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broad, that his arms and chest were well and tautly muscled, that he was

as lean and sleek and powerful as a puma, agile and quick. His eyes were

a most interesting shade of gray, remote, enigmatic, and yet she felt

their acuteness each time they fell upon her. She realized, in the late

shadows of night, that he was an arresting man. Handsome. but not

because of perfect features or any gentleness about him. His face was

ruggedly hewn, but with clean, strong lines. His jaw was firm and

square, his cheekbones were high, his eyes done, but he hadn't promised

her a lick of help in righting things. He didn't care.

The only people who cared were the citizens of Wiltshire, and there

weren't really all that many left. Even the sheriff was one of von

Hcusen's men, put into office during one of the shadiest elections

imaginable.

It was light, Tess realized. The daylight had come as they had stood

there, staring at one another. Against the pink of the sky, Lieutenant

Slater suddenly seemed a towering menace. A pulse beat at the base of

his throat as he watched her. His jaw seemed cast into a slight twist,

then locked as if it held back his temper. There was a good ten feet

between them, and still she felt his heat, body heat. Her heart was

beating too quickly, and something warm churned deep within her abdomen

while little touches of mercury seemed to dance along her back. She

needed to break away from him.

She despised his attitude; she couldn't help but spise him for the blue

uniform that reminded her so completely of the war.

He wore it well, his dark, plumed hat pulled low over his eyes, his

shoulders broad in the navy blue cavalry shirt, his legs long, his hips

trim. She had to walk past him. She swallowed hard and forced herself to

smile.

"If you'll excuse me, Lieutenant, I'm sure that you're anxious to ride

as quickly as possible." She started to walk. The closer she came to him

the harder her heart beat. She was almost past him.

Then his arm snaked out and he caught her elbow. Her heart slammed

against her chest as she looked into his smok~-gray eyes, s'zzzling into

hers beneath the sun. His eyes were still shadowed by the brim of his

hat.

"I am sorry, Miss. Stuart. I'm very sorry."

She wanted to speak. Her throat was dry. She felt his fingers upon her

as if they burned. She was acutely aware of the warmth and strength of

his body.

She stared at his hand upon her and pulled from his grasp. "Thank you,

Lieutenant," she managed to say, then she forgot her dignity and fled.

In an hour they were ready to start out. Lieutenant Slater ordered the

downed and useless wagons burned. He almost ordered her new printing

press burned, but Tess forgot all about a low-toned and well-modulated

voice and dignified behavior and came bursting from her wagon to demand

that the press be carried into something that was still capable of

rolling.

"What in hell is it?" the lieutenant demanded impatiently.

"A press! A printing press! I need it for the Wiltshire Sun!"

"Your uncle's newspaper? But he's--dead, Miss. Stuart."

"The Wiltshire Sun is not dead, Lieutenant, nor do I intend to let it

die.

I will not take a step without that printing press."

A spark of silver touched his eyes as they narrowed upon her.

"Don't threaten me, Miss. Stuart."

"I'm not threatening! I'm telling you what will and will not happen."

He took a step toward her and spoke very quietly.

"Miss. Stuart, you will move when I say so, ma'am, because I'll set you

upon your pretty little--er--rump within the wagon, and one of my men

will drive."

"You wouldn't dare! I'll tell your superiors" -- "You tell them anything

you want. Want to test me?"

She gritted her teeth and stared into his eyes.

"I need that press, Lieutenant."

He stood still, hard, cold, immobile. "Lieutenant, please! I need that

printing press! It would only take your men a few minutes. Please!"

For a moment he continued to stare at her. Then he turned around,

calling to Sergeant Monahan. The men were ordered to move the press into

one of the wagons that could still roll." Private Harper!" Slater

called.

"Hitch your horse to the rear and drive the extra wagon."

"Yes, sir!"

Tess exhaled slowly. Lieutenant Slater east her a hard glare, then

turned around. He strode away, calling for his men to see to the last of

the fires, then mount up. When he had gone, Tess realized that the

handsome Indian with the striking eyes was silently watching her. He

saluted with a smile, as if she had managed very well. Then he, too,

turned away.

Tess was certain it was a long day for the cavalry. The men were

accustomed. to moving quickly--now they were burdened down by the

wagons. The landscape was beautiful-- and monotonous. The land was a

constant pale, dusty brown, the little bit of color against it the dull

green of sage and cactus.

She was determined not to complain, but the dust soon covered her, and

after endless hours of driving the six mules that pulled her wagon, she

was exhausted. Her arms hurt in places where she hadn't realized she had

muscles. She could have said something, she was certain. The majority of

the young cavalry men were kind and solicitous, riding by her whenever

they could, asking her if she needed anything. But each time a man drove

by, she saw Lieutenant Slater in the distance beyond him, and so she

smiled sweetly and said that she was doing very well.

He had to stop. He had to stop sometime.

He finally called a halt when the sun began to fall into the horizon and

the whole world went pink again. He stayed away from her, but she knew

he was watching her. Was he judging her?

Trying to decide if she was crazy or if she was having female whimsies?

She had to keep a tight lid on her temper. No matter what he did or

said, she had to keep quiet. When she reached his fort she would speak

calmly and rationally with the commander, and she would make him

understand.

"Miss. Stuart!" Sergeant Monahah rode over to her, then dismounted from

his horse.

"Let me help me you down, miss. I'll see to your mules and the wagon."

"Thank you, Sergeant. I can really" -- She broke off, nearly falling as

he helped her from the wagon. He held her steady as her feet touched the

ground, and she smiled for him.

"Thank you again. I guess I do need some help."

"At your service."

She felt she was being watched. She looked over Monahan's shoulder and

there was Slater, still mounted on his huge horse, overseeing his men as

they broke their formation to make camp. He tipped his hat to her, and

she felt something run hot and liquid inside her. He was watching her in

Monahan's arms, and very likely acknowledging a feminine ability to draw

others to handle her own responsibilities.

Her temper started to soar.

Monahah stepped back, and his wide baby blue eyes were full of

gentleness and kindness and maybe just a bit of adoration.

He was a wonderful man, just like a great big shaggy bear. The devil to

Lieutenant Slater. If his men wanted to behave like gentlemen, she had

no intention of stopping them.

"Miss. Stuart, Lieutenant Slater rode this far because we know this

place. If you go just past that ridge yonder, there's the prettiest

little brook. It's mostly surrounded by dry rock, but the water runs

pure and clean. There's an area up there far from where we'll water the

horses. You can take a walk up there and find all the privacy you might