Savannah’s Hero

By

Diana Bold

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.

Savannah’s Hero

Copyright© 2006 Diana Bold

ISBN: 978-1-60088-111-4

Cover Artist: Sable Grey

Editor: Leanne Salter

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission,
except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

Cobblestone Press, LLC

www.cobblestone-press.com

Dedication

To my friends at the WPD and HCSO, especially Debby, Heather, Beth, Michelle, Kurt, Jim, Joe Hip, Joe B, Art, Milan, and
Craig. Thanks for keeping me company on the dark side. You’re the dysfunctional family I never had.

Prologue

May 6, 1864

Tristan Kane sprawled flat on his back in a bed of pine needles and dirt, staring numbly at the inferno blazing all around

him. The trees to his right looked like giant demons, swaying in some macabre dance, while their fiery dirge roared
relentlessly in his ears.

Lifting a hand to his throbbing temple, he probed the painful gash that seemed to be the source of his confusion. Blood

stained his fingertips when he pulled them away. For a moment he merely stared in fascination. Nearly four years of war, and
this was the first time he’d been wounded.

Fighting a wave of nausea, he struggled to sit up, only to find he’d lain among a sea of corpses, both friend and foe. The

blue and gray uniforms were impossible to distinguish, covered as they were by filth and blood.

Beside him lay Tom Skinner, a private who’d not yet seen his eighteenth birthday. Tristan turned his face away from the

boy’s sightless blue eyes and bowed his head, overwhelmed with grief and exhaustion.

He was so sick of this damnable war.
What had happened? He recalled being sent to the center of the line to help Longstreet hold back Wadsworth’s Union

troops, but everything after that was a blur. He’d been riding in front of his men, trying to guide them through the chaos and
smoke, afraid he was leading them in circles…

Oh, God. His gaze swept over the carnage surrounding him until it settled on the dull black coat of a dead horse.

“Calypso?”

He surged to his feet and stumbled toward the animal that had faithfully carried him through hell and back these last four

years. Her sleek, ebony neck had been torn apart by shrapnel.

“No,” he whispered, dropping to his knees. He pressed futilely at the wound, as if he could somehow save her.
“No,” he moaned again, closing her sightless brown eyes with a trembling hand. He couldn’t bear to lose her. She was

all he had left of home, his only link to the thoroughbred horses that had once been his heritage, until he’d turned traitor in the
eyes of his family and friends.

The flames crept closer, but he no longer cared. Calypso was gone—perhaps he should join her. There was a bit of

honor in that, wasn’t there? Rather like a captain who refuses to leave his sinking ship.

He closed his eyes, wondering if a bullet had grazed him or if he’d hit his head when Calypso buckled beneath him. Why

did he continue to survive while everything he loved died?

Almost everything. Memories of a beautiful girl with auburn hair and deep blue eyes overwhelmed him, reminding him

he still had something to live for. He’d broken Savannah McKenzie’s heart when he left her, but he couldn’t bear the thought of
leaving things unresolved between them.

An unearthly scream of pain rent the air, interrupting his thoughts and drowning out the steady staccato of distant battle

and the roar of the fire. The unrelenting heat consumed everything in its path, swallowing the wounded alive.

The acrid smell of burning flesh wrenched him from his despair. He wasn’t ready to die. Not yet.

He unfastened Calypso’s cinch, falling backward as the saddle came free. For a moment the heavy

weight defeated him, but leaving it behind wasn’t an option. Supplies had become nonexistent in the
Confederacy. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he clutched the familiar leather bulk to his chest
and stumbled to his feet.

Like so many before, the day became something to survive. Every step he took through the smoldering underbrush was a

victory, something the Yankees couldn’t take from him.

At last he made his way to a small, winding creek the fire hadn’t yet reached. He stumbled down the bank, coughing and

choking.

Dropping the heavy saddle, he sank to his knees and crawled to the edge, desperate for a drink. The water ran red with

the blood of men who’d died further upstream, but he hesitated only a moment before dunking his entire head into its lukewarm
depths, then swallowing greedily from his cupped hands.

Shaking the excess water from his hair, he leaned back against the muddy bank, trying to catch his breath. He didn’t know

how far he’d come, but he was past the point of exhaustion. Maybe it would be all right if he closed his eyes for a few seconds.
God, how he needed some sleep...

A sound in the trees across the bank roused him. Earlier he’d been oblivious to his

surroundings, but now he saw he wasn’t the only one who’d taken refuge at the creek. Dozens of
wounded men lined the water’s edge. Most looked beyond hope, waiting for death, but someone moved
among them, tall and unharmed. The stranger stooped periodically beside each dying man, as though
looking for something.

A gust of hot wind cleared the smoky haze that hung over the water, revealing a glimpse of Yankee blue. Tristan’s

tenuous thread of control snapped in an explosion of rage. The son of a bitch was looting, searching through the pockets of men
who weren’t even dead yet.

He reached for his gun and leveled it, blinking back a trickle of sweat and blood. Determined to rid the world of at least

one more Yankee before he met his own fate, he pulled the trigger.

The enemy went down, but at the same moment a wave of excruciating pain swept through Tristan’s left leg. He glanced

down in confusion, fearing his gun had misfired.

“Damn it, Tristan.” The familiar voice jolted Tristan out of his confusion, drawing his gaze back across the creek. His

victim laughed and sank to the ground, pressing a hand over the ragged wound in his left thigh. “I knew you were pissed, but I
sure as hell didn’t think you’d shoot me.”

Tristan’s gaze was riveted on the face of the man he’d just shot, a face identical to his own. “Michael,” he whispered,

fear and guilt slamming into his gut.

Dear God. He’d just shot his twin brother.

Chapter One

Summer, 1871 - Colorado Territory

Tristan Kane hated to kill a man before breakfast. It ruined the whole damned day.
The first tendrils of daylight were streaking across the eastern horizon when he strode out the front door of the seedy

hotel where he’d spent the night. Despite the early hour, a crowd had gathered along the wide, dusty street that ran through the
center of town.

Tristan let his gaze drift over the ragged group of cowboys and shopkeepers, willing them to feel his contempt. Christ,

didn’t they have anything better to do at this time of day than watch him put another unwanted notch on his gun?

A duel at dawn. He’d never been involved in anything so ridiculous, unless he counted the war. He was a gun for hire,

not a dime novel villain. Why had he agreed to this?

Last night’s lunacy could only be attributed to an overabundance of whiskey and rage. The last

thing he needed was another ghost to haunt him.

“Kane.” The crowd parted and Johnny Muldoon stepped off the wooden boardwalk in front of the elaborate, false-

fronted mercantile. “I’m surprised you decided to show.”

Tristan sighed, then inhaled the clean, crisp scent of pine, borne on a cool breeze from the wooded slopes behind him.

He’d played out this scene before, in countless dusty Kansas railway towns, but for some reason he’d thought things would be
different in Colorado. He’d hoped to outrun his reputation, escape the scent of death that clung to him like the dark clothes he
wore.

He should have known it would take more than a change of scenery.
“Surprised?” Tristan questioned. “I’d say you’re scared shitless.”
The crowd tittered. Johnny’s face blanched parchment white, making his freckles more prominent. “You’re talking to the

man who’s going to send you to hell, Kane. You’d best mind your manners.”

“Man?” Tristan taunted. “All I see is a scared little boy.” Johnny was perhaps twenty years old, but looked even

younger. The kid wanted to make a name for himself, but beneath the bravado his terror was obvious. He still feared death,
which was why it would be so easy for Tristan to kill him.

The man who won a gunfight was usually the one who didn’t give a damn whether he lived or died.
“I ain’t afraid of you.” Johnny’s voice held steady, but his gaze veered left, to a dark-haired girl on the sidelines. Tears

streaked her pale face, and her mouth moved soundlessly, as though she chanted a prayer.

Was she his wife? His sweetheart? He cursed beneath his breath, wishing he hadn’t seen her. How could he gun this boy

down while the woman who loved him watched?

He let his attention slide from his opponent to the tidy shop fronts and well-kept homes lining the quiet, dusty street. He’d

give anything to belong here, to have a chance at the kind of peaceful, everyday life the war had stolen from him, the kind of
life these people took for granted.

But Johnny had proven that was never going to happen. It didn’t matter how fast or how far he ran, he could never shake

his past.

Perhaps I should let the kid win.
The thought took hold and tumbled through his mind. All he had to do was let that moment, the one when he knew the kid

was going to draw, pass by. Then it would be over. At last his nightmarish existence would end.

Could he do it? Did he have the guts?
He’d come to Colorado to find his brother’s best friend, Joel McKenzie. Joel was a doctor and had been with Michael

until the end. He’d planned to ask Joel about Michael’s last few moments of life, desperate to know if his brother had forgiven
him, but maybe he wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to know. Not really.

He walked out into the middle of the street, letting his hand fall away from his gun. “Go ahead, Johnny. Let’s see how

brave you are.”

It would have been so simple. Johnny’s face was easier to read than a grade school primer. He saw the moment of

resolution, knew the exact second Johnny decided to kill him.

His hand twitched reflexively, but he didn’t go for his weapon. Instead, he waited for death to take him.
The bullet whined by, missing him by several feet.
Shit. Disbelief rose in his throat, choking him. Nothing in his life had ever gone the way it was supposed to. Why had he

expected this to be any different?

He unbuckled his gun belt and threw it on the ground, advancing menacingly on his opponent. “Do it,” he snarled. “You

want to be a hero. You want to be the one to take me down. So what are you waiting for? Shoot me!”

Johnny shook his head and stumbled backward in an attempt to escape.
“Coward.” Tristan turned away in disgust and headed back toward the hotel. It had been a long time since he’d been this

ashamed of himself. His life was in shambles, but he didn’t want it to end this way. He didn’t want to die like a dog, gunned

down in the middle of the street.

He’d only taken half a dozen steps when something slammed into his back. The force of it drove him to his knees. He

blinked in confusion, unsure what had happened until he heard Johnny’s triumphant shout.

“I did it. I killed Kane.”
Funny. He’d never taken the kid for a back shooter.
The murmur of shock that rippled through the crowd seemed to come from very far away. He crumpled forward but,

before darkness could claim him, his gaze locked upon a familiar face.

Joel, he thought numbly. He’d finally found Joel.

* * * * *

Joel McKenzie wasn’t in the habit of watching men gun each other down in the streets, but today he’d stood frozen on the

sidelines, watching as a ghost from his past attempted to commit suicide.

Tristan Kane.
Of course it was Tristan. It had to be Tristan. But for one heart-stopping moment he’d thought it was Michael.
The shock had kept him from stepping forward, and now Tristan lay broken and bleeding on the ground.
“Do something, Uncle Joel. You’ve got to help him.” Joel’s young nephew, Billy, looked at him imploringly, horror

widening his big, blue eyes.

Joel bit back a curse, wishing Billy wasn’t here to see this. Would he make the connection between this man and his

father who had died so long ago? “Go get my bag. It’s under the seat in the wagon. And find your Uncle Ian. We’ll need his
help.”

“Yeah, sure.” Billy backed away, his gaze glued to Tristan’s inert form, then finally turned and ran.
Pushing through the stunned crowd, Joel knelt in the dirt beside the man who had been his friend since their childhood in

Maryland. A thready pulse beat in Tristan’s throat, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Tristan wasn’t dead. Not yet, anyway.
The crowd pressed in, their initial shock at Tristan’s insane behavior giving way to morbid curiosity. Joel glanced up

distractedly. “Give me some room here.”

They moved back a few steps, but not nearly enough. He hadn’t practiced medicine in quite some time, and he didn’t

want an audience. Especially now, with this patient.

He eased Tristan onto his side, cursing when he saw the widening crimson pool beneath him. A quick examination

assured him the bullet had lodged in Tristan’s right shoulder. It probably hadn’t hit anything vital, but he was losing far too
much blood.

“Will he live?” Sheriff Patrick Keegan poked Tristan’s inert body with the toe of one expensive black boot. “I don’t

want him bleeding all over my jail.”

Joel glared until Keegan removed the offending foot. “I don’t know if he’ll live, Sheriff. But you’re not taking him to jail.

He’s not wanted for anything.”

Keegan set his jaw in an angry line and tilted the brim of his hat so it threw his wolfish face into shadow. “How the hell

would you know?”

“I’ve kept track. He’s a friend of mine.” Joel glared at the town’s only lawman. He’d never liked the self-righteous son

of a bitch.

“Oh really, doc?” Keegan gave a mocking smile. “How many other gunfighters do you count among your friends?”
“Just this one,” Joel replied, refusing to be baited. “I’m taking him home with me. If you need him for anything, that’s

where he’ll be.”

Billy returned with Joel’s long unused black medical bag, interrupting the battle of wills. Joel also noticed his older

brother, Ian, pushing through the crowd from the opposite direction. Relieved to have his brother at his side, Joel turned his
back on the sheriff and concentrated on stopping the flow of blood oozing from Tristan’s shoulder.

“Damn you, Tristan,” he whispered. But he knew he was too late. Tristan Kane had been damned a long time ago.

* * * * *

“Mama!”
Savannah Kane put aside the bucket of nuts she’d been shelling and stood, shading her eyes with her hand. Her ten-year-

old son, Billy, galloped down the dusty road from town, pushing his mount to breakneck speed.

“Mama,” he called again, excitement making his voice shrill. “You’ll never guess what happened.”
She stepped off the shady, covered porch into the heat of the summer day. Billy’s horse pranced and blew nervously as

he pulled up in front of the house. She caught the animal’s bridle, soothing him with soft words of comfort while Billy leapt off

his back and slid to the ground.

“A gunfighter,” Billy exclaimed, gesturing back toward town. “He’s been shot. Joel and Ian are bringing him home in the

wagon.”

Savannah shook her head in confusion. “Why on earth would Joel bring someone like that here?”
Billy shrugged. “I don’t know. He said they were friends. From the war, maybe? Anyway, he sent me ahead to tell you to

boil some water and find some clean bandages. They’ll be here any minute.”

Joel had never mentioned knowing a gunfighter, but there were a lot of things about that cursed war he kept to himself.

“All right,” Savannah muttered. “I suppose we can put him in grandpa’s old room, but I don’t like it.”

She turned back toward the sprawling, white farmhouse, stopping short when Billy moved to follow her. “Oh no, you

don’t,” she said, pinning him with a look. “I want you to walk that horse, and then give him a good rubdown. What were you
thinking, running him in this heat? Ian would skin your hide if he knew, and I have a good mind to tell him.”

Cattle kept food on the table, but horses were the lifeblood of the McKenzie ranch.
Billy opened his mouth to argue but then snapped it shut, managing to look properly chagrined. “You’re right, Mama. I’m

sorry.” He grabbed the horse’s reins and took off toward the barn.

Savannah watched him for a moment, then sighed and hurried up the steps to the house. She didn’t share Billy’s

enthusiasm at the prospect of having a known killer in her home, but she was intrigued by the fact that Joel had chosen to bring
a patient here.

He hadn’t practiced medicine in years, and she was pleased something had happened to jar him out of his self-imposed

punishment. This would be good for him. Besides, she was sure he wouldn’t bring the man here if there were any real danger.

Working quickly, she pulled on the pump over the sink until water filled one of her largest pots. She put it on to boil and

then grabbed some clean rags from the linen closet to use as bandages.

Upstairs, she stripped the heavy quilt from the bed her father had slept in until his death two years ago, and then covered

the mattress with a big oilcloth and the oldest sheets in the house. They couldn’t let the man die, but she wasn’t about to let
some gunfighter bleed all over her mother’s fine featherbed.

Stepping back, she surveyed the large corner bedroom where her father had spent his last days. She still gave the room a

thorough cleaning every week. The oak nightstand and dresser were free of dust and the lace curtains, which let sunlight
through the two banks of windows, were pristine white.

The old wagon groaned and creaked outside the window, scattering her thoughts and alerting her that her brothers had

returned with the patient. She peered through the glass and noticed the unfamiliar black horse tied to the back of the vehicle.
Even from this distance, she could tell the animal was a beauty.

Joel and Ian struggled to hoist the man’s inert body from the wagon bed, and Billy raced out of the barn to help them. At

last they headed toward the house, the gunfighter balanced awkwardly between them.

Savannah rushed down the stairs and threw open the back door. As they approached, her gaze was drawn to the

stranger’s burnished blond hair and dusty black clothing. He was large and lean—familiar somehow. They drew closer, and
the sight of the man’s pale, blood-streaked face riveted her.

Her heart stopped, and then picked up again double time. Joel’s patient was no stranger. He was Tristan Kane. The only

man she’d ever loved.

Chapter Two

Pain. Blinding, twisting pain.
A red-hot curtain of agony blurred Tristan’s vision. Terror pierced him when he heard the low murmur of voices. He’d

gotten his wish—Johnny had shot him. But apparently death didn’t bring the peace he’d hoped for.

“I’m in hell,” he whispered, knowing there was no other explanation. He hadn’t earned heaven.
A sharp laugh erupted from his right. “Not yet. But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll make it there eventually.” The voice was

all too familiar. No demon; simply part of his past.

He forced his eyes open, wincing when Joel McKenzie’s face came into focus. “God. Not you.”
It was strange to see his old friend after all this time. So much had changed, yet Joel still looked remarkably the same.
“If you wanted to kill yourself, why didn’t you do it somewhere else? You knew I couldn’t let you die, you son of a

bitch.” Joel’s voice was weary and bitter, and Tristan realized looks could be deceiving. Joel had changed nearly as much as
he had.

Tristan met Joel’s furious gaze for a long, tense moment. “How could you let me live?” he said at last. “You know what I

am. What I’ve done.”

Joel shook his head and turned away to wash his hands in a basin of steaming water near the bed. “I know what you think

you are. But I’m in no position to judge.”

Tristan closed his eyes, humbled and shamed. Joel had always possessed the ability to see both sides of a situation. It

was an attribute Tristan had long envied, for he had never known anything but black and white.

Abrupt and businesslike, Joel asked, “Can you turn over? I need to dig out that bullet and stitch you up before you lose

any more blood. You were lucky. You’ll be sore and weak for a while, but it really isn’t that bad.”

Tristan ignored Joel’s request. He’d hidden the scars that criss-crossed his back for years and didn’t intend to let anyone,

even Joel, see them now.

“Quit being stubborn, Tristan. Joel’s only trying to help.” A soft, feminine voice intruded on the silence, shaking Tristan

to his very soul.

Until this second he hadn’t thought to question his surroundings, but now he realized Joel must have taken him home

instead of to his office. He turned his head slowly, hoping he was hallucinating. But as he’d feared, Joel’s sister, Savannah,
stood on the other side of his bed.

Her blue eyes were dark with concern, and her auburn hair fell about her slim shoulders in riotous disarray. If he’d

looked in her direction first, he’d have thought he was in heaven, not hell, because she was still lovelier than any angel.

“Get her out of here,” he muttered, speaking to Joel, but unable to tear his gaze from Savannah. “Then I’ll do whatever

you want.”

“Nonsense. Joel needs me to assist him.” Savannah’s voice was smooth and determined, but he saw the hurt that flared in

her beautiful eyes.

Joel seemed oblivious to the undercurrents. He laughed, his good humor restored. “Tristan, you remember Savannah,

don’t you?”

Of course Tristan remembered her. She’d been seventeen the last time he’d seen her. A lovely little butterfly—battering

the hell out of his heart with her gossamer wings.

He’d always loved her, even when they were children and she’d followed him around like a lost puppy. When they’d

grown older, he’d courted her for nearly a year. He’d intended to marry her, but the war had ruined his plans.

She’d never understood his decision to fight for the Confederacy, especially since her entire family had remained loyal

to the Union. She’d begged him not to go, forcing him to make a choice. He’d foolishly walked away from her, starting the
downward spiral that had ended this morning when Johnny Muldoon had put a bullet in his back.

She’d crossed his mind more times than he could count during the last few years, but he’d always assumed she’d married

someone else long ago. A quick glance at her left hand proved his supposition wrong. He knew a moment of sharp, stinging joy
when he saw she didn’t wear another man’s ring.

To cover his discomfort, he glared at her, willing her to go away. He could take anything at this stage in his life except

renewed hope.

Savannah stared back, her blue gaze steady and searching. “It’ll be all right, Tristan. I promise.”
He didn’t want her promises, didn’t want anything from her at all. It was too late now to think about what might have

been. Besides, she would be horrified when she found out what he had become.

The hell with it, he thought, struggling to turn over as Joel had asked. Let them look. The mess a Yankee prison guard had

made of his back would send Savannah running faster than any words ever could.

Joel stepped forward and helped him shrug out of his shirt. Dried blood made the cloth stick to the wound. Despite

Joel’s gentleness, Tristan nearly passed out from the pain.

Joel drew in a sharp, shocked gasp when the cloth fell away, revealing what lay beneath. “What the hell happened to

you?”

“Elmira,” Tristan answered. “One of the guards took a dislike to me.” As he spoke, he held Savannah’s gaze, daring her

to flinch or look away.

She did neither. Her eyes widened but, other than that, she gave no visible sign of the disgust she must be feeling. He

wondered why it surprised him. She’d always been brave; his pretty little Savannah.

It was all too much. He’d expected to see Joel, had known he’d have to face some painful truths by coming here. But he

hadn’t prepared for Savannah. She made him long to be the man he’d been before war and guilt had changed him.

The memories came fast and hard, overwhelming him. He was drowning in the depths of her eyes, losing the distance he

struggled so hard to maintain.

“Oh, Tristan,” she whispered.
He couldn’t bear the pity he heard in her soft voice. Closing his eyes, he flexed his shoulder, welcoming the intense pain.

It broke over him in waves, chasing away the image of a little girl with skinned-up knees and auburn pigtails who had looked at
him as though he’d hung the moon.

It was better if Savannah pitied him. God knew he no longer deserved her love or respect.
Darkness stole into the corners of his consciousness, and he let it claim him. Oblivion was far preferable to the agony of

remembrance.

* * * * *

“Is he all right?” Savannah tried to remain calm, but it was impossible, given the fact that Tristan had just gone still as

death.

Joel leaned forward and pressed two fingers to the tanned column of his patient’s throat, then drew back with a look of

relief. “He’s unconscious. It’s probably for the best. I’m going to take the rest of these bloody clothes off, and then I’ll need
you to help me turn him.”

“I’ll try.” Shaken to the core by the events of the last ten minutes, she was unable to do anything but watch as her brother

stripped Tristan Kane bare, then wrapped a sheet around his lean hips.

She traced the familiar contours of Tristan’s beloved face with her gaze, finding all the little ways in which time and

disillusionment had aged him. There were fine lines around his eyes, and his sensual mouth seemed perpetually grim. His brow
was furrowed with pain, and she longed to bend forward and brush her lips against the lean curve of his sun-bronzed cheek.

Unfortunately, she’d given up the right to comfort him long ago.
At Joel’s signal, she reached out and placed her hands on Tristan’s body. She braced one on his bare shoulder, the other

at his waist, trying to ignore the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips.

A lock of his hair brushed her knuckles, and she gave in to the urge to tuck the errant strands behind his ear. She’d

always loved his hair. It was the color of wheat, thick and rich, too long now, but still beautiful.

Tristan’s hair was exactly the same color as Billy’s. Dear God, what am I going to tell him about Billy?
Joel began probing the wound, and she forced herself to concentrate on holding Tristan steady. It was difficult because

the sight of his blood made her tremble with terror. She’d assisted Joel before and had grown accustomed to the death and
violence men did each other, but this time everything was different.

Tristan wasn’t just another patient. He meant far more to her than he should.
“How about you? Are you all right?” Joel flicked the twisted ball of lead he’d extracted from Tristan’s body into a tin

dish on the dresser. Irrelevantly, she noted that it was the same dish her father had once used for spare change. Joel’s blue gaze
held hers in silent understanding. “I know this must be hard for you.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her brother knew something of her feelings for Tristan Kane, but even he

couldn’t possibly realize how difficult she found it to be here, touching this man who she’d loved one way or another for as
long as she could remember.

She handed Joel the basin of hot water then watched as he washed Tristan’s skin. The metallic scent of blood assaulted

her senses, and she gave in to the insistent pull of memories in an attempt to escape it.

Ten years had passed since she and Tristan had parted, but her heart had always belonged to him, never to Michael.
Michael. The thought of her late husband riddled her with guilt, as it always did. She turned her face from Joel’s

sympathetic gaze and squeezed her eyes shut, determined not to let the threatening tears fall. Was it so wrong to be happy that
Tristan had survived the war when Michael had not?

Of course it was wrong. She’d given Tristan an ultimatum, her or the Confederacy, never dreaming he’d turn and walk

away. Broken-hearted and pregnant, she’d turned to Tristan’s twin, begging him for help. Michael hadn’t wanted Tristan’s
child to be born a bastard so he’d proposed, graciously saving her reputation in the bargain.

He’d wanted a true marriage, though she hadn’t realized it at the time. He’d promised to give her time to get over Tristan

and grow accustomed to the thought of sharing his bed, but he’d left for the war just days after their wedding, and she’d only
seen him twice after that. Both times she’d refused his advances.

Then he’d been killed. Guilt and regret had been her constant companions ever since.
She never should have married Michael. She should have been stronger. She should have proudly admitted that the child

she carried belonged to Tristan and waited for him to come back.

Joel began to stitch the ragged wound, and her gaze fell to the scars that knotted Tristan’s upper back. Prison, he’d said.

Until today she hadn’t even known he’d spent time in Elmira. He’d been whipped. She couldn’t imagine what else he’d
suffered.

One thing was certain, Tristan was no longer the sweet, quiet boy she’d fallen in love with. He was a gunfighter. A

hardened, cold-blooded killer.

At last Joel finished and stepped back, washing his hands in a basin of water. He’d read an article by an English doctor

named Lister not long ago. She’d heard him say a dozen times in the last few months that he could have saved hundreds of men
during the war if he’d only known then what he knew now. As far as she knew, this was the first time he’d had a chance to use
those principles.

She prayed they worked.
“I need to get out of here for a few minutes,” Joel told her, his voice rough with emotion. “Would you mind staying with

him for a while?”

Savannah wanted to protest. She needed to escape. She needed time to pull herself together after the shock of seeing

Tristan again. But she knew this had been hard on Joel, too.

Michael had died in Joel’s care, of a gunshot wound Tristan had inflicted. She wondered if her brother blamed Tristan,

or if he truly believed it to be the accident he’d described when he’d told her of her husband’s death.

“Go ahead,” she murmured. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be fine.”
Joel dried his hands and cleared his throat. “I’ll be back soon.”
The moment the door closed behind him, Savannah sank into her mother’s cane rocker and took Tristan’s hand. “Don’t

you dare die. I can’t bear to lose you again.”

* * * * *

After leaving Tristan in Savannah’s capable hands, Joel headed for the liquor cabinet in the parlor. He pulled out a bottle

of old scotch, intent upon drowning his guilt and anger in the bottom of a glass.

“That’s not the answer, Joel.” Ian’s reproving tone startled Joel so badly he nearly dropped the bottle. He’d been so

focused on his goal he hadn’t even noticed his brother in the room.

“Mind your own business.” Joel turned to give Ian a scathing glare. “You don’t know anything about it.”
“Don’t I?” Ian raised an eyebrow and put aside the book he’d been reading. He leaned back in the old leather chair that

had been their father’s favorite. “How is he?”

Joel grabbed two glasses and sat down in the chair across from his brother, pouring them both a shot. “He’s lost a lot of

blood, but I think he’ll be fine.”

The bracing scent of the whiskey made his hands shake. It had been a long time since he’d given in to his weakness, but

he was badly in need of liquid courage tonight.

Ian took the glass he offered, downing the drink in one quick swallow. “I nearly had to hogtie Billy to keep him away

from Tristan’s room, especially after I told him Tristan was his uncle. He’s got a bad case of hero worship. In fact, I think he’s
out practicing his quick draw right now.”

“Wonderful.” Joel grimaced and put his drink aside, untouched. Ian was right. He’d need all his wits about him if his

patient’s condition worsened. “He’s changed.”

“Haven’t we all?” Ian stared off into space for a moment, obviously battling his own demons. They seldom spoke of the

war, and Joel had no wish to dredge up the past tonight.

“I shouldn’t have brought him here, but all I could think about was getting him away from that crowd. I couldn’t let him

die that way. Not after I lost Michael.”

Ian’s blue eyes held sudden understanding. “Michael’s death wasn’t your fault, Joel.”
Joel gave a bitter laugh. “Wasn’t it? The wound Tristan received today is far worse than the one he gave Michael. I made

a mistake. That’s the only reason Michael isn’t with us today, happily married to Savannah and raising a passel of children.”

Ian shook his head, his dark hair falling over his forehead. “You’re a doctor, not God. You did the best you could.”
Joel buried his face in his hands, unable to meet his brother’s confident gaze. “I wish I could be sure.”
But he could never be sure. And he didn’t want to tell Ian his reason for doubt. How could he admit he’d been stumbling,

stinking drunk the day Michael died?

But how much longer could he hide it now that Tristan had come back into their lives?

* * * * *

Tristan ran.
His heart pounded in his chest, and each breath of smoke-filled air strained his burning lungs. No matter how fast he

ran, he couldn’t escape the death and destruction that followed him.

Crashing through the blazing undergrowth, he dodged the bloody, sightless corpses littering his path. Bullets whined

like angry bees past his ears, and the thundering roar of cannons reverberated inside his pounding head.

He never would have found his way through the chaos if not for the voice that called from up ahead, prodding him

on. A voice that sounded so much like his own.

“Just a little farther. You’re almost there.”
His limbs leaden, Tristan fought to take those last few steps. He couldn’t breathe. Michael was so close now but,

when he stretched toward him, his hand closed on thin air. Michael slipped away from him, as he always did.

“You killed me.” Michael reappeared, suddenly serious, his image shimmering just beyond reach. “Why did you do

it? How could you kill me?”

Tristan fell to his knees, clenching his fists as the flames drew nearer. “I’m sorry, Michael,” he sobbed, tears

streaming down his cheeks. “I’m so damned sorry.”

And then the fire consumed him.
When Tristan awoke, he was drenched in sweat and trembling from the reality of the nightmare. It was the same dream

he’d had nearly every night since Michael’s death, but it never lost its power. Sometimes he went days without sleep just to
escape it.

He attempted to sit up, but sank back with a groan when a shaft of pain ricocheted through his shoulder. He surveyed his

surroundings warily, battling overwhelming weakness and disorientation.

Where the hell was he? Moonlight spilled through an open window, and filmy white curtains fluttered in the pine-scented

breeze. The bed he lay upon was more comfortable than anything he’d slept on in years. The sheets that touched his skin were
soft and clean.

“It’s all right, Tristan.” The side of the bed dipped as a woman sat down beside him. “It was only a bad dream.”
She stroked the damp hair from his forehead with cool, rose-scented hands. He found himself leaning into the softness of

her touch, needing it as he needed air to breathe. It was too dark to see her features clearly, but he knew that voice, just as he
knew the perfection of her lovely face and the silky texture of her auburn hair.

“Savannah?” His voice was rough and hesitant. He was afraid she wasn’t real, just a fever-induced dream come to

torment him.

“Yes, it’s me,” she whispered, drawing back. “Are you all right? You cried out for Michael in your sleep.”
Humiliation washed over him, and he turned his face toward the wall. He’d managed to hide his scarred back and

nightmarish ramblings from the entire world for years only to have Savannah McKenzie, the one person who mattered to him,
discover all his weaknesses in the space of one evening.

He felt undone, laid completely bare. Quick on the heels of that thought came the realization that he was bare. Beneath the

thin sheets, he was naked. Heat rose in his cheeks, and he tried once again to sit. “Where are my clothes? I have to get out of
here.”

“Stop it. You’re not going anywhere.” She placed her hand on his bare chest, holding him down without the slightest

effort. “You’ve lost a lot of blood and it will be a few days before you regain your strength.”

He subsided. She was right, of course. The last thing he wanted to do was fight with her. “You don’t have to stay with

me,” he muttered, embarrassed to have her see him this way. “I’m fine.”

“I want to stay.” She retrieved a washcloth from the basin on the nightstand and wrung out the excess water. “Please. Let

me do this for you.”

Before he could even think to deny her, she pressed the wet cloth to his face, bathing away the sweat and heat, cooling

the first signs of fever. Her touch was tender, as though they’d never parted with tears and anger, as though she still cared for

him.

She trailed the cloth along his shoulders and the expanse of his chest. He held his breath, stunned by the raw intensity of

his emotions. Then her hand dipped lower, across the flat plane of his stomach, and every muscle in his body contracted in a
fierce wave of desire.

He let himself become lost in the familiar fantasy. He imagined a long, hot night, with auburn hair spilling across silken

white sheets. His body reacted violently, swelling with need, aching for the relief he’d found in her arms once before.

Her hand stilled low on his belly. The sudden catch in her breath assured him she’d noticed. She didn’t jump away in

horror, and he knew a moment of fierce, desperate hope.

“Savannah.” Ten years of longing and despair welled up in the sound of her name on his lips. God, he’d missed her.
Silence hung between them until he thought he’d snap from the strain. He lifted his hand, needing to touch her beautiful

face, needing to draw her into his arms and drown in her sweetness.

She scrambled to her feet, tossing the cloth back into the basin and moving away from him. “You’re getting feverish. I’ll

go find Joel.” She slipped out of the room before he could say anything else, closing the door behind her with a decisive click.

Tristan groaned in frustration, covered his head with a pillow, and willed his overheated body back into submission.
His first impression had been right. He was in hell, because he still burned for a woman he’d given up all right to have.

Chapter Three

Savannah shut the door to her father’s old room and leaned against it, struggling to regain control. There was no

mistaking the fact that Tristan still desired her. But how could he when she’d wronged him so badly? She’d married his
brother, kept him from his son.

Her fingertips still tingled from the warmth of his skin, and her lips and breasts had grown unbearably sensitive. The

yearning in his voice when he’d said her name had kindled the banked fires of her own passion to a fever pitch.

It had taken every ounce of strength she possessed to walk away when all she wanted was to stay. She didn’t even know

why it had seemed so necessary to escape other than the fact that something didn’t make sense, and she’d always needed things
to make sense.

So far his reactions toward her had been totally unexpected. As much as she loved him, she knew he was not a forgiving

man. He seemed embarrassed that she’d seen him weak and vulnerable, but hadn’t given any indication of the anger he must
feel at her betrayal.

Had time softened him? Was it possible he’d made enough mistakes of his own not to hold hers against her? She wanted

to believe it, but she’d learned long ago what a dangerous thing hope could be.

No, far better not to hope. She needed to face the truth of the matter. Tristan had been shot. He had a fever and probably

didn’t have the slightest idea what he was saying or doing. Once he recovered, he would turn away from her in disgust.

She was destined to remain alone, and she had no one to blame for that but herself.
The heavy tread of footsteps on the stairs drew her attention. She took a deep breath, hoping she didn’t look as distraught

as she felt. Joel appeared at the top of the candle lit landing, and his gaze locked with hers.

“Is everything all right?” Vaulting the last few steps, Joel rushed to her side. “What happened?”
“Tristan is getting feverish. He had a nightmare about Michael.” She shook her head and hugged her arms to her chest. “I

couldn’t stay with him any longer. I’m sorry.”

Joel frowned and patted her shoulder. “I shouldn’t have left you alone with him for so long. I wasn’t thinking.”
Savannah shrugged, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. “It’s all right. Really. I just overreacted when I

heard him speak of Michael.”

It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it was the only thing she could think of that would explain her need to get away.
“Oh, Savannah. I should have known. When you look at him it’s Michael’s face you see, isn’t it?” Joel’s anguished

words made her immediately regret what she’d said.

Michael should be in her thoughts tonight. She turned her face away from the compassion in her brother’s eyes. She

didn’t deserve his sympathy. She never had.

Self-consciously, she rubbed her bare ring finger. How long had it been since she’d worn Michael’s ring? When they’d

first moved to Colorado she’d put it away, rationalizing her decision by saying she didn’t want to ruin it with all the work she
had to do. But that had been ages ago, and now she wasn’t even sure where it was.

“How long will Tristan stay?” She couldn’t imagine the pain his leaving a second time would cause, but she wanted to

be prepared for it.

“I know you don’t want him here.” Joel’s voice was low and ragged, but firm. “I’m sorry, but it can’t be helped. I owe

him. Can you understand that?”

Not want him here? She stared at her brother, wondering how he could be so mistaken.
“Do whatever you need to do,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “But I don’t think I’m strong enough to help you.”
She couldn’t sit beside Tristan and watch him battle for his life. She couldn’t touch his face and hold his hand, knowing

he’d only shun her once he came to his senses.

Joel nodded. “All right, sis. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine tonight. Just get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

* * * * *

Joel remained by Tristan’s side during the next two days. Despite his best efforts to keep the wound clean, an infection

had taken hold, and Tristan’s fever raged dangerously high.

Savannah had offered to sit with his patient despite her initial protests, but he’d assured her he didn’t need her help. The

haunted look she’d worn that first night had disappeared, but he didn’t want to subject her to Tristan’s company any more than
necessary. She’d had enough heartbreak in her life. He didn’t want to be the cause of any more.

He, too, had lost loved ones during the war. His sweet young wife had died during childbirth in the fall of ’62. He hadn’t

even known she and the baby were gone until they’d been buried for three months. How he’d wished for someone other than
himself to blame.

Unable to find anyone, he’d started drinking to forget.
Taking care of Tristan reminded him of those dark times. Lack of sleep left him crippled with worry and despair.

Memories of the war overwhelmed him. His exhaustion brought to mind too many other times when he’d worked for days
without rest, his senses and reflexes dulled by alcohol.

How many men had died under his knife? How many times had he done more harm than good?
This time he couldn’t fail. He had to save Tristan because he’d let Michael and so many others slip through his grasp.

Then, when Tristan was better, he had to confess his sins and give him the unopened, bloodstained letter that had lain in his
dresser drawer all these years. Michael had written to Tristan with the last of his strength, and Tristan deserved to read his
words.

No matter what truths the letter revealed.
All these thoughts and more were whirling through his brain when Tristan’s fever finally broke. He was afraid to believe

the danger had passed, but when he removed the bandage, he found his patient’s stitches healing nicely, all signs of infection
gone.

Relief washed over him, and he sank to his knees beside Tristan’s bed, giving thanks for the first time in years.
“Praying for me?” Tristan’s voice was wry, raspy with disuse, but his words held no mockery.
Joel shot to his feet, startled and self-conscious. “Yeah,” he admitted with a casual shrug. “I figured you could use it.”
Tristan sighed and nodded. “I guess you’ll need all the help you can get if you’re planning to save me.”

* * * * *

The walls were pressing in on him.
Tristan stared at the ceiling in frustration. Joel had insisted he stay in bed for a week, but his fever had broken two days

ago and already the inactivity was driving him crazy.

It was just a little gunshot wound, for God’s sake. He’d suffered far worse in prison.
Joel couldn’t make him stay. All he had to do was get up, find some clothes, and head south. He could recuperate in the

arms of some pretty senorita and drown all thoughts of the McKenzies in the bottom of a bottle of tequila.

Lying here in this sinfully soft bed, with lace curtains on the windows and fresh flowers on the dresser, all he could think

about was the way Savannah had touched him. He wanted to stay here, wanted to see her again with a need that bordered on
desperation.

All the more reason to leave before he did something foolish. There was no room in his life for lace and flowers. Those

things were as foreign to him now as mercy and compassion.

Feeling better for having come to this realization, he rolled to his good side, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and

pushed himself to a sitting position. He sat there for a moment, ignoring the stabbing pain. It wasn’t that bad. He could do this.

He stood, and the room spun. Unsteady, he reached for the cane rocking chair that stood only a few feet away, but his

knees buckled before he could take a single step. He pitched toward the floor, cursing. Instinctively, he tried to break his fall
with his hands, only to double over in agony as his injured shoulder took the weight of his body.

Only a few seconds passed before his bedroom door crashed open and Savannah flew toward him, her small, booted feet

winging across the wooden floor. He groaned aloud, trying to hide his nudity with his left hand.

“Tristan! Are you all right?” She sank to her knees beside him in a puddle of rose-colored skirts, her hands fluttering

over his body. She was searching for injuries, he supposed, but her touch only heightened the embarrassed heat racing through
his veins.

“I’m fine.” He pressed his cheek against the floor, willing himself to disappear through the cracks. He hated this, hated

looking like a fool in front of her once again.

“What in the world did you think you were doing?” She quit touching him and grabbed a sheet off the bed, covering him

from chin to toes.

“I was getting up,” he answered. “I’m going to leave just as soon as you tell me what you did with my clothes.” It

sounded ridiculous even to him. He didn’t have the strength to stand, let alone mount his horse and ride to Mexico.

“Your clothes were a bloody mess. I threw them away. And you didn’t have any others in your saddlebags. I had Ian

look.”

He frowned, irritated at the thought of her brother pawing through his meager belongings. He met her flashing blue gaze,

trying to determine if Ian had told her about the miniature he kept of her. If so, what had she thought of that very telling piece of
information? Did she pity him for carrying a torch for her all these years?

“My extra clothes must still be at the hotel,” he conceded.
“Fine. I’ll send someone for them, but I’m sure Joel doesn’t want you to leave just yet. Quit being so foolish and let me

help you back into bed.”

She leaned forward and put one arm around his waist and one under his neck, as if she could lift him through sheer force

of will. Hell, maybe she could. She’d always been stubborn and pigheaded. Apparently she’d only gotten worse with age.

“What are you going to do with me once you get me there?” He lowered his voice to a soft, seductive purr, hoping to

throw her off guard. He wanted to know if he could still make her nervous.

He needed to know if she still felt anything for him at all.
She glanced down at him, dismay in her lovely blue eyes. “Tristan, don’t do this.” But her gaze strayed to his mouth, and

she bit her lush bottom lip in an invitation he found impossible to resist.

Threading his fingers through her thick, auburn hair, he pulled her closer, capturing her lips with a hunger born of months

of celibacy and a decade of emptiness. He tumbled her against him, ignoring the pain, sighing in delight at the feel of her soft
curves.

The kiss was deep and urgent, even better than he’d remembered. Savannah opened to him with the slightest urging, her

tongue dancing intimately with his. She tasted of tea and something sweet. He wanted to possess it. He wanted to drown in the
taste and scent and feel of her.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Joel’s furious voice brought Tristan back to his senses with an abruptness that left

his head spinning. Savannah wrenched out of his arms and sat blinking down at him, her long, lush lashes tangling at the edges,
her blue eyes cloudy and confused.

Tristan gave an inward groan. This probably looked bad. Really bad. Joel’s intent gaze took in Savannah’s flushed face,

Tristan’s barely concealed nudity, and their compromising position.

“You son of a bitch.” When Joel spoke, his words were like stones dropped in the silence, the fury behind them rippling

outward in widening circles.

Savannah got to her feet and took a hesitant step toward her brother but for once, her indomitable courage deserted her.

She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes downcast. “He fell. I was just trying to help him up.”

“Oh, is that what you call it?” Joel’s voice dripped with sarcasm, and his accusing glare shifted to Tristan. “Get out of

here, Savannah. Tristan and I need to talk.”

Savannah gave Tristan a long, searching look, and then hurried from the room.
Tristan turned his frustration on Joel. “How dare you talk to her like that? She didn’t do anything wrong. She leaned

down to help me, like she said, and I kissed her. Hell, you know I’ve always cared for her. The fault was entirely mine.”

“I never thought she was to blame,” Joel shot back. “I’m trying to protect her, you idiot. The last thing in the world she

needs right now is you. If you can’t keep your hands off her, you can get the hell out of my house.”

“I never asked you to bring me here,” Tristan snarled, trying to pull himself to a sitting position. “I don’t need your

charity.”

Joel clenched his hands into fists and a vein leapt in his jaw. “You’re right. I should have left you to drown in your own

blood. I’m sure the next person you taunt into shooting you will have better aim.”

“Well, I can only hope.” Tristan felt ashamed and foolish. Joel was the only friend he had left in the world. It was

ridiculous to fight with him.

Joel stared at him for a long moment, then made a sound of frustration and crossed the room to Tristan’s side. “Damn it.

You’ve reopened your wound.”

Tristan turned his head, trying to assess the damage. Blood seeped through the bandage. The surge of adrenaline that had

given him the energy to kiss Savannah was fading, replaced by a dull, throbbing ache. “The stitches must have ripped when I
fell.”

Joel sighed and helped him move back to the edge of the bed. “You’re far more trouble than you’re worth,” he

complained, but there was no longer any anger behind his words, and his hands were gentle as he removed the bandage.

Tristan was grateful for the pain as Joel re-stitched his wound. Anything was welcome, as long as it kept his mind off

Savannah. He didn’t want to remember the silky smooth feel of her hair between his fingertips, or the way her passion had
flared to life as violently as his own.

Joel had already brought him crashing back down to reality. He was no longer Tristan Kane, spoiled heir to River’s End ,

the finest horse-breeding farm in Maryland. The McKenzies had once opened their home to him as though he were family, but
Joel’s reaction when he’d caught him kissing Savannah made him realize exactly how far he’d fallen.

He never should have sullied Savannah with his bloodstained hands. He had nothing to offer her and it was criminal to

even think of dishonoring her in such a way again.

At last Joel finished, but he didn’t go away as Tristan had expected. Instead he sat in the chair next to the bed and gave

Tristan a thoughtful look. “Why are you here? Why did you come looking for me after all these years?”

Tristan leaned back against the carved oak headboard, staring at a water stain on the flowered wallpaper. “You wrote to

me. You said you needed to tell me something about Michael.”

“I wrote to you years ago.”
“I wasn’t ready to hear what you had to say then, but I’m ready now.” Tristan tried to inject a confidence into his words

he was far from feeling. The mere thought of hearing about Michael’s last minutes paralyzed him with dread.

How could he live with himself if Michael had cursed him with his dying breath? At least up until now there had been

the possibility that Michael had forgiven him.

Joel leaned forward, steepling his fingertips. “Are you sure you’re ready to hear this?”
Tristan flushed. “Hell, I don’t know. How can anybody ever be ready for something like this?”
“I didn’t expect to hear from you right away. I just didn’t expect it to take this long.”
“How long should it have taken?” Tristan shook his head. “Is there a schedule for guilt and grief?”
“No, of course not.” Joel rubbed his hand over his face and sighed. “You should have come to us. You weren’t alone in

your sorrow. Michael was the best friend I ever had, and Savannah was his wife. Little Billy could have used another uncle in
his life long before now.”

Tristan’s breath deserted him in a rush. “Are you telling me Savannah married Michael? And who the hell is Little

Billy?” Dear God. He hadn’t known. And he’d kissed her. He’d kissed Michael’s wife.

“They had a son. Michael didn’t tell you?”
Tristan wordlessly shook his head.
“They married just a month or two after you left.” Joel looked away. “I’m sure Michael meant to tell you. He just never

got the chance.”

Tristan wasn’t so sure. Michael hadn’t mentioned his marriage that day at the Battle of the Wilderness. He hadn’t

mentioned he had a son.

A white-hot surge of anger and jealousy streaked through him, blasting away his guilt. Michael had known how much he

loved Savannah. Hell, when he’d told his brother he planned to ask for her hand, Michael had congratulated him and wished
him well.

Had he planned to make her his own all along? And what about Savannah? How could she have gone from him to

Michael as though one twin was as good as the other?

The two people he’d loved most in the world had betrayed him, shattering his illusions and leaving him grasping for

something to hold on to.

Joel stood and walked to the window. “I think Savannah blames you for Michael’s death. I know it’s crazy, but surely

you understand how hard this is for her. When she looks at you, it’s Michael’s face she sees.”

Tristan closed his eyes, overwhelmed with despair. Savannah’s kiss had given him a glimmer of light and hope, but

Joel’s words crushed that hope completely, and now the darkness seemed unfathomable.

Everything made perfect sense. Savannah didn’t want him. She’d just confused him with Michael.
He couldn’t blame her. He saw Michael, too, every time he looked in a mirror.
“I need to be alone for a while.” Tristan words were sharp and dismissive. He couldn’t bear Joel’s sympathy for even

one more minute.

“But I haven’t told you about Michael yet,” Joel protested.
Tristan waved him away. “Later,” he said. He could only handle one heartbreak a day.

Chapter Four

Savannah resisted the seductive pull of Tristan’s presence for a full day before giving in to the need to see him again.

She found it impossible to stay away when the kiss they’d shared was all she could think about.

Joel had cautioned her about getting involved, still operating on the mistaken assumption she was somehow confusing

Tristan with Michael. She’d wanted to scream with frustration, but instead she’d listened to his terse warnings and promised to
be careful.

Prudence had never been one of her strengths.
If Tristan hated her, she wanted to look him in the face while he told her all the reasons why. And if he’d found it in his

heart to forgive her… A shiver of anticipation ran down her spine as she knocked on his closed door. Well, if he’d forgiven
her, she wanted to know that, too.

“Come in.” He sounded tired and cranky, and she hesitated for a moment, wondering if she’d caught him at a bad time.

“Come in,” he said again, louder this time. Squaring her shoulders, she slipped into his room.

He was sitting up in bed, propped against the headboard and several pillows. His beautiful face was drawn and haggard,

his lean cheeks marred by several days’ growth of beard. A patch of dark gold hair furred his bare chest, and she faltered a bit
when she realized he was still naked beneath the thin white sheets.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said, and in his voice she heard all the things she’d expected to hear from the

beginning—anger, despair and disillusionment.

“You didn’t?” she asked, her heart breaking. “Or were you just hoping I’d have enough pride to stay away?”
He cleared his throat, the sound very loud in the silence that had fallen between them. “Do we have to do this? I’ve

had...fond memories of you, and I’d hate for words said in anger to ruin that.”

She blinked, determined not to give in to her threatening tears. “I’m sorry, Tristan. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”
“Ah, Savannah.” He closed his eyes for a moment, as though praying for strength, but when he opened them he no longer

seemed angry. “Do you remember the first time I kissed you?”

His question startled her. She’d been prepared for anything but gentle reminiscing. “Yes,” she whispered, unable to meet

the intensity of his emerald gaze. “Of course, I remember.”

He sighed and rubbed his temple with his left hand. “You were wearing sapphire silk and your beautiful hair was piled

atop your head, subdued for once in some intricate, grown-up style.” The soft southern cadence of his voice wrapped around
her. When he motioned for her to sit next to him on the bed, she acquiesced like a sleepwalker.

“My seventeenth birthday ball.”
His words brought it all rushing back. She could see the laughing faces, feel the excitement in the air as the country

braced for a war that hadn’t meant much to her at the time.

She’d only had eyes for Tristan.
“You took my breath away when I saw you descend that sweeping flight of stairs on Ian’s arm.” One corner of his mouth

curved in a semblance of a smile. “Until that night you’d been a friend, my best friend, but suddenly I realized you’d become a
woman while I wasn’t looking. A beautiful, desirable woman.”

She bit her lip, unsure where this was leading them, but wanting more than anything to stay in the safety of that fairy tale

night.

“You’d just come home from the University,” she whispered. “I missed you desperately while you were gone, and

learning you’d be at my ball was the best present I could have asked for. I spent hours and hours getting ready, hoping to
impress you, but then you didn’t even ask me to dance.”

He reached out and brushed her cheek with his fingertips. “You followed me out on the balcony, angry and hissing like a

little cat. When I told you I was too old for you, you slapped me.”

“You were only twenty-one.” She covered his hand with her own, holding his warmth against her face. “It wasn’t that big

a difference.”

He smiled. “You started to cry. It shocked me because you’d always been such a tough little thing. I patted your shoulder,

feeling like an ass. Then you looked up at me, those big, blue eyes filled with tears, and I was lost.”

He’d taken her in his arms and kissed her with exquisite tenderness, holding her as though she were far more precious

than diamonds or gold. It had been the most wonderful moment of her life.

“The next six months... God, Savannah, you know how special they were to me. You were mine, and I thought I could

conquer the world. I know you don’t understand why I felt I had to fight for the Confederacy... Hell, I don’t understand it
myself, now. But I always thought you’d wait for me. I was certain when I came home we’d be able to work things out.”

His point was clear, and it broke her heart all over again to hear how much he’d trusted her. “I don’t know what to say,”

she whispered, trying to speak over the knot in her throat.

“Don’t say anything. I just wanted you to know that sometimes the memory of your kiss was the only thing that kept me

sane. I thought about you at night, when I couldn’t sleep and my men were dying all around me. I thought about you in prison,
when I was sick and hurting, when the guilt of Michael’s death made me want to take my own life.” He gently extricated his
hand from hers. “I’ve thought about you at least once a day ever since.”

He still cared for her. The thought burned away all her earlier fear. “Oh, Tristan.” She wanted to launch herself into his

arms and laugh in relief. “I’ve thought about you, too.”

Frowning, he shook his head. “I’m only telling you all this because I wanted you to remember how it used to be between

us. I wanted to explain what was going through my head when I kissed you yesterday.”

“There’s nothing to explain. I wanted you to kiss me.”
“Stop!” He held up his hand, staring at her as though she’d grown two heads. “Don’t you understand? When I saw you

again, I wanted those feelings back. I wanted to pretend the war never happened. I wanted to pretend I was still the kind of man
who had the right to kiss you.”

“You do have that right.” His sudden anger confused her, and she scrambled to decipher what he was trying to tell her.

“I’m giving you the right.”

“No.” His voice dripped with disdain. “You gave that right to Michael. My own brother! And I never knew it. Not until

Joel told me yesterday.”

Everything made sense now. Dear Lord, no wonder he’d seemed pleased to see her at first. He hadn’t known how badly

she’d betrayed him.

“I thought you knew,” she whispered. “I thought Michael told you.”
”He didn’t tell me anything.” Tristan closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the pillows. “I never would have

kissed you if I’d known. Despite the evidence to the contrary, I loved my brother.”

Not only had he lost faith in her, he’d lost faith in Michael, too. Savannah couldn’t bear to see what her impulsive actions

had cost him. Blinded by her tears, she surged to her feet, intent only on escape.

“Savannah?” His voice stopped her before she reached the door.
“Yes?” Her voice was hardly recognizable to her own ears, choked as it was by self-hate and regret.
“I don’t blame you for yesterday. I know my presence here has upset you... You probably weren’t thinking clearly.” He

cleared his throat and then met her anguished gaze. “Would you introduce me to my nephew before I leave?”

He’s not your nephew. He’s your son . She wanted to scream the words, but she couldn’t even bring herself to whisper

them.

Billy thought his father was dead. Would it do more harm than good to admit she’d lied, that his real father was a killer,

a man who made his living with his guns?

“Of course you can meet him.” The time had come to make some hard choices.
She’d almost reached the door for a second time when he spoke again. “You know I’d give my life to bring Michael

back, don’t you?”

“I know.” She nodded through her tears. “I know you would.”
Then she fled, desperate to get away from him.

* * * * *

“I thought I’d find you up here.”
Savannah tensed, and then relaxed when she recognized Ian’s voice. She turned and watched as he hefted his long, lean

body through the hole in the tree house floor.

“I didn’t think anyone knew I came here.” She lifted one shoulder in an apologetic shrug. “It’s childish, I know. But it’s

so quiet here in the leaves, and I love the view.”

Ian smiled and scooted forward until he was sitting next to her. “I don’t think it’s childish. I come here myself

sometimes.”

She threw her brother a surprised glance. “Really?”
He and Joel had built the tree house for Billy right after they’d moved west, but her son rarely used it anymore. Billy was

growing up far too fast.

The tree house was sturdy and plain, perched in the sheltering arms of a giant elm. From its platform she could see the

big house in the distance, and closer, at the bend in the river, the small log cabin that had been their first home in Colorado.

“What’s troubling you, sis? I heard you pacing the floor all night, and this morning you were up and gone before dawn.”
She reached for Ian’s hand, lacing her fingers with his strong, capable ones. His midnight blue eyes were filled with

concern.

“It’s Tristan,” she whispered, feeling better for admitting what was in her heart.
“I thought it might be.” Ian smiled and squeezed her hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Ian had always been the easiest of her brothers to talk to. Joel was closer in age, but he’d always been passionate,

emotional and argumentative. Ian was strong and quiet, always willing to listen to her problems.

She took a deep breath and turned her face toward the rising sun. The eastern plains were frosted with golden light, but

the towering mountains to the west were still hidden in shadow. It was a breathtaking sight, and she let it give her strength.

“I’ve never stopped loving him. When I saw him again, saw how much he still cared, I allowed myself to believe he’d

forgiven me. I hoped we might have a future together, despite our past.”

Ian frowned. “I thought you loved Michael, not Tristan. Hell, Savannah, how could you agree to marry one brother when

your heart already belonged to the other?”

She deserved his censure, but it still hurt. She shook her head, wondering if she could ever make him understand. “When

Tristan announced that he planned to fight for the South, I was devastated. I knew our father would never accept his choice, and
neither would his own. It meant losing his inheritance and every chance we’d ever had for a secure future.”

“So, you married Michael to get back at him?” Ian’s censure turned to disgust, and Savannah steeled herself to keep from

flinching.

“No. It wasn’t about revenge.” She sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to like what she was about to tell him. “Before

Tristan left, I arranged to meet with him one last time. I seduced him, thinking that after I gave myself to him, he’d give in,
marry me, and fight for the Union.”

Ian sucked in a sharp breath. “You grew up with two brothers. How can you know so damned little about men?” He

shook his head. “Of course he didn’t change his mind. He probably assumed your actions meant you’d stand by his decision,
whatever it was. When he found out what you really wanted he must have been furious.”

“You’re right,” Savannah admitted, a little surprised that her big brother had accepted the loss of her virginity so easily.

“He told me he had to follow his conscience, and he hoped we could work things out when he returned. But I couldn’t wait for
him that long, not after I discovered that my impulsive actions had brought about a consequence I hadn’t counted on.”

“Oh, hell,” Ian whispered. “Billy’s isn’t Michael’s son, is he? He’s Tristan’s.”
She nodded, hugging her knees tightly to her chest. “I didn’t know what to do when I found out I was going to have a

baby. I went to Michael, hoping he could somehow get word to Tristan, but he told me it was impossible. Tristan was so angry,
so ostracized when he left, he didn’t tell anyone where he planned to go.”

“So Michael offered to marry you himself.”
She nodded, blinking to keep the burning tears in her eyes from falling. “Michael was so good to me. He gave Billy his

name and saved my reputation. In return I made his last few years horrible. He wanted me to be his wife in truth, but I couldn’t
forget Tristan. I never even let Michael kiss me, except at the altar. I was an awful wife.”

“I’m sure Michael understood. You did the best you could under the circumstances.” Ian put his arm around her shoulders

and hugged her. “You made a mistake, sis, but you have to move on. You need to think about the present.”

She let her head rest against her brother’s broad chest, grateful for his support. It meant more to her than she could say.

For so long she’d carried this guilt around inside her. Just talking about it, and finally admitting her sins, made the load seem a
little easier to bear.

“I know I can’t go back and make things right, but oh, Ian, I wish there was something I could do for Tristan now. He’s

still a good man. He’s just lost faith.”

“He’s lost a lot more than his faith.” Ian held her a little tighter. “There’s nothing you can do for him, sweetheart. In fact

it’s probably best for everybody concerned if you just let him leave as soon as he’s able.”

“Is it better for Billy? Should I allow him to keep thinking his father is dead?” She forced herself to ask the question that

had been tormenting her, even thought she was sure she knew what her brother would say. “What about Tristan? Doesn’t he
deserve a chance to know his son?”

“It will probably just hurt them both in the long run.” He sighed and shook his head. “You didn’t see Tristan in town that

day, sis. He wanted Johnny to shoot him. He threw down his guns and taunted the kid until he pulled the trigger. How will Billy
feel if the father he’s just coming to know is gunned down before his very eyes? How will you feel?”

She set her jaw and pulled away. “That’s all the more reason to help him change. Tristan still loves horses. You can tell

by looking at the one he rides. All he needs is a chance. If you gave him a job he might be able to leave the killing behind and
start over.”

“You want me to give Harrison Kane’s son a job mucking manure in my stables?” Ian laughed. “He has far too much

pride. He’d never agree.”

Savannah refused to be dissuaded. “Just ask him. He might say no, but at least we’ll have tried. What would it hurt?”
“It might hurt you.” Ian scrubbed his hand over his face. “I’ll talk to him a bit. See what kind of man he’s become. If I

think he’s looking for a way out, I’ll offer him a job. If he accepts, you should tell him and Billy the truth. But if he leaves,
they’re probably both better off not knowing.”

The sun had risen, and Savannah admired the view one more time before sliding across the floor to the ladder. “Maybe

you’re right,” she agreed, fearing Tristan would never stay. “I’d better get back. Everyone will be wondering where breakfast
is.”

Ian brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “I wish things were different. I wish Tristan was still the kind of man

who could love you the way you deserve. You shouldn’t be alone.”

She tried to ignore the truth in his words, tried to pretend her life wasn’t an empty, aching desert. “I’m not alone. I have

Billy. I have you and Joel.”

“Yes, and you’ve made a fine home for us even though you weren’t raised to work so hard. Don’t ever think I don’t

appreciate all you do.”

She gave a shaky laugh, touched by her brother’s words. Sometimes she did feel unappreciated. Being the only woman

on a ranch this size was backbreaking at best.

“Thank you, Ian. Thank you for everything.”

* * * * *

A knock sounded at Tristan’s door, rousing him from fitful dreams of death and betrayal. He rubbed a trembling hand

over his sweaty face and took a deep breath, wondering how he’d face Savannah yet again. Yesterday had nearly killed him.

“Come in,” he called. Maybe it was Joel, which would be somewhat easier, although they hadn’t parted on the best of

terms either.

But when the door opened, it was a young boy, nine or ten at the most, who grinned and entered the room. The lad was

tall and thin, his hair golden blond, his smiling face dotted with freckles.

“Hi. I’m Billy. Mama sent me up with your breakfast.” In his right hand he bore a steaming tray of food, in his left a small

coffeepot.

Michael’s son.
Tristan felt sucker-punched, the wind knocked out of him as he surveyed this boy who was all that remained of the

brother he’d loved so much. He could see both Michael and Savannah in the boy’s face and manner.

Hell, he could see himself. Billy could so easily have been his own son. He would have been, if Tristan had only

followed his heart instead of his head.

“Thank you,” Tristan murmured. The mingled scents of ham, eggs and freshly baked biscuits made his stomach growl.

He’d been too weak to manage anything but soup before.

Billy put the tray on the table next to Tristan’s bed and filled a mug with steaming, black coffee. “How are you feeling,

sir?”

“Sir?” Tristan grimaced. “You don’t have to call me sir. Tristan will do.” He wanted the kid to call him Uncle Tristan.

In fact, he wanted to hug Billy so tight the boy turned red with embarrassment. Had Savannah told the boy who he was?

The answer wasn’t long in coming. A grin split the boy’s youthful face. “Is it true that you’re my uncle? Ian says you and

my father were brothers. He says you look just like him ’cuz you were twins.”

Tristan nodded, praying Ian hadn’t also mentioned how Billy’s father had died. “He’s right. I am your uncle. I would

have come to see you before this, but your father and I lost track of each other during the war. I never even knew about you
until a few days ago.”

Billy gave a bright smile. “Ah, that’s all right. I still can’t believe you’re really here and that you’re my uncle.” He stared

at Tristan, obviously committing every feature to memory.

Tristan shifted, uncomfortable with the hero worship shining in Billy’s big, blue eyes. God, he felt like such a fraud. It

was his fault the boy had never gotten to know Michael. “I’m nobody special, kid.”

Billy flushed a bit. “You’re a legend, Uncle Tristan.” From his back pocket he pulled out a tattered dime novel. “I read

all about how you broke up that range war out in Kansas. They say you killed a dozen men that day before the dust cleared.”

“Let me see that.” Tristan snatched the offending book out of Billy’s hands, skimming it with growing dismay. It was a

highly exaggerated tale of an incident that had been bad enough to begin with. Disgusted, Tristan tossed the book to the end of
the bed. “That’s a bunch of bullshit. I’m no hero.”

Billy’s face fell a bit. “How many men did you kill that day? Ten?”
“Hell, I don’t know. I wasn’t keeping track.” It was a bald-faced lie. He knew exactly how many men had died at his

hands. Their faces were impossible to forget. God knew he’d tried. “There’s no glory in killing. I was hired to guard a piece of
property, and that’s what I did. If there’d been a way to do it without bloodshed, believe me, I’d have taken it.”

The warning in his voice did nothing to curb Billy’s enthusiasm. “When you’re up to it, do you think you could give me a

few shooting lessons? I know I’ll never be as fast as you, but maybe there’s a trick or two you could show me?”

“No, Billy. I won’t teach you how to shoot.” He took a swallow of coffee, grateful for the potent, bitter heat. “Once

you’ve killed a man you can’t ever go back. If you have any sense at all, you won’t go down that road. I wouldn’t, if I had it to
do over again.”

Billy looked away, his freckled face crestfallen, a stubborn jut to his chin. “Do you need anything else...sir?”
“No.” Tristan kept the coffee, but shoved the tray of food away, his earlier appetite gone. “You can take it. I’m not

hungry.”

Billy picked up the tray without further comment. The angry set of his slim shoulders as he left the room spoke of his

disillusionment louder than words ever could.

Tristan threw his pillow against the door in a burst of temper, and then sagged back against the headboard, feeling far

older than his thirty-one years.

Billy thought he was a hero. What a joke. He was the worst kind of coward.
He didn’t even have the courage to live.

Chapter Five

Tristan fumbled with the buttons of his black cotton shirt, cursing in frustration as they continued to elude his one-handed

grasp. After a moment he gave up, leaving the material gaping open across his chest. Who’d have thought getting dressed could
be such an ordeal?

At least he’d managed to fasten his trousers, he thought, shaking his head at his mirrored reflection. Nearly a week’s

worth of scraggly beard shadowed his jaw and upper lip, and his hair stuck up in wild disarray.

He looked disreputable and felt like hell, but he was out of bed and fully clothed for the first time since he’d been shot.

He was still weak and none too steady on his feet, but he was determined to get out of this room. The flowers and lace curtains
were driving him crazy, and he was tired of staring at the ceiling, feeling sorry for himself.

Billy’s visit had only aggravated his need to get away from the McKenzies and all the things they made him feel. He’d

hidden his emotions for so many years, blocking out the memories, the guilt, and the shame. Taking those feelings out and
examining them was more painful than any gunshot wound could ever be.

He didn’t know how to deal with the thought of Michael and Savannah making love and having a baby together. He didn’t

know which was stronger—his anger, his jealousy, or his guilt.

How could he be angry with Michael? He’d taken far more than a woman from his brother. And how could he be angry at

Savannah, when he’d walked away from her of his own free will?

But he was angry. Furious, in fact.
He sighed and left the room, determined not to think about it anymore. Better to put all his energy into regaining his

strength.

The upstairs hallway led to a wide set of stairs. He descended slowly, feeling a hundred years old. The stairwell was

lined with portraits of the McKenzies at various ages. He concentrated on a couple of young Billy, avoiding even a glance at
the ones of Savannah.

He shouldn’t have bothered because, when he reached the living area of the house, her touch was everywhere. Bright

splashes of color, fresh flowers, comfortable furniture; he knew the homey feel of the sprawling house was entirely Savannah’s
doing. Where had she learned to make a house a home? She’d been raised to be a rich man’s wife, not a homemaker on a
frontier ranch.

The parlor windows framed an expansive view of the mountains, towering to the west in blue and green splendor. The

sight never failed to stir him, and he leaned against the wall, staring outside for several long moments. The land around the
house was rich, dotted with fat cattle and sleek horses. The McKenzies were thriving in Colorado. He admired them for having
taken such a huge step.

The soothing sound of a woman humming drifted from a room that could only be the kitchen. He froze, listening, then

moved forward, knowing he should be running in the opposite direction instead.

As he’d feared, it was Savannah. She kneaded bread dough at a large pine table. Flour dusted her cheeks and caught in

strands of her glorious auburn hair.

His remaining strength deserted him in a rush. He sank against the doorframe, cursing himself for having sought her out.

What the hell had he been thinking? This lovely domestic picture was the epitome of everything he’d ever wanted out of life.

It was like getting one last glimpse of heaven before the devil slammed the doors of hell shut for all eternity.
He tried to remind himself that her love was inconstant, as fickle as a summer breeze. But all he could think about was

her fey beauty, the way she’d melted into his arms the other day when he’d kissed her.

As he watched, she muttered beneath her breath and rushed to the stove to stir something that bubbled in a large pot.
Only then did she see him.
She froze. The wooden spoon slipped from her fingers, clattering against the iron surface in the sudden silence. “Tristan.

What are you doing down here?”

A wry smile curved his lips. “Am I being held prisoner?”
“No, of course not.” She shook her head and met his gaze, her blue eyes filled with regret. “Do you feel like a prisoner?”

He shrugged. “I was going crazy in that room. I’ve never been bedridden before.”
“You look pale. Come sit down.” She gestured to a sturdy kitchen chair, and hurried to move her lump of dough out of the

way, placing it in a pan and covering it with a cloth to rise.

He pushed away from the wall and moved to the chair, stunned by his weakness. Ashamed of it. He should just go back

to his room and resign himself to another few days in bed, but something perverse made him want to remain in her presence.

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Her voice held sweet concern, and for some reason that made him angry. He didn’t

want her sympathy.

He braced his hands on the flour-covered table in an effort to keep the world from spinning. “I’m fine. Just give me a

minute.”

She leaned against the edge of the table, a worried expression on her lovely face. When he’d regained his equilibrium,

she leaned forward and buttoned the top button of his shirt. “You’re all undone.”

Undone. That was a good word for it. The heady fragrance of vanilla and cinnamon filled his senses. The scent was

more potent than the most expensive perfume. It made him think of a home and a family. Her fingertips skimmed his chest as she
buttoned her way down. He shuddered, closing his eyes and willing his overheated body to behave.

She wasn’t his. Maybe she’d never been his.
After she finished, she brushed a lock of hair behind his ear, frowning. “You need a haircut and a shave.”
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Why was she doing this to him? He’d rather be ignored than fussed over like an

invalid child. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to leave her.

“Let me finish up a few things, and then I’ll see what I can do.” She smiled. “Would you like something to eat while you

wait? I was just about to call Billy in to bring up your lunch.”

“Yeah, sure.” He sank into the chair, knowing his legs couldn’t support him much longer. He’d eat his lunch down here,

and then he’d go.

After his haircut. After he’d tortured himself beyond all reason.
She set a tray loaded with a ham sandwich, steaming chicken noodle soup and a large slice of chocolate cake on the table

in front of him. He was reminded again of how long it had been since he’d eaten anything filling.

“Thanks,” he muttered, taking a bite of soup and savoring it for a minute. “I think I’ll be coming down for my meals until

I leave. Billy is furious with me.”

“You must be mistaken.” She poured him another mug of that heavenly coffee, confusion puckering her brow. “Billy

adores you.”

“Not anymore.” Tristan shrugged, regretting the action when a bolt of pain stabbed through his shoulder. When it

subsided, he met Savannah’s concerned gaze. “He asked me if I’d give him some shooting lessons, and I declined.”

Savannah sighed. “He’s a good boy, but lately he’s been such a trial.”
He stared at her, thinking what a wonderful mother she’d turned out to be, and how hard it must be for her to raise young

Billy all by herself. Ian and Joel helped her, but they couldn’t make up for the husband she’d lost.

He stared down at his meal, knowing he’d taken that security away from her. He’d killed Billy’s father, yet here he was,

trying to think of a way to find a place in the kid’s heart.

“The life I lead isn’t nearly as exciting as Billy thinks it is. I’d hate to see him end up like that fool, Johnny Muldoon.”
“I’m glad you didn’t encourage him. But don’t worry. He never holds a grudge for long.” Her soft words were far from

comforting. They just reminded him he wouldn’t be here long enough for Billy to forgive him.

“That’s good. I have enough enemies.” He tried to smile, but it fell far short of the mark. If he had any sense, he’d be glad

to leave. He should want to escape all these reminders of the past and the painful knowledge that she’d never loved him.

Instead, the thought of returning to his empty, rootless existence was something he wasn’t ready to contemplate. Just these

few short days in a real home had made him long for one of his own. He was so tired of being alone.

Savannah finished her dinner preparations and left the room, returning in just a few minutes with an armful of supplies to

make him presentable. He gave her a wary glance, pushing away his empty dinner tray.

She filled a basin with warm water from the top of the stove, and then wrapped an old towel around his shoulders.

“Don’t worry.” She ran a comb through his hair to work out the tangles. “I do this for my brothers all the time.”

“I trust you.” He realized that despite everything, he still did. She’d never intentionally do anything to hurt him. Her

marriage to Michael had undoubtedly been a product of loneliness, not malice.

Her hands faltered a bit, and she lifted her gaze to his. “I don’t blame you for being angry with me. I wronged you

terribly.”

He made an impatient gesture with his hand. “I don’t want to talk about it. What’s done is done.”
The shock of her betrayal was still too new. The hurt was there, but he was trying to bury it as he’d buried everything

else. If he let himself feel the pain now, he’d shatter into a million tiny pieces.

She nodded and bit her bottom lip, her blue eyes shiny as she bent to her task. He let his own eyes drift shut, determined

to relax and enjoy the fleeting pleasure of her hands in his hair. The tug of the comb was soothing and slightly erotic, her touch

sure and gentle.

There was silence except for the click of the scissors, and for that he was grateful. He concentrated on keeping his

breathing deep and even, trying to mask the quickening in his blood, the ache in his heart.

“I think I’ll leave your hair a little long in the back. It suits you this way.” Her breath was warm in his ear, inflaming him

even more.

“Do whatever you like.” He stared at the clumps of hair falling to the floor at his feet as he fought for control. “I just

hope it comes out better than the last time you cut my hair.”

She drew in a quick breath. “Oh, Tristan. I’d forgotten all about that.”
His mood lightened a bit in remembrance. “I was fourteen, and you must have been, what, nine or ten? I’d taken you

fishing down by the river and, to show your appreciation, you nearly shaved me bald when I fell asleep.”

“You were so mad!” Laughter tinkled in her voice, and she squeezed his good shoulder. “You had to wear a hat for

weeks.”

He laughed a little himself, though he knew how dangerous it was to dredge up old times. She’d been his friend even

before he’d fallen in love with her. Perhaps her friendship was what he missed most of all, the easiness between them that had
allowed him to tell her all his dreams, things he’d hardly even admitted to himself.

She set the scissors aside. “There. You’re finished.”
He lifted his left hand and ran his fingertips through his hair. “It feels right. At least it’s out of my eyes.”
Moving around the front of his chair, she gazed at him, brushing away a few pieces of hair that clung to his cheek. “Shall

I shave you?”

He nodded, knowing he was a fool to invite such intimacy, yet too weak, both in body and in spirit, to get up and walk

away. He hadn’t been touched with tenderness in so long, and he craved it.

She rubbed lather over the planes and angles of his face, humming softly. Her cinnamon-scented breath stirred the hair at

his temple, and it was all he could do to keep his hands at his sides instead of crushing her against him.

Why was she being so kind? he wondered, his mind spinning. Why was she pretending she still cared for him when she’d

already admitted her heart belonged to Michael?

Didn’t she know how angry he was, how much he hated her for destroying the image of her he’d kept in his mind all these

years?

He hardened his heart and prayed she’d finish quickly.

* * * * *

Savannah stared into Tristan’s troubled green eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of his soul. So many turbulent emotions

churned in the emerald depths she found it impossible to interpret any one in particular. His chiseled features were set in a
grim and forbidding visage, the touch of humor he’d shown earlier gone.

She sighed and made a pass over his jaw with the razor, careful not to nick him. Why had he sought her out this

afternoon? At first she’d been glad to see him because she’d expected him to avoid her until he was well enough to leave, but
now she wished he’d stayed in his room. It was hard to keep the conversation light when all she wanted to do was throw
herself at his feet and beg him to forgive her, beg him to be a father to their son.

For some reason, he’d allowed her to fuss over him. Even though she didn’t understand his motives, she wasn’t about to

jeopardize this opportunity with tears and regret. He was so beautiful. She might never again have the chance to touch his face,
so smooth beneath her fingertips in the wake of the razor, or run her hands through his thick, golden hair.

How she wished she had the courage to lean forward, press her lips to his skin, and simply breathe him in.
Clearing her throat, she passed him a towel. “You look much better.”
“Thanks. I owe you.” He wiped away the last traces of soap, his eyes darkening with some emotion she couldn’t name.

“If you ever need someone killed, just let me know.”

“That’s not funny.” Her enjoyment of the last hour disappeared like smoke in the wind. She didn’t want her wonderful

fantasies clouded by the truth of what he’d become.

“It wasn’t supposed to be funny.” He tossed the towel aside and got to his feet. “I’m not Michael. Hell, I’m not even

Tristan; not anymore. Not the Tristan you knew.”

She reached out to him, wanting to give him the comfort and understanding he needed, but he stopped her with a dark

look. Then he brushed past her, leaving the kitchen without another word.

She let her hands fall to her sides. Empty.

Chapter Six

Tristan spent the rest of the day pacing his room, walking until dizziness overwhelmed him, and then resting until he felt

strong enough to try again. His arm was still nearly useless, but he practiced opening and closing his hand until the pain became
so intense he could barely drag himself to bed.

Through it all, the memory of Savannah’s kiss spurred him on. He couldn’t stay here. She was destroying him one smile

and gentle touch at a time. The reason was all too clear.

His love for her was much stronger than his anger.
She made him ashamed of what he’d become. When she touched him and whispered his name, he was willing to do

almost anything to remain at her side. He was terrified of forgiving her, of taking whatever she offered, regardless of the fact
that it had once belonged to Michael.

Luckily, he’d pushed himself so hard he fell into an exhausted sleep and didn’t awaken until early the next morning. He

stretched, feeling the lingering effects of yesterday’s exertions in the screaming protest of his shoulder. He grimaced and swung
to a sitting position, wondering if he’d ever regain full use of his arm.

Damn Johnny Muldoon to hell.
If not for Johnny, Tristan would have already found out everything he needed to know from Joel and been long gone.
Tomorrow, he decided as he put on his boots. Tomorrow he should be strong enough to leave. Even if he wasn’t, he

couldn’t stay here. He would ride to the next town and hole up in a hotel for a while if need be.

But before he left, he needed to talk to Joel about Michael, no matter how hard it was to hear whatever he had to say. He

also needed to talk to Billy again and let the boy know he’d be back to see him. Someday. If he lived long enough.

Mind made up, he left his room and headed downstairs. He passed the kitchen, which smelled of coffee and eggs, and

headed outside for some much needed fresh air. There were several comfortable wicker chairs and a big wooden swing on the
porch. He sank into one of the seats, watching as the sun came up over the plains in a blaze of silver and orange.

Before long, the door opened behind him. He steeled himself, wondering which of the McKenzies had come to harass

him now. To his surprise it was Ian, the oldest McKenzie, who came out and sat beside him.

“Morning,” Ian said. “Good to see you up and about.”
Tristan met Ian’s steady blue gaze and liked what he saw. There was a trace of caution, but it was tempered by an equal

amount of welcome. Tristan had always looked up to Ian. Though only a few years older, Ian had always seemed so sure of
himself and his place in the world.

“It’s been a long time, Ian.”
Ian nodded and turned his gaze toward the mountains. “What do you think of Colorado?”
“It’s beautiful. Rugged and wild.” Such small words to express what this place had come to mean to him, but somehow

he knew Ian, of all people, would understand. They’d always shared a love of nature and living things.

“Yeah. I thought you’d say that.” Ian smiled. “It’s everything I ever imagined it would be.”
Tristan was stunned by how easy it was to slip back into his friendship with this man. An entire decade had passed, yet

Ian acted as though they’d seen each other yesterday.

After the difficulty he’d had with the rest of the McKenzies, the simplicity of this relationship was more than welcome.

Here, at last, was someone who wouldn’t drive him crazy with guilt or longing.

“You were wise to come here instead of rebuilding in Maryland. The wounds back east will take decades to heal.”
The last conversation Tristan had with Ian had been about his decision to join the Confederacy. Although Ian hadn’t

agreed with his views, he’d claimed to understand them. No one else had even pretended to.

“It’s a shame. I think this country has amazing potential, if we can only put the past behind us.”
For just a moment, Tristan had a feeling the country wasn’t the only thing Ian was talking about. “You were right, you

know. About the South’s lack of industry, and the impossibility of help from Europe. I should have listened to you.”

“You did what you thought was right. I always admired you for that.”
Tristan turned his gaze toward the horizon, embarrassed. “I made the wrong decision. I don’t even remember why I

thought a state’s right to secede was so important. It certainly wasn’t worth what it cost me.”

“We all take the wrong path sometimes. I still haven’t decided if coming out here was the right thing to do. For me, yes.

But for my family...” Ian shrugged, his voice troubled. “The first few years were hard, especially on Savannah. She worked
like a field hand, learning how to cook and sew and tend the garden.”

Tristan kept his face carefully neutral. “Savannah’s stronger than you think.”
“Maybe she is. Maybe she isn’t.” Ian turned and stared at him, searching his face as though he were looking for the

answers to all life’s questions. Tristan shifted uncomfortably, sensing Ian was testing him.

“Do I pass?” he snapped.
Ian smiled a bit and leaned back in his chair. “Just seeing if there was anything left in you of the man I used to know.”
“I don’t think I want to hear what you decided.” In truth, Tristan did want to know. Ian had always been fair and honest,

and he wanted to know if his old friend thought there was still hope for him. He wanted Ian to tell him he’d seen something
worth saving.

Instead, Ian laughed. “Let’s go inside. Breakfast is almost ready.”

* * * * *

Savannah was carrying a basket of biscuits to the table when Ian and Tristan entered the kitchen together. She put the

basket down on the big, pine table and stepped away, hoping neither of them noticed how the mere sight of Tristan Kane was
enough to make her hands tremble.

Heat rushed to her cheeks at the thought of the intimacies she’d shared with Tristan yesterday. She couldn’t even look at

him without remembering the way his thick, wheat-colored hair had felt between her fingertips, and how his emerald eyes had
drifted shut when she’d touched his beautiful face.

Her dreams had been filled with images of the night they’d made love. In her dreams, their lovemaking hadn’t been

hurried or awkward. In her dreams, he’d been gloriously naked, and she’d been free to touch him everywhere.

Ian smiled and brushed her arm in passing. “It smells wonderful, sis.”
“Thank you.” She hurried to set another place for their guest. “I’m glad you decided to come down for breakfast,

Tristan.”

She knew this meant he’d be leaving soon, perhaps even today, and the knowledge made her weak with despair. She

couldn’t bear to let him go. He was so lost, so achingly alone, and she wanted to help him find himself again.

He’d been looking out the window but when she spoke, he cleared his throat and turned around. “It’s good of you to have

me, all things considered.”

Was that an apology? Was he sorry for the horrible things he’d said yesterday?
Joel and Billy arrived, distracting her from analyzing his words and painfully polite manner any further. For the next few

minutes she had her hands full getting breakfast on the table.

At last she took her seat, which was right across from Tristan. He was engrossed in his meal, eating awkwardly with his

left hand, avoiding her gaze.

“Billy, you need to keep an eye on that mare we bought in Denver,” Ian instructed, digging into his fried potatoes. “She’s

gonna foal today. I’m sure of it.”

Billy frowned. “I told George Powers I’d go fishing with him today. The mare can foal by herself. They’ve been doing it

alone since time began.”

Savannah bit her lip. Lately Billy had been bucking Ian’s authority at every turn. She wondered what Tristan thought of

his son’s smart-aleck ways. Would Billy be less prone to sulk and talk back if he had a loving father?

Was Tristan capable of being a loving father?
“You’ve got responsibilities around here,” Ian said firmly. “You can’t just take off whenever you feel like it.”
“I can look after the mare.” Tristan’s quiet offer surprised everyone, and ended Billy and Ian’s argument before it had the

chance to pick up its usual steam.

Joel shook his head. “I don’t think you should take any chances with that shoulder. It’s healing well, and I don’t feel like

stitching you back up again.”

“I’m not going to injure myself watching a mare foal.” Tristan gave a wry smile. “I was raised on a horse farm, in case

you’ve forgotten. If there’s any trouble, I’ll let one of you know.”

Ian cast a quelling look at Joel. “He knows more about horses than you and I put together. If he wants to help, let him.”
Joel frowned and attacked a piece of ham, but said nothing more.
Ian’s attention returned to Tristan. “I couldn’t help but notice that stallion of yours. He’s a fine animal. What do you call

him?”

Tristan lowered his gaze, but not before Savannah saw a flicker of anguish in the depths of his emerald eyes. “I never

name my horses.”

“That’s not true,” she murmured, before she could think better of it. “What about Calypso?”
His father had given him the lovely little filly for his seventeenth birthday and it had taken him a week to pick out a name

he deemed worthy of her. Savannah knew, because she’d helped him.

“Calypso was shot out from underneath me in the Wilderness,” he said, his voice bleak. “It happened the same day

Michael was shot.”

It happened the same day Michael was shot.
His words seemed to echo in the sudden silence. She stared at him, fighting back tears, wondering again what had

happened that day.

“I’m sorry for bringing it up,” she whispered. “I had no idea.”
Tristan pushed away from the table, his chair screeching on the wooden floor. The despair she saw on his face took her

breath away. “Thanks for breakfast. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to head out to the barn.”

* * * * *

Savannah hurried through the breakfast dishes and then went outside to look for Joel. She was burning with questions,

and he was the only one besides Tristan who might have the answers. She couldn’t ask Tristan, not after she’d stuck her foot in
her mouth by asking about Calypso.

She found Joel in the garden, attacking some weeds that threatened a patch of wild strawberries. Her brother never

worked in the garden, so she knew he was upset.

Well, she was upset, too. They’d all avoided speaking of the past for far too long. She knew next to nothing of what Joel

and Ian had gone through during the war. By the same token, she had never confided in them about how things had gone in their
absence.

She’d kept the constant fear that came from living in a war zone with a young child to herself. She’d never spoken of her

mother’s depression and slow, lingering death. And she’d never told anyone how she’d watched the Kane’s Plantation, River’s
End, which had belonged to her and Michael, burn to the ground. Their own friends and neighbors had set it ablaze because of
Tristan’s decision to fight for the Confederacy.

Tristan’s re-emergence into their lives had denied them the luxury of pretending the war had never happened. The time

had come to find out the truth about what had happened in the Wilderness all those years ago.

She sat down on a rough pine bench flanked by rose bushes and regarded her brother. “Joel, I need you to tell me what

happened the day Tristan shot Michael.”

He glanced up, his blue eyes shadowed with pain. For a moment she was tempted to just forget the whole thing. Perhaps

it was better to leave everything buried.

Then he sat back on his heels and gave a weary shrug. “What do you want to know?”
She twisted her hands together, suddenly unsure. “You told me Michael’s death was an accident, but Tristan acts as

though it was his fault. Just tell me how Michael got shot.”

“I wasn’t there. I can’t tell you exactly what happened, only what I managed to piece together from what each of them

told me afterwards.”

He’d accidentally pulled out one of the strawberry plants during his attack on the weeds. Now he held it in his hand,

staring down at the green leaves, his blue gaze unfocused and clouded with regret.

“Tristan was thrown from his horse and knocked unconscious during the battle. Somehow Michael sensed it. He found

me at the hospital and told me he was going to go look for him. He asked if I would take a look at Tristan if he managed to
sneak him through the lines undetected.”

A chill traveled down her spine. “Remember the time Michael broke his leg? You two were down at the river bottom

and Tristan and I were in the orchard, but Tristan knew Michael had been hurt. He said he felt it.”

He nodded. “It was just like that. Michael even knew Tristan had a head injury. I believed him and promised to do

anything in my power to help Tristan if Michael could just get him to me.”

“The odds against Michael finding Tristan must have been staggering.” She was awed by the connection between the two

brothers. How brave of Michael to abandon his post and search through the chaos of battle for Tristan.

“In the end I guess you could say it was Tristan who found Michael.” His voice was heavy with irony. “Michael was

checking each body, looking for Tristan. Tristan saw Michael’s blue uniform, mistook him for a looter, and fired.”

She could see it all so clearly. Tristan wounded, hurting. Michael coming to his rescue, even after the harsh words they’d

said to each other in parting...

“Dear God,” she whispered.
“Luckily, Tristan’s aim was off. The bullet hit Michael in the leg. It wasn’t a fatal shot. Michael begged Tristan to leave

him there. He was sure he could make his way back to the line, but Tristan refused to abandon him. He carried Michael through
enemy fire and brought him to me. He trusted me and was certain I could save Michael’s leg.”

There was guilt in his eyes, even after all these years. Savannah wondered why she’d never realized her brother felt

more than grief over Michael’s death. He and Tristan had both suffered over what had happened.

“Oh, Joel…” She reached out, wanting to comfort him, but he avoided her hand and pushed to his feet.
“I couldn’t save Michael’s leg. Hell, I couldn’t even save his life. All I could do was stand there and watch while

Tristan was carried off to prison for his efforts on Michael’s behalf.” Joel crushed the strawberry plant with slow, deliberate
pressure, and then threw it to the ground. “So if anyone should be feeling guilty, it’s me.”

He strode away before she could say anything else. The sun glinted off his dark brown hair as he squared his broad

shoulders against the pain he’d been hiding all these years. Tears filled her eyes as she watched him go, but she didn’t know
who she cried for; Joel, Tristan, Michael or herself.

Chapter Seven

Tristan rubbed the mare’s neck, whispering gentle, nonsensical words in her ear while she struggled to give birth. He

tried to lose himself in this small miracle, but he couldn’t stop thinking of Savannah.

He’d tried to push her away, to distance himself by reminding her what he’d become, but it didn’t seem to be working.

He’d deliberately sabotaged the pleasant interlude in the kitchen yesterday afternoon, but his plan had backfired. Instead of
cringing in disgust, her blue eyes had gentled with understanding.

He didn’t want her to understand him. Now he felt ridiculous, like a child who’d thrown a nasty tantrum but still failed to

get his way.

“How’s it going?”
Tristan turned at the sound Ian’s voice. He frowned as Ian entered the stall and circled the straining animal, his blue eyes

lit with interest.

“We’re almost there,” Tristan conceded, wishing for a little more time alone with his thoughts.
Apparently, Ian had no intention of allowing him that respite. “What do you think of her? These mountain horses aren’t

the thoroughbreds your father used to raise, but they’ve got a lot of heart.”

“I’m impressed with your stock,” Tristan answered, finding it impossible to remain detached when the conversation

involved his favorite subject—horses. “I looked around a bit when I first came outside. That stallion of yours is one hell of an
animal.”

Ian grinned, obviously pleased. “The cattle are still my main source of income, but eventually I’d like to turn my attention

to making this place the best horse ranch this side of the Mississippi.”

“I’d say you’re well on your way.” Tristan turned away, staring at the mare, remembering when he’d had dreams of his

own. He’d wanted to breed a horse that could run like the wind and have the heart of a champion.

Ian gave the mare a more thorough examination, then turned and looked Tristan straight in the eye. “You should stick

around for a while and lend me a little of your expertise. I can’t pay much as far as wages go, but you can have that little cabin
down by the creek and three home-cooked meals a day.”

Tristan was stunned by Ian’s offer. He’d been drifting for so long that the thought of settling down was a temptation he

didn’t know if he could resist.

Lord, what he wouldn’t give to work with horses again, even if they weren’t his own. It was a chance to start over, and

he knew second chances didn’t come around every day.

He’d have plenty of time to get to know his nephew.
“I don’t know what to say.” He frowned and held up his right hand, demonstrating his inability to make a fist. “I won’t be

as much help as I’d like. I don’t know whether or not this arm will ever be like it was.”

Just voicing his fears out loud made him realize how much he needed what Ian offered. If he tried to go back to his old

life, he’d be dead in a matter of weeks. Vulnerability was easy to scent in his line of work.

“You don’t have to make up your mind right now.” Ian returned his attention to the mare. “Just keep in mind that it’s an

option.”

Tristan leaned against the side of the stall, exhausted. He didn’t know how to handle the acceptance this family handed

him at every turn. Didn’t they know he was a killer with no morals and no conscience? Were they fools to allow him into their
home?

“You look tired. Why don’t you go back up to the house? You missed lunch, but I’m sure Savannah can rustle you up

something to tide you over ’til dinner. I’ll finish here. To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Birthings are my
favorite part of this whole business.”

“I am tired,” Tristan admitted. “Maybe I’ll take a short nap.” He needed time to think about all of this.
“I’ll see you at dinner.” Ian smiled as though he knew exactly what Tristan was thinking.
“Sure. Dinner,” Tristan replied. He wondered if they were all in some sort of conspiracy to make him human again.

* * * * *

Savannah paused on the top step of the porch, staring in rapt fascination at the man who slept on the swing. Tristan’s

blond head was bent in an awkward angle, and his long legs hung limp over the side.

The kitten she’d captured earlier in the woodpile squirmed in her hands. She gave it a distracted pat as she moved

closer. Tristan’s thick, dark lashes fanned his cheeks, giving his lean face a youthful cast. In repose he looked years younger,
more like the boy she’d fallen in love with so long ago.

Beautiful Tristan, broken and bleeding from a dozen emotional wounds.
The top button of his black shirt was undone, revealing the steady pulse of his heart beneath the smooth, tanned skin at his

throat. That heartbeat had always been desperately important to her.

She couldn’t bear to think of losing him again. Once he left the ranch there would be other hotheaded young fools with a

taste for glory. They’d be watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake.

One day soon he’d lay face down in the dirt, drowning in his own blood, a bullet piercing his scarred heart. They’d bury

him in some barren field, and there would be no one to shed a tear or remember the shy, sweet boy he’d been.

The only way to prevent that from happening was to keep him here. She couldn’t let him leave. Billy needed him. She

needed him.

Michael would have hated to see Tristan suffer. He wouldn’t have begrudged Tristan whatever happiness she might be

able to give him. But what could she do to help? What would he allow her to do?

She’d watched him come up from the barn after lunch. His steps were slow, and she could tell his shoulder was hurting,

but instead of coming inside and letting her do something for him, he’d remained out here, alone.

Ian had taken over watching the mare, and she wondered if he’d offered Tristan a job. If so, had Tristan denied him

outright, or was he thinking about accepting?

She wanted to wake him up and tell him every single thing that was in her heart. She wanted to declare her love and

place her future in his hands, but she knew how foolish that would be.

Ian was right. If Tristan wasn’t ready to leave the killing behind, it wouldn’t be wise to tell him about Billy. She had to

think of her son and ignore her own crazy, selfish need to have Tristan back in her life.

The kitten in her hands purred like a freight train, the sound impossibly loud, considering its tiny source. She

remembered how much Tristan had always loved cats.

Smiling, she patted the kitten’s white and gray head, and then placed it on Tristan’s chest. The kitten swayed for a

moment, confused by its new point of view. Then he daintily picked his way toward Tristan’s face.

When the cat reached the hollow beneath Tristan’s chin, he looked up at Savannah and stretched, digging his sharp little

claws into Tristan’s neck. She held her breath, thinking Tristan would wake up, but he slept on, oblivious. The kitten circled a
few more times, then settled in a ball next to Tristan’s cheek and began to purr.

“Take care of him,” she whispered. “Don’t leave him alone for a minute.” Then she tiptoed away.

* * * * *

A rough tongue licked Tristan’s neck. The odd sensation broke through his sleep, and he startled awake, dislodging the

kitten that had been sitting on his chest. He stared down at the tiny gray and white cat in surprise.

“Hello,” he murmured at last, a reluctant smile curving his lips. “Where did you come from?”
The kitten purred and wound itself around his wrist. Tristan lifted it to eye level. “Didn’t Joel tell you I needed my rest?”
The kitten meowed and tried to scratch his nose. Tristan grinned and rubbed the animal’s furry little belly. He’d always

had a soft spot for cats.

Savannah, he thought, glancing at the house. She knew far too much about him.
He shook his head, wondering what she hoped to accomplish with such a gesture. Whatever her motives, it made him

uncomfortable.

He sat up and leaned back in the padded swing, still petting the cat, thinking about Ian’s offer. If not for Savannah, he’d

have accepted in an instant because he’d dreamed of working with horses again for years. But seeing Savannah every day,
knowing she’d been married to Michael and had a child with him so soon after she’d sworn her undying love, was more torture
than he could bear.

Ignoring the pain, he clenched and unclenched his fist, contemplating what his future held if he refused Ian’s offer. His

fingers moved a little, but not well enough to hold a gun. That might get better with time, but time was something he wouldn’t
have a lot of once he left the safety of the McKenzie ranch.

His gaze narrowed as a rider came up the road toward the house. Even from a distance he could tell it wasn’t one of the

McKenzies. This man didn’t sit a horse with the ease Savannah’s brothers did.

Danger prickled down the back of his neck. He stood, keeping his attention fixed on the intruder. The man drew closer,

and Tristan noticed the shiny silver badge on the lapel of the man’s black vest.

The sheriff, he thought with a sneer, wondering what trumped up charge the bastard intended to pin on him. He’d always

been careful to stay on the right side of the law. He knew he wasn’t wanted for anything, and he’d be damned if he’d take the
blame for the fiasco with Johnny Muldoon. He’d never even drawn his gun, yet the kid had shot him in the back.

“Kane,” the lawman said without preamble, riding his chestnut mare across the lawn right up to the front porch. “It seems

reports of your death were exaggerated.”

“Yeah, well, Joel never did know when to leave things be.”
“That’s the truth.” The man dismounted and climbed the porch steps with wary grace. “I’m Sheriff Keegan.”
“Keegan,” Tristan acknowledged, petting the tiny kitten he still held in his hands. “What can I do for you?”
Keegan’s hard blue gaze went to the cat. “You seem to be making yourself right at home.”
“The McKenzies are old friends.” Tristan eyed the sheriff contemptuously and lowered the kitten to the porch with his

left hand. He’d seen the type before. He was a bit of a dandy. Keegan probably liked the idea of being a sheriff a whole lot
more than he liked the duties that went with the position.

“Well, I suggest you start saying your good-byes,” Keegan snapped. “We don’t want your kind in our town. I’ve come to

tell you to leave.”

At that moment Savannah stepped outside, letting the screen door slam hard behind her. “Sheriff Keegan, are you

threatening my guest?”

She came to stand between the two men, and Tristan glared at the back of her auburn head. He didn’t need this slip of a

girl to stand up for him.

Keegan’s face gentled. “Now, Savannah. You know we can’t start letting men like this into our town. Who knows what

kind of lawlessness that would encourage?

“What have you done with Johnny Muldoon?” She reached for Tristan’s hand in an unmistakable gesture of affection and

support. “He shot Tristan in the back, yet I hear he’s still walking around town free. Tristan did nothing, yet you’ve come out
here to my home to harass him?”

Tristan scowled and pulled his hand out her grasp. “Stay out of this, Savannah.”
“Yes, honey. This is between me and Kane.” Keegan glanced at Savannah, lust darkening his gaze. Tristan saw it and had

a sudden, barely controlled urge to do murder.

Savannah remained calm and implacable. “You should leave, Sheriff Keegan. Tristan is still recuperating. He needs his

rest.”

Tristan raised one eyebrow and gave a mean smile. “Yeah,” he said. “I need my rest.”
Keegan gave him a final glare and abruptly turned away. “This isn’t over,” he warned, mounting his horse. “I’ll be back

in a few days, and you better be long gone.”

“Don’t count on it,” Tristan called after him. But he was afraid the sheriff’s visit had made his decision for him. The last

thing in the world he wanted to do was bring trouble to Savannah and her family.

Chapter Eight

Later that evening, Savannah paused in the doorway of her father’s old bedroom, watching with interest as Tristan

finished shaving. He was using his left hand and it had obviously been difficult for him. His smooth face was peppered with
nicks and cuts.

“Hello,” she murmured as he rinsed the razor in a basin of water.
He glanced up and caught sight of her in the mirror. Their eyes met and held for a long moment, but then he looked away.

“What do you want?”

She frowned at his bad temper but was determined not to let such a small thing dissuade her. “You should have let me

help you.” She crossed the room to his side and dabbed at one of his cuts. “You’ve made a mess of yourself.”

He flinched and jerked away from her touch. “Damn it, Savannah. I don’t need your help. I’m more than capable of

shaving myself.”

“You’re angry because I interfered with Keegan, aren’t you?” After the confrontation with Keegan, he’d stalked away

from her without another word. She was surprised to see him preparing to come down for dinner. She’d thought he’d sulk in his
room all night.

He’d always had more pride than sense.
“I’m not angry.” He turned and glared at her. “Don’t you have anything better to do than plague me with your questions

and silly speculations?”

She grinned and plopped down on the edge of his bed. “Not at the moment.”
The barest hint of a smile curved his lips at her audacity. “It’s bad manners to enter a gentleman’s room uninvited.”
She glanced around. “Oh, is there a gentleman around here somewhere?”
He sighed and pointed to the small, gray and white ball of fur on his pillow. “Only this little fellow, I’m afraid.”
Savannah feigned surprise and picked up the kitten, cradling him to her face. “What a beauty. Where did you get him?”
Tristan sat down on the bed beside her and shook his head. “I don’t know what you expect me to do with a kitten.”
She laughed. “How did you know it was me?” He’d displayed a hint of the gentle humor that had always come so easily

between them, and she didn’t want it to end.

“I just knew.” He reached out to stroke the kitten’s back, and his fingers tangled with hers. She grazed the calluses on his

palm with her thumb, and he caught his breath, his gaze locked with hers.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do.” He squeezed her hand and then released it. “But I don’t need your pity.”
“We were friends once,” she interjected, stung. “There was even a time when I thought you loved me. Have I ruined it all

so completely?”

His expression grew distant. Shuttered. “The woman I loved would never have agreed to marry my brother.”
She turned away, struggling to control bitter tears. She wanted to tell him why she’d married Michael. She wanted to let

him know her marriage had never been consummated, that he was the only man who had ever touched her with passion.

Only the quiet resignation in his voice stopped her. It would have been better if he’d shown anger. At least then she’d

have known he still cared. But there was nothing in his eyes but utter finality.

To him, at least, their relationship was over.
She stood, keeping her eyes averted so he couldn’t see her tears. “Dinner’s in a half hour,” she murmured on her way out

the door. “I hope you’ll come down. I’ve made a pot roast.”

* * * * *

Tristan left the McKenzies house at daybreak the next morning and walked about a mile to a clearing on the other side of

the ridge. The sheriff’s visit had made it imperative for him to see if he was capable of leaving this temporary sanctuary.

He set up a row of rusty cans on an old fallen tree, then paced fifty feet back and fumbled to load his revolver with his

left hand. All he needed was a little practice, he assured himself, trying to rationalize his clumsiness. One day he’d be as fast

with his left hand as he’d been with his right.

Taking a deep breath, he emptied his gun, aiming for each of the cans in turn. When the echoes of the blasts died away, he

didn’t have to look to know not a single one had hit its mark.

“Shit.” He was a worse shot now than Johnny Muldoon. After fumbling to dislodge the empty cartridge casings from the

cylinder, he reached for another handful of bullets.

It was disconcerting to know he was a walking dead man. He’d never even make it out of town unless his aim improved.

Sheriff Keegan was itching to put another bullet in him, and right now there was little he could do to stop him.

Strange. A week ago he would have felt nothing but calm resignation, perhaps even relief. But finding out about Billy had

changed everything. He had an adorable nephew he ached to know. There was so much he wanted to tell Billy about Michael,
if only the boy would let him.

And then there was Savannah.
Thoughts of the boy reminded him of how Savannah had fallen into Michael’s arms after he’d left her. How soon, he

wondered, firing off several more misses. Had she done it to get back at him, or had she merely been lonely?

If he’d joined the Union Army, as everyone had begged him to do, Savannah would have married him before he left, and

she’d have given birth to his baby.

Michael would still be alive.
He blasted off another round, cursing his ineptitude. It did no good to think of the past. He couldn’t change what had

happened, or what he’d become.

* * * * *

Joel heard the echoing blasts of Tristan’s revolver long before he finally found him. He stood watching as Tristan fired

off round after round, aiming at a line of cans some distance away.

He frowned, his anger and disappointment growing with every passing moment. Unable to control his dismay any longer,

he started down the hill. “What the hell are you doing?”

Tristan spun around, his gun already in hand, tension in every muscle. “That’s a good way to get your fool head blown

off,” he muttered, lowering the barrel of his gun slowly, obviously stunned that Joel had managed to sneak up on him.

“Damn it, Tristan.” Joel snatched the pistol out of his friend’s hand and unloaded it with one smooth motion. “If you’re

determined to get yourself killed, go do it somewhere else. My nephew is already entranced by your lifestyle. The last thing I
want him to do is follow in your footsteps.”

“Don’t you ever take a gun from my hand again.” Tristan gave him a killing look, but Joel didn’t miss the tremor in his

hands.

“Or what? You’ll kill me? Like you kill every other man who looks at you the wrong way?”
“Is that what you think?” Tristan raked his good hand through his hair in dismay. “Do you think I like to kill? Hell, I’d put

my guns away in a second if I could.”

“Would you?” Joel shook his head and handed Tristan back the empty gun. “That’s a lie. Ian already told me he asked

you to stay.”

“It’s not that easy.” Tristan stared at the cans that had managed to elude him. “Billy is my nephew, too. I don’t want him

to end up like me any more than you do. There’s nothing I want more than to stay here and ensure he doesn’t, but the sheriff
warned me off yesterday, told me I have two days to leave.”

“Keegan?” Joel asked. Suddenly Tristan’s behavior made sense, and Joel’s anger vanished. “Don’t worry about that

bastard. He has no right to tell you to leave our land. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Tristan gave a wry smile. “That’s what Savannah told him. But he’s the sheriff, Joel. I don’t want to cause any trouble for

your family.”

“You’re part of our family.” Joel met his gaze, willing Tristan to hear the truth behind his words. “If you want to stay,

then put that damned gun away and come back to the house with me. We’ll deal with Keegan when and if we have to.”

Tristan tucked his gun in the waistband of his pants. “Thank you for this,” he muttered. “You’re probably saving my life.

Again.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Joel clasped Tristan’s hand, thinking of all that still lay between them, knowing Tristan would hate

him when he found out the truth. “We still haven’t talked about Michael.”

Tristan shook his head, dropping his gaze. “We’ll do it some other time, all right? There’s no hurry, not if I’m going to

stay a while.”

Joel nodded, glad of the reprieve, yet aware that every day he delayed would only make the tale that much harder to tell.

“Let me know when you’re ready.”

“I will,” Tristan agreed, but from the look in his eyes, Joel doubted that day would ever come.

* * * * *

Tristan dressed carefully in preparation for joining the McKenzies for dinner that night, his

mood lighter than it had been in a decade. Accepting Ian’s offer was the first positive move he’d
made since he’d realized the Yankee looter he’d just shot was his brother.

Staying here wouldn’t be easy—he still had to work through his feelings about Savannah—but the thought of building a

solid relationship with his nephew was sounding more and more appealing. He needed a purpose, a reason to get up in the
morning, and Billy was his last—best—hope.

When he arrived downstairs, he was surprised to find that the meal had been moved from its usual place in the kitchen to

the more formal dining room. A lovely, dark-haired girl was helping Savannah carry platters of food to the big dining table,
and he figured she must be the reason for the change in venue.

He hesitated in the doorway, unsure whether or not he’d be welcome when the family had another guest. Would they

want a killer at their table now that he was nothing more than a hired hand?

Ian stepped forward, clasping his hand in welcome, a sparkle in his blue eyes. “Tristan, so glad you decided to join us.

May I introduce my fiancée, Mary Banks?”

Mary Banks stepped forward, smiling with just a touch of nervousness. She had big, green eyes and delicate features, and

she and Ian were obviously crazy in love. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Kane. I’ve heard so much about you.”

He could just imagine what she’d heard. Managing a small smile in return, he made an effort to appear as harmless as

possible. “Nice to meet you, Miss Banks.”

“Call me Mary. Everyone else does.”
Tristan searched his mind for more polite small talk, realizing how long it had been since he’d been in any type of social

situation. Luckily, he was saved from disgrace by Billy’s loud entrance into the room.

“Mary,” Billy cried, rushing to give the young woman a huge hug. “I didn’t know you were coming for dinner tonight.”
Mary blushed a bit and glanced up at Ian. “Well, your Uncle Ian stopped by and asked me so nicely, I just couldn’t

resist.”

The boy released Mary at last, and his bright blue gaze rested on Tristan for just a moment before skittering away. “Sir,”

he acknowledged.

“Hello, Billy.” Tristan knew he couldn’t expect too much too soon. Still, it was hard to hear the obvious affection in

Billy’s voice when he spoke to Mary.

Savannah slid between them, taking the youngster’s shoulders and guiding him toward the kitchen. “Come wash up,

honey.”

After Billy and Savannah left the room, Tristan followed Ian’s lead and seated himself at the long table. A centerpiece of

fresh mountain flowers crowned the snowy white tablecloth, and he recognized the gleaming silver and china from similar
fancy dinners he’d attended at the McKenzies home in Maryland. Baked ham, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn on the cob,
freshly baked bread, and a pitcher of lemonade completed the feast.

Joel came in and sat down on Tristan’s right, flashing Ian’s girl a huge smile. “Smells good, Mary.”
Mary shrugged. “Tell Savannah. She had almost everything done before I even got here.”
“Smells good, sis,” Joel called, giving Mary a wink.
“Thank you, Joel.” Savannah and Billy returned and took their seats, which placed them directly across the table from

Tristan. Savannah looked beautiful, as always, but frazzled. He wished there was something he could do to lighten her load.

Billy bowed his head and began saying grace, a custom Tristan hadn’t heard in so long he’d nearly forgotten people did

such things. He lowered his head, listening to his nephew’s exuberant voice, feeling oddly peaceful. God, how he’d missed
this.

There were several moments of silence after Billy was done while everyone filled their plates, but then Joel nudged

Tristan with his elbow. “Have you told everyone you decided to accept Ian’s offer?”

Savannah sucked in a startled breath. “Is that true, Tristan? Are you going to stay?” Her eyes held cautious delight, and a

touch of something else. Fear, perhaps?

Tristan tore his gaze away from her and looked over at Ian. “Yes, I’d like to stay. If you’ll still have me.”
Ian stared at him for a long moment and then smiled. “Of course we’ll still have you.”

Chapter Nine

Savannah was glad when Mary insisted on helping her do the dinner dishes. In the months that Mary and Ian had been

courting, the two women had become close friends, and she enjoyed Mary’s company. Female companionship was in short
supply out here, and though she longed to tell Mary everything about Tristan, she restrained herself.

How could she admit she’d made love to Tristan outside of wedlock? That the child she’d passed

off as her husband’s all these years actually belonged to a man most people thought of as a killer?

Unfortunately, Mary wouldn’t let it go. “How do you know a man like Tristan Kane? And why does he look at you as

though he’d like to wring your neck and kiss you senseless all at the same time?”

She laughed, but there was little humor in it. “Is that how he looks at me?”
Mary nodded, her green eyes sparkling. “He’s very handsome. Although, not nearly as handsome as Ian,” she hastened to

add. “Come on. Tell me how he came to be here. There are the most dreadful rumors circulating in town that he’s a killer and
who-knows-what else.”

She shook her head and plunged her hands into the steaming, soapy water where the dishes were soaking. “He may be all

that they say now. But back in Maryland, when we were young, he was everything I’d ever dreamed of.”

“You love him.” Mary’s pretty face was a picture of sympathy. “I hope everything works out for you. There’s nothing I’d

like more than to see you as happy as Ian and I are.”

“Thank you.” Her voice sounded rough even to her own ears. “But I don’t think there’s much chance of that.”
Mary squeezed her shoulder. “If you ever need to talk about it, just come see me.”
She nodded and changed the subject.
They finished the dishes in record time, since both of them were in a hurry to join the men in the sitting room. Billy and

Joel were already deeply involved in a game of chess, and Ian was waiting with obvious impatience, his eyes lighting up when
he saw Mary.

“Finally,” he murmured, taking Mary’s hand and leading her to the love seat in the corner. Savannah sighed, knowing

they’d spend the rest of the evening laughing and whispering, stealing kisses when they thought no one was looking.

Ian and Mary would be wed in less than a month and, although Savannah was very happy for her brother, it worried her.

Until now, she’d been the undisputed mistress of her brother’s home. But everything would change once he married. No matter
how much she liked Mary, it would be hard to step back and become little more than a poor relation living on Ian’s charity.

Besides, the love they’d found in each other made her feel even more alone. Especially tonight, when the only man she’d

ever wanted was so close, yet incredibly far away considering everything that stood between them.

Tristan sat in a comfortable chair near the window holding a book in his elegant hands, but she didn’t think he was

reading. He used the book as a shield, an excuse to keep anyone from engaging him in conversation.

Nonetheless, she thought the mere fact that he’d joined them, instead of retiring to his room, was encouraging. He was

reaching out, whether he realized it or not.

Her gaze moved to her beautiful blond son. Billy’s attention returned repeatedly to Tristan, though he tried hard to hide

his interest. Her stomach fluttered when she thought about what Tristan’s decision to stay would mean to all three of them.

Within the next few days she’d have to tell Tristan about his son, and then tell Billy she’d lied about who his father was.

She clenched her hands into fists as she sat down in her favorite chair and contemplated her basket of mending.

Neither revelation was going to be easy. It would take every bit of strength she had to do what needed to be done without

shattering under the pressure.

A rumble of thunder shook the house with a sudden, deafening boom. Tristan flinched at the sound, and Savannah glanced

at him, wondering at his sudden tension.

Joel looked up from his chess game, a frown creasing his brow. “Sounds like we’re in for quite a storm.”
Ian slid off the loveseat and looked out the window. “I don’t like the look of that sky. Looks like hail.”
“Most of the cattle are out in the south pasture. There’s not much shelter out there.” Joel stood and joined Ian at the

window.

Over their shoulders, Savannah saw a brilliant flash of lightning, and seconds later the house shook again from the

thunder.

“They’ll be all right,” Joel assured Ian. “We didn’t lose any last year.”
“You’re probably right.” Ian resumed his place at Mary’s side and began talking to her in a low voice, but Savannah

knew he was worried. The ranch was still struggling. They couldn’t afford any losses.

The storm advanced quickly across the prairie. Within a quarter of an hour rain lashed at the windows and hail pounded

like gunshots on the roof.

Tristan gave up all pretense of reading. He stared into the fire, his lean face drawn and pale. The kitten she’d given him

had crawled up on his lap, and he petted him absently, his strong fingers tangling in the cat’s long, silky hair.

Savannah watched him out of the corner of her eye with increasing alarm. Every time a clap of thunder shook the house,

he went rigid. She could tell by the rapid rise and fall of his broad chest that his breathing was far from natural. The explosions
of sound seemed to take him to another place, another time.

She wondered if the thunder reminded him of cannon fire.
Shoving her mending aside, she crossed the room and knelt before him. “Tristan,” she whispered. “Come with me.”
He raised his tortured gaze to meet hers and seemed bewildered to see her there. His green eyes were filled with

despair.

“Come with me,” she repeated, her heart twisting in sympathy.
She thought he would refuse her but, after a moment, he stood and let her guide him through the darkened house. She

hesitated in the hall, trying to decide where to go, and then led him out the front door to the porch swing. It was a little chilly,
but the covered porch sheltered them from the driving rain.

“It’s all right,” she told him when another brilliant flash of lightning lit up the sky. “It’s just the storm.”
He snatched his hand from hers and did his best to hide the tremor that shook him when the inevitable crack of thunder

vibrated the porch.

“I know,” he said gruffly. “Christ, Savannah. I’m not a child.”
She inched closer, refusing to allow him to retreat. He’d been alone for so long, and she was determined to be there for

him now whether he liked it or not.

“I can’t begin to understand what you’re feeling.” She cupped his face in her hands, loving the feel of his smooth, warm

skin beneath her palms. “Not unless you tell me.”

Tristan inhaled sharply, batting her hands away. “There’s nothing you can do.”
He didn’t want her help, didn’t want her to see his vulnerability. She could accept that, but she wasn’t about to give up

on him. “I think you’d feel better if you talked about it.”

“Some things can’t be fixed.” He ducked his head and sighed wearily. “Haven’t you learned that by now?”
She leaned back, surveying his bowed blond head, itching with the need to bury her fingers in his silky hair and rub his

temples until the tension flowed from his long, lean body. “Maybe you’re right, but what would it hurt to try?”

He glanced up at her, his green eyes unfathomable in the dim light. “You’ve already broken my heart. Must I give you my

soul as well?”

She touched his face again, grazing his chiseled jaw, her own heart aching for what she’d done to him. “Can’t we just

talk? I’ve missed that so much. Don’t you remember those conversations we used to have down by the river? You listened to
me as though every word I said was important. Friendship like that is a rare and precious gift.”

He let his head fall back against the wooden swing and groped for her hand. “I’ve missed you, too. More than you’ll ever

know.”

“Then tell me what’s troubling you. Tell me why the thunder makes you so tense.” She laced her fingers through his and

waited, praying he’d give her something else to hang on to. She wanted a glimpse of what his life had been like while they
were apart.

“There’s something wrong with me,” he admitted at last, his voice low and tortured. “Every loud noise makes me want to

run for cover. I know it’s only thunder. I know it. But the sound takes me back there—to the war. Sometimes I’m afraid I’ll
never find my way back again.”

This was far more than Savannah had expected him to reveal, and she had no idea what to say. She squeezed his hand,

wishing there was some way she could make it all disappear, turn back the clock so they could both make all the right
decisions.

“I’ve been lost for so long. Losing you. Losing Michael.” His hand tightened almost painfully. “When he died, a part of

me died, too. I don’t know what to do without him. He haunts me.”

“Michael wouldn’t have wanted to be anyone’s ghost,” she whispered, dismayed. “Especially not yours.”
“Do you think so?” He held her with the potency of his emerald gaze, no longer seeming to notice the storm that howled

around them. “We were strangers those last few years. We disagreed about everything. In the end, you knew him far better than
I.”

Guilty heat crept up Savannah’s cheeks. Michael had been her husband. She’d stood in a church and vowed before God

to love him and no other, but she’d never known him a tenth as well as she did Tristan.

“You should have had him by your side all these years,” Tristan continued, and she knew what it must have cost him to

say those words. “He would have given you a home of your own...more children.” He shook his head, and a lock of hair fell
forward over one eye. “I always knew I’d taken away Michael’s future, but now I find I’ve robbed you of one, as well.”

Tristan was her future. She wanted to tell him that, but couldn’t find the words. She’d come out here with the intention of

comforting him, but somehow he’d turned the tables on her, giving her little choice but to confess all and beg for his
forgiveness.

He’d given her the perfect opportunity to tell him about Billy, but she wasn’t ready. Not yet. She wanted to be prepared

to defend her choices, ready to explain everything in a calm and rational manner.

She needed a little more time.
Releasing his hand, she moved off the swing and went to stand at the porch rail, staring out at the fast-moving storm. The

worst of it had already traveled past the house and was advancing toward the mountains.

She tilted her face into the cool, cleansing sprinkle of rain. “Whether you like it or not, you’re still alive. Michael would

have wanted you to go on, to find some happiness. Wherever he is, his heart is bleeding for you.”

Tristan considered Savannah’s words. They stung, yet he knew she was right. Michael probably would want him to be

happy. His brother had been the kindest, most generous, effortlessly good man he’d ever known. Hard to imagine him being any
different in death.

He gazed at Savannah, drinking in her fey, uninhibited beauty. The rain splashed down her cheeks, wetting her fiery hair

and catching in her long, dark lashes. He wanted to go to her, cup her face, and kiss away every glistening drop.

Happiness. Could it really be that easy? He’d tried to stay away from her, tried to hate her, but it was impossible. Every

time he turned around, she was there comforting him, tempting him, driving him crazy with desire.

Maybe he should quit fighting it.
The silence stretched between them, and she finally stepped back under the shelter of the porch, twisting her hands as she

met his heated stare. “The storm is moving away. Only pea-sized hail. Ian will be glad.”

Tristan allowed himself a small smile. “Well, at least you kept my mind off the thunder.”
She laughed, breaking the tension. “I’m so glad.” She sat back down on the swing beside him and hugged him with

surprising strength. “I just wanted you to have a little peace. I didn’t mean to pry into your life or make things harder for you.”

“Yes, you did.” He held her tightly, burying his face in her damp hair, unable to let her go. “But I don’t mind. It’s been a

long time since anyone cared enough about me to meddle.”

She’d breathed life back into a part of him he’d thought long dead, the part that had once laughed and loved and confided

his secrets and dreams. He felt naked now, but he wasn’t sorry. He needed her warmth and sweetness too badly to resist any
longer.

The full swell of her breasts teased his chest, and he shifted, bringing her more fully against him. Her breath caught, and

then started up again with a ragged edge that made him yearn to cover her mouth with his.

There was such passion in her. He knew, because she’d once given him the full measure of it. He closed his eyes and

traced the slim column of her spine with his fingertips, wondering what she’d do if he were to cup her breast with his palm,
then unbutton her blouse and bring her nipple to rigid attention with his lips. Would she moan and whisper his name?

The blood rushed to his groin at the thought. Christ, he couldn’t bear it. He’d loved her for so long. All the desires and

wishes he’d pushed to the side during the last few years now demanded his undivided attention.

He wanted her. He needed her.
Somewhere inside the house a door slammed shut. She pulled away, glancing over her shoulder. Tristan smothered a

curse and fought the urge to pull her back against him, to kiss and touch her until the whole world fell away.

“Everyone will be wondering where we went.” She leaned forward and pressed a brief, platonic kiss to his forehead.

“We should go in and visit with Mary a little more before Ian has to take her home.”

“Go ahead. I’m going to stay out here for a while.”
She stared at him, the concern in her eyes nearly shattering his resolve. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”
What a question. She turned him inside out and upside down. He ached for her so badly he thought he’d die if he didn’t

find relief soon.

“Just go,” he muttered. “I’ll be fine.”
She nodded and squeezed his hand. “If you need me for anything, anything at all, just let me know.”
She smiled and hurried back into the house. Tristan groaned and buried his face in his hands. Did he need her? Of course

he did. He needed her like he needed air to breathe.

Chapter Ten

Savannah shut the front door and then leaned against it, a small smile curving her lips. Slowly but surely, Tristan was

forgiving her. The wall he’d built around his heart had started to crack. If she kept chipping away at it with her love, soon it
would crumble altogether.

Being in his arms tonight had felt like coming home. She’d wanted to stay there forever, listening to the beat of his heart

and his ragged breathing, knowing that despite everything, he still wanted her as much as she wanted him.

Luckily, the slamming door had brought her back to her senses. Perhaps, in time, he’d forgive her for the choices she’d

made ten years ago, but he’d never understand why she was keeping the truth about Billy from him now.

She had to tell him. There was no excuse not to. And until she did, she couldn’t give in to the siren pull of desire.
“Savannah? Are you all right?”
She glanced up and saw Ian staring at her from the parlor doorway. Concern darkened his blue eyes, and he hurried

forward, taking her arm and bending his mouth close to her ear. “Did you tell Tristan about Billy?”

She shook her head and pulled away from him. “Not yet,” she admitted. “We just talked about Michael.”
Ian sighed and folded his arms across his chest. “You have to tell him soon.”
“I know.” Guilt made her voice sharp. “I will tell him. I just need to find the right words. The right time.”
“Billy is your son,” Ian whispered harshly. “That’s only four words. How many more do you need?”
Savannah glared at her brother, stung. Ian had never spoken to her this way. Did he really think she meant to keep Tristan

in the dark any longer than necessary?

“Tell Mary I’m not feeling well,” she told him with all the quiet dignity she could muster. “I’m going to my room.”

* * * * *

The moist, hot smells of manure and hay reminded Tristan of his childhood. He stood just inside the McKenzies’ barn,

breathing deeply, thinking longingly of the huge, stone building that had housed the horses at River’s End.

Within those stone walls, his father had taught him everything there was to know about horses. Tristan and Michael had

played a thousand games of war in the loft, battling each other with wooden swords, never dreaming that one day they’d face
each other on a far different battlefield.

Older by ten minutes, Tristan had been his father’s heir. He’d always been safe in the knowledge that his place in the

world was guaranteed. For the first time, he wondered if Michael had resented him for that, despite his brother’s easy
assurances that he was glad to escape the responsibility.

How quickly Michael had moved into his place once he was gone. First into his father’s heart, and then into Savannah’s.
He shook the images away and grabbed a thick, woolen horse blanket from a peg on the wall. The house held far too

much appeal for him tonight.

Tomorrow he planned to move to the cabin Ian had offered him down by the creek, but for now he’d rather sleep in the

barn than across the hall from Savannah. He didn’t trust himself not to cross that small distance and beg her to take him into her
bed...into her body...

Groaning aloud at the very thought, he spread out the blanket in an empty stall and lay down, staring up into the darkness.

It was no use, he realized. Savannah’s words were bound to haunt him no matter where he slept.

She’d told him Michael wouldn’t have wanted to be his ghost, and he knew she was right. For the first time he had an

inkling of what all these years of guilt and self-destruction had done, both to himself and to Michael’s memory. In death he’d
turned Michael into something he’d never been in life.

Perfect.
He’d canonized his brother, remembering only the good parts of their relationship, forcing himself to forget their

occasional squabbles and the very real rift the war had put between them.

If he’d come home, riddled with defeat, to find Michael married to Savannah, any relationship he’d had with either of

them would have been destroyed. Surely Michael had known that.

Which only deepened his confusion. If Michael had hated him enough to rip apart that fragile bond, why had he bothered

to come looking for him in the Wilderness?

He sighed and knifed to a sitting position. There was no way he was going to get any sleep tonight.
He stood and made his way to the stall where the mare and her new colt were resting. His presence made the colt shy

nervously, and he hushed him with a soft sound. He took several deep, calming breaths, battling to keep his emotions under
control and focus his restless energy on soothing the little horse.

Several minutes passed, but at last the colt brushed his velvety nose across Tristan’s knuckles. “Easy, boy,” he

murmured, glad to see he hadn’t lost his touch. “I won’t hurt you.”

Horses were easy. He wished he had half as much success with people.
Frustrated desire still thrummed rhythmically through his blood. Holding Savannah in his arms had resurrected long-dead

dreams and magnified his mistakes with dreadful clarity. He’d wasted so much time feeling sorry for himself. He’d let his
humanity slip away until he wasn’t quite sure he could reclaim it.

The mare crossed the stall to investigate him, sniffing his shirt to make sure he wasn’t a threat to her baby. Tristan sighed

and buried his face against her silky neck.

“You’re still alive, whether you like it or not.”
Savannah was right, as usual. The time had come to make peace with Michael’s death. He needed to find out if he had it

in him to forget about the past and start living again.

* * * * *

Savannah flung open the cabin door, and then stood choking and gasping as a cloud of dust and the stench of mold and

disuse filled her nostrils.

“Dear God,” she whispered when she regained her breath. “This place is a mess.”
More than three years had passed since her family had abandoned the tiny, dark cabin for the large, lovely home over the

hill. Savannah hadn’t given the place a thought since. She had very few fond memories of the place. She’d wished a thousand
times during those early days that Ian had never talked her into leaving Maryland.

But when Tristan had announced his intention to move down here at breakfast, she’d known it would need some

freshening up. Freshening up, she thought with a frown, looking around. Perhaps it would be easier to just tear the whole thing
down and build another one.

Animals had been making themselves at home in the McKenzies’ absence. Signs of them were everywhere—nests in the

corners, droppings on the wood floor and immense, draping spider webs. A heavy coat of dust covered everything, and the
curtains hung in faded shreds over the two grimy windows.

“Yuck.” Billy came up behind her, a big bucket of cleaning materials in his hands. “Is he really going to live here?”
Savannah nodded and leaned the broom and mop against the doorframe. “This is going to take a lot more work than I

thought.”

Billy frowned and crossed the room gingerly, depositing his load on the filthy table. “I don’t see why he just can’t stay up

at the house with the rest of us.”

Savannah glanced at her son, wondering if this was just another attempt to get out of helping her clean, or if he really did

want to keep Tristan close. She hoped it was the latter. So far, Tristan hadn’t made much progress in winning his son over.

“I imagine he just wants a little privacy.”
In truth, she knew exactly why Tristan wanted out of the house. It had nothing to do with privacy and everything to do

with avoiding the attraction between them.

They’d moved into dangerous territory last night. He’d come close to forgiving her, and it probably scared the hell out of

him.

“He just doesn’t want to be around me,” Billy said so quietly she almost didn’t hear him. He picked up the broom,

marched over to the corner, and started to sweep with unnecessary vigor. “He doesn’t like me.”

“Oh, Billy,” Savannah whispered in dismay. “Of course he likes you. He likes you very much.”
Billy shook his head and continued sweeping. “No, he doesn’t. He thinks I’m stupid for wanting him to teach me how to

shoot.”

Savannah went to her son and hugged him, stilling the motion of the broom. “He doesn’t think you’re stupid,” she told

him, her heart breaking. “He just doesn’t want you to end up dead on the street somewhere.”

“I’m going to be good. Better than him even. No one will ever be able to kill me.” Billy broke free of her embrace and

glared at her. “He’s afraid I’ll be better than he is.”

Savannah’s eyes stung with tears. She wanted to tell him the truth about Tristan, but was afraid to do so until she knew

how Tristan felt about the whole situation. If Tristan walked away from Billy now, when he needed a father so badly, it would

destroy him.

It would destroy her, too.
“Tristan cares for you,” she said, instead. “More than you know. I think you should give him another chance.”
Billy shook his head, backing away. “I don’t want to give him a second chance. I don’t want to talk to him at all.” Then

he whirled and raced from the cabin, sprinting over the hill and out of sight before Savannah could make it any further than the
cabin’s front porch.

She stared after him, a hollow ache in the pit of her stomach, debating whether or not to follow him. In the end, she let

him go because there was nothing she could do to make things easier for him until she was free to tell him that Tristan was his
father.

* * * * *

Tristan spent the day with Ian, discussing the McKenzies’ breeding program. He was pleased to be able to offer his old

friend some suggestions, even happier when Ian asked him if he’d like to exchange the stud fees of his stallion for a few of the
colts he sired.

Tristan decided to take the whole thing a little further. He pledged some of the thousands of dollars he’d saved during the

years he’d spent as a hired gun to add more mares to Ian’s herd. If he was going to stay here, he wanted to be more than a hired
hand.

Ian had admitted ready cash was something he was in short supply of and had offered Tristan a full partnership in the

ranch in return for his investment. He had tons of ideas; he just hadn’t had the capital to implement them. They’d shaken hands
on the deal and, as Tristan made his way down to the small cabin that was now his, he was filled with excitement.

For the first time since the war he had a place to call home and prospects for the future. It was a heady feeling. He

wanted to share his enthusiasm with Savannah.

So when he saw her in the doorway of the cabin, throwing a bucket of dirty water over the porch rail, he somehow

wasn’t surprised. For a moment he just watched her, an ache blossoming in the pit of his stomach as he realized how much he
wanted her here, in his home, in his life.

“Hello,” he said, making her jump in surprise and turn to face him.
She smiled, and her hand went self-consciously to her messy auburn ponytail, smoothing it in a futile attempt to tame her

fiery curls. Her face and clothes were streaked with dirt, but she glowed in the afternoon light.

“I’ve been trying all day to make this place livable,” she told him with a nervous laugh. “It was filthy.”
He shook his head and mounted the steps, peering in the door at the shadowy interior of the cabin. His breath left him in a

rush as he took in the gleaming wood floor, sparkling glass windows, and the arrangement of fresh flowers on the small round
table in the corner.

“You didn’t have to do all this.” His voice was hoarse as he surveyed all the little things she’d taken the time to do for

him. “I wasn’t expecting it.”

“I wanted to.” Taking his hand, she led him further into the room. “I wanted you to feel at home here.”
He laughed, a low, lost sound. “The only reason I wanted to leave your brother’s house was because everywhere I

looked I saw traces of you. Now you’ve gone and made this place into a home, too.”

She looked up at him, frowning. “I would have done the same for anyone who came to work for Ian.”
That made him feel even worse because, deep down, he wanted her to admit she’d spent the whole day cleaning and

polishing and collecting flowers because she still loved him.

He cleared his throat. “Well...thank you. It looks real nice.”
A flicker of movement in the corner caught his attention, and a reluctant grin curved his mouth when he saw the kitten. It

seemed she’d thought of everything.

She smiled and squeezed his hand. “Come on. You haven’t seen it all yet.” Pulling him along behind her, she led him

through the large living area, with its stone fireplace and simple, hand carved furniture, to one of two closed doors at the far
end of the room.

“There are two bedrooms. But I only had time to get this one in order today.”
The room was small, and a large bed took up most of it. Savannah dropped his hand to smooth her fingers over the crisp,

clean sheets. “Billy and I used to sleep here,” she murmured, taking a heavy, cream-colored quilt from a nearby chair. “It might
not look like much, but it’s very comfortable.”

She spread the quilt over the sheets and, without thinking, he stepped forward to help her. They made the bed in silence,

but when she turned down the covers and began plumping the lone pillow, he couldn’t take it anymore.

He’d never wanted anything the way he wanted to make love to her on this bed.
He skirted the footboard with the pretense of tucking in the quilt, until he was so close he could feel the heat of her body.

She straightened slowly and looked up at him, confusion and desire warring for predominance in her eyes.

“Tristan?” Her voice asked a question he wasn’t sure he was ready to answer.
Lifting his left hand, he tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear, and then he traced the delicate curve of her cheek.

Sighing, she closed her eyes, pressing her face more fully into his palm.

Heart thundering in his chest, he leaned in, brushing his lips across hers. He kissed her once, twice, three times, with

almost reverent tenderness, but then the hunger overwhelmed him. He needed far more than this chaste press of lips.

Moaning softly against her mouth, he twisted his hand in her hair, drinking of her endless heat and sweetness. She clung

to him like moss on a stone, rising on tiptoe as the kiss went on and on.

The press of her breasts against his chest tempted him beyond control, and he sank to the bed, drawing her forward so

she stood between his knees. Holding her wide-eyed gaze, he awkwardly unbuttoned the tiny pearl buttons that ran down the
front of her blouse, parting the material until nothing lay between him and his goal but her chemise.

When she did nothing to stop him, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to her throat. He trailed kisses across her

collarbone and brushed her straining nipples with the back of his hand. She gasped and swayed against him, gripping his
shoulders as though she’d fall if he weren’t there to anchor her.

“Savannah,” he whispered and then suckled her greedily through the fabric of her chemise, drowning in her taste and the

sweet, soft sound of her surrender.

“Mama, are you still here?” Billy’s voice cut through the fog of Tristan’s desire, wrenching him back to reality. He

released Savannah reluctantly and looked up to see the utter panic on her lovely face.

“Mama?” The impatience in Billy’s voice spurred Tristan to action. Under no circumstances did he want the boy to come

in here and catch them in such a compromising situation.

He got to his feet, brushing a soft kiss to Savannah’s brow. “I’ll keep him busy.”
She nodded, tears welling up in her wide, blue eyes. He wondered what had caused them. Was she ashamed of the

passion that kept flaring between them? Or were her tears for Michael? Did she wish she’d been kissing Michael just now,
instead of him?

Frowning, he left her in the bedroom and reentered the main room of the cabin. Billy stood just inside the door. He

scowled when he saw Tristan.

“Where’s my mother? Is she here with you?” Billy’s voice rang with accusation.
Tristan’s cheeks heated with embarrassment when he thought of what he’d been doing with the boy’s mother just

moments ago. “Yes, son, she sure is. She’ll be out in a minute. She’s making the bed.”

“I ain’t your son,” Billy said angrily. “And I don’t like you being around my mother.”
Tristan’s heart broke a bit at his nephew’s words. “I know you and I got off to a bad start, and I’m real sorry if I hurt

your feelings. But don’t you think maybe we could start over?”

Billy glared at him, but before the boy could answer, Savannah rushed out of the bedroom, her hair now neatly caught at

her nape, her blouse buttoned all the way to her neck. Billy moved possessively to her side, and Savannah put her arm around
her son’s shoulders.

The two of them belonged together. All they lacked was Michael standing between them.
Tristan had never felt quite so alone. He realized for the first time that even if he could forgive Savannah for turning to

his brother, even if he somehow managed to forge a new relationship with her and her son, he could never take the place
Michael still owned in their lives.

“Will you be all right down here, Tristan? Is there anything else you need?”
Tristan shook his head. “I’ll be fine,” he murmured, hoping she couldn’t hear his despair. “You’ve done more than

enough already.”

She tried to smile at him, but the tiny quirk of her kiss-swollen lips fell far from its mark. “You’re welcome to come up

to the house anytime,” she told him, pulling her son toward the door.

Tristan nodded, but he didn’t think she really wanted him to take her up on the offer. Things were so complicated. This

whole mess was as difficult for her as it was for him.

There had been a time when he’d thought love could conquer all, but now he wasn’t so sure.

Chapter Eleven

Savannah hugged a large wicker basket full of food to her chest, watching as Tristan exercised a pretty little bay mare.

His long, lean body moved in tandem with the horse—pure poetry in motion.

Her heart ached at the sight of him. Beautiful, beautiful Tristan. Would he hate her forever when she told him about

Billy, or was it possible that the truth might bring them together again? She closed her eyes, praying for a miracle. If only he
could forgive her, perhaps the three of them might finally be a family.

She’d spent the entire sleepless night practicing what to say to him, imagining a dozen different reactions. In the end

she’d decided it would be best to have total privacy for this confrontation because she didn’t have any idea what he’d do when
he found out the truth.

So this morning, after she’d finished with the breakfast dishes, she’d prepared a cold lunch for Billy and her brothers and

let them know not to expect her back anytime soon. Then she’d packed a picnic lunch for her and Tristan, hoping for the best.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the shadow of the barn and into the sunlight where he could see her.

“Hello,” she called, holding up the basket. “Would you like to go on a picnic?”
He turned the horse at the sound of her voice and rode over to her side, the brim of his black hat shielding his face.
“A picnic?” His voice held a note of longing she recognized all too well. “Hell, Savannah, I’d love to. But I already

promised Ian I’d give this little lady a workout.”

“Then we’ll ride her down to the creek. Don’t worry. We’ll only be gone for an hour or two.” She wanted to take him

swimming, eat a leisurely lunch, and then tell him about Billy. Selfish, she knew, but she wanted to have him for herself for a
little while longer before he knew the truth.

Just in case he decided he never wanted to speak to her again.
He hesitated for a moment, then leaned down and plucked the basket out of her hands. “Climb on up here, sweetheart.

How can I resist a picnic with a pretty girl?”

His careless endearments made her head spin. She’d give anything to keep that gentle, teasing note in his voice, anything

to make him love her again.

He kicked his foot free of the stirrup, and she used it to pull herself up behind him, glad she’d had the foresight to wear

her split riding skirt. She put her hands around his lean waist, exulting when his stomach muscles contracted a bit under her
light touch.

No matter what else lay between them, the desire was still as strong as ever. It was the only advantage she had in her

favor at the moment, and she clung to the knowledge like a life preserver in a storm-tossed sea.

“Head west, toward the creek,” she instructed. “I have the perfect spot in mind.”

* * * * *

“We’re here,” Savannah said, coming to a sudden stop on the faint trail.
“We are?” Tristan peered over her shoulder, wondering what had made her stop. They’d ridden the horse for about two

miles and then dismounted, leaving the animal grazing beneath a big elm. Then they’d walked another quarter of a mile, passing
much prettier spots than this along the way.

At this point, the creek was flanked on either side by towering cliffs of sheer granite. A large slab had fallen from one of

the canyon walls long ago, blocking the flow of the water. Over time the river had managed to erode a path through the stone,
carving a channel that dropped abruptly over the far end to form a deep pool.

Savannah forged ahead, her pace quickening. There was only a tiny ribbon of land between the water and the cliff, and

Tristan followed her reluctantly.

Already he regretted his impulsive decision to come on this picnic. He’d been happy to see her this morning and

surprised by her invitation. But now he realized how dangerous being alone with her could be.

The more time he spent with her, the less he cared that she’d been married to Michael. He was losing all perspective, all

sense of what was right and what was wrong.

All he could think about was getting her in his arms again.
Once they’d passed the narrow bridge of land, they were able to step up on the top of the granite slab, which was easily

fifteen feet wide and thirty feet long. Savannah glanced back at him, her beautiful eyes shining, and spread a bright red blanket
out on the smooth gray stone.

“This is the first time I’ve been able to come here this year.” She sat down on the blanket and stripped off her sturdy

shoes and sheer, delicate stockings.

“What are you doing?” He crouched beside her, watching the emergence of her slim bare feet with frank appreciation.

She had lovely toes, small and tapered.

She gave him a mysterious little smile and stood, unfastening her skirt and letting it pool around her ankles. He rocked

back on his heels, startled, staring at the pair of white cotton bloomers that hid her legs. She laughed at his expression and
raised her hands to the buttons of her bodice.

He surged to his feet and covered her hands, stopping her before she could slip her pale peach blouse from her

shoulders. “What the hell are you doing?”

She waved her hand at the pool. “I’m going for a swim. I was hoping you’d join me.”
“A swim?” He’d never expected to see Miss Savannah McKenzie strip down to her underwear to go swimming. Then

again, she wasn’t the innocent girl she’d once been. She was Mrs. Savannah Kane now, a fact he would be wise to remember.

“Yes, a swim. Come with me.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but the words wouldn’t come. It had been far too long since he’d done anything simply

for the fun of it. “All right. I will.”

Savannah gave him a dazzling smile. “You won’t be sorry.”
“I’m already sorry.” He held her gaze and took off his shirt, hoping to shock her as much as she’d shocked him, but she

only grinned in encouragement.

“Take off your shoes, too,” she instructed, splashing into the swift water that cut across the face of the rock slab.
He kicked off his boots, placing them beside her pile of clothing. He watched in bemusement while she sat down in the

middle of the channel, bracing her heels against the sides to keep from being swept away.

“Sit down behind me.” Her voice was soft and breathless, her blue eyes sparkling.
“Is it safe?” He moved toward her, torn between his heady enjoyment of the way the water molded the thin white

garments to her lithe body and his reluctance to try anything that might bring a smile to his lips.

“When did you become such an old man?” She laughed and patted the stream behind her. “Don’t worry. My whole family

comes here all the time. Just be careful of your shoulder.”

Feeling foolish, he sank into the cold water, angling Savannah’s slim hips between his thighs. Her soft little bottom

cradled his groin, and he immediately swelled to attention.

“Put your arms around my waist.” The tremor in her voice indicated she was well aware of his arousal.
He did as she’d asked, and the intimacy of the position took his breath away. She was nestled so tightly against him, and

her breasts brushed his forearm—a soft, heavy weight.

“Hang on,” she told him.
Suddenly they were hurtling along the smooth channel, pushed along by the tremendous force of the water. They shot off

the rim and dropped like stones into the deep, still pool.

He broke the surface laughing. He couldn’t help it. Exhilaration and desire coursed through his blood, bringing light to

his soul and temporarily driving away his demons. Savannah surfaced a second later, her auburn hair slicked back from her
beautiful face.

“Oh, Tristan,” she cried, catapulting herself into his arms. “I love it when you laugh.”
His shoulder ached a bit when she hugged him, but he didn’t care. His gaze fastened on the dusky circles her nipples

made against the wet, white fabric. “Thank you for bringing me here. I haven’t gone swimming in years.”

She pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips. “You’re very welcome.”
Before he could deepen the kiss as he wanted, she shoved him with all her might, making him lose his balance on the

slippery bottom. Laughing, she swam back to the other end of the pool and scampered back up to the top of the granite slab.

“Catch me if you can,” she called over her shoulder.
For a moment he watched her lovely, unbound breasts move against the wet fabric. Then he shook his head and swam

toward the edge of the pool, feeling the muscles in his shoulder loosen a bit as he did so. He pulled himself out of the water,
ignoring the faint pain.

Savannah wanted him to have a little fun, and he would. Even if it killed him.
He reached the top of the chute just as she let go and shot off the edge. He smiled and sank into the river, gasping at the

renewed shock of the freezing water. He didn’t go quite as fast without Savannah in his arms, but the rush of it still took his
breath away.

When he came up for air, she splashed him in the face, and then swam for the bank. This time he caught her before she

could reach it. He held her tightly, and she giggled against his chest.

“You little brat.” He kissed a drop of water from her nose. “Where do you think you’re going?”
She pushed at his chest again. “Up there.” She laughed and pointed at the top of the slab.
“Do you think so?” He picked her up out of the water with his good arm and tossed her as far as he could back into the

middle of the pool.

He reached the top first this time, but he waited for her. She slid in behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She

pressed her cheek against his back, shivering.

“You’re freezing.” He twisted to look at her, but she kept her face hidden against the mangled expanse of his back. A

wave of unbearable tenderness swept over him. A few weeks ago he’d been ashamed of his scars, but her calm acceptance of
them had gone a long way toward healing both his outer and inner wounds.

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “Let’s go again.”
He let go, and the water hurtled them forward. He sank deep into the pool and took his time coming back up to the top.

Savannah hadn’t surfaced, so he slicked the hair out of his eyes, waiting for her expectantly.

Five seconds ticked by, and then five more. He turned in a slow circle, thinking she’d somehow come up behind him, but

there was no sign of her.

“Savannah?” Alarm crept into his voice. Where the hell was she?
Another five seconds crept by. Oh God. She’d been getting tired. Maybe she’d hit her head on the bottom. Maybe she’d

drowned...

Or maybe she was holding her breath, pinching his bottom. He spun around and leveled his most fearsome glare on her

when she finally poked her head out of the water.

“Don’t ever do that again!” His fear erupted into barely controlled fury. “You scared me to death!”
The smile slipped from her lips, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Her look of genuine contrition shamed him. What an ass he was. He’d known all along she was just fooling. Hadn’t he?
“It’s all right.” He forced a lightness he was far from feeling into his tone. “But let’s get out for a moment. Your lips are

turning blue.”

She hesitated for a second, and then nodded. “I brought a couple of extra blankets. We can warm up and then eat.”
He knew he’d disappointed her. She’d probably planned to swim all afternoon. He frowned and followed her out of the

water.

Would it always be this way? Would he look for danger where none existed for the rest of his life? Would he remain

always alert, never able to relax and simply enjoy himself?

Savannah must think him a lunatic, yelling at her the way he had over a harmless prank. Hell, maybe he was crazy,

because it no longer mattered that she’d married his brother. All he knew was that he couldn’t bear to live without her.

Chapter Twelve

Savannah dug through the picnic basket, searching for the extra blankets she’d placed on the bottom. Pulling them out, she

handed one to the grim, unsmiling man beside her.

Hard to believe he’d been laughing just a few moments ago. Hiding under the water had been silly and childish, but she

still didn’t understand his anger.

“Come here,” he murmured, cutting into her thoughts.
She glanced at him, and her misgivings receded. He held up one side of the blanket, inviting her to share it with him. The

sun had already taken the edge off her chill, but she would never turn down an excuse to be close to him. She slid under the
blanket, and he hugged her tightly, his arms looped around her waist.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was so low she barely heard him. “I didn’t mean to ruin your day.”
She rested her head on his wet chest, inhaling the crisp, cool scent of his skin, listening to the strong, rhythmic beat of his

heart. “You didn’t. I was ready to get out anyway.”

He shook his head and buried his face in her hair, pulling her even closer. “Why did you bring me here? Don’t you know

how hard this is for me? Being with you, touching you, holding you? You’re acting as though you still care for me, and I want
so badly to believe it.”

“Then believe it.” She pressed her lips to the base of his throat. The truth came spilling out before she could stop it. “Oh,

Tristan, I care about you so much it hurts.”

He cupped her chin in his hands, tilting her face up to his, forcing her to meet his intense green gaze. “I hurt, too. You’re

killing me.”

With a soft cry of relief, she stood on her tiptoes and covered his beautiful mouth with her own. He groaned against her

lips and deepened the kiss, his tongue thrusting intimately with hers.

The heavy ridge of his erection burned through the thin barriers of clothing that separated them. Lifting her in his arms, he

turned and sat her upon the tall rock ledge behind them, never breaking their kiss. She wrapped her legs around his lean waist,
deepening the delicious contact. He gasped and cupped her breasts, rubbing her nipples through the wet fabric of her shift.

He finally came up for air, his breathing fast and hard, his green eyes burning with need. “If you want to stop me, stop me

now.”

She held his gaze and grasped the edge of her shift, pulling it over her head, baring herself to him in answer. For a

moment he just stared at her. She’d never felt so naked, her pale flesh shimmering in the sunlight, her nipples pebble hard in the
gentle breeze.

Then he made a low, masculine sound of hunger and lowered his mouth to her breast, kissing the upper swell with

infinite tenderness.

She threaded her fingers through his golden hair, letting her head fall back as he feasted on her body. His gentle suckling

intensified the ache in the pit of her stomach. She moved restlessly against him, impatient for the moment when they would
finally be one again.

He didn’t disappoint. After several tormenting moments, he stripped away the rest of her wet clothing, baring her to his

hot, hungry gaze. He paused, staring down at her.

“I’ve dreamt of this for so long,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and reverent. “You’re so beautiful. So damned

beautiful.” As he spoke, he skimmed her body lightly with his hands, as though committing every inch of her to memory.

She’d worried that he wouldn’t find her pleasing, that her faint stretch marks and widened hips would disgust him, but

when she saw herself reflected in his eyes, all her fears fell away. He truly did find her beautiful.

“I want to see you, too,” she whispered, amazed at her boldness.
He smiled a little, and then unfastened his trousers, shucking them and standing proudly before her. She ran her hands

over the sun-baked expanse of his chest, tangling her fingers in the crisp whorls of golden hair over his heart.

Holding her gaze, he covered her hand with his, and moved it lower, across the flat plane of his stomach, then lower

still. She caught her breath and closed her eyes as she touched him, amazed by the feel of him, steely hardness wrapped in

warm, silken skin.

He moaned. An earthy, delicious sound. She stroked him from base to tip, intent on pleasing him as much as he pleased

her. He stood still beneath her awkward caress, letting her learn what made him catch his breath and what made him tremble
with desire.

Then he was touching her, too, his fingertips at the apex of her thighs, coaxing her to open wide for his gentle invasion,

rubbing and teasing until she thought she’d die of the pleasure. When neither of them could endure the sweet torture a moment
longer, he cupped her hips with his strong, elegant hands, and thrust deep inside her.

She gasped, stunned by the fullness, overwhelmed by the reality of him after ten years with nothing but dreams to keep

her warm at night.

“Oh, Tristan. I never stopped loving you.”
He stared down at her, his body trembling with the effort of remaining still. “Don’t say that,” he told her harshly. “Oh,

God, Savannah, I can’t bear it.”

Before she could say anything else, he began to thrust deeply. The sweet friction stole her breath and made her forget

everything.

A strange pressure built, something she hadn’t experienced last time when she’d been so young and scared. She fought it,

but then he reached between them and rubbed his thumb in a slow circle where their bodies joined.

Pleasure exploded through her veins.
She sobbed his name, tears of wonder coursing down her cheeks as he thrust once more and then shuddered deep within

her.

* * * * *

As soon as Tristan regained his breath and a portion of his sanity, he pulled away from Savannah. He closed his eyes and

sank to the blanket at her feet, his pulse still roaring in his ears. He tried to collect himself, but it was impossible with the feel
and taste and scent of her still so fresh in his mind.

Dear God, it had been better than he’d remembered, better than his wildest fantasies. She’d made love to him with such

passion and sweetness. In her arms he’d felt whole for the first time since he’d walked away from her all those years ago.

“Tristan?” Her voice was soft, hesitant. “What’s wrong?”
He opened his eyes to find her staring down at him, her blue eyes still soft with pleasure, her auburn hair falling around

her slim, white shoulders and beautiful, full breasts in riotous disarray.

“You said you loved me.” He shook his head, wishing he could let it go. He wanted to take her words as the gift they’d

been and never look back, but he couldn’t. He had to know the truth. “Is it me you love? Or is it Michael? Tell me, do you even
know the difference?”

She flinched as though he’d struck her. “I never loved Michael. Never. It was always you. Only you.”
He let her words sink in, but then he shook his head, still unsatisfied. “Then why did you marry him? Why?” His voice

was anguished, all the hurt and anger he’d been hiding since he’d first found out about her marriage squeezed into that one little
word.

Why?
Why hadn’t she waited? Why hadn’t she loved him as much as he’d loved her?
She slipped off the ledge and reached for her damp shift with trembling hands. Pulling it over her head, she sat down

beside him, drawing her knees up to her chest.

Her guilty manner caused his heart to sink even further. He knew he wasn’t going to like whatever she was about to say.
She pushed her hair out of her eyes and rested her chin on her knees. “I have so much to tell you,” she whispered, her

voice raw and quiet. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“Begin at the beginning,” he told her, wishing she’d just get on with it.
She nodded, and her eyes grew distant. “When we made love for the first time, I wasn’t afraid. I was so sure once I gave

myself to you, you’d forget about your plans to fight for the South and marry me.”

He frowned and grabbed his trousers, pulling them on with rough, angry movements. “I trusted you. I thought you loved

me enough to marry me no matter what decision I made.”

“I did love you,” she whispered. “Oh, Tristan. I’m so sorry. I was young and foolish and used to getting my own way.

We fought, and you left, but I never expected that to be the end.”

His temper finally boiled over. “Just tell me how you ended up marrying Michael. How long did you wait after I left

before you made love to him? A week? A month? Did you do it to get back at me?”

“No,” she cried, shaking her head in denial. “It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like that at all.”
“Then tell me what it was like. Damn it, Savannah, tell me!” He knew he was frightening her, knew how close he was to

losing control, but he couldn’t help it. Everything important to him rested upon her answer, and he was terrified of what she

would say.

“I never made love to Michael. Never. He only married me because I went to him when I found out I was going to have a

child. Your child.” She bowed her head, her slim shoulders shaking with emotion. “Billy is your son, not Michael’s.”

He sat back, his pulse roaring in his ears, his entire perception of the world spinning wildly off-kilter. “Billy is my son?”
Closing his eyes, he recalled every moment he’d spent with the boy. His stomach churned with despair and regret. Why

hadn’t it ever occurred to him that the night he’d spent with Savannah all those years ago might have resulted in a child? Why
hadn’t he realized Billy was his son the very first time he’d seen him?

Billy was ten years old. He’d missed out on ten years of his son’s life.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but I didn’t know what else to do. Everyone within fifty miles hated you for what you’d done,

and I was about to give birth to your bastard.”

He flinched at the ugly word. He didn’t want to feel sorry for her, didn’t want to imagine what she’d gone through. He

was the one who had been wronged. He was the one who’d been deprived of his own son.

“You could have at least tried to let me know about Billy. Especially after the war ended. Joel sent a letter, so I know

you could have written me one, too.” He brushed his hair out of his eyes with a trembling hand. “I’ve been here for a week.
You could have told me the truth a dozen times.”

“You’re right.” Sudden anger filled her voice. “I could have done all those things, and I’m sorry I didn’t. But has it ever

occurred to you that maybe I wanted you to come looking for me? You’ve admitted you didn’t even know about my marriage to
Michael until recently, so why didn’t you come back for me after the war?”

He turned his face away, unable to bear the truth of her words, despairing for all the time they’d lost. “I didn’t think I

was worthy of you. Not after what I did to Michael.”

“Well, I didn’t think I was worthy of you, either. I knew you’d be angry with me because I took the coward’s way out,

marrying Michael instead of waiting for you. And then, after Michael’s death, I felt so guilty because all I could think about
was that you were still alive and that I’d never stopped loving you...” She trailed off, her voice breaking.

There was silence between them for a long moment. He cleared his throat and glanced at her, hating her and loving her

all at the same time. “So what do you expect me to do now?”

She shook her head and swiped at her tears with the back of her hand. “I’ll tell Billy about you, if you’re really planning

to stay. But if you’re going to leave again, I don’t think it would be wise.”

He glared at her, furious that she was still trying to control his contact with the boy. “I’ll tell Billy who I am. I’ll do it in

my own time, in my own way.”

“Let me tell him,” she begged. “Please. He doesn’t even know you.”
“And whose fault is that?” He surged to his feet and finished dressing, his anger and sore shoulder making him clumsy.

“You don’t know me either. Not if you think I’m going to walk away from my own child. Damn you for insinuating such a
thing.”

“Damn me?” she cried. “No, Tristan. Damn you! Why shouldn’t I think you’d leave Billy? You left me, didn’t you?”
If he didn’t get away from her soon, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. He didn’t know whether he wanted to strangle her or

make love to her again.

He turned on his heels and strode toward the edge of the slab. “I’m going back to the house.”
“Go ahead. Run away. Isn’t that what you’ve been doing for the past ten years?”
He stiffened at her words, but kept right on walking. Maybe she was right. In fact, he knew she was right. But this was

the last time he was going to walk away.

Savannah was in for one hell of a surprise because, when it came to his son, he intended to turn and make a stand.

Chapter Thirteen

Savannah packed the last blanket back in the picnic basket, her thoughts and movements numbed by grief. Tristan had left

her sitting here half an hour ago, and it had taken her this long to collect the shattered pieces of herself enough to go after him.

Nothing had gone as she’d planned.
Dear God, what an afternoon. She’d gone from the heights of ecstasy to the shadowy depths of despair so quickly it had

left her reeling. She’d handled everything so badly.

All her prepared speeches had fallen by the wayside after they’d made love. Being in his arms again had crumbled her

defenses. When he’d started questioning her about Michael, she hadn’t been prepared.

Now she’d botched the most important conversation of her life. She didn’t know how to undo the damage she’d already

done.

He’d made her so furious. She’d told him things she hadn’t even realized she felt. Had she really been angry with him all

these years for not coming back for her? Was that why she hadn’t looked for him?

Maybe. Probably.

Now Billy was caught in the middle of their anger and mistrust. Tristan wouldn’t even allow her

to tell her son why she’d lied about his father.

So much for her dreams of the three of them becoming a family at last.
Before this was all over, Billy would hate her, too. It was inevitable. How could either of them ever forgive her for the

things she’d done?

* * * * *

Tristan stalked into the McKenzies’ house, slamming the door behind him. He couldn’t mask his anger and sense of

betrayal if he wanted to, so he didn’t even try. The need to see his son burned deep inside him, stripping away all caution or
reason.

“Billy!” His voice echoed off the high ceiling, shattering the afternoon calm. Some small voice inside his head urged him

to delay this meeting. He knew he should sort out his own feelings about his son before he sprang the news on the boy, but he
paid the voice no heed.

For far too long he’d schooled his emotions and pushed aside all his needs and wants. His life had become an endless,

aching desert in which nothing mattered but survival. But Savannah’s revelation had changed everything.

He wasn’t alone any more. Right now he needed his son, and he wasn’t going to let anything in the world stand in the

way of that.

There was no sign of Billy, but Joel entered the hall from the direction of the kitchen, a frown darkening his face as he

wiped his hands on a dishtowel. “What’s going on? What do you want with Billy?”

“What the hell do you think I want with him?” Tristan glared at his old friend, feeling betrayed all over again. Surely,

Joel had known.

Savannah’s brother had probably summoned him here with the express purpose of telling him about his son, so why the

hell couldn’t his letter have been more specific? Tristan would have come immediately, if he’d only known.

Joel shook his head. “Listen, if Billy’s pulled some prank on you, go easy on him, will you? He isn’t a bad kid. He’s just

trying to get your attention.”

“Christ,” Tristan exploded. “He shouldn’t have to try and get my attention. I’ve missed out on ten years of his life. Do

you think I want to miss even one more second?”

“Well, I’m glad you feel that way,” Joel said, sounding relieved. “He needs some contact with the other half of his

family. With Michael gone, he needs all the father figures he can get.”

Tristan stared at Joel incredulously. “Billy only needs one father figure,” he said, drawing on his last vestiges of control.

“And that’s me.”

At that, Joel scowled. “You may look like Michael, but that doesn’t give you any special rights. I’ve been here for that

boy every day of his life. You don’t even know him. How dare you stride in here and expect me and Ian to step aside?”

“How dare I?” Tristan barely restrained himself from lunging across the room and choking the life out of Joel. “You and

Savannah have kept the fact that I’m Billy’s father from us both since the day he was born, but now that I know, I plan to exert
all of my rights!”

Joel’s face went ghost pale. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Tristan shook his head in disgust. “You can quit acting innocent. Savannah told me everything not more than an hour ago.

I know Michael married her to protect her reputation and give Billy a name. The only thing I don’t know is why you just didn’t
come right out and tell me I had a son when you wrote me that letter. You cost me so many years.”

A small, choking sob came from somewhere behind him. Tristan whirled around, only to come face to face with his

small son. Billy stood on the other side of the screen door. Tears tracked down his freckled cheeks and his big, blue eyes were
wide with hurt and confusion.

Tristan’s heart broke because he knew exactly what Billy was feeling. “Billy,” he whispered, holding out his hand.
Billy shook his head, then turned and ran away.

* * * * *

When Savannah returned to the house, she found Joel sitting on the front porch swing. A half empty bottle of whiskey

dangled from his fingertips and a moody look darkened his handsome face.

“There you are,” he said, his voice overly precise. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
She paused on the steps, trying to gauge his mood. “Are you drunk?”
The thought drained her spirits even more. Joel had finally managed to get his drinking problem under control during the

last two years. He’d seemed content, if not happy, and she’d been pleased with how far he’d come.

Now he was drinking again, and she was afraid it had something to do with her and Tristan.
“Drunk?” He frowned and lifted the bottle to his lips, taking a deep drink. “So what if I am? It’s not everyday a man finds

out his sister and his best friend didn’t trust him enough to tell him the truth. It’s not everyday a man finds out he unknowingly
kept his nephew from his own father."

Savannah sank into a wicker chair, watching Joel warily. “Tristan told you about Billy?”
“Yes, he told me.” He shot her a dark look. “You should have said something. I feel like an idiot, prattling on about

Michael when it was Tristan you loved all along. Why didn’t you tell me? I would have tracked Tristan to the ends of the earth
if I’d known how badly you needed him.”

“I didn’t need him,” Savannah told her brother, though it wasn’t the truth. The only reason she hadn’t begged Joel to find

him was because she hadn’t thought he wanted to be found. “I had my family. I had Billy.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Joel took another long swig straight from the bottle and then gave a bitter laugh. “Maybe you

didn’t need him. Maybe you still don’t. But what about Billy? Don’t you think he deserves to know his father?”

She took a deep, shuddering breath, hearing the truth behind her brother’s drunken words. How selfish she’d been, so

afraid of Tristan’s reaction she’d decided to keep his son from him forever rather than risk his hatred.

“Has Tristan already spoken to Billy?” A lead weight descended on her heart at the mere thought. Tristan was so angry.

She was terrified about what he might say to her son.

Their son.
Joel nodded. “Tristan and I were arguing. He thought I knew everything, and he was furious with me for not telling him

sooner. Billy overheard the whole thing. He took off running, and Tristan went after him. I imagine they’re talking about it right
now.”

She buried her face in her hands, overcome with despair. Of all the ways she’d imagined for her son to find out about

Tristan, overhearing it during the heat of an argument had never been one of them.

Joel patted her bent head. “Everything will be all right, sis. Tristan loves you. He won’t say anything to make you look

bad.”

“I hope you’re right,” she whispered. But she thought of the anger on Tristan’s face when she’d told him about his son

and knew her brother was probably being optimistic at best.

* * * * *

Tristan searched for his son for nearly an hour before finally finding him down by the river. The boy sat on a fallen log,

throwing rocks into the water. His thin shoulders were slumped. He wasn’t crying, but his face was stained with tears and dirt.

Relief and regret overwhelmed him. He was glad his son hadn’t come to harm because of today’s revelations, yet filled

with guilt for handling it all so sloppily.

It would have been better for everyone if he’d taken some time to think about everything Savannah had told him before

trying to talk to Billy. He was wholly to blame for the deplorable manner in which Billy had learned they were father and son.

Better if he’d let Savannah break the news to the boy. By insisting she allow him to handle things his way, he’d ensured

that his first dealing with his son had ended up a complete failure. Perhaps he wasn’t fit to be a father. Maybe he should just
leave now, before he screwed the boy up beyond repair.

No, he’d meant the things he’d vowed to himself earlier. He was through running from his problems. One way or another,

he and Billy were going to have to work things out.

He cleared his throat. Billy shuddered and hunched in on himself, letting the rock in his hand fall to the ground. But he

made no move to turn around. Tristan realized fatherhood was not going to be easy.

Then again, nothing worth having ever was.
Sighing, Tristan sat down on the end of Billy’s log so only a few feet separated them. For a long, long time he said

nothing. He just sat there, staring at his son’s beautiful, beloved profile, wishing with all his heart that he could take the boy in
his arms. He wanted to hold him so tightly it would make up for all the emptiness his absence had caused them both.

Billy began to squirm under his intense regard and at last met Tristan’s gaze. “I don’t know why you said those things to

Uncle Joel. It isn’t true. None of it is true.”

He took a deep breath and steeled himself against the boy’s rejection. “I know this is hard for you to hear, Billy. I know

you don’t like me, and you’re used to the idea of my brother, Michael, being your father. But I wasn’t lying. You are my son.”

Billy shook his head, his blue eyes wide with hurt. “Why didn’t my mother tell me that if it’s true? Where is she,

anyway? What have you done with her?”

“I haven’t done anything to her.” He tried to keep his fury with Savannah from his voice. No matter how angry he was

with her, he knew she’d been a good mother. He didn’t want to jeopardize the boy’s feelings for her. “I’ll take you to her now
if you’d like, and we can discuss all of this with her.”

Billy looked at him suspiciously. “You really didn’t know about me?”
He shook his head, regretting all the time that had already been lost. “I didn’t know. I swear to God I would have been

here for you all along if I had.”

Billy was silent for a moment. “Do you have any other sons?”
“No,” he whispered, loneliness pressing in on him. “I don’t have any other children. In fact, you’re my only family.”
“Really?” Billy seemed surprised at that. Tristan was suddenly thankful for the McKenzies, who had ensured his son

could not imagine life without a family.

He nodded, his heart in his throat.
“Before, when you were talking to Uncle Joel, you were so angry. You didn’t sound like you were happy about finding

out I belonged to you.” Billy’s tone was belligerent, but tears sparkled in his long lashes.

Tristan suddenly realized he wasn’t the only one afraid of rejection.
“Oh, Billy,” he said, his voice low and filled with emotion. “Finding out about you has made this the best day of my

entire life. I know I sounded angry, but I wasn’t angry because your mother told me you were my son, I was angry because she
didn’t tell me sooner.”

Billy’s tears spilled over. “Really, sir? You really want me to be your son?”
He nodded, afraid he was going to start crying himself. “More than anything in the world.”
Impulsively, Tristan held out his arms. To his immense relief, Billy launched himself into them, nearly knocking Tristan

off the log. The boy hugged him so tightly he could barely breathe, and he returned the hug wholeheartedly.

“I’m glad you’re my father,” Billy whispered. “I’m glad you’re here.”
His arms tightened convulsively at the boy’s words. “I’m glad I’m here, too. And I’ll never go away again. I promise.”

Chapter Fourteen

Savannah took up a lonely vigil on the front porch, waiting for Tristan and Billy to return. It was after dark before she

finally saw Tristan striding toward the house, carrying their sleeping child in his strong arms.

Relief overwhelmed her.
She was so glad to see them she forgot her anger over Tristan’s careless way of letting Billy find out the truth. All that

mattered was that they were home.

Tristan’s gaze locked with hers as he strode up the porch stairs. Billy was cuddled to his chest with a gentleness that

made Savannah ache with thoughts of what might have been. How she wished Tristan had been able to hold Billy when he was
a baby.

“Shall I take him up to bed?” His deep voice cut into her thoughts and made her jump in surprise. For some reason she

hadn’t expected him to speak to her. She’d assumed he’d give her the silent treatment until the end of time. He’d always been
so good at ignoring people he didn’t like.

“Yes, please.” She despised the tremor in her voice, but was helpless to stop it. She was desperate to say and do all the

right things from this moment on, since she’d failed so miserably up until now.

He nodded toward the screen door. She hurried to open it, and then followed him up the stairs and down the hall to

Billy’s room. She pulled down the covers, and he carefully lowered his precious burden to the mattress. He brushed a strand of
hair from Billy’s eyes, and then took off the boy’s shoes.

She watched him, her hand pressed to her mouth as Tristan tucked his son into bed for the very first time. Billy stirred a

bit under his tender ministrations, but didn’t wake up, and at last Tristan gestured for her to follow him from the room.

Once in the hallway he hesitated a moment, then headed to the bedroom he’d occupied before he’d moved down to the

cabin. She trailed behind him, her heart thundering in her chest. Utter dread coursed through her blood at the thought of what he
was about to say.

He waited just inside the moonlit room, shutting the door behind her after she entered. She turned to face him and was

stunned to see the sheen of tears in his eyes.

“Oh, Tristan,” she whispered, devastated by the thought of what she’d done to the two people she loved most in the

world. “I’m so sorry.” The words sounded pathetically inadequate. There was nothing she could say to make things right.

He leaned against the door, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, struggling to maintain a tenuous control. She thought

she’d shatter into a million pieces at the sight of him. She wanted to put her arms around him and hold him through this
emotional storm, but she was terrified of being rejected.

“I will never forgive you for this,” he said at last, his voice low and lost. “You stole so many years from me, and there’s

nothing I can do to get that time back. I wasn’t there when he took his first step or said his first word. I wasn’t there to teach
him how to ride a horse or hold him when he cried.”

She just stood there, taking his words as her due. A chill took hold in the very marrow of her bones, and she knew only

Tristan’s warmth could thaw it. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she didn’t even attempt to wipe them away.

“I know you hate me,” she whispered. “I deserve it.”
He didn’t offer a denial. “It doesn’t matter how I feel about you. You’re still Billy’s mother. Somehow we have to get

past all of the hurt and anger and decide what’s best for our son.”

Blinded by her tears, she nodded. “That’s what I want, too. Oh, Tristan, just tell me what I can do to make this easier for

you. There must be something. Something I can do, or something I can say...”

Pushing off of the door, he walked toward her, his green eyes glittering in the moonlight. Instinctively, she backed away

until she was trapped between his big, hard body and the wall behind her. He placed his hands on either side of her head,
leaning into her, and she was stunned to see that there was still something of desire in his hot, angry gaze.

“Can you turn back the clock? Can you go back in time and love me more than you loved your reputation?” He shook his

head, disgust and despair in his eyes. “No, you can’t. Like I told you before, once something is broken, it can’t ever be fixed.”

She didn’t want to believe that, refused to believe it. And she knew with sudden certainty that she couldn’t afford to

continue to grovel and beg for forgiveness. Yes, she had made mistakes. But she had paid for them, too. She’d lived without the
man she loved for the past ten years, and she wasn’t going to let him get away from her again. Somehow, she had to earn back
his love and respect.

Reaching out, she touched his beard-stubbled cheek, ignoring the way he flinched away from her touch. “I was young and

foolish. But I truly thought I was doing the right thing. I sacrificed my own happiness and dreams of a future with you so that
our son wouldn’t be born a bastard. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

He shuddered. Then he covered her hand with his own, pressing his face more fully into her palm. “Christ,” he

whispered, closing his eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.”

She didn’t think, she just stepped away from the wall and into his embrace. He crushed her so tightly against him she

could hardly breathe, but she didn’t complain. All that mattered was that he was holding her instead of walking away.

“We can fix it,” she whispered against the rough silk of his hair. “We’ll find a way. I swear we will.”
For a long time they stood together, and she took comfort in his heat and strength. She hadn’t been wrong about him. The

war had caused him to make some wrong turns but, at the core where it mattered, he was still the same man she’d fallen in love
with.

She ran one hand down his back, trying to soothe the demons that raged inside him. “You’ve had one shock after another

today. Perhaps you just need some time to think it all through.”

He lifted his head and gave her a weary glance. Then he released her and stepped away. He had the same look in his

eyes he’d had the night of the storm. Lost, furious, and so very, very alone.

“You’re right. I do need some time.” He ran a trembling hand through his mussed golden hair. “We’ll talk some more

tomorrow, all right?”

She nodded, her heart in her throat. Part of her wanted to pull him down to the bed, kiss him, and make love until it was

impossible for him to deny they were meant to be together. But another part understood she needed to give him some space.

When he returned to her bed, she wanted it to be because he loved her. Not because he was hurting and angry and wanted

to lose himself for a few brief hours.

“Goodnight,” she whispered.
“Goodnight,” he replied, then turned and slipped from the room.
When he was gone, she sank to the bed and let her tears fall unchecked. The whole thing had gone better than she had any

right to imagine, but his reaction had still fallen far short of what she’d hoped.

Tristan might not hate her, but would he ever truly love her again? She knew him so well, knew his sense of honor and

how difficult it had always been for him to see both sides of a situation.

He would stay in Colorado and do his best to be a good father to Billy. She would see him every day, and he’d be

excruciatingly polite, at least until Billy was grown. But she’d betrayed his love, betrayed his friendship.

She was afraid he’d never, ever forget or forgive.
In a way she almost wished he wouldn’t stay, because it was going to be absolute torture to have him so close, yet know

he was a million miles away.

* * * * *

Tristan sat in a comfortable cane rocker, staring moodily into the flickering flames of the fire he’d built to ward off the

evening chill. He’d left Savannah hours ago, but the events of the day kept replaying in his mind, refusing to allow him any
peace.

The kitten on his lap purred, the low hum loud in the absolute silence of the night. Tristan stroked the animal’s soft fur

distractedly, wondering how on earth he was ever going to come to terms with all the new developments in his life.

I have a son.
He still couldn’t believe it. That beautiful child couldn’t possibly belong to him. He was afraid he was dreaming and that

soon he’d wake up in some seedy hotel room, lonelier than ever.

But here he sat in this snug, homey cabin, with flowers on the table and a kitten in his lap. It was so easy to pretend the

last ten years had never happened. The McKenzies were making it so easy to put the past behind him and start over again. Their
trust scared the hell out of him.

Didn’t they know he wasn’t worthy of their friendship? What had Savannah been thinking, to tell him about his son now

when he feared he’d already gone too far down the path of self-destruction to ever turn back?

Perhaps that was truly the root of his anger. Yes, he wished he’d been able to share Billy’s life since the day he was

born, and he was furious with Savannah for hiding the truth from him for so long. But deep down, he was afraid she’d been
right to do so.

He didn’t know the first damned thing about being a father. This was only his first day on the job, and he’d already

bungled things nearly beyond repair. Would his continued participation in Billy’s life do more harm than good?

He sighed and buried his face in his hands. Savannah had been right about him. He’d been running from everything for so

long he wasn’t even sure if he knew how to stop.

But he’d already promised Billy he’d stay. Hell, he wanted to stay. He supposed he’d just have to figure it out as he went

along.

First things first. If he was going to live here, he wanted to have Billy under his roof, not in the big house over the hill.

And the only way Savannah would agree to that was if she lived here, too.

He was going to have to ask her to marry him.
His mind rebelled at the very idea, but other, lower parts of his anatomy rejoiced. Despite everything that happened

today, he couldn’t forget how it had felt to be inside her again.

He shifted and the kitten sank its sharp little claws into his thigh to keep from being dumped to the floor. Cursing, he

shooed it off his lap.

With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair and resumed his study of the flames. Savannah was the mother of his child. If he

wanted his son to have a family, he was going to have to marry her.

Christ. If only it was that simple. How could he live with her? She’d be a constant reminder of how much he’d lost, how

much her lies had taken from him.

More importantly, how could he share a bed with her and not give in to the temptation of making love to her every night?

Even this evening, when he’d been angry and hurting from wounds she’d caused, he’d wanted her. It had taken every ounce of
self-control he possessed to turn and walk away.

How many of her sweet, sympathetic glances and gentle touches could he withstand? And if he could withstand them,

was it fair to expect Billy to live in a home where his parents hated each other?

The mad whirl of his thoughts came to a screeching halt. Did he hate Savannah?
No. The answer was swift and sure, and it came from the very depths of his heart. He could never hate Savannah. She

was part of him, part of his very soul.

Despite everything, he wanted to marry her. For Billy’s sake he was simply going to have to put his anger aside, or bury

it as he’d buried so many other things.

He could learn to get along with Savannah. Hell, they might even be able to salvage a halfway decent marriage out of the

remnants of the friendship they’d once shared.

He’d just have to guard his heart and never, ever, admit that he still loved her.

Chapter Fifteen

Savannah was up and dressed before daybreak. She hurried through the silent house, determined to be by Billy’s side

when he awoke. She simply couldn’t let another moment pass by without talking to her baby, touching him, and letting him
know everything was going to be all right.

Letting Tristan be the one to tell their son he was his father had been one of the most difficult things she’d ever had to

face. She’d already played the scene out in her mind a thousand times, picking out each word with thought and precision.

But Tristan had cut her out of the conversation, forcing her to let her imagination run wild.
Just what, exactly, had he said to Billy? And how on earth was she to mount an adequate defense when she didn’t even

know if he’d said anything she needed to defend?

Billy’s room was still dark when she crept inside and took a seat in the chair beside his bed. Predawn silence permeated

the room, making her shiver. She had to restrain the urge to wake him.

It seemed forever before the first rays of morning light finally touched upon Billy’s sleeping face. Savannah leaned

forward, tracing the maturing bone structure of his cheeks and jaw with her gaze as she had so many times in the past.

He looked so much like Tristan.
His lashes were long and lush; his mouth had the same sensual bend. The resemblance had been both heaven and hell

during the years she and Tristan had been apart. She’d held Billy in her arms and rocked him to sleep during a thousand
sleepless nights, desperately wishing Tristan could see him just once.

She’d gotten her wish, but nothing had turned out the way she’d planned. The three of them were together at last, but they

were far from a family. She was terrified Billy would choose Tristan over the mother who’d lied to him his entire life.

Billy stirred and a soft, sleepy sound escaped his lips. He rolled over on his back and opened his eyes. He blinked a few

times, disoriented, but then he caught sight of her. “Mama?” he whispered, his voice scratchy with sleep. “What are you doing
here?”

“Just watching over you, sweetheart. I wanted to be here when you woke up.” She reached out and ruffled his hair, but he

flinched and pulled away.

Her heart plummeted at the wariness in his eyes. Apparently, he was just now remembering all the ways in which his life

had changed yesterday.

Billy frowned. “I know why you’re here, but you’re too late. My father talked about it with me last night. He told me

everything.”

Savannah nodded. “I know. Tristan and I agreed that he should be the one to tell you. But I figured you probably had

some questions you wanted to ask me, too.”

Billy just stared at her, his jaw mutinously set.
“Come on, honey. Don’t you want to know why I didn’t tell you about Tristan before? Isn’t there anything I can do to help

you understand?”

“I understand fine.” Billy scowled, slid out of bed, and took some clean clothes out of his armoire. “I don’t want to talk

to you about this any more.”

Savannah fought to hold back her tears. Billy had never been seriously angry with her in his whole life. They’d always

been best friends, the two of them against the world.

She wished suddenly, fiercely, that she’d never told Tristan the truth. She should have let him go back to his world of

guns and death. Anything to keep from losing her son’s affection. Taking a deep, calming breath, she forced herself to banish
such thoughts. They were the height of selfishness. This wasn’t about her needs. Perhaps the very definition of family was
caring more about someone else than herself. If she was ever going to bring the three of them together, she was going to have to
remember that.

She’d done the right thing. If she had to suffer a bit, so be it. She just had to keep reminding herself that Billy never held a

grudge long. Eventually he’d forgive her for her duplicity. Maybe he’d even come to understand her reasons for doing it.

She had to believe that. If not, she’d go mad.

“All right, we won’t speak of it any more today. But if you want to talk later, I’m always here for you.”
“I need to get dressed now.” His words were as close to a dismissal as he probably dared to go. They stung Savannah’s

already bleeding heart like salt thrown on a wound. In the angry set of his slim shoulders, she saw another way that he was
becoming like his father. They both seemed to find it so easy to completely shut her out.

“I love you, honey,” she whispered. “I’ll see you at breakfast, all right?”
He grunted in reply, and she quietly left the room.

* * * * *

Tristan skipped breakfast the next morning, unwilling to face the McKenzies all at once. He wanted to see Billy again,

and he still intended to propose to Savannah, but he decided to wait until later in the day.

His emotions were still too raw, too fragile, to bear close scrutiny. He needed time to sort things through, and there was

no better way to do that, to his way of thinking, than on the back of a horse.

He chose one of Ian’s lovely mares, a bay he’d not yet had a chance to work with. He let the horse have her head,

galloping across the pine-studded hills until the house was no longer in sight, and then pulled the horse up to a walk.

He rode and rode, letting the fresh air and wind clear the cobwebs from his brain, soothing all the raw edges. Soon he

realized he’d reached the highest point of Ian’s land, and he paused, taking a moment to admire the view. From this vantage
point, Tristan could overlook the entire valley. Thousands of acres of woodlands and meadow spread toward the prairie. A
crystal clear stream meandered through it all like a giant, lazy snake.

He closed his eyes, letting the sun beat down on his face and the breeze ruffle his hair. Love for this place had crept up

on him, stealing his heart. He hadn’t even noticed until it was too late. He belonged here in a way he’d never belonged back
east. The wild, untamed beauty spoke to something deep inside him, and he never wanted to leave it.

Thanks to Ian, he wouldn’t have to.
His life had changed so much in the last few days. The McKenzies had stolen into his heart much the same way the land

had. It was as if they’d known where all the empty places were and filled them in one fell swoop.

Someone to love. A child. A home. A purpose.
The abruptness of it all had left him reeling, but at least he was feeling something now. The pain was akin to the rush of

blood to a limb that has fallen asleep. It hurt, but it was better than being numb.

The heart of the matter was clear. Better to have missed ten years of Billy’s life than to have missed it completely. And it

would have been easy for Savannah to let that happen.

It had taken an enormous amount of courage for her to tell him about their son. He had to give her credit. She’d never

been a coward.

No, Savannah was all courage and fire. That was the problem. He was afraid of getting burned again.
He sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to resolve all his conflicting feelings in one day. The weight of the new roles he’d

undertaken lay heavy on his shoulders as he headed back toward the house. He was a father, a business partner and a soon-to-
be husband. The thought of failing terrified him.

He hadn’t gone far when Ian met up with him. Savannah’s brother rode a spirited palomino mare, and he reined the

animal up alongside Tristan’s mount.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Ian said without preamble, his voice grim. “I understand you had some shocking

news yesterday.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Tristan was silent for a moment, and then he threw Ian an accusing glance. “How long have

you known?”

Ian held his gaze. “Since a day or two after you arrived.”
Suddenly everything made sense. Tristan’s earlier cautious optimism was dashed as though he’d had a bucket of water

thrown in his face.

“Is that why you invited me to stay? Because of Billy?” Tristan watched Ian’s expression, determined to face the truth no

matter how painful it might be.

Ian’s warm welcome made perfect sense now. It hadn’t been for friendship’s sake, or even because he thought Tristan

would be a good partner.

He’d just wanted his nephew to have a father.
Ian remained impassive. “In part. When Savannah told me Billy was your son, I was furious with you for seducing her

and putting her in such a difficult situation in the first place. I advised her not to tell you, thinking it would only hurt all three of
you to have to face the truth after all these years.”

“What changed your mind?” Tristan asked, stung by Ian’s remarks, yet knowing he deserved them.
“The look on Savannah’s face when she spoke of you. She still loves you, even after all this time.”
Tristan turned his head, unwilling to comment. His gaze drifted across the tall mountain peaks. For just a moment he

allowed himself to remember how it had felt to hold her again, and the look on her face when she’d verified what Ian had just
said. She loved him. Only him. Never Michael.

It didn’t matter. If he’d been given this opportunity out of pity, nothing mattered. Because if he had, he could never stay.

His pride wouldn’t allow it.

“I’ll understand if you no longer want me as a partner. You were doing it for Billy. I won’t take your charity.”
Ian shook his head. “Hell, Tristan, I thought we were still talking about my reaction to finding out you were Billy’s

father. My asking you to be my partner had nothing to do with any of that. I feel like you’re the one offering me charity, if you
want the truth. You’re the one with the experience and the cash.”

Tristan took off his hat and raked his hand through his hair, feeling embarrassed. “Do you mean that?”
Ian nodded. “I want things to continue exactly as we’ve planned. We’re a winning team, you and I.”
Tristan felt as though a little of the weight had been lifted, and he realized he’d doubted Ian’s motives all along. It was

good to clear the air. “I’d like that, too. After all, I’m going to need some way to take care of my family.”

“Your family?” Ian left the question hanging in the air, his eyebrow lifting in challenge.
“I’m going to ask Savannah to marry me,” Tristan announced. “Do I have your permission?”
Ian was the closest thing Savannah had to a father, and her family’s blessing meant a lot to him.
Not that he’d let anything deter him now.
Ian frowned. “Do you think it’s a good idea to get married right away? You’re obviously still furious with her. I can’t say

that I blame you, but I won’t have you mistreating her.”

Tristan let out his breath in a frustrated huff. “I would never mistreat her. Never.” He shook his head and faced his old

friend again. “I don’t know what the hell you want me to say. Am I angry with her? Yes. Do I love her? You know I always
have. I’m not pretending it won’t be hard at first, or that I don’t have a lot of things to work through, but I think for Billy’s sake,
it’s the best thing to do.”

Now it was Ian’s turn to sigh. “I guess you’re right. Maybe everything will work out fine if we just give it a little time.”
“Then I have your permission?”
“Of course you do.” Ian gave him a sudden smile. “But I don’t think I’m the one you need to convince.”
Tristan knew his future brother-in-law was right. He had to make Savannah see things his way, or her stubborn pride

would ruin everything.

“Oh, there’s one more thing.” Ian reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a yellowed envelope. “Joel asked me to

give this to you. It’s from Michael.”

Tristan’s stomach plummeted as Ian handed him the brittle letter. “Thanks,” he murmured, though he’d rather Ian had just

shot him.

Ian gave him an understanding smile. “I know you’ll want to read that in private, so I’ll head back to the house.”
Tristan nodded, but he continued to stare at the envelope long after Ian was a mere speck in the distance. Sighing, he

finally broke the seal and pulled out the single sheet of paper inside. The words were cramped and spidery, difficult to
decipher.

Dear Tristan,
I have so much to tell you, but my strength is almost gone so I’ll only say what’s most important. You didn’t

mention Savannah or the baby that day in the Wilderness. At first, I thought you were simply too angry to talk about it,
but then I realized you probably didn’t know I married her because she was pregnant with your child. Either way, I
pray you’ll forgive me. Much as I care for her, I did it for you, brother. It’s you she loves. When this war is over, I
pray you’ll go back to her and love her well. As for the rest of it—what happened in the woods that day – it wasn’t
your fault. Forgive yourself.

I love you,
Michael

Tristan blinked against the sting of tears. His brother’s forgiveness washed through him, cleansing away a decade of

anguish and regret. He refolded the letter and tucked it close to his heart. ““I’m sorry, Michael. I’m so damned sorry.”

Chapter Sixteen

Tristan went looking for Savannah as soon as he returned to the house. He found her in the kitchen, preparing lunch. Her

hair hung in limp tendrils around her flushed face, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Apparently, she hadn’t slept any
better than he had.

“Hello,” he murmured.
Savannah froze, and then slowly turned to face him. “Hello, Tristan.” Her voice was tentative, her blue gaze wary.
“Do you have a minute? I need to talk to you.”
She nodded, a small smile curving her mouth. “Of course. I always have time for you.” She stirred the big pot of chili on

the stove and then sat down at the large, pine table, putting her chin on her clasped hands.

He took the chair across from her, feeling that this was wrong somehow. He’d intended to ask her to marry him since he

was twenty years old, but he’d never expected to do it in a kitchen. In his dreams the moment had happened to the
accompaniment of soft music and candlelight.

His mouth tightened grimly. What did it matter where his proposal took place? It wasn’t as though this were some grand,

romantic gesture. Their marriage would be one of convenience, and he couldn’t let himself forget it.

Silence stretched between them. He scrambled for the words that would make her his wife, yet convey his anger and

displeasure for the situation in which she’d placed him.

“What is it, Tristan?” She asked the question so sweetly. Her heart was in her eyes as she stared at him across the

yawning expanse of the oak table. “I’ll do anything. All you have to do is ask.”

“Anything?” His word hung in the air. Potent. Full of connotations that had nothing to do with marriage and everything to

do with the desire that still raged between them.

She flushed but didn’t lower her gaze. “Yes. I’d do anything for you. Surely you know that.”
He had to press his palms against the tabletop to keep from reaching for her. God, this was going to be even harder than

he’d imagined. He hadn’t even popped the question yet and already he wanted to hold her, wanted to make love to her until
nothing mattered but the feel of her soft body tangled with his.

Shifting against his rising need, he cleared his throat. “I want you to marry me. The sooner the better.”
Utter joy lightened the shadows in Savannah’s beautiful blue eyes. “Oh, Tristan, do you mean it? You really want to

marry me? After all I’ve done?”

He forced himself to remain impassive. “It doesn’t matter what I want. I’ve got to think of Billy. If he didn’t need a

mother, I’d take him away from here and see how you liked living without him for ten years.”

It was a horrible thing to say, and he regretted his words immediately, but he couldn’t bring himself to take them back.

She deserved that and more, a mean little voice in the back of his head insisted.

If he made this easy on her, she’d think he’d forgiven her. She’d think he intended this to be the kind of marriage it would

have been if she’d only trusted him more, believed in him the way he’d once believed in her.

The light in Savannah’s eyes went out like a candle in the wind. She took a deep, shuddering breath and covered her face

in her hands. “You want me to marry you because of Billy?” Her words were muffled and indistinct, but the hurt behind them
was unmistakable.

“Of course,” he said, feeling as though he were putting the final nail in the coffin of what could have been. “Did you

really think it was because I still loved you?”

Her slim shoulders trembled as though she was being buffeted by a hurricane, but she lifted her head and met his hard

gaze with naked honesty. “Yes.”

He knew he should scoff—laugh while he crushed her dreams—but he couldn’t bring himself to go quite that far. After

all, he still had to get her to agree to marry him.

“Billy needs us both.” He rubbed his aching temple with his fingertips, wondering if he’d ever get a good night’s sleep

again.

“He needs two parents who love him.” Savannah shook her head. “We don’t have to get married to accomplish that. I

swear I’ll never try to limit your contact with him in any way.”

“Yes, but unless we all live under the same roof, we’ll never be a family.” The words escaped his lips before he could

stop them, but even he could hear his desperation.

She stared at him for a long, long moment. He knew she was looking into his very soul, but he didn’t know what to say

that wouldn’t mess things up even more.

“I married once before for Billy’s sake and that was obviously a mistake,” she whispered at last, her voice low and

intense. “But this time it’s different. I want to be your wife. I always have. So if you want me to agree to this, you have to
promise to try and make it work.”

“I’ll try,” he muttered. “I’ll try.”
“All right.” She slid out of her chair and came around to his side of the table. Standing behind him, she put her hands on

his shoulders, bending so her warm breath brushed his ear. “I’ll marry you. I’ll marry you because I love you.”

* * * * *

Tristan wanted to marry her.
Savannah pulled herself up through the bottom of the tree house floor, her heart pounding in her chest, her face flushed

from running. She collapsed across the rough wooden floor and closed her eyes, desperate to make some sense of what had just
happened.

She’d never expected Tristan to propose and was terrified she’d made a horrible mistake by saying yes. But how on

earth could she have said no when marrying Tristan was what she’d wanted her entire life?

He’d made it very clear he was only doing this for Billy’s sake. He was still furious with her, and although he’d

promised to try and make their marriage work, she knew it was going to be very difficult to get past his anger and distrust.

But if they were married, if they were forced to share a home, to live and work together every day, she was sure he’d

forgive her. All she had to do was love him, keep showing him how wonderful things could be if only he’d just let go of all of
his anger.

She opened her eyes and stared at the leafy green branches above her head, remembering in exquisite detail how it had

felt to make love to Tristan again. If they were married, they’d be able to share that kind of intimacy whenever they wanted.

How could he stay angry with her during the kind of passion they would share? When they made love, his defenses

would be down, and perhaps she’d find a way to breach them.

A noise below her alerted her that someone was coming. When she peered over the edge of the platform, she saw her son

walking dejectedly alongside the stream, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

Her heart broke all over again at the sight of him. No matter how emphatically he’d rejected her this morning, it was

obvious he needed her. She should have tried harder to get to the bottom of his fears and anger instead of letting him wander off
to work things out by himself.

“Billy,” she called, startling him.
His blue gaze scanned the tree until he saw her, and then his face wrinkled in a funny smile. “What are you doing up

there, Mama?”

“Just thinking,” she answered. “Why don’t you come up here and sit with me for a while?”
He stared at her for a long moment, then shrugged and headed for the ladder. “All right.”
She waited for him to climb up, realizing she’d accepted Tristan’s proposal prematurely. Billy was so much a part of

this. She should never have agreed to something that would have such a profound effect on his future without talking to him
about it first.

Billy finally pulled himself up beside her. “What are you thinking about?”
“Oh, lots of things.” She reached across the distance that separated them to capture his small, grubby hand. “Mostly I was

thinking that I have to ask your opinion on something.”

He glanced up at her, his big, blue eyes filled with caution and unwilling curiosity. “What do you want my ’pinion

about?”

She smiled, not wanting him to know she had any concerns about the prospect of marrying Tristan. “Your father has

asked me to marry him.”

Billy’s mouth formed a perfect “O” of surprise. “Why would he want to do that?” he asked after his obvious shock had

worn off. “He doesn’t even like you.”

Savannah flinched at the accuracy of her son’s words, but she forged on, determined to make this work. “It’s true that he

isn’t too pleased with me at the moment,” she conceded.

The understatement of the year.
“But he once cared a great deal about me and I’m certain, with a little time, he’ll grow to care for me again. Anyway, the

important thing is that we both love you. We both want to be a family, the way it should have been all along.”

Billy was silent, staring at her as his expression slowly went from anger to wonder.
“Well?” Savannah asked, realizing her son had been dreaming of this all along. “What do you think?”
“If you marry him, he’ll have to stay here with us always, won’t he?”
“Yes,” Savannah said. “He will.”
“Then I think we should marry him,” Billy told her solemnly. “How soon can we do it?”

Chapter Seventeen

“We should have a double wedding,” Ian suggested to the small group gathered in the parlor later that morning. “It would

make things much simpler, and Mary and I wouldn’t mind, would we, darling?”

Savannah turned her gaze to her soon-to-be sister-in-law, consternation wrinkling her brow. She, more than anyone,

knew how much time and energy Mary had spent arranging her and Ian’s wedding, which was set to take place in two weeks.
The last thing she wanted to do was ruin her friend’s special day.

“It’s fine with me,” Mary said with a breezy smile. “We’d be honored to have you join us.”
Savannah frowned, trying to read more into her friend’s easy acquiescence. If she and Tristan were marrying for the right

reasons instead of the wrong ones, she wouldn’t have wanted to share that special moment with anyone.

“Are you sure?” She reached over and squeezed Mary’s hand. “Don’t feel like you have to say yes. Tristan and I will

understand if you’d rather we wait for a week or two.”

Tristan cleared his throat, speaking for the first time since the two couples had sat down to discuss their wedding.

“Savannah’s right. We don’t want to ruin things for you.” He glanced at Savannah, and she was shocked anew by the utter lack
of emotion in the depths of his emerald eyes. “In fact, I think Savannah and I should just go into town tomorrow and get married
by the Justice of the Peace.”

Tomorrow.
Savannah returned his gaze, trying to not to show the bone-deep terror his words provoked. She wasn’t ready for this.

Not yet. She’d hoped to have a little more time to get past his anger before moving into his house and sharing his bed.

“Surely there’s no rush,” Ian interjected before she could voice the same opinion.
Tristan set his jaw. “I don’t see the point in waiting. Besides, under the circumstances, I don’t see the need for a big,

church wedding.”

Savannah swallowed back a cry of dismay. She knew he was angry with her, but she’d never expected him to deny her

the right to marry in a church. No matter what had precipitated this wedding, she still planned to honor their vows. Didn’t he?

“Women set quite a store by a church wedding,” Ian interjected, his voice laced with warning. “No matter how all this

came about, Savannah still deserves to have her special day.”

Savannah dropped her gaze, unable to look at anyone. As much as she wanted a church wedding, she didn’t feel she

deserved one.

“It’s all right, Ian. It would be easier for everyone if we just went to the Justice of the Peace. Billy is anxious to move

down to the cabin, anyway.”

Ian made a disgruntled noise, but didn’t say anything further.
Tristan sighed and stood up. “Well then, it’s settled. We’ll move your things down to the cabin in the morning, and then

ride into town tomorrow afternoon.”

Savannah nodded, trying hard not to give into her despair. Tomorrow she would become the wife of a man who didn’t

even care enough for her to swear his vows before God.

What on earth was she getting herself into?

* * * * *

Tristan knew he was being a jackass.
He left Savannah sitting in the parlor with her brother and Mary, all her wedding hopes dashed to bits, but his actions

hadn’t brought the satisfaction he’d expected. In fact, it was all he could do to keep from going back in there and begging her to
forgive him.

What would it hurt, really, to get married in a church with her family and friends looking on?
He’d only suggested the Justice of Peace to be difficult, to prove he was only marrying her because of Billy—that he had

no desire whatsoever to look into her beautiful eyes and pledge to love and cherish her for the rest of his days.

Hell, didn’t she remember he’d already done that beneath a towering old oak in Maryland nearly eleven years ago?
Still, he wasn’t going to back down. If he had to stand there, put a ring on her finger and kiss her at the altar, he was

afraid the shell he’d erected around his heart would crack into a million pieces.

He couldn’t let go of his anger, not now, not yet. He was terrified if she knew how much he still loved her, she’d use it

against him in some way. That he’d forever be off balance and vulnerable.

He couldn’t let that happen. Even if it meant ruining Savannah’s wedding day.

* * * * *

Savannah searched dejectedly through her closet, trying to decide what to wear for her wedding. It had been months

since she’d had a new dress—there weren’t many occasions that required one, living as they did in near total isolation. But
she’d never expected to have to wear an old work dress to her wedding.

Sighing, she thought of the dresses she’d owned before the war. Gowns from Paris, London and New York. Satins and

silks, Belgian lace, corsets and stays...

Frowning, she turned to look in the mirror. She wore only a chemise beneath her plain cotton dress. Her hands were

rough and calloused, and her hair limp and straggly. No wonder Tristan didn’t want to stand beside her in a church. She no
longer resembled the pampered girl he’d fallen in love with.

In many ways, she was proud of the person she’d become—no longer a worthless trophy for a rich man to parade around

like a dressed up doll on his arm but a strong, independent woman. Still, what she wouldn’t give to see Tristan’s eyes light up
at the sight of her, the way they once had.

Overwhelmed with despair, she didn’t even hear Mary enter her room, wasn’t aware she was there until her friend

touched her lightly on the shoulder. “Are you all right?”

Suddenly the entire situation was too much. Savannah turned around, a sob bursting from her lips before she could stop

it. “I d-don’t have a th-thing to wear!”

Mary laughed in startled surprise and then hugged her. “Is that the only thing wrong? Or have you decided you don’t want

to marry him after all?”

Savannah just cried harder, all her worry and fear pouring out of her in an unstoppable flood. “I don’t know. I’m afraid

I’m making a terrible mistake.”

Mary pulled away so Savannah was forced to meet her concerned gaze. “Ian sent me up to tell you it’s all right for you to

call the whole thing off. He’s furious because that man is making you get married by a Justice of the Peace. If he cares for your
feelings so little now, this marriage will be a disaster."

“Oh, Mary, it’s not like that at all. You don’t understand.” Savannah was determined not to let her friend think badly of

Tristan, no matter how he was behaving.

Mary bit her lip, clearly embarrassed. “Ian told me about Billy. But that doesn’t excuse the way that man behaved toward

you.”

That man. Savannah smiled through her tears. “His name is Tristan. And I am going to marry him, even though you and

Ian may not approve. Because I love him. I can’t bear to lose him again.”

Mary stared at her for a long moment then sighed and shook her head. “You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.” It was true. The brief cry had helped. She’d been resisting her tears all day. Perhaps it was good to have

finally shed some.

“Well then, wait here for a moment. I have something for you.” With a wink, Mary turned and left the room.
When she returned moments later, she had a large burlap bundle in her arms. She set it down on the bed and unwrapped

it, revealing a length of sky blue silk and white lace. “My wedding present to you.”

Savannah reached out and touched the material reverently. “It’s beautiful, but there isn’t time…”
“Maybe not for one set of hands, but with both of us working together, and the men fending for themselves for lunch and

dinner, I think we might be able to pull it off.”

Savannah wiped away her tears with the back of one hand, a smile lighting her soul for the first time in days. Mary

smiled back, and Savannah impulsively hugged her friend. She was so pleased Mary hadn’t tried to talk her out of marrying
Tristan once she’d made up her mind.

“I’ll never forget this. And I can’t wait until we’re truly sisters.”
Mary wiped away a tear of her own. “Let’s get started, then.”

Chapter Eighteen

Tristan awoke to a knock on the cabin door early the next morning. The first rays of morning light were barely lightening

his bedroom walls, and he cursed beneath his breath as he hurried to dress.

Who the hell was at his door this early? Didn’t they know it was his wedding day, for God’s sake?
He stomped through the main room and flung open the front door, only to find his soon-to-be wife, her arms piled high

with an assortment of household items. She gave him a wan smile, and he was shocked to see the dark circles beneath her
beautiful eyes.

“Do you know what time it is?” he asked, stepping back to let her in.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she mumbled, crossing the room to deposit her load on the table. “You said you wanted me to move

all my things down here this morning, so I thought I’d get an early start.”

He frowned. “I didn’t expect you at the crack of dawn. And I didn’t mean for you to do it all by yourself. I intended to

help you.”

“Well, there was a lot to do. And I wanted to get it all done before the wedding. Besides, I still haven’t started cleaning

out the other bedroom for Billy. If I don’t get it done today, where on earth will he sleep tonight?”

Tristan stepped forward and grabbed Savannah’s arm, stopping her long, breathless stream of conversation. “Billy’s

going to stay with Ian and Joel tonight. I’ve already spoken to him about it.”

“But why?” Her eyes were round and startled, yet filled with a wary hope that nearly tore his heart out.
“You know why. This is our wedding night.” The mere thought of the night to come made him hard. He shifted

uncomfortably, moving so that the table separated them.

“I didn’t think…” She broke off, twisting her hands nervously in front of her.
He leaned forward and lifted her chin with a gentle fingertip, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You didn’t think what?”
She cleared her throat, her embarrassment obvious. “I didn’t think you still wanted me. Not in that way.”
“I’ll always want you in that way,” he told her, forcing himself to be casually cruel. “In fact, I consider the unlimited use

of your body one of the only good things about this whole marriage.”

Savannah paled and jerked away. She turned her back and started unpacking the dishes, pots and pans she’d brought with

her, as though she hadn’t a care in the world. But the tremor in her hands gave her away. The urge to take her in his arms and
kiss away the hurt his words had caused was nearly unbearable. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep up this
charade.

After a long moment of silence, Savannah turned back to face him as though the last few moments had not happened.

“There are some large items of furniture that need moved down here. A grandfather clock, one of the sofas from the parlor,
some rugs and my bedroom suite. Joel will help you, if you want to hitch up the wagon.”

“All right.” Perhaps it was best to get away from her for a while. After tonight, they’d have all the time in the world to

work things out.

* * * * *

Savannah gave one last look around the snug little cabin that was once again going to be her home. She was pleased with

the transformation she’d managed to make in the last few hours. Paintings and portraits now hung on the formerly bare walls,
the hard, wooden floors were covered in places by soft, colorful rugs, and the living area now boasted a comfortable sofa for
long evenings in front of the fire.

Dear Lord, she had so many hopes and dreams for this small house. All she had to do was close her eyes and she could

picture the three of them, popping corn and drinking hot cider, laughing and talking and cuddling beneath a soft, sweet-smelling
blanket on a cold winter’s night.

She could imagine their first Christmas together, even the possibility of more children. Maybe a daughter, whom Tristan

would have the opportunity to hold and bathe and watch grow up.

But all her plans hinged on Tristan’s forgiveness, and she was very afraid he was never going to give it to her.
She suppressed a shudder when she thought of his words this morning. He’d said the only thing he wanted out of their

marriage was unlimited access to her body. Was that truly all he cared about? Or was he still so angry he was trying to hurt her
the way she’d hurt him?

She prayed for the latter, because she was terrified he’d meant what he’d said. If he intended to use her as little more

than a whore, she didn’t know how she was going to bear it.

“Savannah?”
She turned at the sound of Joel’s voice, hoping her troubled thoughts didn’t show. “Have you come to fetch me?”
He laughed and crossed the room, giving her a swift, fierce hug. “Mary is having fits. The two of you were up half the

night making that wedding dress, and now she’s afraid you aren’t even planning to come clean up and get into it.”

Savannah brushed a straggling strand of hair out of her eyes with the back of her grimy arm. “Well, I’d better hurry up

there then. I wouldn’t want to disappoint her.”

When she would have turned to leave, Joel caught her arm. “Tell me the truth, sis. Are you hiding out down here because

you’re having second thoughts?”

She looked into her brother’s earnest blue eyes and was pleased to find him completely sober. Perhaps her lies hadn’t

totally driven him over the edge. It was one small worry off her shoulders.

“I’m fine. I just wanted everything to be perfect for tonight.”
He nodded, although he didn’t look convinced. “Just remember, it’s not too late to change your mind. All you have to do

is say the word. Ian and I will support you no matter what you decide.”

She tried to summon a smile, but knew it fell far short of the mark. “Then support my marriage. I truly think everything

will work out in the end. I’m not crazy; I know it will take some time. A lot of time, perhaps. But it can’t be any harder to live
with him than it’s been to live without him for the last ten years.”

Joel sighed and dropped his gaze. “I didn’t realize you were so lonely. I feel as though I’ve failed you.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t fail me. It was my own fault. At least now my life will have some purpose. I’ve been

drifting lately. You know that. And to tell the truth, I’ve been terrified by Ian and Mary’s marriage. I mean, what was I
supposed to do, when it was Mary’s house, Mary’s kitchen?”

“It wouldn’t have been like that. You know Ian would never have allowed her to replace you. Besides, I don’t think she’s

that kind of person.”

“No, she’s not,” Savannah agreed. “But she still must have been as uncomfortable about the whole thing as I was. I know

I wouldn’t want to marry a man, knowing his old spinster sister ran his house.”

“You’re far from a spinster.” Joel steered her toward a big, oak-framed mirror behind them. “Just look at yourself.

You’re still so beautiful.”

Savannah didn’t want to look. She knew what she’d see. A tired, troubled woman, with bags under her eyes from yet

another sleepless night and the weight of the entire world on her slim shoulders.

She tried to shrug out of his grasp, but he held tight. “Look. Just look.”
Hesitantly, she lifted her gaze. As she’d suspected, she did look tired and worried, but the underlying excitement in her

eyes was impossible to miss, and her wild, unkempt hair made her look younger than her years.

“I know what you mean by drifting.” Joel met her gaze in the mirror. She was stunned by the sadness in him, the regret. “I

lost my family and my profession because of that war. I don’t belong here on this ranch. I never have. I’ve just allowed Ian to
pull me along, replacing my dreams with his.”

She took his hand and squeezed it. “You should practice medicine again. We both know that’s the only thing that will

make you happy.”

“And you’re probably right. You don’t belong in Ian’s house when he’s on the verge of starting a family of his own. But

you do belong with Tristan. I see that more clearly than I’ve seen anything in years.”

Savannah turned and hugged her brother tightly. “Thank you. Thank you for being here, and thank you for understanding.”
He laughed and pulled away. “Well, let’s go. You’ve got a wedding to prepare for, don’t you?”
She nodded and sent one last, swift prayer winging upward. “Yes. I sure do.”

Chapter Nineteen

Tristan paced the wide hall beneath the staircase, waiting for his bride. It had been over an hour since Joel had brought

her up from the cabin, and there had been nothing but total silence from the direction of her bedroom ever since.

Was she having second thoughts? Would she decide not to go through with the wedding after all because of the

abominable way he’d been treating her? Or, worse yet, was she spending so much time getting ready because she wanted to
torture him by being even more beautiful than usual? God, he hoped not. She was more temptation than he could bear in her
simple cotton work dresses and untidy hair.

A burst of laughter emerged from the open door of the library, and Tristan threw a fulminating glare in that direction. His

soon-to-be brothers-in-law were in there having a pre-wedding drink, and their amusement was undoubtedly at his expense.

He was still nettled by the fact that they’d insisted on coming along, but he’d known better than to argue the point. He

didn’t want any witnesses to this farce of a wedding, but there was no way in hell the McKenzies were going to allow him his
wish.

Not that he blamed them. If Savannah were his sister, he probably wouldn’t have allowed this wedding to take place at

all. Savannah deserved better than a broken down gunslinger.

There was a noise above him, and Tristan smiled when he saw Billy on the landing, his blond hair slicked back, his slim

form dressed in a fine black suit. The boy was grinning from ear to ear, his little freckled face glowing with happiness.

“You look nice,” he told his son, a thrill of pride running through him. No matter what else the day might bring, he was

overjoyed at the prospect of having his son with him from now on.

Billy skipped down the remaining stairs and hugged him about the waist. “You look nice, too, Daddy.”
Daddy.
Tristan hugged the boy back, blinking back the emotion. Overwhelmed, he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Someone cleared their throat, and he glanced up, embarrassed, and found Savannah on the landing, staring down at them

with tears of her own. She was dressed in a beautiful gown of sky blue silk. Her lovely auburn hair was swept into an intricate
style that showed off the graceful column of her throat and the fine-boned features of her face.

She took his breath away.
Blushing, she descended the stairs to his side. Before he could stop her, she hugged both him and their son tightly. He

stood locked in the embrace, staring into her eyes, realizing he’d been waiting for this moment most of his life. She was here,
and she was his. Forever. All he had to do was forgive her.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, tired of pretending he hadn’t noticed.
She gave him a tremulous smile. “You’re beautiful, too.”
Billy laughed and pulled away from them, obviously having had enough of the mushy stuff. “Let’s go. I want to get

married.”

* * * * *

Five hours later, Savannah followed Tristan into her new home, weary in both body and spirit. The effort to put on a

happy face and pretend everything was all right had nearly killed her. Her family had surrounded her and Tristan all day,
during the brief civil ceremony, on the trips to and from town, and at the small wedding dinner Mary had insisted on providing.

By the time Billy fell into an exhausted sleep, all Savannah wanted to do was join him. Instead, she’d tucked him into

bed and tried to find the courage to face whatever else the night held.

Tristan shut the cabin door and strode to the fireplace, bending down to light the kindling in the glow of the lone lantern

they’d brought with them from the big house. Savannah watched him warily, uncertain what to expect. He’d been civil all day,
but he hadn’t spoken at all on the walk down to the cabin.

“There’s a bottle of wine on the table.” The fire caught hold, and he turned to look at her. “Maybe you should have

some.”

Glad to have a purpose, Savannah searched for some glasses. She poured them both some wine, and then drank half of

hers in one nervous swallow. She’d thought of a way to crack his icy facade, but she wasn’t sure she had the courage. Her plan
would only work if he still loved her.

Leaving Tristan by the fire, she took her wine to the bedroom. After taking a few more sips, she put it down and

undressed with trembling hands. Although it was summer, the night was cool, and she shivered a bit as her shift fell to the
floor. Crossing her arms over her naked breasts, she reclined on top of the quilts, ignoring the chill. If she succeeded, things
were about to get a whole lot warmer.

Footsteps sounded in the other room and, moments later, Tristan appeared in the bedroom doorway, wine in hand. He

froze, staring at her with an expression of complete surprise. “Savannah,” he whispered, as she let her hands fall from her
breasts. “You take my breath away.”

She stared at the ceiling, fighting tears, as he undressed. This was going to be so hard. She didn’t know if she could do it.
He climbed into bed, his big, warm body pressing against hers. Cupping her face, he lowered his head and brushed her

lips with his. She remained passive beneath him, neither pulling away, nor returning his kiss. For several moments he
continued to give her sweet, chaste kisses, but then he paused. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m your wife. You can do anything you like to me.”
He pulled away, frowning. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You said you wanted the unlimited use of my body.” She spread her arms wide, offering herself freely. “Well, here I

am.”

“This isn’t what I want,” he told her, his voice tight with irritation. “And you can’t tell me you haven’t been looking

forward to this night.”

“I wanted to make love to you. But what you want… It isn’t love, it’s just sex.”
He met her challenging gaze for a long moment and then gave a little huff of laughter. “You’re bluffing. You won’t be

able to resist me for long.”

She hoped he was wrong but was terrified he wasn’t. Still, she had to try. She wanted to show him love made all the

difference. She wouldn’t let him treat her like his whore. He needed to love her all the time, not just in the bedroom.

“I can,” she whispered. “And I will.”
Shaking his head, he cupped her breast, rubbing his thumb over her sensitive nipple. A thrill of delight speared through

her, but she forced herself to remain passive. He smiled wickedly and lowered his mouth to the other one, sucking gently. She
clenched her thighs together, trying to ignore the damp ache.

He took his time, trailing his lips and hands over every inch of her upper body, touching and tasting, so tender he brought

fresh tears to her eyes. She wanted to let herself go, wanted to run her fingers through his silky hair and gather him close, but
somehow she found the strength to resist, remaining cold as marble beneath his gentle caress.

“Spread your legs,” he commanded softly when his efforts above her waist didn’t get the result he wanted.
Shamed to the very core, she did as he asked. There was no hiding her body’s response to his touch.
“Christ,” he breathed, giving her a triumphant little smile. “You’re so wet for me, sweetheart.” And then he did the

unthinkable, he lowered his head and kissed her secret folds. Lashing her with his tongue, he penetrated her with his fingertips.
The combined sensations were more than she could bear.

She clenched her fists at her sides, fighting the moan working its way up the back of her throat. Tears stung her eyes, and

she swallowed convulsively, determined not to give in.

He doubled his efforts, working her with his mouth and his hands until she couldn’t fight it anymore. She thrashed

beneath him, sobbing with mingled shame and pleasure. Rising above her, he stared down, rubbing his thick length through her
slick folds. “Tell me you don’t want me,” he whispered harshly. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

“I don’t want you,” she forced out, though every fiber of her being was straining toward him, aching to be possessed.

“Not like this. Not this way.”

“You’re lying,” he told her, and then he thrust deep within her.
She cried out, wrapping her legs around his waist as he pumped his hips against hers, driving his hard, pulsing length

into her again and again. She fought to retain control but couldn’t. A wave of ecstasy crested within her, and she let it
overwhelm her, shattering in a thousand pieces as Tristan moaned her name and collapsed on top of her.

The release seemed to open an emotional floodgate deep within her. The orgasm had been incredible, but it meant she’d

lost. Her tears broke free, turning into deep, gut-wrenching sobs. Shoving Tristan away, she curled in upon herself, clutching
her knees to her breasts as she cried for the impossibility of her doomed marriage.

Tristan scrambled to his knees, staring down at his wife in dawning horror. This was his fault, all of it. He’d taken her

resistance as a challenge, ignoring everything else she’d been trying to tell him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, brushing the hair from her eyes. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. Please, don’t cry.”
Her sobs only intensified, wracking her slender frame until he thought she’d shake apart. Frustrated, he picked her up and

cradled her against him like a child. He rocked her gently, stroking her back and murmuring soothing nonsense.

He didn’t know how long he held her before her sobs finally subsided. It seemed an eternity. His heart was breaking. It

was only now, seeing her tears, that he realized how strong she’d been during the last few days, how hard she’d tried to mend
the damage between them.

He’d been such an ass, hurting her time and again. Taking pleasure in it, if the truth be told. Because as long as he’d had

her to blame, he hadn’t had to face his own culpability. It was easier to convince himself that Savannah had stolen Billy from
him than to face the truth.

I walked away from her. I walked away from them both.
At last, Savannah grew quiet, her tear-streaked face pressed against his damp chest, her breathing slow and even with

only occasional sniffles. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice low and lost. “You were right. I do want you. I’ll never stop wanting
you.”

He hugged her, bereft. “Don’t apologize. Christ, I’m the one who should be sorry. I’m the one who made this into a game,

knowing I was playing with your heart.”

She blinked up at him, her eyes red and swollen from her tears. “What are you saying?”
He shook his head. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking during the past few days. My behavior has been unforgivable, and

my only defense is that I’ve been afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”
He shook his head. “Afraid of loving you, sweetheart. Afraid of reaching for what I want, for fear I don’t deserve it. I’ve

blamed you for keeping Billy from me, when all along I knew you only did what you had to do. I never should have left without
making sure you were taken care of.”

She pushed to a sitting position, meeting his earnest gaze. “I should have waited for you.”
He put his finger to her lips. “You asked me to make a choice, and I should have chosen you. Instead, I destroyed

everything.”

She pressed a fleeting kiss to his palm. “You did what you thought was right. I should never have forced you to make that

choice in the first place.”

He gave a soft huff of laughter. “We could debate this point all night but the point is, I love you. I always have, and I

always will. I’ve tried to fool myself, I’ve tried to push you away and make you hate me, but tonight I realized loving you can’t
possibly hurt any more than living without you.”

Fresh tears filled her eyes. “I love you, too. I’ve never stopped.”
“Then give me one more chance,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers. “Let’s pretend we’re still young and

innocent and have our whole lives ahead of us. We’ve lost too much time already. I don’t want to lose any more.”

She bit her lip and nodded, hugging him as though she never meant to let him go. “That’s all I ever wanted. You’re all I

ever wanted.”

With a soft sigh, he pressed his lips to hers, kissing her with all the love he’d held inside for so long. This time she

returned his kiss passionately, moaning into his mouth as her arms went around him, pulling him down on top of her.

He followed her to the mattress, pressing against her cushioning warmth, realizing that from now on he’d always have a

soft place to fall. He broke the kiss and stared down at her, blinking away a sting of tears.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you for being brave enough to show me what my anger almost cost me. For making

me admit that I’ll never be complete unless I give you everything I have to give.”

“There he is.” She cupped his face with trembling hands, fresh tears of her own making her eyes glisten. “There’s the

man I fell in love with all those years ago.”

He pressed a tender kiss to her palm. “You’re the only one who ever could have brought him back, sweetheart. Until I

found you again I thought that part of me was dead.”

She slid her hands into his hair and pulled his head down to rest upon her chest. “I’ve felt a little dead inside myself. For

the last ten years, I’ve just been going through the motions. Despite all the pain and confusion your return has caused, having
you in my life again has made me feel alive.”

He hugged her tightly, knowing exactly what she meant. “Let me make love to you again, sweetheart. Let me make this

into the wedding night I’ve always dreamed of.”

“Yes,” she said on a sigh, as he ran his tongue over her nipple, bringing it to rigid attention. “Please, Tristan.”
Eager to give his beautiful wife all the loving she deserved, he repeated his earlier ministrations, kissing and tasting his

way down her delectable body. But this time everything was different. This time, she moaned and thrashed beneath him,
sobbing his name in pleasure as he brought her to the edge of completion again and again.

But his control was not infinite, and soon his need matched hers. Sheathing himself deep within her wet heat, he rose

above her on trembling arms. “I love you, Savannah. I’ll never leave you again.”

“I’ll never let you go,” she promised, wrapping her legs around his waist and driving him even deeper.
Determined to make this heavenly moment last an eternity, he began to thrust slowly within her, holding her gaze,

drowning in the love that shone in her eyes. But all too soon she convulsed around him, and he cried out, riding her climax to

his own.

Panting, utterly spent, he rolled onto his back and pulled her into the circle of his arms. She sighed and snuggled close,

falling to sleep between one breath and the next. He smiled, pulling her closer and tucking the quilt securely around them. Poor
thing; she’d been up all night. No wonder she was exhausted.

It scared him to think about how close he’d come to losing her, or to turning their love into a lifetime of bitterness and

regret. The last of his anger faded away, replaced by overwhelming love and contentment. The past could not be changed, but
the entire future lay before him.

As he joined his wife in peaceful slumber, his last thought was that the future looked very bright indeed.

The End

Author Bio

Diana wrote her first book in elementary school and has been writing ever since. For the last ten years she’s been

seriously pursuing a writing career while also juggling a full time job as a police dispatcher. She has won or finaled in over a
dozen writing contests, including RWA’s Golden Heart. She lives in a small Colorado town with her wonderful husband and
three teen-aged boys.

You can contact Diana at

[e-mail]

or visit her website at

www.dianabold.com

.