“Would you really have killed me if she hadn’t stopped you?” Sully asked,  stripped of his last defenses.

     Hank’s eyes were grim.  “You don’t wanna know the answer to that question.”

     “No,” Sully responded after a pause.  “I ‘spose I don’t.”

     It was cold comfort, but at least he finally understood why his mind had persisted in making a connection between his and Michaela’s conflict over Katharine, and his much earlier involvement with Clarice and Hank.  Katharine had been the “other woman” in his relationship with Michaela—but he had been the third corner in a triangle with Hank and Clarice.  Though he’d felt compassion for Katharine—perhaps even a certain tenderness toward the lonely woman in her lost and abandoned circumstances—he hadn’t loved her.  There had never been a question of Katharine replacing Michaela in his heart.  And Clarice had frankly admitted that though she had been tempted by her feelings for him, her love and her loyalty belonged to Hank.

    Sully realized now that Clarice’s situation had closely paralleled his own.  He’d been strongly attracted to Clarice—he couldn’t deny it.  But if he honestly examined his heart, he was forced to reach the conclusion that her instincts had been right.  The emotions she had stirred in him had been a reaction to his estrangement from Abagail.  He had been fond of Clarice—very fond—but the truth was he had never harbored any genuine romantic feeling for her.  Unfortunately, appearances had been painfully deceiving in his encounters with both Katharine and Clarice.  If Michaela could be so hurt by his one mistaken kiss with Katharine, was it so much harder to understand Hank’s fury and feelings of betrayal at walking in on a much more damning scene?

    “Hank, no!” Clarice exclaimed in horror.  Sully’s eyes darted toward her.  She was huddled in the bed next to him with the covers pulled up nearly to her chin.  Panic and relief went through him in rapid succession as he noticed her gown and her corset tossed over an adjacent chair—but then glimpsed a camisole strap adorning the shoulder pressed against his.

     Yet his relief turned once again to consternation as he spotted his own shirt lying in a heap on the floor.  A swift glance beneath the blankets reassured him that he was still clad in his trousers, but even that knowledge was little comfort in the face of Hank’s unpredictable trigger finger.  The barkeep was obviously dangerous—maybe even crazy.  There was no telling what he might do in his rage, and Sully knew he had to protect Clarice at all costs.

     “Stay outta this!” Hank snarled at her, making her flinch.  Keeping the pistol trained on Sully, he sidled over to the chair and snatched up Clarice’s dress with his free hand.  “Cover yerself and get out!” he snapped, tossing the garment at her.  “I’ll deal with you later!”

     Sully could feel Clarice trembling, but there was a defiant tilt to her chin as she stared at Hank.  “I ain’t doin’ anythin’ till you put away that gun.”

    “You givin’ me orders?”

     Her words were measured and precise.  “This is my tent.  If anybody’s gettin’ out, it’s you.”

      “Maybe yer fergettin’ who ya belong to.”

     “I think you’re the one with the bad memory.  You tore up my contract months ago.  But that don’t matter.  Contract or not, I may work for you Hank, but you don’t own me.  No man owns me.”

     “Brave words,” he mocked her.  “But I own everythin’ else—right down to the last stitch of clothin’ on yer back.  Bought and paid for, my dear—that’s you.”

     “You can say all the hurtful things to me that you want—you’re good at that.”  Her spunk belied the crushing pain in her eyes.  “And maybe you do run every other part of my life—more fool me for lettin’ you.  But no matter what threats you make, or what you try to do to me, the one thing you’ll never own is my soul.”

     “Yeah?  Well don’t flatter yerself.  It’s worthless—just like you.”

     “Shut up, Hank.”

     Sully’s intrusion into the confrontation drew Hank’s attention to his rival.  “Well, well . . . the brave hero defendin’ his lady fair.  How touchin’.”  His lips twisted into a repellent smile.  The nose of the pistol hovered over Sully’s heart.  “I told ya ta get up.”

    “Fine,” Sully said.  He swung his legs to the floor and stood.  “We’ll take this outside and settle it.”

    “Sully, no.”  Clarice’s ringing interjection brought both men up short.  She, too, was on her feet now, her figure slight in the scanty camisole and pantaloons; yet Sully could sense a powerful strength and energy radiating from her, as if she had a white-hot ball of fire coiled in her belly.

     “You got no reason to leave.  You ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”  Her words were directed at Sully but her gaze was fixed on Hank.  “It’s Hank who’s got no place here.”  Brazenly she took a step forward.  And now her message was entirely for the saloon owner, her head tilted back as her eyes looked up into his.  “You got no right threatenin’ anybody with a gun—least of all Sully.  In spite of what your nasty mind wants to conjure up, nothin’ happened here.  Sully was drunk, I brought him here to sleep it off.  That’s all.”

     “And what were you doin’ lyin’ there next to him—singin’ him lullabies?!”

     “I have a right to a decent night’s rest!” she defended herself.  “I was hardly about to sit up in that chair all night.  Sully didn’t do anythin’.  He didn’t even know I was there.”

     Sully’s relief at Clarice’s explanation was profound.  Air expanded his lungs and he could breathe again.  But her final words caused a chill to steal over him.  Was that really true?  Had he been entirely unconscious of her presence beside him?  Had their night together really passed as innocently as she claimed?

    He wanted desperately to believe it, but certain things were coming back to him . . . the taste of her lips, the velvet feel of her skin, the sensation of their bodies pressed close . . . leading to—what?  His heart began to beat an uneven rhythm.

    Their strident voices intruded into his thoughts.

     “I walk in on the two o’ ya in bed, damn near naked, and ya expect me ta believe nothin’ happened?!”

     “That’s exactly what I expect you to believe ‘cause it’s the truth!”

     Sully tried to shake his lingering dread.  “Leave her alone, Hank!   It’s true.  I was drunk.  More than I ever been.  Clarice was afraid I’d hurt myself, or worse, somebody else.  So she brought me back here and poured me into bed.  End of story.”

     “You stupid enough ta think I’m gonna believe anythin’ that comes outta yer lyin’ mouth?!”

     “Hardly.  But you oughta believe Clarice.”

     “Give me one good reason.”

     “’Cause she loves you, and she’s loyal to you!  Though God knows why—I don’t got a clue!”

     “She’d be loyal to anybody,” Hank sneered.  “Fer a price.”

     Sully’s hands curled into fists.  “You disgusting, no good—“

     Clarice’s voice cleaved the air like an ax blade biting through wood.  “That’s enough—from both of you!”  Briefly her eyes met Sully’s.  “I think maybe it’s best if you leave after all."  Her gaze migrated back to the hostile saloon owner.  “This is between me and Hank.”

     “I ain’t leavin’ you alone with him!  In the state he’s in, wavin’ a gun around—“

    “Hank won’t hurt me,” Clarice said with quiet conviction.  Her eyes remained riveted on the clear, icy ones of the man opposite.

     “I ain’t so sure.”  His own eyes jumped from one figure to the other.  “Hank’s the kind to shoot first and ask questions later.”  He focused on Clarice.  “Can’t you see how dangerous he is?  He ain’t no kinda man for you to be spendin’ your life with.  Leave him, now, while you got the chance!”

     “I’m obliged for your concern, Sully.”  She favored him with another fleeting glance.  “But I know what I’m doin’.  I’m askin’ you to please, leave us be.”

     He offered one last protest.  “If anythin’ happened to you, I’d never forgive myself”—but a look from her silenced him.  Reluctantly he bent to retrieve his shirt, and his boots placed neatly side-by-side against the wall of the tent.  He stared at her one last time.  “You sure?”

     Her answer was to lift his coat from the foot of the bed.  She closed the few feet between them and draped it over his arm.

     “My shift’s over at six,” he said rapidly under his breath.  “Come find me.”  Her expression was noncommittal.  “Promise!  Promise you’ll come find me.”

     “She told ya ta leave—so leave, ‘fore I save ya the trouble of decidin’!”  He heard Hank cocking the hammer of the pistol.

     Haunted by guilt and helpless to do anything else, Sully exited the tent . . .

     “She stayed loyal to you,” Sully said to Hank now, reiterating the claim he’d made to the saloon owner so long ago.  “It was me she asked to leave so’s the two of you could work things out.  She was willin’ to reason with you, even with a gun stuck in her face!”

     “Gun weren’t meant for her.”

     Sully’s heart skipped a beat, but anger overcame his unease.  “Maybe not, but how ‘bout your fists?  I never believed what she said ‘bout that bruise on her cheek . . .”

      She didn’t come.  He wasn’t altogether surprised, but fear for her took up residence in his heart, insinuating itself deeper as day after day passed and she was nowhere in evidence.

    She was alive, and apparently all right; he knew that much, having sought out Flora for information at his first opportunity.  But also according to Flora, Clarice made only infrequent appearances in the saloon, spending most of her time holed up in her tent, seeing no one.  That could mean anything.  Sully’s unease persisted, and deepened.

    For his own part, he dared not show his face around the saloon, for fear of risking another confrontation with Hank.  Not that he’d ever back away from a fight.   On the contrary, whenever he recalled the memory of the fragile Clarice menaced by the looming figure of the barkeep, he burned with a need to make Hank pay.  But a battle between them could only make things worse for Clarice, and Sully couldn’t bring himself to risk her being hurt on his account.

    But there was an even deeper reason for his compulsion to avoid the saloon.  He’d flirted with danger for days with his drinking; but what he’d done—or nearly done—on that last fateful night, made his prior recklessness seem tame in comparison. He’d nearly been the cause of Hank doing something dreadful to Clarice—and who could say for sure that it hadn’t happened anyway?  He had only Flora’s word, and she could be lying at Hank’s behest, covering up some terrible truth.  But even if Clarice was unharmed, he feared he’d done her relationship with Hank an irreparable injury.  Something about the look in Hank’s eyes, the depth of hurt and desperation . . . made it clear that Clarice was not just any woman to the saloon owner—a casual conquest to be used for a while and then discarded.  Clarice had said herself that Hank wouldn’t allow her to be with anyone else—and that he’d never done that for any other woman.  It was a poor sort of proof—but for good or ill, this was apparently how Hank had shown his love.

     But because of the drinking Sully knew how close he’d come to destroying the tenuous balance of Clarice and Hank’s     relationship, with nearly tragic consequences to both Clarice and himself.  Liquor was as lethal in its way as a bullet from Hank’s gun—at least for him.  He never knew when it would steal his senses, causing him to do destructive things that might possibly ruin his life, or the lives of those around him.  He’d heard that the Indian name for whiskey was “crazy water”.  He could understand why.

    The writing on the wall was plain.  He could never take another drop.  Never turn to liquor to drown his sorrows again, no matter what he stood to lose, or how much his life might spin out of control.

     Time went by.  He got past the gut-wrenching hangover, and the mild shakes that followed as his body slowly flushed the alcohol from his system.  He began to feel like himself again, even able to weather with stoicism the continued lack of communication from Abagail.  However Clarice also stubbornly refused to appear, and Sully’s worry grew to grave proportions.

     As he marked the end of the third week without a sign of Clarice, desperation drove him to a decision.  He would confront Hank once more and demand the truth from him, regardless of the repercussions.  There was no other choice.  He had to know what had happened to Clarice—had to know what Hank had done to her, if anything, and if he was responsible.

    He was returning from a walk to the hot springs, bent on reaching Hank as soon as possible, when he suddenly encountered her.  She was a few yards away from him, standing in profile, obviously under the impression she was alone.  The unusually mild winter days they’d enjoyed recently had given way to overcast skies and blustery winds, and Clarice was clad in a voluminous dark cloak, huddled deep within its folds.  Sully didn’t want to startle her, but he couldn’t help it—he moved toward her spontaneously and touched her on the shoulder.  She flinched and spun around, her eyes staring out at him raggedly from within the circle of her hood.

     “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to scare you.”  His hand dropped away.  “It’s just—I been so worried about you, it’s been so long.  Flora said you were all right but I was beginnin’ to think it was a lie—that Hank’d done somethin’ awful—“

     “I told you Hank wouldn’t hurt me,” Clarice said after she’d recovered from the shock of his presence.  But she wouldn’t meet his eyes, seeming instead to retreat deeper into the camouflage of her cloak.  She averted her face slightly, staring past him at the summit of Pike’s Peak rising beyond the trees.

     “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you,” he said.  “You look pale and tired, like you ain’t been getting’ any sleep, and—“  A sudden gust of wind blew the hood back from her face, and he saw the line of her jaw.  Reflexively Clarice’s gloved hand came up to shield her cheek from his penetrating gaze, but not before he’d spotted the faint remains of a mottled bruise that looked to be at least two weeks old.

     Gently Sully’s hand covered Clarice’s and drew it away from her face, but his voice, when it came, was tight with anger.  “He did this to you?”

     “No,” Clarice denied.  “It was a customer.  Hank threw him out.”

     “This looks to be a couple weeks old—maybe more.  Not that long after—“

     “I told you!  It wasn’t Hank.”  Her eyes shifted away again.

     “Why are you protectin’ him?”  He couldn’t fathom it.  She was strong and full of fire.  She’d proved it when she stood up to Hank on his behalf.  When she’d been willing to shoulder all the bartender’s rage rather than see him get hurt or killed.

     Clarice turned back to him.  There were dark smudges of weariness beneath her eyes, but her voice was steady.  “I told you that first night that you were a dear man, Sully, and you are.  And I’m obliged to you for wantin’ to protect me.  But there are things about Hank—about my feelin’s for him—that you don’t understand.  All I can say is that we’re together—and we’re gonna stay that way.

    “Go back to Abagail,” she said, with the first trace of spirit she’d shown since they met.  “Fight for her.  Give her the courage to stand up to her pa and choose the life that’s gonna make her happy—a life with you.”

 But Sully was unable to deal with the issue of Abagail in the midst of his anguish over Clarice.  “You’re right, I don’t understand,” he reacted to her earlier statement.  “I don’t understand how he could treat you that way—but worse, why you let him.  You don’t gotta take that, Clarice.

    “Look,” he said urgently, “If you’re scared of leavin’—scared of what he might do, I’ll take care of you.  You can stay with me, and if he comes after you—“

     “I ain’t scared of him,” Clarice interrupted.  “I ain’t scared of him doin’ anythin’.  But—“  She hesitated, then went on carefully, “I might be leavin’ for a while, Sully.  Maybe a long while.  I . . .  I have an aunt, who lives on a homestead a ways south of here.  She’s gettin’ on, and needs somebody to keep her company, and help with the cookin’ and cleanin’.  I figure it might do me good to spend some time away . . . have a chance to think.”

     “And Hank’s willin’ to let you go?”

     There was an odd expression in her eyes which Sully couldn’t define.  “Yes, he’s willin’.”

     “Will you come back?” he ventured after a moment.  He’d been suddenly seized with the overwhelming certainty that he would never see her again.

     For the first time she smiled—a pallid smile, but genuine.  “Yeah, I’ll come back.  Hank’s gonna have a brand new saloon to run, and he can’t do it without me.”  As quickly as it had appeared, however, her smile vanished and her dark eyes became strangely poignant.  “But Sully, when I do come back . . . I hope that you can understand . . .  That is, I hope we can still be friends.”

     Sully sensed a message of some sort lurking behind her words, but for whatever reason, she couldn’t bring herself to voice it.  So he focused on the only part of her statement he understood.  “I’ll always be your friend, Clarice, whether Hank’s a part of your life or not.”

     “Well, sometimes things change . . . people change,” she said slowly.

     That uneasy feeling—that fear of her slipping away—flooded through him again, and impulsively he grasped her shoulders.  “Clarice, what ain’t you tellin’ me?  Did Hank threaten you?  Is that it?  Or maybe he threatened to do somethin’ to me if you didn’t stay  in line?  If that’s what’s goin’ on—“

     “It’s nothin’ like that.  I promise you, Sully—it’s nothin’ like that.”

    As much as he hated to admit it, her words had the ring of truth.  It was obvious that something about her situation with Hank remained unspoken, but whatever it was, Clarice had chosen to keep her own counsel.  But more, she’d clearly cast her lot with Hank.  And as much as he might disagree with it, he would have to accept her choice.

     “Find Abagail,” she repeated.  “Sweep her off her feet and marry her ‘fore Loren knows what hit him.  Have lots of babies—“  Her voice caught for a moment, but then she finished, “and be happy.”

     “Clarice—“  She silenced him with a kiss on the cheek.  Her lips were warm against his chilled skin.

     “Take care of yourself,” she whispered.  “Have a good life.”

     She turned away once more, the wind catching and lifting the hem of her cloak, swirling it around her ankles.  Sully watched in resignation as she began to walk away, but then one last question—the one he’d been wrestling with for weeks—flared in his mind, and he followed.

     He caught up to her and clutched her arm, swiveling her to face him.  “There’s one more thing I gotta know.”  She waited patiently, perhaps reading what was in his mind, but accepting his need to say it aloud.  “That mornin’ that Hank found us . . . what you told him . . .‘bout you and me . . .  Is it true?  I’ve tried over and over, but I can’t remember.  It’s all a blank, ‘cept for when you helped me to bed and then we . . . “  He swallowed.   “Well, it seemed like we were headed for somethin’ a lot less innocent than sleepin’ . . .”

     There was an uncomfortable pause, but then she replied, “It’s true.  Not long after we started . . . gettin’ close—you passed out.  And that’s all that happened.  But even if you hadn’t, I still would have put a stop to it.”

    “Truth?”

     “Truth.  Like I said to you that night, Sully, I was tempted.  And for a few moments, I even let myself give in.  But in the end, I couldn’t go through with it, ‘cause I loved Hank.  And just as important, I knew you loved Abagail.

     “Some men can be with other women ‘sides their wives or their sweethearts, and think nothin’ of it,” she went on.  “But I don’t think you’re one of those men, Sully.  It’s part of why I care for you so much.  And I wouldn’t wanna be the cause of comin’ between you and the woman you truly love.”

     “And I didn’t wanna be responsible for comin’ between you and Hank,” he said.  “’Specially if it meant you might be in danger.  I couldn’t live with it if I put you in harm’s way.  Are you sure you’re bein’ straight with me, and not just sayin’ what I wanna hear so I won’t worry?”

    “I’m tellin’ you straight.  True friends don’t lie to each other, do they?”  Again came her faint smile.

     “I am your true friend, Clarice.”

     “Thank you for that.”   Tenderly she touched his face.  “Good-bye, Sully.”

     His heart was already mourning his loss before she even disappeared from view . . .