Sully talked for a long time.  Bars of sunlight crept down the wall and inched across the floorboards, in the time in took for him to complete his recitation.  Eventually he finished speaking, and the abrupt silence in the room seemed almost deafening without the sound of his voice to fill the vacuum.
 
     As he finally dared to observe Michaela’s face for her reaction, he was reminded of another conversation between them—one that had taken place through the bars of his prison cell, when he’d been jailed by the army for the crime of desertion.  That confrontation had been equally difficult, and exceedingly painful.  Then, as now, he had felt a profound sense of shame—not to mention betrayal—at letting her down.  He had led her to believe, and to trust, that he was one kind of man; when in fact there was a time when he had been quite another.

     She had understood and forgiven him once for keeping one of the darker episodes of his life from her.  But could she forgive him a second time?  Would she even be willing?

    He studied her expression but it was unreadable.  Yet he couldn’t help interpreting her lack of response as negative, and a grim certainty grew within him that this was a secret she wouldn’t be able to forgive.  Heart sinking, but unable to endure the silence anymore, he said, “I knew it.  I failed you.”

    His words seemed to startle her out of some private reverie.  An instant later, her expression softened.  “Sully, you haven’t ‘failed’ me.  How could you, when these events happened years before we even met?”

    “That’s splittin’ hairs, Michaela,” he said.  “It ain’t just that I had a relationship with Clarice years ago.  That would be hard enough for you to accept.  But I never told you about it.  I never let on, even when you took Zack in after Miss Ruby died, and I had the perfect chance to make a clean breast of things.  Instead, I waited all these years and then just dumped it in your lap.”

    “I confess that you took me unawares,” Michaela admitted.  “It wasn’t precisely what I was expecting.”

    “I understand.”  A flush of guilt stained his cheeks.  “I don’t blame you for what you must be feelin’—or thinkin’.”

    Michaela regarded him earnestly.  “What I feel is compassion, for the pain you suffered in the past, and the pain it’s costing you now,” she said.  “And what I think—is that you were a different person then, Sully.  Young, impetuous . . . and yes, even foolhardy.  But you were also responsible and caring.  Consider how you offered to take in Clarice and protect her from Hank.  And if you had known about the baby, I have no doubt that you would have opened your heart to him—“

    “But I shoulda known!” he broke in.  “I shoulda seen the signs and figured it out.    But instead I let myself believe that she’d be all right on her own, and I turned my back on her.  I was too consumed with myself—too busy worryin’ about gettin’ Abagail back, to understand that Clarice was in trouble.”

    “But you realized afterward, when Clarice returned to Colorado Springs,” Michaela pointed out.

    “I finally figured out the truth, and why she left town,” Sully allowed.   “But as for the rest of it . . . I closed my eyes, Michaela.  I didn’t wanna think—didn’t wanna admit to myself that . . .  maybe . . .”

    “That maybe . . . you were the father, after all?” Michaela finished softly.

    His face was naked in its vulnerability.  “Clarice swore to me that nothin’ . . . happened . . . between us.  And I admit it—I wanted to believe her.  But fact is, Michaela, I can’t remember that night, so I’ll never know the truth—not for sure.  None of us will.  Clarice is the only one who truly knew—and she took that knowledge to the grave.

    “But that’s not all of it,” he went on, flushed with remorse but determined now to be completely honest with her.  “Even Clarice may not have absolutely known who Zack’s pa was.  I mean—how could she be sure, when both Hank and me—“  He bit off his words, abruptly conscious of how it must sound to Michaela to hear him allude to his relations with another woman.  He stammered an apology.  “I’m sorry, Michaela.  I didn’t mean to bring up . . . that is, I don’t wanna hurt you—“

    “You haven’t shocked me,” Michaela said calmly.  “Sully, all of this happened eighteen years ago, at a time when you were young, hurt and confused.  You honestly believed that Clarice was truthful with you, and so I believe that as well.  But even if it was . . . otherwise . . . the fact remains that Clarice clearly wanted a life with Hank.  She wanted Hank to be Zack’s father.

     “It was Clarice’s decision,” she stressed.  “You didn’t abdicate your responsibilities, Sully.”

     “But can you live with that?” he asked bluntly.  “Can you accept that I mighta fathered a son years ago—a son I can’t claim, who’ll never know I’m his real pa?  But even more, can you forgive me for withholdin’ the truth from you for all these years?”

     There was a pause, and then she said gently, “I think that if there is, indeed, a ‘truth’ here, that you withheld it from yourself, Sully, not from me—at least not deliberately.  I suspect that’s why you never mentioned your past relationship with Clarice when we found Zack after Miss Ruby died, and Hank admitted to being his father.  You suppressed those memories—out of guilt, or perhaps because you simply couldn’t bear to acknowledge a painful time in your past.  Whatever the reasons, you were only human, and you owe me no apology for that.

     “As for whether I can accept the possibility that Zack may be your son,” she went on, “I think the best way to answer that question is to remind you of what you told Hank.  In the end, it’s not blood that matters.  Matthew, Colleen and Brian aren’t my natural children, but I couldn’t love them more if I had given birth to them.  I know you love them just as much.  And Hank loves Zack.  He’s been Zack’s father all these years, in every way that counts, and that’s not going to stop, regardless of what he might have said to you during your journey.  I’m just sorry that he and Zack have become so deeply estranged.  I can only imagine the pain Hank endured at Zack’s rejection.”

     “I told Hank it would pass—that Zack would come around,” Sully said.  “But truth is, I ain’t so sure.  What if they never make peace?  What if Zack goes ahead and marries this girl, and turns his back on Hank forever?  Hank could spend the rest of his life alone.  He might never get over it.”
 
    “That’s a lot of ‘maybes’,” Michaela observed.  “Sully, I believe it’s too soon to draw conclusions about the future.  As Marjorie once advised me—“  Her voice caught slightly, but then she resumed, “’Expect the unexpected.’  As you also told Hank, Zack is young, and impressionable.  Maturity and life experience may alter his perspective.  But more than that, I believe that Zack still loves and needs his father.  Someday Zack will rediscover those feelings, and he and Hank will find their way back to each other.”

     “But I still feel responsible, somehow,” Sully maintained.  “Like I should try to help them, if I can.”

     “You’ve already helped—by keeping Hank alive, so that he can rebuild his life with his son,” Michaela told him.  “But you’re right—you can help even more.  By being a friend.  Hank may not admit it, but I believe he can use one.  I think he proved that when he confided the truth to you about his relationship with Clarice.  You were there for Hank when he needed you, Sully, in more ways than one.  And I know that’s not going to change, because I know you.”

     “It’s true—I wanna be there for Hank and Zack, if I can,” Sully admitted.  “But what about you, Michaela?” he added suddenly, his eyes sober.  “Do you believe that I’ll always be there for you, even though I made a mess of my life in the past?  Can you still believe that my love for you is forever, and that I’ll do everythin’ in my power to keep my past from ever hurtin’ you again?”

     Michaela leaned forward and took both his hands in hers.  “I never doubted it for an instant,” she whispered, and sealed the words with a kiss.

* * * * * * * * * *
 
     “I kept my end of the bargain—now it’s your turn,” Sully announced sometime later, as he made a silent request to Michaela to remove the nearly untouched tray from his lap.  During the previous quarter hour she had watched him make a show of pushing the food around on his plate, while actually consuming next to nothing.  With uncharacteristic restraint she had refrained from urging him to eat, all too aware of the emotional stress that had robbed him of his appetite.  However his unexpected statement puzzled her.

     “I beg your pardon?” she said as she put the tray aside.

     “You promised you’d explain how you and Matthew found me,” he reminded her.

     Michaela’s eyes widened in surprise and not a little admiration.  “I didn’t think you would even recall our conversations along the way, drifting in and out of consciousness as you were.”

     “My mind was pretty cloudy for a while there,” he confirmed.  “But I’ll never forget when I opened my eyes and saw your face . . . and smelled the lilacs in your hair—“  Fleetingly he closed his eyes and unconsciously inhaled, savoring the memory.  “—and felt your touch.  And I knew you were real.”  As if to prove it to himself yet again, his hand touched her shoulder and slid lightly down to stroke the length of her arm.  She felt the sensuous caress through the thin material of her dress, and shivered with a mixture of relief and desire—and fear at what she’d so nearly lost.

     “Oh, Sully . . . thank heaven we did find you,” she whispered.  His hand found and cupped her chin as his lips pressed hers in a tender kiss.  But after a moment he drew away.

    “How, Michaela?  How did you figure out what happened?  How did you know where to find us?”

    “It wasn’t as difficult as you might think,” she replied.  “An hour or so after your train was overdue, Horace received a telegram from the depot in Denver.”

    He was nodding.  “We figured the agent in Denver would wire all the towns along the way.  But even knowin’ about the train didn’t tell you where I was or when I’d be comin’ home.”

    “That’s true,” she said.  “All we could do was wonder or conjecture.  I confess I was very anxious—it wasn’t like you not to find a way to reach me.”

    “I’m sorry about that.”  His tone was regretful.  “I wanted to wire you, but we only had a few minutes to make the last stage.  Well—truth is, Hank talked me out of it,” he confessed.  ”He was so worried about missin’ his last chance to get home, he kinda steam-rolled me into comin’ along with him.”

    “I understand,” she said.  “You were pressed for time.  Matthew thought it was something like that—that you either took the stage or stayed on in Denver.  He even suggested that the telegraph lines might have gone down in the storm before you were able to wire.”  She sighed.  “He told me I was worrying unnecessarily, but . . .”

    “You worried anyway,” Sully finished with a knowing smile.

     “When haven’t I?” Michaela asked, returning his smile.  “But when I told Matthew that I wanted to search for you, he tried to discourage me.”

     “And he was right,” Sully said emphatically.  “If I coulda got a message to you, I woulda told you not to come.  It was way too dark and dangerous out there for you to take that kinda risk.”

     “Matthew said that as well.  But you know me.”

     “Yeah, I do,” he said, acknowledging the inevitable.  “So you talked him into goin’ anyway.  What happened then?”
 
     Briefly she related their pursuit, their discovery of the wrecked stagecoach, and their search for a safe spot to descend to the bottom of the ravine.  She spoke in a casual tone for his benefit, consciously minimizing the danger they’d faced.  But she knew he wasn’t fooled.  Matthew might know her well, but Sully could read her thoughts and reactions more accurately than anyone.

     “You make it sound like it was easy—but I know it wasn’t, Michaela,” he said when she finished speaking.  “All sorts of things coulda gone wrong.  The two of you coulda been hurt, or . . .“  He swallowed.  “I’m more grateful than I could ever say that you found us, but you gotta promise me that you won’t ever take that kinda chance again.”

     Her eyes met his, equally sober.  “Sully, please don’t ask me to make such a promise.  We never know what the future might bring; and no matter what the cost, I would do whatever I had to, if your life or your safety were at stake—just as I would for the children.”

    “I understand—I feel the same way,” he responded.  “And I’m honored by your devotion and proud of your courage.  But I can’t stand the thought of somethin’ happenin’ to you because of me.  I mean, the risks were bad enough when you had proof that somethin’ had happened to me —like the time I went over the cliff.  But this time, you couldn’t know for sure that I was in trouble.  You couldn’t even be sure that I was out there!”

     “But you were out there—you were in trouble,” Michaela countered.  “Desperate trouble.  I can’t bear to think about what might have happened if we hadn’t found you.”

     “Michaela . . .”

     “Don’t you understand that no amount of sacrifice is too great if it’s for you?” she went on, her voice passionate.  “Sully, I’d risk my life a thousand times over if doing so would save yours.”

     “I’d do the same,” he said.

     “So why are we arguing?”  she said reasonably.

     “Last thing I wanna do is argue,” he agreed.  “Not when we came so close to losin’ each other.”

     “Well, then?”

     “It’s just—I can’t stop thinkin’ about the danger you faced,” he reiterated.  “If either you or Matthew had put a foot wrong and fallen down the embankment . . . or if you’d been too close when the stagecoach exploded . . .  Even without the extra danger, you coulda been wanderin’ around out there all night, catchin’ your death—and all on the strength of a suspicion that coulda been wrong.”

    “Well, that’s not precisely true,” Michaela commented, an odd expression in her eyes.

     “What do you mean?”

     “I have to warn you—this probably won’t make a great deal of sense,” she cautioned.

     “Try me.”

    She hesitated briefly, then said, “It’s true that I had no definite proof that you were in trouble—and yet, I did know.

    “How could you?”

    She sighed, aware of how preposterous her claim would sound.  “I felt it.”  She waited for his skepticism, or perhaps even amusement at such a foolish notion.  But instead she was startled to see him regarding her intensely.

    “Sully . . .?”

    “Go on,” he pressed her, his tone almost demanding.

    She wanted to ask him why he suddenly seemed so agitated, but for the moment she put her own curiosity aside in favor of responding to his urgent request.  “I wish I could give you an explanation that makes sense, but I’m afraid there’s not a lot of logic to what I felt,” she apologized.

    “No need to worry about how it sounds.  Just—tell me,” he said.

    Her thoughts returned to that night and she shivered again as she recalled the overwhelming yet nameless fear that had gripped her.  “Matthew and I were riding in the wagon, and suddenly I had the feeling that you were . . . that you were slipping away from me somehow.  But it was more than that,” she mused softly.  “I felt . . .  No, I knew—that you were giving up.  And I knew I had to find you—to reach you, before . . .”

    “Before . . . what?”  His blue eyes seemed to pierce her to the marrow.

    Michaela shook her head.  “I don’t know.  I had no idea where you were or what had happened to you.  I just . . . knew with a certainty that whatever your circumstances,  you were on the brink of losing your life—and that you were about to stop fighting.

    “I realize it sounds foolish,” she added.  “Matthew tried to make me see how illogically I was behaving.  Quite honestly I wouldn’t have been surprised—nor would I have blamed him—if he had questioned my sanity at that point.  But none of that mattered.  All I knew was that I had to reach you, as soon as possible.”

    She saw that his eyes were still riveted on her.  “Perhaps . . . Matthew wasn’t the only one with questions about my mental state,” she ventured uncertainly after a pause.   “It seems as if you have the same doubts.”

    His expression altered sharply as it dawned on him that she had misinterpreted his reaction.  “No!” he exclaimed, taking her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.  “No, Michaela, I don’t doubt you.  Fact is, it’s just the opposite.”

    Now she was the one at a loss.  “I don’t understand . . .”

    “I guess it’s your turn to take a leap of faith,” he said.  Her eyes remained confused, and he attempted to explain.  “Sorry—I don’t mean to talk in riddles.  It’s just that . . . what you said . . .  well, I believe it, ‘cause somethin’ like that happened to me, too.”

     “You had a feeling about me?  You knew I was worried?”

     He smiled a little.  “Well, I always know when you’re worried, whether we’re together or apart,” he said.  “But what I meant was, that I . . . heard you.”

     “Heard me?”

     He smiled again, somewhat embarrassed this time.  “It sounds crazy, I know, but when we were still trapped inside the coach, I heard you—talkin’ to me.  I could barely move, from the pain—and with all the smoke and my busted ribs I couldn’t get my breath.  And I guess . . . I guess I was ready to give up.  But you wouldn’t let me.”

     She was silent, gazing at him in wonder.  He went on, “It’s true.  I don’t know how, and maybe I was even imaginin’ it all, but you told me I couldn’t quit.  You said I had to fight, for me and for Hank.  That I had to get us both out of the coach before it went up.  And—“  He hesitated.

     “And?” she repeated softly.

     “And you said you were comin’,” he finished.  “You begged me to hold on just a little longer, and you’d be there.”  His smile came again, crooked and self-conscious.  “I know—crazy.”

     “No—not crazy,” she told him.  “Not if it kept you alive, and fighting.  Clearly something happened between us—some sort of bond, or connection . . .  Perhaps even the spirits, helping us to send a message to one another.”  She shrugged, her lips also curving into a smile.  “I don’t know.  But maybe we’re not meant to question how or why—but simply to be grateful for the results.  After all, ‘there is more in heaven and earth than is dreamt of in your philosophy’,” she quoted.

     Recognition kindled in his eyes.  “Shakespeare.”

     “I see that my father’s library hasn’t gone to waste,” she teased.

     He grinned back.  “No, I’ve found plenty there to inspire me over the years.  Courtin’ and sparkin’ to Walt Whitman was especially nice . . .”  His voice was subtly erotic, his eyes issuing an invitation.

     “Yes, indeed,” Michaela replied, matching his amorous look with one of her own.  “But regretfully, I’m afraid that any plans you may have for romance will have to wait until you’ve recovered.”

     “Well, I don’t know,” he mused.  “I seem to be makin’ a miraculous recovery right now.”  His fingers strayed to her bodice and began to undo the buttons.

     She was torn between the urges of her body, which cried out for him to continue, and her obligation as a doctor not to imperil his health.  Inevitably duty and common sense prevailed, but not without a struggle.  “Hold that thought,” she whispered, and once more she silenced him with a kiss.