Wednesday, 28 March, 1870

    “We keep meaning to talk about William and then getting distracted,” I observed presently.

     “So it seems,” Michaela acknowledged, smiling up at me from her place in the circle of my arm.  “Perhaps it’s because I’d far rather talk about us,” she added in a low, intimate voice.

     I could feel my pulse quicken.  “I’d just as soon not even talk,” I said, my voice hoarse with desire.  Unable to resist the invitation of her soft, sensual lips, I covered her mouth with mine.  However, as I reluctantly pulled myself away from her several moments later I added,  “I guess we should talk about this, though.  Get it all out in the open and then put it aside forever.”

     A hint of concern touched her eyes.  “Sully—you’re not still bothered by the fact that I had a friendship with William, are you?” she asked.  “I promise you—there’s no need to be.”

     “Maybe not on your end—but from what Brendan said yesterday, it sounds like maybe his brother is still carrying a torch for you,” I remarked.

     “I seriously doubt that,” said Michaela.  “We haven’t seen each other in nearly two years, nor has there been any communication between us.”

    A man in love don’t need much encouragement,” I pointed out.  “Just because you chose to go back to Colorado, don’t mean that he hasn’t been dreaming of you since—maybe even hoping he’s still got a chance.”

     “Then his hopes would be futile,” she said calmly.  “Sully, when I said good-bye to William, it was for good.  He understood that. And to his credit, he accepted defeat very gracefully.  He wouldn’t even let me explain my reasons—he simply wished me well.”

     “Sounds honorable enough,” I allowed.

     “But you still feel uneasy,” she surmised.

     I sighed.  “A little, yeah,” I admitted.  “Maybe it would help if I understood better what happened between the two of you.”

     “As well as what happened between the two of us,” she reminded me.  “The—transformation of our relationship was an equally important part of the events that transpired in Boston.”

     “You don’t mind—helping me recall it?” I asked hesitantly.

     “Of course not,” she said immediately.  “All I want is to help you, Sully.  You already have a few bits and pieces—and I’ll gladly fill in the rest.”

     “Thanks for putting up with me,” I told her, grateful that she understood my need for reassurance.

     “There’s no need for thanks,” she said softly.  “I love you—and I intend to keep reminding you of that every day for the rest of our lives.  And I’ll tell you whatever I can to help you to restore the missing pieces of your past.

     “Sully, I’ll do whatever is necessary for you to feel secure and confident again,” she vowed to me earnestly.  “You have only to ask.”

     “Thanks,” I said softly, kissing her again.  After a pause I said kind of sheepishly,  “I guess—I’m asking.”

     I could read the message of love in her eyes, and she clasped her hand tightly over mine.

    “Where did I leave off?” she said.

* * * * * * * * * *

     “Come on, Michaela—you’re making that up,” I said, convinced that she’d slipped a little fib in with the truth just to keep things lively or make sure I was paying attention.

     Her eyes were amused.  “I swear to you that I’m not,” she said innocently.

     “You and me—ate *snails?*”  I repeated.  “Michaela, that’s more preposterous than the thought of you drinking with Hank!”

     “Perhaps,” she acknowledged.  “Nonetheless, Sully, escargot is considered a great delicacy—and I have to admit, I’m quite fond of them.”

     I shook my head, marveling.  “Rich people paying to eat snails,” I mused, incredulous.  “And your ma thinks *I’m* strange.”

     She chuckled.  “Absurd as it sounds, dining and dancing at an elegant restaurant, my favorite hors d’oeuvres and champagne . . .  it was all part of the children’s master plan for you to court me and win my heart.  Of course, you already had my heart,” she added softly.  “I just needed assistance to see clearly.  I owe the children a debt of gratitude for helping you to show me the truth.”

     “And I owe them for showing me how to behave with society folks,” I said.  “I can tell you for a fact that I never would have been willing to put on a fancy suit, or learn to waltz—or eat snails!--if it weren’t for me wanting to please you.”

     “You certainly did that,” she said.  “I’ll never forget the evening at my mother’s house when you suddenly appeared for dinner dressed so elegantly.  You were so handsome and impressive!”  Her eyes glowed with the memory.

     “I was, was I?” I asked, coloring a little.

     “Oh yes,” Michaela said emphatically.  “Mother was impressed as well, after she got over her initial shock.  Particularly when you quoted the adage, “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.’  As I was helping her upstairs later, she told me she had no idea you were so well-versed in ancient proverbs.”

     Again I had the sensation of a memory emerging full-blown into my mind.  “I got another confession to make about that,” I admitted.  “The night those friends of your ma’s threw that ball for her birthday, your ma brought me a tuxedo of your pa’s that she’d had altered for me.  She convinced me that I should be thinking of you, instead of myself—that it wasn’t fair for me to embarrass you by my appearance.”

     “Mother!” Michaela fumed.

     “Don’t be angry at her, Michaela,” I said.  “She was right.  I was in a different world, with different rules.  It was your ma who said it: ‘When in Rome, do as the Romans do.’”

     “I might have known there was more to it,” Michaela remarked drily.  “Don’t misunderstand me, Sully—I’m thrilled that you’re recalling these events, but I’m still very sorry that my mother put you in such an awkward position.”

     “She was looking out for you,” I said.  “I can’t fault her for that.  Fact is, I admire her for speaking up.  Least I know where you get your stubbornness from,” I added slyly.

     Michaela raised her eyebrows.  “Stubbornness?” she repeated archly.

     “Spirit—I meant spirit!” I said quickly.  Michaela tried to look stern, but I could see the humor in her eyes.

     “That’s better,” she said.

     “I’m still a little hazy about what else happened back then,” I said after a moment.  “Did we do other things together?”

     “Yes indeed,” she answered.  “You took me to the opera, and we also attended some lectures of the Boston Medical Society.”

     “Sounds romantic,” I remarked.

     “Yes, the opera was very romantic,” she began.

     “I meant the lectures,” I said, winking at her.

     Her lips twitched.  “I certainly realized that a medical lecture wasn’t your favorite way of spending time, but I felt we owed it to William after he’d been so kind to me and so helpful to Mother.  I also respected him as a physician, and I confess that I wanted to hear him speak.”

     “I understand that,” I said.

     “The first time we attended, William lectured.  However the second time, William was scheduled to address the gathering, but at the last minute, he yielded the floor to me so that I could present my article on dandelion root tea as a treatment for hepatitis, and how it cured my mother.”

     “The article I sent you by telegraph,” I spoke up, as the memory came to me.

     “Exactly,” Michaela said.

     The recollection of that particular day was growing clearer in my mind.  “I recall that a lot of the doctors in that meeting weren’t too happy about attending a lecture given by a woman doctor,” I said.

     She nodded in acknowledgement.  “A common reaction, and one with which I’d become all too familiar,” she noted.  “Many of the physicians present immediately walked out in protest, and I imagine that even the ones who remained were skeptical.”

     “But I bet you convinced them,” I said confidently.

     “Well, perhaps I changed one or two minds,” she allowed.  “At the very least, it was very exhilarating for me to address such an august gathering.”

     “They were lucky to have you,” I told her firmly.

     “Thank you,” she said, smiling at me gently.  “I treasure the compliment, even if you are a bit prejudiced.  William was very complimentary as well,” she added after a pause.  “However—“  She broke off, glancing at me guiltily.

     “Tell me,” I encouraged.

     She looked reluctant, but finally she continued, “Both William and I were feeling excited and triumphant afterwards—“

     “That’s natural,” I said.

     She still looked uncomfortable.  “Yes, well . . . We were very excited, as I said.  And in the exhilaration of the moment, William—“

     “Proposed to you,” I finished.

     “You remember?” she said quickly.

     “It’s starting to come back to me,” I replied.  Actually, that wasn’t the whole truth—or even half of it.  I remembered now—all too clearly.  How I went to join Michaela after she left the stage, and came upon her and William standing together in the wings.  As soon as I realized I was eavesdropping on a private moment, I knew I should leave.  But I couldn’t make myself move.  I heard it all.

     (“You were splendid!” he said.  “I’m so proud of you.”  Michaela stared up at him, eyes shining.

      “Since my father died, I haven’t had anyone believe in me the way you do,” she said.  “Except Sully.”

       “Do you love him?” William asked, staring into her eyes.

       “Oh, William,” she breathed.

       “Has he asked for your hand?” William persisted.

       “William, really—“ Michaela said, trying to maintain propriety.

       “Because I love you and I *am* asking for your hand!” he declared.

       “Oh, William!” she repeated.  “But I have a whole life waiting for me in Colorado—“

       “You have a whole life waiting for you here in Boston!” he said passionately.  “We could be partners in every sense of the word—in work, in love--*true* partners!--do you love me?”

       Michaela’s eyes were locked on his.  “There were moments when I thought it—moments when I was sure of it—and moments I wasn’t sure of anything at all, such as this one . . .”  Her voice trailed away.

       “Take all the time that you need,” he said gently.  “To be sure.  My proposal stands.  My
vow . . . is forever.”

       As Michaela gazed at him, I slowly walked away.)

     “I was waiting for you when you and William came outside,” I said, picking up the thread of the story.  “I got to confess, I wasn’t too polite.”

     “You were upset,” she said softly.

     (“There you are,” she said as I approached them.

      “Wasn’t she grand?” William said to me.  I put my hand on Michaela’s arm.

      “Excuse us,” I said brusquely.  I drew her away and fixed my eyes on her.  “You going to marry him?” I said without preamble.

     “I beg your pardon!” she said.

     “No begging necessary—just the truth,” I demanded.

     “You’ve obviously been eavesdropping,” she accused.

     “JUST the truth,” I insisted.

     “Well it’s none of your business,” she said petulantly.

      I stared at her.  “Is that right?” I managed after a moment.

      “That’s right!” she snapped.

      I stared at her a moment longer, but there was nothing left to say—least as far as I could see.  Finally I strode away, stripping off the hated suit coat as I went.)

      “When I returned home a short while later, Mother and the children were waiting for me,” Michaela said quietly.  “The children’s eyes looked so accusing.  I knew without them saying anything that you’d been there.”

      (“Hello, Mother,” Michaela said.

        Elizabeth’s eyes were mild.  “Hello, Dear,” she said, her arms around Brian and Colleen.

       Michaela directed her gaze toward the children.  “Hello,” she ventured.  They looked away and didn’t speak.  She sighed in resignation.  “All right, where’s Sully?” she asked.

       “He’s gone,” Matthew said flatly, from where he stood on the staircase.

       Michaela looked up at him.  “Did he say when he’d return?”

       “Never,” said Brian.

       “What?” she said quickly.

       “He went home,” said Colleen.

       “To Colorado?” Michaela asked.

       “Yeah,” said Matthew coldly.  “You remember Colorado?”

        “When did he leave?” Michaela said swiftly.

        “Michaela—“ her mother began in a discouraging tone.

        “When?” she insisted.

        “About an hour ago,” Colleen said quietly.  Michaela gathered up her skirts and hastened out the door, even as her mother tried to call her back.)

       “The children were so angry with me,” Michaela said softly.  “I suppose I couldn’t blame them.  In their eyes, I was the cause of you leaving.  They felt I drove you away.”

     “I’m sorry I turned the kids against you,” I said.  “I didn’t mean to.  It’s just—I thought it was too late—that I’d lost you.”

    “I confess I was put out with you,” Michaela said.  “I thought you were running away, refusing to face me.”

    “It just seemed like—you’d already made your mind up,” I confessed.  “There didn’t seem no point to me staying . . .”

    “I knew that as well, in my heart,” Michaela confessed in her turn.  “And though I was annoyed with you, I was far more frightened of something else.”

    “What’s that?” I asked softly.

    “That I’d lost you,” she whispered.

    (Michaela moved along the narrow aisle of the train, peering into each compartment and earning  a few startled looks from other passengers as she searched for Sully.  Without warning she came upon him, curled into a corner of the berth, the shade pulled down over one of the windows.  As she appeared in the entry of the compartment, he sat up abruptly.

      “What are you doing?” she said breathlessly.

      “That’s pretty clear,” he answered.

      “You’re just leaving?” she said accusingly.

      “There’s nothing to stay for,” he countered.

      “Without even saying good-bye?”

      “Good-bye,” he said coldly.

      “Why did you even *come* here?” she demanded.

      “I told you.”

      “Well, what’s the *real* reason?” she persisted.

      “What do you care?” he shot back.

      “I care!” she insisted.

      He jumped to his feet.  “Well, you sure didn’t look like it back there at that meeting!” he exclaimed, gesturing out the window.

      “I’m asking you a question!” she pressed him.

      “Why did I come?” he repeated.

      “Yes, why?”

      “Because,” he said.

      “Because . . .?”

      “Because I love you!” he burst out as the train lurched and she was driven into his arms.  They stared at each other in shock for an instant, then she pulled away from him and fled down the aisle as he looked after her helplessly.)

    “Oh, Sully—I can only imagine how you must have felt on that long trip back to Colorado alone,” Michaela said gently.

    “It seemed like a much longer trip going back than it did coming,” I admitted.  “But I know it must have been hard for you, too.”

    “Yes,” she said slowly.  “I felt guilty and confused . . .  And then, when I returned to the house, I had a conversation with Mother about you and William,” she added.

    “I can just guess what she had to say,” I commented drily.

    “It’s true that she praised William, and pointed out his many attributes,” Michaela conceded.  “But . . .”

    (“William’s a good man, Michaela,” said Elizabeth.

      “Yes, he is,” she answered softly.

      “And he respects you—both as a woman, and a professional.”

      “Yes, he does.”

      “What other man can you say that about?” her mother asked.

      Michaela gazed at her.  “Sully,” she said.

      “He can’t give you a *complete* life,” Elizabeth objected.

      “What do you mean by ‘complete?’” Michaela sighed.

      “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he mother retorted.  “I mean a *life*--here in Boston—where you can be a doctor, and you can—“

      “There are plenty of doctors in Boston, Mother!” Michaela protested.

      “*And,*” her mother continued.  “Where you can raise your children *properly.*”

      “Well that depends on how you wish to define ‘properly,’” Michaela snapped.

      “Michaela,” her mother said more reasonably.  “I have nothing against your little town, your patients, your Indian
friends . . .”

      “I don’t love William, Mother!” she burst out.

      “Love?” Elizabeth repeated skeptically.  “Well, that never used to be an issue.  When it came to making such important decisions—“

      “As who I spend the rest of my life with?” Michaela cut in.

      “Well, you may think that sounds callous,” her mother said.  “I was taught that a good match—was more enduring than love.”

      “Didn’t you love Father?” Michaela asked.

      “Of course I loved your father,” Elizabeth said immediately.  She paused.  “But I had to choose from a . . . a small selection of men, at a . . . very specific time in my life.  And that was Beacon Hill to Back Bay.  Not Boston . . . to Colorado.

      “I was twenty years old,” she went on, her eyes and voice softening.  “Not a mature woman.  Who knows her own
mind . . .”  She regarded Michaela tenderly.

      “Will you visit again?” she asked.  “Soon?”

      Tears glimmered in Michaela’s eyes as she reached out to clasp her mother’s hand.

      “Yes,” she whispered.  “Soon.”)

    “I guess your ma understood a lot more than I gave her credit for,” I said respectfully.

    “Yes, she did,” Michaela agreed fondly.  “She couldn’t help but be influenced by her own upbringing and experience—but in the end, she realized that you were the only man who could make me happy.”

    “I’m starting to like your ma,” I said.  “And I think maybe her daughter is a lot more like her than she knows.”

    “I know,” Michaela said softly.  “I know.”  She took a deep breath and brushed at the tears which had gathered in her eyes, then said,  “My last duty—was to see William . . .”

    (Michaela knocked on the door of William’s office and heard his voice bidding her to enter.
She opened the door and crossed the threshold.  William’s face brightened at her appearance.  But as he caught sight of her expression, he slowly rose to his feet, the light going out of his eyes as resignation replaced his joy and expectation.

        “When do you leave?” he asked quietly, without preamble.

        “The next train leaves tomorrow morning,” Michaela said.  She hesitated.  “I feel I owe you an explanation . . .”

        “No,” he answered.  “There is no explanation for such matters.  At least—none that I need to hear.”

       Michaela extended her hand encased in a black lace glove.  He stared down at it for a moment, then grasped it in both his own.

        “Thank you,” she said tremulously.  “For so many things . . .”)

     “I think—maybe I misjudged William, too,” I admitted.  “Fact is, he was a good man.”

     “Yes he was,” Michaela agreed.  “The best.  But—he wasn’t the man I loved.”  She gazed at me passionately, tears still shimmering in her eyes.  I reached out and softly caressed her cheek.

     “What happened after that?” I asked after a pause.

     “There’s not much left to tell,” Michaela replied, trying to collect herself.  “The next day we caught the train to St. Louis, then three days after that, the stage to Colorado Springs.  It was—a very  long trip for me, as well,” she said.  “I was so afraid that you wouldn’t be waiting for me when the journey reached its end . . .”

     I swallowed over a lump in my throat.

     “When the stage pulled into town, and we disembarked, you were nowhere to be seen,” she went on.  “I was certain that my worst fear had come to pass—that you didn’t want me.  And then, I felt Colleen’s hand on my back and I turned around—“

     “And I was standing there, watching you,” I continued, as moved as Michaela by the recollection.  “I was so relieved to see you—but terrified too.  I’d been so scared that you’d never come back.  Or that if you did, it would only be to pack up your things and go back to Boston for good.”  I bit my lip.  “I waited—to see what you would do.  You started walking toward me—“

     "And then you smiled at me,” she chimed in.

    “You started to run, one hand holding that silly hat on your head . . .”  I was grinning at her through the tears that had come to my own eyes.

     “Then you swept me into your outstretched arms and spun me around,” Michaela said joyfully.

     “And you said you loved me too,” I choked.

     “And then we kissed,” she added, her voice low.

     “Like this,” I answered huskily, my fingers gently gripping her shoulders as I pressed my lips to hers.

     “I do love you, Sully—with all my heart!” she said a moment later, her voice breaking.

     “I love you, too,” I vowed.

     There was no further need for words.  I drew her into my arms, and proved my adoration.

* * * * * * * * * *
 

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

     Sully set a brisk but reasonable pace as they made their way into the woods.  Ordinarily Michaela would have had little trouble keeping up with him, but the lingering effects of her hangover had sapped her energy.  The lowering rays of the setting sun stabbed into her eyes, rekindling her headache, and her debilitated condition almost immediately caused her to tire and fall behind.  Her face and neck were slick with perspiration, and her hair was slipping free of its pins—lank, oily strands sticking to her sweaty skin.

    Yet she would have sooner died rather than confess her infirmity—and the reason for it—to Sully.  Not only because of her embarrassment and shame at having allowed herself to fall into such a state, but because this expedition to Sully’s campsite was only happening due to her insistence.  After pushing him to allow her to come along, she could hardly admit to him now that she was unequal to the demands of the journey.

     Making a concerted effort to ignore her physical ailments, Michaela put her entire concentration into following Sully.  Unable to lift her eyes to the punishing sun, she focused her gaze on the ground, glancing swiftly upward every so often to keep Sully in sight.

     Infrequently Sully glanced behind him to ensure that she was keeping up.  However, he didn’t let his eyes linger on her, for which Michaela was grateful.  Not only was she embarrassed by her sweaty, disheveled state, but she didn’t want to give Sully any inkling of the hangover which still mortified her.

     After an unknown length of time, which was probably only minutes but which felt infinitely longer to Michaela, Sully spoke.

     “Watch your step through here,” he cautioned her.  “There are a lotta exposed roots in these old trees.  Not good footin’.”

     Michaela noted Sully’s admonition, but didn’t feel particularly concerned.  Forced to shield her sensitive eyes from the sun, she had been looking almost steadily downward, and was satisfied that she was taking sufficient care as she made her way along the rough path.

     A few moments later, she had reason to rue her over-confidence.

     “I’m managing all right,” she replied somewhat breathlessly to Sully’s warning.  He turned to glance at her.  It was difficult for her to read his expression, separated as they were by several yards.  However she thought she could detect a look of longing in his eyes—maybe even affection.  However in the next moment she berated herself, recognizing that she was no doubt attributing emotions to him that he didn’t truly feel.  Just because she had convinced him to allow her to accompany him to the woods—just because she wanted his love and forgiveness so desperately—didn’t mean that he would comply.  Michaela reminded herself that she couldn’t hope for too much—that she didn’t have a right to any expectations.  And yet deep in her heart, she knew that she was still stubbornly praying for a reconciliation between them—despite all the evidence to the contrary.

     She and Sully stared at each other for a brief instant, then he swiftly turned away, training his eyes ahead of him again.  No doubt it was because he found it painful even to look at her; however, Michaela couldn’t help wondering if in fact he was afraid to face her, for fear of revealing too much of his emotions.

     Michaela’s preoccupation with this startling thought momentarily distracted her from concentrating on her footing.  Then Sully spoke again, causing her to focus her eyes on him, rather than on where she was walking.

     “Never hurts to be careful,” he said in response to her statement.  “And those shoes of yours ain’t exactly made for traipsin’ in the woods—“

     The words were no sooner out of his mouth, then Michaela stumbled over a thick root protruding from the ground.          Instantly she went down, feeling her ankle twist sickeningly as she fell.  She was vaguely aware of a second dart of pain as her knee made sharp contact with a twig laying on the ground, but that discomfort was quickly muted by the overwhelming pain of her other injury.

     She wasn’t aware of crying out, but apparently she must have made some sound, because Sully whirled to face her.  He closed the yards between them in a heartbeat, kneeling at her side and regarding her with concern.

     “What is it?” he asked quickly.

     “My ankle,” Michaela gasped, gritting her teeth against the waves of pain that throbbed in time to her pulse.

     “You think it’s broke?” he asked solicitously, reaching out to gently touch her leg.

     She shook her head.  “I’m not sure,” she said, her voice weak.

     “Try to move it,” he advised.  She was afraid to comply, for fear of making the pain worse, but she knew he was right—they needed to establish the extent of her injury, so that they could treat it appropriately.  Warily she revolved her foot, the resultant throb making her groan softly.  But the movement was enough to confirm to her that her ankle wasn’t broken but merely sprained—and for that she silently gave thanks.

     “I think—it’s just a sprain,” Michaela managed, as the pain slowly leveled off from the movement of her ankle.  “But it needs to be wrapped.”

     “Sure,” he said.  He reached for her medical bag, which had skittered away from her when she fell.

       Outwardly Michaela was trying to gather the shreds of her self-possession and maintain a dignified facade, but inwardly, she was racked with guilt.  She had insisted on coming along with Sully on this trip, even though he had resisted the idea.  Granted, she’d had an ulterior motive—the hope that this extra time they spent together would provide the opportunity for more discussion between them—and, perhaps, even a resolution to their conflict.  (Well, if she were going to dream,  then she may as well reach for the moon *and* the stars, Michaela thought.)  But she’d also wanted to join Sully out of a genuine desire to help him.  Certainly she hadn’t wanted to lay still another problem at his doorstep.  Yet that’s exactly what she’d done, despite her ardent desire to the contrary.  Thanks to her clumsiness, not only was she incapable of being of assistance to him now, but he would be forced to tend to her and take her back to Colorado Springs, thus aborting the plans he’d made to construct his shelter.  She could hardly blame him if he were angry or disgusted with her.  She had given him little reason to feel otherwise, by adding to his problems yet again.

     She found herself thinking back to another time they had made a foray into the woods together—when she’d needed to obtain samples of tainted water from Willow Creek, to use as proof against the owner of a local gold mining operation who had contaminated the water supply by dumping mercury into the stream.  Sully hadn’t wanted her to come along that time either—he had protested that the circumstances were too dangerous, and that she would slow him down.  She had argued that her presence was necessary—that there were certain chemical tests she needed to perform to prove the presence of mercury in the water—and reluctantly, he had finally given in to her stubborn insistence to accompany him.  But he hadn’t been happy about it; and sure enough, his dire prediction that she would be more of a hindrance than a help, had come true in short order when she fell and broke her wrist.

     She knew that presently, Sully didn’t remember that earlier trip.  But if he were to recover that memory sometime in the future, she wondered if he would think that she made a habit of injuring herself on these excursions, just to bid for his sympathy and attention.  Certainly she couldn’t fault him if he came to that conclusion.

         Having no other choice, she had been forced to let Sully take care of her on that former occasion, but she had hated being helpless—and worse, proving him right.  Now she was back in the same predicament again, but this time, she had to find a way to manage on her own.  She wouldn’t let history repeat itself, and become a burden to him a second time.

     As she watched him retrieve her medical bag, intending to bandage her ankle, she spoke hastily.  “It’s all right, Sully—I can do it.”

     He looked up at her, his eyes mild.  “No you can’t,” he said matter-of-factly.  “And even if you could, I wouldn’t let you.  You’re hurt, Michaela.  Let someone help you for a change.”  He leaned more closely to her.  “You don’t always got to be so strong,” he added quietly.

     Michaela felt a shiver go through her as his comment eerily echoed the words he’d said to her
on that previous occasion.  Was it a coincidence that they seemed to be reenacting that scene now—especially at the precise moment she had been thinking of it?  Or was there something more going on between them?  She didn’t know, but the circumstances were uncannily familiar.  And almost reflexively, she responded to him in the same manner as she had once before.

     “I’m sorry,” she apologized.  “Old habit, I suppose.”

     “Give it up,” he told her.  Michaela’s head snapped up in shock.  Belatedly, she realized he was regarding her the same way.

     “Sully . . .” she began, then broke off—not sure if she should tell him the significance of his remark or not.  But he settled the matter for her with his next words.

     “I’ve said that to you before, haven’t I?” he asked.

     Michaela started to tremble as the import of his statement registered on her senses.  Her eyes were fastened on his.  Unable to keep the tremor out of her voice, she said, “Do you remember?”

     He closed his eyes briefly, concentrating.  “Not exactly,” he said slowly after a few seconds had passed.  “It’s not so much that I remember sayin’ it—but that there’s somethin’ familiar about it.”

     Excitement momentarily pushed Michaela’s other concerns out of her mind.  “Well, that could be the beginning!” she exclaimed.  “Perhaps that’s how your memory will return—by starting as a familiar feeling, and then becoming specific.”

     “Maybe so,” he acknowledged, sounding as if he were afraid to get up his hopes too much—yet unable to deny a tiny spark of anticipation within himself.  “But we can worry about that later,” he added.  “Right now, we got to take care of you.  You tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

     Feeling suddenly more optimistic, and unable to deny Sully’s logic or the pain of her ankle, Michaela nodded.  She pressed her lips together tightly, suppressing a moan as he untied and gently removed her shoe.  Then he took a rolled bandage from her bag, and she instructed him on how to unwind and wrap the linen snugly around her foot and ankle.
 Sully finished the task in short order and looked up at her for her reaction.

     “How does that feel?” he asked.

     Michaela gingerly moved her foot.  Her ankle still ached, but felt stronger with the support of the bandage.  “Fine,” she said, and then winced as a needle of pain reminded her of the second injury to her knee.

     “Too tight?” Sully said immediately.

     “No,” she answered.  “It’s my knee.  I think I must have cut it.”

     “All right,” he said readily.  “Let’s take a look.”  He stretched out his hand toward the hem of her skirt and reflexively Michaela pulled away, a blush coming to her cheeks.

     “Sully!” she said.  For a moment she didn’t understand why she had shied away from him.  Sully had seen her legs before.  In fact, there had been more than one occasion when she had been far more scantily clad in his presence.  But all that had been before his injury.  The Sully who knelt before her now didn’t possess those memories—at least not yet.  From his point of view, this was the most intimate contact they’d ever had.  Considering this, Michaela couldn’t help but be self-conscious.

     Sully didn’t seem to share her discomfort, however.  On the contrary, he looked mildly amused.

     “Michaela,” he said.  “I been married.  I’ve seen a woman’s—limbs—before.  I’m even willin’ to wager I’ve seen yours before.”  A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

     His relaxed and tolerant reaction served to diffuse some of her tension and shyness.  Feeling slightly foolish, Michaela extended her leg so that Sully could inspect her injury.

     He carefully lifted her skirt away from her knee.  There was a rip in her stocking, and she could see blood pooling from the gash.

     “You’re bleeding,” Sully said softly, his voice sounding oddly vulnerable.  Carefully he rolled her stocking down, his fingers trembling slightly.  She watched as he took another length of bandage and cut off a strip, then pressed the material to the wound.

     After a few moments he lifted the compress away.  She saw him hesitate for an instant, as if transfixed by the sight of her blood vividly staining the white of the bandage.

     “You’ll need chlorine water to clean and disinfect the wound,” she offered helpfully, and Sully shook his head slightly and refocused his attention on her.   He found the bottle of chlorine solution in her bag, then dampened a clean length of bandage and began to blot the cut.  Michaela flinched at the fiery sting and Sully glanced at her swiftly, his eyes remorseful.  He finished cleansing the wound as quickly as possible, then leaned close to her and blew softly on her knee, his breath cool and soothing.  Michaela felt a swell of love for him at the thoughtfulness of his act.

     Finally he wrapped her knee, his touch gentle.  He tied off the bandage, but instead of drawing away, he allowed his hands to linger on her leg.

     Michaela stared at him, feeling the emotional atmosphere between them intensify—as if there were a portent of something powerful yet to come.  She sat very still, with no thought of moving away from his touch.  Their eyes met, and raptly they gazed at one another.

     Seconds passed.  Then Sully dropped his eyes, his fingertip gently tracing the curve of her knee.  After a moment, he lowered his head and tenderly kissed the exposed skin above the bandage.  Michaela felt a deep shiver go through her, and her heart constricted as tears filled her eyes.  Then Sully laid his head in her lap, his cheek carefully pillowed on her knee, and Michaela’s tears spilled over.

     “Oh, Sully,” she whispered, her hand reaching out to stroke his hair.

     At the sound of her voice and the touch of her hand, he looked up at her.  Shimmering tears turned the blue of his eyes to indigo, and she felt as if she were being drawn into their passionate depths.  He spoke without warning, his eyes locked with hers, all pretense—all artifice—stripped away.

     “Forgive me, Michaela,” he said, the words seeming to tumble from his lips as if a floodgate had opened.  “I’m so sorry for hurtin’ you.  I’m so sorry for the terrible things I said.  I didn’t mean them—I swear I didn’t.  ‘Specially what I said about trust.  I trust you, Michaela—I never stopped.  I trust you with my life and I trust you with my heart.  And it’s tearin’ me apart that I was so cruel to you.  Even while I was sayin’ all those awful things, part of me hated myself, but I couldn’t seem to stop.

     “I’m so sorry for lettin’ my anger blot out my reason and compassion,” he went on, barely pausing for breath.  “You tried to explain to me—you tried to make me understand how hard you were tryin’ to help me, but I wouldn’t listen.”

     Michaela was mesmerized, hardly daring to believe what she was hearing.  Finally, in Sully’s eyes, she could see all the love and devotion she had been praying for.  Fleetingly she wondered if she had hit her head and lost consciousness when she fell, and this was all some incredible, extraordinary dream.

     But no—the pain in her ankle and knee was sharp and real.  And the feel of his touch against her skin was firing all her senses, making her heart pound and her blood race.  Not a dream, she thought.  Oh, thank God, not a dream.

     “You listened,” she finally managed, almost too overcome to speak.

     Sully’s eyes, shadowed with guilt, stared into hers.  “No,” he disagreed, in response to her quiet remark.  “I attacked.  I accused.  I didn’t let myself hear what you were sayin’—‘cause I didn’t want to hear it.  I wanted to wallow in my anger, and so what if I hurt you in the process?”  Shame made him turn his face away.

     But she couldn’t let him take the blame for something that was equally her fault—perhaps more than equally.  “Sully, don’t punish yourself so much—you had a right to feel betrayed,” she said gently.  “I lied to you.  I kept a very important truth from you, and refused to tell you why.”

     But his expression continued to be haunted by remorse.  “Sometimes it’s the things a person doesn’t say, that are most important,” he declared.  “In every way you could, short of sayin’ it outright, you tried to show me how much you loved me—how much you cared.  You were tryin’ to speak to me from your heart but I couldn’t listen.  I closed my heart to you.

     “But my heart’s not closed anymore, Michaela,” he vowed, his voice catching as he spoke her name.  His eyes were deep wells of emotion.  “It’s open and overflowin’ with love.  I’m offerin’ my love—and my heart—to you now.”

     He was staring at her nakedly, his emotions no longer concealed behind a neutral mask.  As Michaela gazed back at him, she could feel all her defenses slipping away.

     “I love you,” he whispered.  “I love you with all my heart and soul.”  Suddenly he was cupping her face in his hands and kissing her.  Michaela’s senses exploded with desire, and without conscious thought, she hungrily returned the kiss.  As their mutual ardor fed the flame of their passion, the explosive energy between them grew to a fever pitch.  They pressed close, their questing hands stroking and caressing one another.  Sully buried his face in her hair and she ran her fingers through his.  Michaela reveled in the nearness of him.  The taste and feel of his lips, enhanced by the faint, yet intoxicating scent of him, combined to transport her senses to dizzying heights.  She could feel Sully’s heart pounding, and it’s thunderous rhythm seemed to match the pace of her own.

     Finally, summoning all the will at their command, they drew apart.  Michaela’s skin tingled all over and she realized she was shaking.  A moment later she saw that Sully was equally affected.

     “You’re trembling,” she whispered.

     “So are you,” he answered.  Their hands continued to seek one another, craving the feel of each other’s bodies, just as their hearts craved to be fused into one.

     But suddenly Michaela realized what she was doing.  As desperately as she wanted him—as impossible as she thought it would be to push him away—still she couldn’t allow Sully to offer himself to her with such total abandon, as long as he was still ignorant of the emotional crisis that had precipitated his troubles.  Even if it meant losing him—even if it proved to be her last act of love for Sully, she must tell him the truth.

     But in that instant before she pulled away, Sully seemed to read her mind.  His fingers tightened on her arms as his eyes probed deeply into hers.

     “It don’t matter that you didn’t tell me everythin’,” he said rapidly, his voice husky with emotion.  “None of that matters anymore.  I understand that you did it because you were tryin’ to take care of me, and that’s all I gotta know.”

     “But Sully—“ she began, her resolve to be strong melting away in the heat of his gaze.

     “I don’t matter whether I get my memory back or not,” he continued over her weak protest, his eyes dark and compelling, holding her riveted.  “I loved you before and I love you now.  I need you, Michaela,” he implored.  He captured her hands within his own and kissed them, the feel of his lips as delicate as a butterfly’s wing.  “I want to be with you—to share our lives,” he whispered huskily.  “I don’t want to live without you.  I . . .” his voice choked.  “I don’t think I ever could.”

     The blue of Sully’s eyes seemed to expand in her vision until Michaela felt she was drifting on an azure sea, cradled and rocked in it billowy depths.  All she wanted was to float in this ocean of love forever.  As she took a shuddering breath, Sully spoke again.

     “Marry me,” he said.