Friday, 30 March, 1870

     I hung back as Brendan passed the alley on route to the telegraph office, apparently on his way to send his wire at last.  Intent on his errand, or more likely preoccupied with what had just happened in the clinic, he didn’t notice me.  As soon as he entered the other building, I emerged from the alley, circled around to the front of the clinic, and approached the open door.

     Michaela was standing in the middle of the room, eyes cast downward, her hands folded over the head of her cane.  It almost appeared as if she were in prayer.  Perhaps she was.  Certainly I had been doing some praying of my own during the last quarter hour, asking forgiveness for how I’d hurt her, and giving thanks to the spirits that she hadn’t abandoned me—that she still loved me.  For several long moments I just watched her, admiring her delicate, fragile beauty—a beauty that was deceptive, because it gave no hint of the great strength and courage she carried within.  Finally, however, I took a tentative step inside.  A floorboard squeaked beneath my feet, announcing my presence, and she raised her head suddenly.

     Our eyes met.  I stared at her with longing, but couldn’t seem to find my voice.  As I watched, her lips parted and formed the shape of my name, but she made no sound—apparently as much at a loss for words as I was.  The air between us was charged with a potent energy, making the hairs at the back of my neck stand on end.  Thousands of tiny needles seemed to dance across my skin, and I had trouble getting my breath.  The silence spun out as we gazed at one another.

     Gathering my courage at last, I took a step toward her, then another—and then she was moving toward me, too.  We came together, and her cane clattered to the floor, forgotten, as we pressed close, holding on to one another with an almost desperate intensity.

     For a long time there was no need for words, as our hearts seemed to do all the talking that was necessary.  But finally, I pulled back from her a little, finding her hand and clasping it tightly within my own..

     “I’m sorry,” I whispered brokenly.

     “No—I am,” she answered tremulously, her lashes glittering with tears.  “I’m so sorry for how I treated you before, for being so cruel, Sully.”

     “Shh,” I murmured, tenderly pressing a kiss to her palm.  As I lowered my head slightly to look into her face I added, “I had it coming—and worse besides.”  But she wouldn’t be placated.

     “I did you such a terrible injustice,” she reproached herself.  “You were right—about Brendan, about my mother—about all of it.  But I didn’t want to accept the truth, and I must have caused you such pain because of my stubbornness.”

     “You were just reacting to what I started,” I said.  “I was the one out of control.  I should never have let Brendan get to me like that.  He deliberately tried to get a rise out of me, and I handed him what  he wanted on a silver platter.  I was a reckless fool.”

     “Please don’t speak about yourself that way,” she implored gently.  “You were feeling hurt, and threatened.  And no wonder—I’d certainly given you cause, sending you away as I did.”

     “Because you were feeling upset and confused, over everything your ma said,” I pointed out in my turn.  “You needed time to work things through, and I should have given you that time.  Instead I let Brendan scare me into thinking I was losing you—that you wanted him instead of me.  I never should have doubted you, Michaela.”

     “And I never should have allowed Mother to shake my resolve—to cast doubts in my mind about whether we belonged together,” she said fervently.  “I know how much my confusion and ambivalence must have hurt you.”

     “Seems like we were both confused, letting other people control us, or try to tell us what we should feel—instead of listening to our own hearts,” I said.  “But none of that matters now,” I added  softly.  “Not as long as you love me . . . as long as you still want me.  Do you, Michaela?” I entreated anxiously, my heart pounding.

     “Of course I do,” she whispered passionately.  “I’ve never stopped, Sully—I never will!  I was just so frightened that I’d pushed you too far—that you’d given up on me.  Can you find it in your heart to forgive me, Sully?  Can you still love me?”

   “There’s nothing to forgive,” I answered, my voice trembling a little.  “And as for loving you—I’ll stop loving you when I stop drawing breath.”  I drew her to me again, caressing the shining hair that tumbled down her back.  My arms encircled her as I covered her mouth with mine. Then all was quiet, as we let the language of our hearts fill the silence.

* * * * * * * * * *

     “I feel so decadent, being here with you like this,” Michaela remarked to me later as she sat in my lap with my arms clasped firmly around her.  “What would my patients think if they were to walk in on us?”

     “Well, I hope they’d knock first!” I commented.  “Good thing I had the presence of mind to close the door and give us some privacy, “ I added.

     “Yes, a very good thing,” she agreed, staring at me seductively.  I felt my heart turn over at the expression in her green and amber eyes.  I took a deep breath, trying to calm my galloping pulse.

     “Anyway, as to what people would think—they’d envy me being with the prettiest lady in town,” I replied to her question.  “But I don’t care if anybody walks in.  Let ‘em get their own girl!”   I grinned.

     “Sully!” she said, swatting me playfully.

     “Hey, the doctor has a right to do some ‘snuggling’ with her fella,” I declared.

     “That’s true, but it hardly looks very professional for the doctor to be stealing kisses from her fella in the middle of the day,” she noted, amused.

     “The doctor don’t have to ‘steal’ any kisses—I’m giving them out, free of charge.  Only to a *very* select clientele, though,” I added, unable to resist planting yet another kiss on those luscious lips.

     “I daresay you could teach the men in this town a thing or two,” she remarked a trifle breathlessly as I released her a few moments later.

     “So you think I’m good at kissing, huh?”  I teased.

     “You’ll do,” she said primly.

     “Careful—you’ll turn my head,” I cautioned, smiling.

     “Oh, we wouldn’t want to do that!” she exclaimed in mock concern.  I chuckled and moved in to kiss her again.  She responded with ardor, the curtain of her hair falling forward to cloak us.

     My lips strayed downward to nuzzle the sweet hollow in her throat.  Then up again as my tongue found and teased the sensitive, tender flesh behind her ear.  I felt her body erupt in delicious shivers beneath my hands.

     “Sully?” I heard her say, her voice not quite steady.

     “Hm?” I murmured, intoxicated and distracted by the scent of her skin assaulting my senses.

     “You haven’t asked me about my conversation with Brendan.  Aren’t you curious about what happened?”

     I stopped short—then reluctantly drew away from her, nervously raking the hair back from my forehead as I thought of how I’d played eavesdropper while she and Brendan were talking.  I hated to risk spoiling this special moment by admitting what I’d done, but I had to be honest.

     “About that, Michaela . . .”  I cleared my throat.  “I, uh—kind of have a confession to make.”

     “Well, this seems to be the day for it,” she noted wryly, making a half-hearted attempt to smooth the long, copper locks which I’d tousled in my enthusiasm.

     “Yeah, guess so,” I said uncomfortably.  “You can get up if you’d like,” I offered.  “You may not want to stay in my lap after I tell you.”

     “I’ll risk it,” she said mildly.  “What do you have to confess?”

     I swallowed and wet my lips, which had suddenly turned very dry.  “Well, when you were talking to Brendan, I—I was outside, listening.  I heard everything you said.”  I watched her apprehensively, waiting for her to explode.

     She regarded me serenely.  “I know.”

     “You know?” I repeated, gawking at her.  “But how . . .?”

     She looked at me archly.  “Well, I might be blessed with clairvoyance—“

     “I wouldn’t put it past you,” I broke in wryly.

     “Thank you—I think,” she chuckled.  “But as I was saying—“  She lowered her voice theatrically.   “It *could* be  that I’m clairvoyant—or perhaps it could be that while I was talking to Brendan, I looked out the window and saw your shadow on the wall of the telegraph office.”

     I gave her a sheepish grin.  “So much for me covering my tracks.”

     “I believe you were distracted by other things,” she said kindly.

     “So—you ain’t mad?” I asked hesitantly, still amazed by her reaction.

     She reached out her hand to stroke my cheek.  Her expression was tender.  “No, I’m not mad,” she said.  “In fact, I’m relieved.”

     “Why?” I asked wonderingly.

     “Because you were able to hear for yourself how I feel—and now that you have, I hope that you’ll never again doubt my love or commitment to you.”

     I captured her hand and brought it to my lips.

     “You know, I had the strangest feeling while I was listening—that even though you were talking to him, you were really speaking straight to me,” I replied softly.

     “You were right,” she said gently.

     “Did you know I was there the whole time?” I asked.

     “No—but it didn’t matter.  Because I was speaking from my heart to yours.  It was simply a fortunate coincidence that you were able to hear the words I said aloud.”

     “Maybe not a coincidence,” I ventured quietly.  “Maybe it was meant to be.”

     “Perhaps it was,” she agreed.  She paused, then went on, “But how did you feel about what you heard, Sully?  Did I prove myself to you at last?”

     Overcome with gratitude for her loving and generous spirit, for a moment I was incapable of speech.  But finally, tremulously, I looked into her eyes.

     “You never had nothing to prove,” I managed.  “I was the one who was mixed up and confused, not seeing clear.  How could I have ever doubted you, when all the time, the proof of your love was right in front of my eyes?  I could see it, I could feel it . . .  but I let my mind and my heart be blocked by anger and jealousy.  I’m so sorry for what I put you through, Michaela.  Not just bringing me back from dying, or even the amnesia—but for everything that happened after—all the pain I inflicted on you.”

     “Oh, Sully,” she said softly, the rich contralto of her voice filling my ears like music.

     “I’m the one who needs to prove myself to you,” I went on.  “To make you a promise that I’ll never close myself off to you again—that I’ll never question the depth of your love, or doubt that everything you’ve done has been for my sake.”

     “And will you make me one more promise?” she asked.

     “Tell me,” I entreated, feeling that nothing could be too hard—if it would make up for how I’d hurt her.

     She freed her hand from mine and reached up to brush the hair back from my temple, then let her fingers trail down my jaw to gently cup my chin.  “Stop punishing yourself,” she said quietly, looking intently into my eyes.  “Stop blaming yourself for something over which you had no control.”  Her hand drifted downward, and came to rest over my heart.  “I knew how you felt—in here,” she continued, her voice hushed and tender.  “I think a part of me always knew.  Even when you couldn’t consciously remember me, I could feel that your love was still there.  Just hidden . . . or sleeping—waiting for me to find a way to awaken it.

     “Sully, the fact that any of this happened at all is because you love me—because you were so desperately afraid of losing me!” she said, her tone impassioned.  “But too many times I let myself forget that, because of my own confusion, my own doubts.

     “I’m far from perfect,” she asserted.  “I let my own heart be blinded by petty anger and misunderstandings.  When I think back to some of the things I said, or how I behaved, I’m so ashamed.

     “You went through an unspeakable, terrifying ordeal, Sully.  I said that to others, but I wonder if I ever really understood it myself.  Sometimes I tried to imagine what it must be like for you—what you must be feeling—but I couldn’t.  My mind refused to consider it.  It was too frightening a prospect—and I was too much of a coward to ask myself what I would do if I were in your place.

     “But you LIVED it, Sully.  And suffered, terribly.  And somehow had the courage to try to rebuild your life, even in the face of the possibility that a part of it was gone forever.”

     I was crying and didn’t care, the tears brimming in my eyes and slipping silently down my cheeks.  “But I wasn’t suffering alone,” I said, my voice breaking.  “I had you with me, every step of the way, loving me through all the bad times, easing me through my fear, holding tight to my hand and leading me toward the future.

     “If I’m brave, Michaela, it’s because of you,” I told her, scrubbing the tears from my face and giving her a watery smile.  “Like I told you once, a woman’s love gives a man courage.  And there’s no better proof of that than everything you’ve done for me—everything you’ve sacrificed for me since all this began.

    “What you said—about my being the best part of you . . .  I don’t have the words to tell you what that meant to me,” I said reverently.  “You’re the best part of *me,* Michaela—the reason I keep living, the reason I exist.  You’re the one who got me though this.  You’re the one who made me whole.”

     Our arms slipped around each other and we embraced, with no more need for explanations, or apologies, or spoken declarations of love.  As my arms enfolded her, my chin resting on top of her head, I felt our souls forever uniting into one.

* * * * * * * * * *
 

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

     Later still, after they had both composed themselves somewhat, Michaela dared to broach the one subject they hadn’t yet discussed—or put to rest.

     “Sully—how do you feel about Brendan now?” she asked carefully.

     “Does it matter?” he responded calmly.  “You sent him away—he ain’t a part of this no more.   Never was, I     guess—I just didn’t understand.”

     “No, I never had romantic feelings for him.  Just as you said that you never had those kinds of feelings for Katharine.  But I don’t want there to be even a trace of doubt or uncertainty lingering in your mind.”

     “There ain’t,” he said promptly.  “Not where you’re concerned, Michaela.   I know I said that more than once these past weeks, and then went back on it, letting myself get jealous all over again.  But I swear to you:  this is it.  I will never—“ He kissed her cheek.  “—ever—“  He kissed the other cheek.  “—doubt you again!” he finished dramatically, kissing her lips.  “EVER!” he added for emphasis, and kissed her a fourth time, amid Michaela’s laughter.  Sully’s eyes twinkled.  “You believe me?” he asked.
 
     “I might need a little more convincing,” Michaela answered slyly.

     He gave a gusty sigh, then shrugged elaborately.  “Well, if I *got* to . . .  Come here.”  He pulled her close, pressing his lips to hers.  An exhilarating few minutes ensued as they found pleasure with one another, but eventually they parted.

     “NOW are you convinced?” he said, smiling.

     “What was the question?” Michaela teased.

     He chuckled.  “I think I got my answer.”  He drew her head back to rest on his shoulder as he rhythmically stroked the gleaming strands of her hair.  After a pause he spoke again, but now his tone was soft and subdued.  “I really mean it, Michaela.  I’ll never question your love, or put you through that kind of pain again.  I promise.”  He tipped her chin up so he could see into her eyes.  “I really need you to believe that,” he added.

     “I do,” she answered, her voice equally gentle.  “And I promise to never again be swayed by outside forces, or allow myself to become confused about what I truly feel in my heart.  I want you to believe that,” she said earnestly.

     “I do,” he echoed solemnly.  He gave her a tender smile.  “Feels like we just made our vows to each other,” he said.

    Michaela felt suddenly apprehensive.  A shadow crossed her face as she thought of them professing their wedding vows to one another—a reality that seemed very distant right now—perhaps even unattainable.  “I wish we had,” she murmured wistfully.  Sully cupped her chin again, gazing reassuringly into her eyes.

    “It’ll come, Michaela.  Trust me.   Somehow, I’m gonna make everythin’ right, and then we’ll have the weddin’—and the life—that we dreamed about.”

    With an effort Michaela tried to cast off the pall of unease that had unexpectedly descended upon her.  “I do trust you,” she answered, pinning on a hopeful smile.  “I know we’ll be together, just as we planned.  That you’ll let nothing get in the way of the beautiful future ahead of us.  I suppose . . . I’m just so anxious for it to finally happen.  It was hard enough to wait before you got sick and hurt—“

     “And lost my memories,” he broke in gently.  She nodded, grateful for his understanding.

     “Yes.  But then coming so close to losing you . . . it just made me realize how—precarious—life can be.  Sometimes I feel as if I need to hold onto you with all my might and not let go—for fear that you’ll slip away from me,” she confessed just above a whisper.

     “I’ve felt the same way about you,” Sully admitted in his turn.  “But the one thing you can count on above all else, Michaela, is that I ain’t goin’ anywhere—not without you by my side.  And I’ll never let anythin’, or anyone, take you away from me.  Any time you’re feelin’ scared, or low—you just remember that.  Will you?” he urged.

     “I will,” she promised.

     “Feelin’ better?” he asked, his smile warm and loving.

     “You always make me feel better,” she declared.  “I love you so much, Sully!”  She hugged him impulsively.  His arms tightened around her as he bent to kiss the top of her head.

     “I love you, too,” he answered, his voice choking a little as his throat tightened with emotion.

     They remained that way for some time, quietly locked in each other’s embrace, drawing comfort from one another.  Eventually, however, Michaela saw fit to break the silence.  She drew back to face him.

     “Sully?  May I ask you something else?”

     “’Course—you can ask me anythin’.  You know that.”

     “Well—I don’t want to upset you, or make you angry—but I’d still like to know how you feel about Brendan, after hearing our conversation.  I think—that we need to talk about him a little more.”  She watched with trepidation for his reaction.

    “I ain’t upset—or angry,” he said after a moment, to her relief.  “And if you really feel the need to talk about this, I’m willin’.  But like I said before, I honestly don’t see the point, Michaela.  I know you don’t have feelins’ for him—I know he’ll never come between us again.  So what difference does it make what I think about him?”

    “Everything you say is true, of course,” Michaela acknowledged.  “But I’m sure you must still harbor some resentment toward him.  It’s only natural, considering the circumstances.  And even though I’ve suggested that he leave, your anger may very well linger.  I just thought that perhaps . . . you might feel more resolved—more content—if you could make peace with him before he goes.”

    “Make peace?” Sully repeated skeptically.

    “I understand that it may be difficult to put your anger aside,” she added hastily.  “But Sully . . . when I questioned him—about his encounter with you, and my mother’s involvement—he told the truth.  And I believe that he was genuinely remorseful.

    “I don’t expect that the two of you could ever become friends,” she conceded.  “But perhaps you needn’t part as enemies.”

    He was silent for several moments, his expression mildly cynical.  However presently he said, “I guess I can afford to be generous.  After all, your heart belongs to me—not him.”

    “Yes, my heart is yours,” she affirmed ardently.  “My heart will *always* be with you, Sully.”

    He embraced her again, feeling his love for her swell inside him to fill every part of his being.  After a time he said, “All right—you got your wish.  I don’t know what he’s gonna think about this, and I can’t promise that anythin’ will come of it—but next time I see him, I’ll do what I can.”

    “You’re an extraordinary man, Mr. Sully,” Michaela told him, her eyes locked with his.

    “Just look at my inspiration,” he responded, and claimed her lips once more, as a passionate silence enveloped them both.

* * * * * * * * * *

     “It’s past noon,” Sully observed presently, glancing up at the clock on the wall.  “You gettin’ hungry?”

     “To be honest, I haven’t thought about food recently,” Michaela admitted.

     “I know what you mean,” he agreed.  “It sure feels like we could ‘live on love.”  He gave her an impish smile.  “But you need food for the body as well as the soul.  I know I could do with a little somethin’.  How about we head over to Grace’s for some lunch?  She’s got pecan pie today—your favorite,” he added.

     “I can’t resist that!” she dimpled.

     “Didn’t think so,” he teased.  He helped her to her feet and bent down to retrieve her cane.  “Let’s go over and feed that ‘sweet tooth’ of yours,” he said, giving her the cane and taking her other hand to lead her to the door.

     They’d only taken a step or two when there was a brief rap from outside and the door opened to reveal Matthew in the entrance.

     “Hey Sully, Dr. Mike,” he said as he entered.

     “Matthew,” Sully answered as Michaela smiled in greeting.

     “I’m back in town now, and I can stay all afternoon, so if there’s anythin’ you need to do, I’ll be here,” Matthew offered to Sully.

     “Thanks,” Sully replied.  “I may take you up on it a little later—but for right now, we were headed over to Grace’s for lunch.  Want to join us?”

     “Sure,” Matthew said readily.  “Sounds good.”

     “Maybe while we’re there we can stop in at the livery and talk to Robert E.—work out some kinda schedule among the three of us for guardin’ your ma in the clinic,” Sully suggested.

     “It’s lucky Robert E.’s willin’ to help us out,” Matthew remarked.

     “Yeah—he’s a good friend.  I don’t know how we’d manage between just the two of us,” Sully replied.
 “You’d find a way,” Matthew said simply, his eyes regarding Sully with respect.  “Still, the more help we can get, the better.”

     “But is it really necessary to go to such lengths, Sully?” Michaela suddenly asked.  “I love you for wanting to go to such trouble to protect me—but as I said earlier, the clinic is in the heart of town, with dozens of people surrounding us.  I truly don’t see how anything could happen—at least during the day.  And I feel guilty for making you tie yourself to me here, as well as forcing Matthew or Robert E. to take time away from their other obligations on my account.”

     He looked down into her eyes.  “Sorry, Michaela,” he said regretfully.  “I admire your bravery and all, and you might very well be right about bein’ safe here durin’ the daytime—I surely hope you are.  But I just can’t take the risk.  If anythin’ *were* to happen ‘cause I didn’t take this threat seriously enough—I just couldn’t live with it.  And I’m sure Matthew agrees with me,” he added, glancing at the young man.

     Matthew was already nodding.  “Sully’s right, Dr. Mike.  Better to be safe than sorry.  I don’t mind stickin’ close to you and the kids—if nothin’ else, it’ll give me peace of mind.”

     “Exactly,” Sully said emphatically.

     Michaela smiled in surrender.  “Very well, if you both insist.  I’ll defer to your judgement.”

     Sully raised an eyebrow.  “You mean you ain’t gonna argue?”  He put his hand under her chin, peering into her eyes.  “Are you *my* Michaela—or did you get replaced by some imposter?”  He grinned.

     “Very droll,” she said drily.  “But as to your question—would it do me any good to argue with you?”

     “No,” he said matter-of-factly.

     She shrugged.  “Well, then . . .?”

     “The café was lookin’ pretty crowded when I passed by,” Matthew noted.  “We’d best get over there if we want to get a table.”

     “Well, let’s do it,” Sully said.

     A harsh clamor suddenly erupted from outside, and they heard the sounds of shouting and running footsteps.

     “What is it?” Michaela said startled.

     “Don’t know,” Sully answered, equally alarmed as he moved hastily to the window fronting the street.  He peered through the glass and then looked back at them sharply.  “Saloon’s on fire!” he exclaimed.  He scanned the street again and spotted Hank running back from ringing the alarm bell, bellowing “Fire!” as he headed toward the water trough in front of his business.   His cry was taken up and carried along the street by several others.

     “Oh my God!” Michaela said breathlessly.

     “Better get out there,” Matthew said quickly, heading for the clinic exit.

     “Yeah—I’m right behind you,” Sully told him.  He grasped Michaela’s arms.  “I gotta go help them,” he told her.

     “Of course,” she said.

     “But I don’t want to leave you,” he added, torn by indecision.

     “Sully—they need your help.  Of course you must go,” she urged.  “In fact I should come with you—there may be people burned or injured that need my help,” she said worriedly.

     “NO!” he told her.  “You stay put.  If there’s anybody needin’ help, we’ll bring ‘em here to you.”

     “But Sully—“

     “I mean it, Michaela,” he said strongly, brooking no contradiction.  “I want you to stay here in the clinic, and close and lock all the windows and doors.”

     “Sully, that’s not necessary—“

     “DO IT, Michaela!  Promise me!”  His eyes were burning with intensity.

     “All right, all right—I promise,” she mollified him.  “Go!” she urged again.  “You’re wasting time.”

     “I’ll be back soon as I can,” he said, releasing her reluctantly and backing slowly toward the door.

     “Take all the time you need,” she said.  “And don’t worry about me.”

     “Lock the door behind me,” he instructed again, as he stepped out on the porch.  She nodded, and finally, he tore himself away.

     She moved over to the door and closed it, turning the key in the lock; then crossed to the window, staring out with anxious eyes as she watched a hastily formed queue of men passing buckets up and down the line, flinging water at the flames that blazed from the roof and one side of the building opposite.

     She could see Sully and Matthew among them, as well as Hank, Jake, Loren, Robert E., Horace and the Reverend; their faces and hands rapidly becoming streaked with sweat and grime, and smoke blackening their clothes.  A moment later she spotted Brendan as well, laboring as hard as the rest.

     She couldn’t imagine how the fire had started.  Such an event hadn’t occurred since dog soldiers had descended on the town shortly before her abduction, setting most of the buildings—including the clinic—ablaze.  Could the dog soldiers be responsible for what was happening now?  She ardently hoped not, fearing a new set of repercussions and renewed fighting between the Indians and the army.  Agonizing over the possible cause, and bound by her promise to Sully, she could only stand by helplessly, watching and praying that the blaze would be extinguished and no one would be hurt.

     Belatedly she recalled that she had sworn to Sully to lock the windows and doors.  Reluctantly she left the main room and made her way throughout the clinic, shutting and securing the windows and entrances on the ground level.  She thought briefly of locking the French doors leading to the balcony, as well as the upstairs windows, but then rejected the idea as unnecessary.  No one could possibly gain access to the clinic from the upper story without being spotted.

     As soon as she was able, she returned to the main room and continued to watch the men fighting the fire.  Slowly and surely it appeared they were making progress.  The flames issuing from the side of the saloon had been extinguished, and they were actively working now to subdue the fire consuming the roof.

     It occurred to her that she should make preparations for treating possible burn victims, or those affected by the inhalation of smoke.  She would require bandages, ointment, chloroform to ease the air passages . . .  Relieved to feel that she could be of some use, and ticking off a list of items in her mind, Michaela started to turn from the window to attend to her task.

     A hand closed over her mouth.

* * * * * * * * * *

     Michaela froze, her skin crawling at the feel of the alien hand smothering her mouth and nose.  The fingers bit cruelly into the flesh of her cheek.  A rank odor of stale liquor assaulted her nostrils, and grimly she fought the urge to gag.

     The hand was suddenly replaced by the cold, wicked edge of a knife blade beneath her chin, barely touching the flesh of her throat.

     “You will move back slowly from the window,” a harsh male voice commanded in her ear, his breath hot and repellent.  “If you scream, I will kill the first person who comes to help you.  Do you understand?”  He moved the knife from her neck, brandishing it slowly before her eyes as he awaited her answer.  After a pause, she nodded mutely.

     The knife returned, the flat of the blade sliding across her throat like a lover’s caress.  His other hand seized her upper arm, rudely yanking it back, nearly pulling it from the socket.  Michaela gasped, dimly thinking that she would have bruises there; grateful that he hadn’t dislocated her shoulder altogether.  She had a fleeting moment of wondering if this rough handling would be the extent of her injuries, or if he had something worse in mind for her—much worse.

     “We will move now,” the voice came again.  It was unfamiliar, but Michaela didn’t need to see his face to know the identity of the man who held her.

     Awkwardly, haltingly, they backed toward the center of the room, until they came up against the examination table.  Suddenly her assailant released her, circling her quickly and brandishing the knife before her face once again.

     As she’d instinctively known, she recognized the features of Bloody Knife, though he had sought to camouflage himself by donning white men’s clothes.  A wide-brimmed hat was jammed low on his head, his raven hair tied back and stuffed up inside the crown.  His flat black eyes watched her menacingly as he taunted her with the knife.

     Michaela pressed herself against the edge of the table, recoiling from the blade.  Her arm and shoulder joint ached and she wanted to massage the painful area with her other hand, but she feared making any movement which might startle him into harming her.  Suddenly, with a shock, she realized that she was still holding the cane, her fingers gripping it convulsively.  Simultaneously she became aware of pain in her hand as the ornately carved serpents coiling around the shaft bit into her palm.  She wondered how Bloody Knife had failed to see the walking stick, but could only conclude that he’d been too intent on his intimidation of her to notice.  Or perhaps it was the spirits, watching over her.  At that point she neither knew nor cared, but could only offer up a silent prayer of thanks for this one small advantage.  She huddled before the Indian, willing that her luck would hold and he wouldn’t register the presence of the cane before she could conceal it behind her back.
 Seconds inexorably ticked past, Michaela’s nerves stretching to the breaking point.  She was beginning to think that she couldn’t tolerate the threat of the knife another moment—when suddenly he withdrew it.  Michaela blinked in surprise—then realized the Indian must have felt he had her sufficiently cowed.

     He looked away from her, his eyes darting about the clinic as if searching for something.  Taking advantage of his distraction, Michaela eased the cane behind her, keeping tight hold of the handle.

     After a moment, emboldened by the reassuring feel of the cane pressing into her back, Michaela spoke.  “It was you. You set fire to the saloon.”

     He faced her again and raised the knife, its point glittering ominously.  “You will be silent, or I will kill you now,” he said flatly.  Michaela stood rigidly, impaled by his dagger-like glance.  Again, agonizing seconds slipped past while she waited for his eyes to move away from her.  Finally he broke the contact, simultaneously sidling over to where her medical bag rested on the desk.  He picked it up with his free hand and returned to her.

    “We will leave through the back,” he announced.  “You will act normally—you will not call attention to us.  Remember:  if you cry out, I will kill you—and then I will kill the half-breed as well.”

     Michaela’s stomach clenched, and the color drained from her face.  She felt herself trembling, but nonetheless she was compelled to speak.

     “You—you can’t mean Sully,” she ventured, her voice thin and shaky.  “He’s dead—you shot him.”

     “Do not insult me with lies!” he spat.  “I have been watching for a long time.  You think I do not know that the half-breed lives—as well as the coward Cheyenne?  The half-breed is outside right now, and I will slit his throat if you do anything to raise an alarm.”  He leaned in close to her.  “His blood will be on your hands,” he whispered malevolently.

     Michaela dropped her eyes, cringing back from him and trying to appear as frightened and helpless as possible.  After a pause, apparently satisfied that he had browbeaten her into submission, Bloody Knife stepped back.

     “Move!” he said sharply, gesturing with the knife.

    Michaela raised her chin, taking a deep breath and trying to empty her mind of the fear that was assaulting her in waves.  She focused her concentration on the next few moments.

    “Move!” he repeated, the knife coming dangerously close to her face.  Gingerly she took a step forward, and he moved back another step to allow her to pass him.  Suddenly, without letting herself  think, Michaela brought up the cane, seizing it with both hands and swinging it around in one smooth arcing motion to club him on the side of the head, sending his hat flying.  As the cane impacted with his skull the shaft splintered in two; the bottom half, soaked in blood, whistling through the air to slam against the wall.  Michaela stood as if paralyzed, her hands still holding the silver-topped remnant aloft.

    Breath exploded from the Indian in a sudden whoosh of air as he went down on his knees.  Michaela’s medical bag slipped from his grasp and his hand went to his scalp, blood oozing through his fingers from the freely flowing wound.  Stunned, he lowered his head, shaking it slowly back and forth as if trying to clear it.

    But he was still conscious.  And he hadn’t dropped the knife.

    Desperately trying to keep the shreds of her wits about her, Michaela slowly lowered her hands, the remains of the cane pointed before her like a dagger.  Keeping her eyes riveted to the form of the injured scout, she carefully began to back away.

    Bloody Knife lunged at her, his movement a blur of motion as his bellow of rage rang in her ears.  Before Michaela could register what was happening, his arm was around her throat, pressing suffocatingly against her windpipe.

    She fought for air, as black spots began to dance across her vision.

    “You will pay for that,” he hissed, and Michaela felt an explosion of pain in her neck and shoulder.

    Then . . . nothing.