I can talk about this anymore tonight.”   He rubbed at his temples.  “I ‘spose it’s all the whiskey.  My thoughts are all mixed up, and I can’t seem to sort ‘em out.”

     “You scared me with your drinkin’ tonight,” she admitted.  “Like you weren’t ever gonna stop.  Drinkin’ don’t solve your problems, Sully.  It just makes things worse, and sometimes it causes you to make bad choices.”

     “Are you talkin’ about you and me?” he asked, bringing the conversation back to where it had started.

     “I ‘spose I am, partly.”  Concern for him clouded her eyes.

     “Is that why you brought me here?” he demanded suddenly.  “Just to stop me from drinkin’?”

     She was taken aback by his challenging tone.  “Well, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to remove temptation, but that’s not the only—“

     Abruptly he got to his feet, but then reeled as dizziness struck—a potent, unpleasant reminder of how much he’d actually consumed.  He shut his eyes, willing the sensation to pass.

     “Sully?” Clarice said urgently.   Abandoning modesty, she let her bodice fall as she jumped up from the bed and reached out to steady him.

     But he recoiled from her.  “Leave me alone!”  She stared at him, stricken.  “That’s it, ain’t it?”  His features were harsh and unforgiving.  “All them things you said—‘bout caring for me, ‘bout not wantin’ to replace Abagail—it was all lies, wasn’t it?”

    “You didn’t bring me here ‘cause you cared about me," he said relentlessly.  "You did it ‘cause you felt sorry for me—‘cause you felt obliged to take care of a pathetic drunk!”

     Clarice’s voice was steady, though her heart pounded within her.  “Sully, you’re wrong.  And if you were sober, you’d see that.”

     “You just proved my point!  Treatin’ me like there’s somethin’ wrong with me—like I don’t know what I’m doin’ or sayin’!”

     “Well right at this moment, it happens to be true.”

     A bitter laugh escaped him.  “And to think I really believed you cared.  But it was all an act.  Guess I forgot what you do for a livin’.”

     She slapped him, her palm stinging from the blow.  He stumbled backwards, his hand going to his face in shock.  But her act seemed to bring him to his senses.

     “Oh, God,” he murmured.  “Clarice . . . I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have said that.”  The mark of her hand stood out vividly on his cheek.  “I don’t know why I did.”

     “You foolish man!” Clarice berated him.  “Do you really think that’s why I’m angry?”

     “Well, ain’t it?” he faltered. “I mean, I was outta line, I had no right to turn on you . . .  to say such awful things . . .”

     “I hear worse than that every day of the week.”

     “Then why . . .  I mean, I don’t understand . . .”

     “How could you accuse me of lyin’ to you, after all the time we spent together?” Her eyes were dark and injured.

     “I know, I was wrong . . .“  But her expression made it clear that she was not about to be placated by feeble apologies.  She’d been right earlier, Sully thought suddenly.  She did remind him of Abagail.  She had the same spirit, the same—stubbornness.  His heart suddenly felt a little lighter.

    “For your information, Mr. Sully, I don’t do anythin’ I don’t want to do.”

     “That’s clear—“

     “Hush!  I’m talkin’ now.”

     “Yes, Ma’am.”  He tried to smother a smile.

     Clarice eyed him with suspicion.  “Are you mockin’ me?”

     “No!” Sully exclaimed, his denial genuine.  “I wouldn’t dare.”

     She allowed him the barest nod of approval.  “That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said in the past five minutes.

     “And now as I was sayin’, ‘fore you had the bad manners to interrupt:  I didn’t have to walk you home after you and Hank got into it that first night.  I didn’t have to keep you company nearly every night afterwards.  And I surely didn’t have to invite you to my tent tonight.  It woulda been plenty easy to pass you off onto somebody else.  Flora’s been anglin’ for a chance with you for days,” she added slyly.

     “Thanks for the warnin’!”

    Clarice’s lips twitched, but her eyes remained severe.  “Point is, I would never have done any of that if I didn’t care for you.  We haven’t known each other long—hardly more than a week—but you’ve already become very special to me, Sully.”  Her manner unexpectedly softened.  “Truth is, I ain’t been so drawn to a man since . . . since Hank.  And it’s pained me to see you hurtin’.  All I want is to help.  And if part of helpin’ you means keepin’ you from drinkin’ yourself sick, or worse—then I’ll do whatever I have to.

     “And if you can’t see that, then you don’t have nearly the brains or common sense I gave you credit for!” she concluded, and then astonished herself by starting to cry.

     Quickly she turned from from Sully in a vain attempt to hide her tears.  She thought she’d regained some semblance of control, but then from behind her she heard him say “Clarice” in that voice which was really quite beautiful—and she was undone.

     Without a word Sully took her in his arms and she buried her face in his shoulder, shaking with quiet sobs.  His hand stroked her hair, and after a bit she became aware he was speaking again.

     “Forgive me,” he whispered in her ear.  “I should never have said those things to you.  You were right—‘bout all of it.  The drinkin’s changin’ me—turnin’ me into somebody I don’t know.  I’m sorry you had to pay the price for my foolishness.”

     She lifted her eyes to him, tears shimmering in their dark depths.  “I’m sorry I hurt you.”  Tenderly she touched the fading mark on his cheek.

    Sully grinned down at her.  “I ain’t.  I think maybe you finally slapped some sense into me.”  She managed a faint smile.

     “But I mean it, Clarice,” he said seriously.  “I’m grateful to you for bein’ there when I needed you—and for tryin’ to stop me from doin’ myself  harm.  I know I ain’t made it easy.  I’ll never be able to thank you—“

     “You just did.”  They embraced again, and then Clarice forced herself to pull away.  “I have one more piece of advice for you,” she said briskly, wiping away the remaining traces of her tears.

     He matched her more sprightly tone.  “What would that be?”

     “Lay down here and get some sleep.”

     “That’s good of you, Clarice, but I can’t take your bed—“

     “It’s all right—we’ll share.”

      Sully’s eyes widened. “You mean it?”

    “I told you—I don’t do anythin’ I don’t want to do,” Clarice reminded him.

     “Well I guess, if you’re sure . . .  Thanks.”

     “Shhh,” she hushed him, then guided him over to the bed.  Sully stretched out gratefully, sighing as he lowered his head to the pillow.  Clarice removed his boots, then sat down by his side.  “Rest now,” she murmured, stroking the tumbled bangs off his forehead.  Idly she noted that he needed a haircut—“cheating the barber” as her mother used to say—and fleetingly she wondered how he would look if he grew his hair long, like Hank’s.  Very handsome, most likely.  She thought she just might suggest it to him in the morning.

     But thinking of Hank reminded her of something very important she had neglected to tell Sully.  Something he deserved to know.

     “Sully?” she said into the quiet, her voice barely above a whisper.

     He opened his eyes.  “Hm?”

    “There was another reason I held back before, when you wanted to . . . to be together.  It has to do with Hank and me.”

     Sully gazed up at her.  “I’m listenin’.”

     “You remember when I told you that Hank and me have an understandin’?”  He nodded.  “Well, the truth of the matter is, it’s more than that.  I love Hank.  I admit that sometimes I ask myself why.  He ain’t an easy man to live with—stubborn, ornery . . . fond of his whiskey and with a rovin’ eye to boot.  But there’s somethin’ about him . . . a gentleness, deep inside, that touches me.  He needs me—and I need him.”

     “I respect your feelin’s,” he said.  “And I’d never want to come between you, if Hank’s the man you want.  But Clarice—the way he treats you . . . makin’ you work in the bar, forcin’ you to sleep with other men . . .  How can you love somebody who makes you live like that?  Who don’t respect you?”

     “It’s a fair question,” she said.  “But that ain’t the way it is between us—at least, not anymore.

     “A while back, when we realized we had feelin’s for each other, Hank made me a promise.  He said I’d never have to . . . to be with the customers again.  He made the decision as much for himself as for me,” she said frankly.  “He said he couldn’t stand the thought of me with anybody else.  But the fact that he was willin’ to do that—to keep me separate from that other part of his life—well, it proved to me that his feelin’s were real . . . that he truly did love me.”

     His eyes were cynical.  “Not exactly hearts and flowers.”

    “No—but for Hank, it was a lot.  More than he’d done for any other woman.  And for me, it’s enough.  Leastways for now.”

     “But still—you deserve a lot more than that, Clarice,” Sully maintained, inwardly cursing Hank for a fool that he didn’t appreciate what he had.

     “Maybe, but it’s my life—and my choice to make.”  She bent over him and pressed her lips gently to his.  “And now I’ll let you sleep.”  She started to draw away but impulsively Sully grasped her shoulders.

     “I hope Hank understands one day how lucky he is,” he said.  “You deserve to be cherished, and protected—to have a man who’ll give you his whole heart, not just a piece of it.  You deserve to be loved . . .”

     “Sully,” she whispered, tears sparkling in her lashes once again.

     And then he was drawing her down to him, fusing his mouth to hers, caressing the pliant warmth of her skin and burying his face in her hair . . .  And yes, she was responding to him, offering her lips for his kisses, touching him in ways that set his nerve endings on fire . . .

     His memory stopped.  He strained to recall what came after, to bring back that night from so long ago, but there was nothing but an emptiness . . . a void until . . .

     “Get up!” Hank roared, his tall form hulking over Sully as he lay blinking in shock and confusion.  There was an ominous click, and suddenly his dazed eyes were staring down the bore of Hank’s pistol.  “Get up, or I’ll kill ya!”