Chapter 15
by Sandi 99

"Look, if you're askin' me to give you a guarantee, I can't do that. I'm just sayin', there's better ways. Folks think they're gonna feel all better after he's dead ... Ben Hart thinks it's gonna take away his hatin' ... revenge don't taste so sweet."

"You think that's what I want? Revenge? I want our family protected."

"Michaela ... when he was pointin' that gun, if he woulda hurt you, I would have killed 'im right there with my bare hands. I know I got it in me."

Sully and Michaela - Eye for an Eye.
****************
"As if I haven't got enough trouble, now I got two of ya to take care of!" Sully shook his head, thoroughly disgusted with, what he perceived as, a weakness in his own character. Preston and Patrick trailed behind him, both men subdued by Sully's obvious annoyance.

They stomped through the woods, pushing aside the undergrowth as they searched for more clues. In spite of his irritation, there was only one thing that seemed important to Sully at that moment - the red material from his wife's dress. It was this trail of red that had distracted him in the first place. Once he'd discovered Patrick - that is, when Wolf discovered him - Sully had every intention of sending the Irishman packing. Tolerating Preston, as the banker stumbled along behind him, was frustrating enough, without adding another inexperienced tenderfoot to the entourage. Sully preferred to work alone, well aware that he could move more quickly and quietly by himself. He'd only agreed to Preston's company because he had this fool notion that the banker might know enough about Duncan, have enough of a connection, to predict his brother's next move. Now, half a day later, Sully realized that his assumption had been completely wrong. Preston not only seemed incapable of tracking down his brother, he was an anchor around Sully's neck. Because of Preston, it had been necessary to slow his pace and rest more often. Just the thought of having Patrick O'Donnell along as well .... No, Sully had no intention of saddling himself with another handicap.

"I don't know what you think you're doin'," he'd told Patrick, angrily, after instructing Wolf to back away from the man, "but ya ain't comin' with us." He'd nodded toward the path behind them. "Get your horse and go back ta town."

"Now lad," Patrick said, soothingly, collecting his wits. He'd straightened his coat and removed his hat, in order to mop his brow with a handkerchief. The white linen had contrasted, sharply, with Patrick's reddened, flushed face. "No need to be hasty. Tis entirely within the range of possibility to think that I just might come in handy, so to speak. Why I ...."

"Enough!" Sully's harsh tone cut through the air between them. "I told ya ... ya ain't comin' with us. And that's all I'm gonna say."

He'd spun around and headed off into the thick trees surrounding him. One thing was certain - if Michaela and Duncan were out here somewhere, they'd never stick to the main path. They'd disappear into the woods. Ignoring both Patrick and Preston, Sully began to search for signs of intruders in an otherwise peaceful landscape - broken twigs on trees, scuffed moss on rocks ... anything. He'd been completely exasperated when Patrick's voice called out to him.

"Hold up there, lad. You'll want to be lookin' at this."

Sully had twisted toward the man, enraged, preparing to unleash a torrent of furious words. Then he'd caught sight of the object in Patrick's hand and the words died in his throat. "Where did ya find that?" he'd finally managed to ask, stepping forward to take the bit of red cloth out of the man's outstretched hand.

"It was wedged in here," Patrick had explained, pointing toward a spot on the nearest tree where two branches formed a perfect V shape. "Judgin' by the look on yer face, my boy, I'd say we should be scoutin' around for more of them, wouldn't ya say?"

Sully'd examined the material and swallowed, convulsively. Clues. Michaela was leaving clues. That could only mean that she was free and able to signal him. He'd instantly forgotten about Patrick and Preston as he scoured the woods around them for more material. Now, an hour later, Patrick O'Donnell was still with them.

They'd found six more pieces of red cloth as they moved toward a small stream up ahead of them. Sully knew the area well. They were still a distance away from the water.

"Sully!" Preston called out to him as he knelt down on the ground beside a large boulder. Sully sprinted over to the banker, in time to see him tug a piece of material out from beneath a rock. He held it up in the air, triumphantly. "Another one." There was a gloating smile on his face. "We're on the right track."

Sully nodded, mutely. He didn't share Preston's enthusiasm, at that moment. If the trail was this obvious, what would have prevented Duncan from following it as well? A sick feeling constricted his throat.

"You're welcome!" Preston said, snidely, looking up at Sully's grim face. "Honestly Sully, it wouldn't hurt you to display a few manners, to show some gratitude, at least. After all, I've found the last two pieces of cloth, haven't I?" Preston stood up and brushed the dirt away from the knees of his suit pants. "A gentleman would ...."

"I guess you know all about gentlemen, don'tcha Preston?" Sully asked, interrupting him. "Like you're always tellin' everyone, you come from a family of gentlemen, don't ya? Is that what Duncan is? A .... gentleman?"

Sully pierced the man with his stare and Preston had the grace to appear slightly ashamed. "Don't expect me ta thank you, Preston," Sully continued, "If your family had done the right thing and taken care of the problem, back when you found out about Duncan and his ... actions ..., we wouldn't be in this mess right now. Michaela wouldn't be in danger and ..."

"You're blaming me for that?" Preston asked, incredulously. "Come now, Sully - even if I had any control over my brother, and I can assure you I did not, it was my father's decision to send Duncan away, not mine."

"He should have gone to jail, after he raped that woman," Sully argued, hotly. "No ... That would never do, would it?" His voice was heavy with sarcasm. "A Lodge in jail? How would it look?"

Preston glared at him and the air between them seemed to crackle with tension. Finally Preston smiled - an ugly, mocking expression. "It appears that, once again, I was wrong about you, Sully. All this time, I thought you were fair. I can even remember laughing about it - thinking it was the one flaw that made you weak - this compulsion to always be fair, at any cost." He shook his head as he eyed Sully up and down. "As I said, I guess I was mistaken. You're not fair, Sully. You're judging me by the same criteria as my brother - out of bitterness and anger and desperation."

"I ain't got time to stand here and argue with you, Preston," Sully muttered, moving away to storm through the forest once more. A part of him knew that Preston was right - he wasn't being reasonable or fair-minded. But, at that moment, Sully couldn't do much about it. Dread overtook him as each step propelled him toward the stream.

Michaela's life was being threatened. Sully could feel it in his gut. And he was angry and desperate - Preston was right about that too. But Sully had to lash out at someone. If he didn't, he was afraid that he'd let his anger overwhelm him and render him ineffective. He needed to keep a clear head and move on. He'd need his wits intact when they found Michaela and Duncan. He couldn't shake the image that formed in front of his eyes ... the pale, lifeless face of his wife, and the blood that was seeping out onto the ground beneath her head. Being angry at Preston was the one thing that protected him from the panic building up inside.

******************
Luke couldn't meet his mother's eyes as he entered the cabin. Instead he moved over to the fireplace grate and busied himself by placing a log on the fire. He could feel his mother's stare penetrating the space that separated them. She'd been baking bread, kneading it on the floured surface of their kitchen table. He could hear the soft thud as her wrist repeatedly connected with the tabletop while she manipulated the pliable dough.

"Luke," she said, softly, "something is wrong."

It was a statement of fact and Luke sighed, heavily, before turning around to face his mother's interrogation. White Feather was far too perceptive. He should have known that he would never be able to hide anything from her. She already knew that Michaela Quinn was missing. Luke had filled her in on the details when he'd seen her the day before, just before he'd left for the Sully homestead. His mother studied his troubled expression now, never once losing the rhythm as she continued to pound the bread into compliance. "The woman doctor, she is dead?"

He shook his head, quickly. "No. They haven't found her yet. All the men are still out looking for her."

A shadow flitted across White Feather's face before her expression grew stony and unreadable. "Sully will be worried."

"Yes," Luke agreed. "So is Katie. She's ...." He had no idea of what to say next and he lapsed into silence.

White Feather's eyes narrowed and she nodded, imperceptibly. "I see. You are worried about young Katie. You were not able to ... comfort her?"

"She doesn't want me around her," Luke admitted, miserably. Before he realized his own intention, he was confessing to his mother, outlining the details of the story. He half expected White Feather to be upset with him. He clearly remembered her anger when she saw Samantha Bing kissing him. Instead, when she spoke, her voice was gentle.

"Katie means a great deal to you. Did you not explain to her that the kiss was this other girl's idea? That is what you told me. Was it?"

"It was," Luke assured her. "Samantha told her that but I don't think Katie believed her." He ran a hand through his hair, in distraction. "I don't know what she believes. All I know is, Katie's upset, and she won't let me near her. She told me to leave."

"Then ..." White Feather said, simply, "You leave."

He frowned at her. "What?"

She smiled, the sadness in her expression far too profound to only be caused by Luke's problems. It seemed to spring from her own despair, from a deep pit of loneliness inside the woman. "You can do nothing more, Two Trails." His mother always reverted to his Cheyenne name whenever she imparted wisdom. An old habit. "If your friendship is to continue with Katie, it must be her decision. You must leave her alone to decide. And, if it is not to be, you must accept this, as well. If you truly love Katie, you must value her inner peace above all else - even above your own desires." Her next words were so poignant and melancholy that they pierced Luke's heart. "We cannot always have what we want ... who we want."

"But I don't love Katie in that way," Luke denied, vehemently. "Not like ...." He stopped himself from completing the sentence. He didn't need to. They were both aware of what he would say next, who he'd mention.

White Feather smiled, slightly, and her hands grew still as they rested on top of the dough. "My son, you do not admit it to yourself but you do love Katie. And you love her as more than a friend."

Luke opened his mouth to protest but his mother raised her eyebrows and silenced him. "You will not admit it because Katie is still a little girl but it is possible to fall in love with someone, even when she is very young. In the village where I was raised, there was a boy. He was much older than I was, just as you are much older than Katie. My parents pledged me to him when I had only known ten winters. This boy never offered me anything but friendship. He treated me like he'd treat a child, respecting my age, even though we both knew that we would wed some day. When you feel that connection, it does not matter how old you are. And it does not matter how young Katie is. The spirits smile upon both of you and, when you feel it that strongly, they approve. It is meant to be. Some day, my son, you will marry Katie Sully."

It took a moment to digest everything his mother had said, to reason away his initial reaction of complete denial. Katie was only a little girl - he saw her as a little girl. Yet ... he did love her. For the first time, Luke was forced to admit that the love extended beyond friendship.

As he sorted through his emotions, White Feather continued on with her work, cutting off slabs of dough and placing them into bread pans. Finally, Luke spoke again. "That boy in your village ... what happened to him?"

En route to the oven, his mother froze, a bread pan in either hand. Her face grew hard, cold, a mask of bitterness. The expression chilled Luke's blood. "He was killed at Sand Creek," she stated, flatly. "Massacred by soldiers."

Luke could no longer look at her. He turned away, deeply disturbed by the sheen of moisture that settled over her eyes.

*******************
Horace was afraid of Hank Lawson. He had, long ago, given up the pretense of trying to appear unaffected by the saloon keeper. Horace had suffered enough humiliation at the man's hands to last him a life-time! Usually, he preferred to stay far away from the fiery bartender. But today was another story. Today Horace Bing had passed beyond the point of intimidation, beyond the point of fear. Today he'd wanted to knock Hank flat on his back and stand over him, gloating, while the rest of the posse stood around and snickered. He wanted Hank to experience the same sense of shame and self-loathing that he had inflicted upon Horace so many times in the past.

Now, as he sullenly rode along behind the other men, he felt like Hank had, once again, won the upperhand. While Horace managed to land a solid blow to Hank's mouth, the bartender had pinned Horace to the ground like a fly beneath a fly swatter. The punch to the mouth seemed inconsequential now, pushed back into insignificance by Hank's brute strength and bullying tactics. Horace was not a man who harboured hatred. His mother had taught him that hatred was a mortal sin in the eyes of God. He still felt guilty every time he despised someone so strongly but, this time, there was no other word to describe his feelings - today he hated Hank Lawson!

It wasn't Myra - not really. Myra might have been the spark that ignited the conflict initially but she was no longer the ember that kept it glowing. No, the problem ran much deeper than that. In spite of everything that had ever happened to him, Horace was a proud man. Perhaps it didn't look that way to some people - perhaps the town saw him as being weak, even pathetic, especially after his suicide attempt that time - but, inside, Horace still retained a sense of pride. And, when it came to Hank Lawson, his pride had been wounded, over and over again. His dignity had been shattered. Just seeing Myra return and race over to the jailhouse had been another blow to his ego, another slap in the face. He was the one who freed her, the one who defended her, the one who loved her. And she ran to Hank.

Up ahead of him, Hank was throwing out another challenge to McKay. "Maybe you should let me lead this posse, Sheriff," the man was saying, snidely. "I'd have us there by now. You're ridin' like an old lady, McKay."

The sheriff glanced over at Hank and Horace was impressed by McKay's even, unruffled tone of voice. No matter how hard he tried, Hank never succeeded in antagonizing the ex-army officer into a display of anger. "In case you hadn't noticed, Mr. Lawson," McKay said, "I've been checking the path, looking for any more ruts that might have been made by the buggy wheels. There's every possibility that they could have turned off somewhere. If we were moving any faster, we could easily miss something. I don't believe in letting my impatience over-rule my good sense."

Horace smirked. McKay had a subtle way of insulting Hank that Horace admired. In a round-about way, he'd implied that Hank lacked common sense, although he never stated it in so many words. Hank caught the man's insinuation as well and glared at the sheriff. "Maybe you'd like ta explain all of that to Michaela, when we find her," Hank suggested, spitting out the words. "Maybe you'd like to tell her why she had to spend all that extra time with that animal clawing at her. Huh, McKay? What about it? Think she'll understand? Think she'll thank you for your 'good sense' then?"

"I think she'd thank me for finding her," McKay stated, quietly, "instead of ending up lost in the woods."

Another jab. The whole town knew the story of their ill-fated rescue attempt when Sully and Michaela were out collecting water samples from Willow Creek. Hank, Horace, Jake and Loren spent their entire time wandering through the hills, completely lost. McKay was actually mocking Hank this time and everyone heard it. Several men in the posse snickered and a couple laughed right out loud. Hank didn't stick around to listen to their insults. He dug his heels into the sides of his horse. The animal bolted, kicking up dust as Hank left the others behind.

"Lawson! Get back here!" McKay called out, ineffectively. Hank had already rounded a bend in the path and disappeared from view. The sheriff sighed, heavily. "Shoulda left him locked up in jail," he muttered. "He woulda been a whole lot less trouble."

"Why didn't ya?" Horace asked, urging his horse forward until he drew up alongside McKay. "He's the guilty one anyway, if ya ask me."

McKay appeared surprised. "Why do you say that?"

Horace shrugged. "It's as plain as the nose on your face - least it is to me. Why do ya think Hank's so anxious to find Duncan? Cause he's tryin' to shift the blame off of himself, that's why. Duncan may have kidnapped Dr. Mike but I'd be willin' to bet that it's Hank who killed Vi Patterson."

The sheriff seemed to be mulling over Horace's assumption and the telegraph operator pushed his advantage. "I'll also bet that, if Hank finds Duncan first, he'll kill him before the rest of us get there, just so's you won't get a chance to question Duncan. That way it'll look like Duncan did it and he won't be alive no more to defend himself. And Hank will get off the hook - free and easy."

This time, McKay looked worried. He stared straight ahead for a minute before spurring his horse into a gallop in pursuit of Hank. The rest of the posse followed suit, picking up speed as they chased after McKay. No one noticed the satisfied smirk on Horace's face.

*******************
Duncan was winded and drenched in sweat by the time he laid Michaela down on the bank of the stream. He'd been forced to move her, if he ever hoped to dispose of her body properly. The spot where she'd fallen and hit her head was much too shallow. He intended to throw her into the water and let the current carry her downstream, let nature hide the evidence but, in order to do that, he had to find a deeper section of the river. Now, as he glanced around, Duncan was satisfied with his choice. Here, the stream was wide enough to qualify as a river and deep enough to have a considerably strong current flowing beneath it. Yes, this would do quite nicely.

He stared down at her pale face, at the coppery hair now matted with blood, at the gashes along her arms and legs. Hardly enticing but it no longer mattered. She lay there in her camisole and bloomers. Her red dress had been ripped to shreds long ago and stuffed into every available nook and cranny to alert that dullard husband of hers and lead him to her location. He snorted with wry amusement. Unwittingly, Michaela had provided a path for Duncan to follow instead - she'd been instrumental in assisting him and now, due to her lack of caution, she'd also be instrumental in arranging her own death. But she wouldn't die quickly. Duncan had other plans.

His preference would have been to have Michaela awake and struggling against him but, judging by her shallow breathing and lack of movement, that didn't seem to be a possibility. A pity. It would have been far more stimulating but, one way or the other, Duncan intended to claim his prize before it was time for Michaela to greet the afterlife. Smiling grimly, he unbuttoned his jacket and shrugged his arms out of the sleeves. He felt desire stirring in his groin as he envisioned what lay beneath the woman's flimsy undergarments. This just might prove pleasurable, after all. He'd just started to unfasten his pants when he heard voices in the woods behind him - or rather, one voice.

"I don't think this is ...."

The voice was silenced abruptly but not before it had a chance to tug at Duncan's memory. It sounded like ... no, couldn't be. One thing was certain, Duncan didn't have time to stand there and consider the possibility. He needed to take cover. Bulrushes grew in a tangled profusion along the side of the river and Duncan ducked into the thickest crop of them, cursing the water that rose up over the top of his boots and gushed inside. Completely concealed, he left Michaela lying in a crumpled heap on the riverbank.

*******************
As soon as Preston started to speak, Sully lunged toward him and placed a hand, roughly, over the banker's mouth. "Shut up," he hissed into Preston's ear, then he nodded toward the glimmer of water discernible through the trees ahead of them. Preston also nodded, before easing away from the pressure of Sully's hand.

Patrick O'Donnell spotted the river as well and fumbled with his revolver, attempting to yank it out of its holster. For some reason, the gun seemed to be caught and it refused to budge. He was standing beside Sully as he gave one, final tug on the weapon. The revolver suddenly surrendered to his efforts and, completely taken off guard, Patrick's arm jerked backward, his elbow digging into the side of Sully's ribs. Sully grunted before issuing a low curse. Grabbing hold of Patrick's wrist, he wrestled the weapon from his grasp.

"Gimme that before ya kill yourself," Sully muttered. Patrick O'Donnell made no move to argue with him. Sully glared at the offensive weapon before tossing it behind a nearby rock.

Slowly and cautiously, Sully crept toward the boundary where the forest ended and the riverbank began, shadowed by the two men behind him. He pressed his back up against a tree trunk, gripping his tomahawk securely in one hand, before peering around the trunk to survey the river in front of them. What he saw made his blood freeze in his veins.

His wife lay, completely motionless, on the riverbank, her undergarments tattered, her arms and legs covered with deep red scratches. But the worst part of all was her hair. It appeared to be sticky, matted, and Sully knew, even though he couldn't see the blood covering the back of her head, that she had been bleeding profusely. At that moment, he couldn't tell if she was alive or dead.

Every nerve in his body was straining, urging him to race to her side but he had to be cautious. He had to discipline himself and wait, assess the situation. He held his breath as the blood pounded in his ears and his heart lodged in his throat. No one appeared to be around but it was entirely possible that ....

"Dear God!" Preston caught sight of Michaela for the first time and he made a move to lunge forward. Sully placed an arm in front of his chest, holding him back. Shaking his head firmly, he motioned toward the tree beside him, silently ordering the man to take cover. Sully could hear Patrick O'Donnell breathing behind him but, beyond that, there was no other sound except for the occasional bird call and the scurrying of small animals in the underbrush. He was considering his options, still reining in his raging emotions, when Michaela moved, groaning softly

"Michaela," he whispered. All rational thought, all logic, deserted him. His wife was alive, she needed him -he needed her too, needed to touch her, hold her. Bolting from shelter, he sprinted across the short stretch of ground that separated them and fell to his knees beside her. She was still unconscious, her eyes still tightly closed. Reaching out, Sully touched her face with the fingers of one hand. "Michaela ...."

Later on, he would wonder how the man managed to move so quietly and swiftly, and why, with all his years of experience as a tracker, Sully had allowed himself to behave so recklessly. But his mind was focused on Michaela, his thoughts so consumed with concern for her well-being that he could only blame it on his own turbulent emotions. Judging by her appearance, Sully was almost certain that he was too late - that Michaela had already been raped. The thought barely had time to materialize in his mind when he heard the footstep behind him. He twisted around, just as the handle of the gun caught him on his right temple. A searing pain shot through his head, a second before he collapsed on the ground beside his wife.

Preston had remained behind in the woods, momentarily startled into inertia by Sully's unpredictable actions. One minute, the mountain man was instructing Preston to exercise caution by seeking shelter and, in the next instant, Sully was charging out into the open and racing toward his wife. Now, as he witnessed the blow to Sully's head and saw the man sprawl onto the ground beside Michaela, Preston stepped out from behind the tree. He was so shocked at coming face to face with Duncan that he didn't realize, for a moment, that he was clutching his gun and pointing it directly toward his brother. Duncan stared at him, apparently stunned into speechlessness. Then a smile spread across the man's face.

"Well, if it isn't my little brother," he said, with exaggerated enthusiasm. "What brings you out here on such a fine day? Sightseeing?" Duncan was standing over Sully's outstretched body, his own revolver aimed at Sully's head. The mountain man was stirring slightly and a quiet moan escaped his lips. Dragging his attention away from Preston, Duncan's expression darkened as he cocked the weapon in his hand.

"You!" he hissed at Sully. "You've caused all of this!" His voice rose to a shriek as Sully, slowly, opened his eyes to stare up at the madman. "She should have been with me! She should have loved me! There's only one way to get you out of her head - only one thing to do." He laughed, a hollow, empty sound. "Good-bye Sully. I'm going to be the last face you see this side of Hell!"

He levelled the gun now as he took aim. Preston saw Sully's body tense as the man prepared for the impact of the bullet. He had to stop this. He had to do something. "Duncan!" His brother twisted around to look at Preston again, without shifting the gun away from his intended victim. Preston squared his shoulders and drew in a deep breath, then he copied Duncan's actions and cocked his revolver. Duncan frowned at him.

"You won't shoot me," he said, softly. There was a soothing, calming quality in Duncan's tone, like a parent trying to reason with a defiant child. "I'm your brother, Preston. We have the same blood. We've had our misunderstandings in the past - I don't deny that - but we grew up together, Preston. You and I - we have a long history together."

Preston never realized that Patrick O'Donnell had moved in behind him until the man muttered into Preston's ear, "Shoot him! Don't you see, lad? If ya don't shoot him, he'll surely be shootin' you. He'll shoot all of us. Look at them eyes. He's got the look of a madman about him."

The eyes. Preston stared into Duncan's eyes, saw the glittering spark of insanity, felt the truth of Patrick's words stabbing through to his soul.

"Put the gun down, Preston," Duncan was saying, now. "You know I could never shoot you. Don't listen to such nonsense. You and I will simply disappear, go someplace where they can't hurt either one of us." He sounded secretive now, as if he was conspiring with Preston in some deviously exciting scheme. "You told me that you despised this town - that you despised the people in it. I know you hate Sully. You made that perfectly clear. This is your chance, Preston. A chance to take revenge against him for everything he did to you - everything this pathetic little town did to you. All you have to do is put down the gun and let me kill him. It's so simple - so easy. Just put down the gun."

"Don't listen to him, lad," Patrick ordered. "He's trying to confuse you. Here, give the gun to me. I'll do it for you."

Shreds of conversation returned to Preston now - Sully blaming him for Duncan's actions, insisting that Duncan should have been jailed, holding the family accountable. Duncan was his responsibility - no one else's - not anymore. Sully had been right. His father didn't do enough. Preston was only his brother but something should have been done to control Duncan, stop him ... long ago. It was up to Preston now to right that wrong, to fulfil his duty, to remove the black smudge from the Lodge name.

Duncan was taking advantage of Preston's hesitation as he turned back toward Sully, as he took aim once more.

"Do it, Preston!" Patrick cried out, urgently. "Do it now! You can't wait! Do it! For the love of Peter, shoot him!"

Patrick continued to shout commands into Preston's ear as the world began to spin in circles around them. Preston saw Duncan squinting through the sites of his revolver, saw Sully roll over once, in attempt to move as far away from his wife as possible. He still had the presence of mind to realize that Sully was protecting Michaela, even as he prepared to die. But all Preston could picture, as he stood there in that swirling madness that surrounded him, was two little boys playing jacks on a sidewalk in Boston - laughing together, shouting with youthful exuberance, embracing the life that stretched out, endlessly, ahead of them. Two little boys. Two brothers. Closing his eyes, Preston A. Lodge the third pulled the trigger.

* * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 16
by Jean McQuaid

Twas but a lad that scraped his knee and shed those crocodile tears
And lay alone in his bed at night, cowering in the shadows of fears.
Most little boys searching for comfort would usually seek their mother,
But through his life, this young man would always reach for his brother.
What had happened to change this boy, for his acts he feels no shame?

Where was this brother when he was needed, was he the one to blame?
Sadly the future never ensures that the sweet and innocent child
Won't grow up to be a monster, a man who's dangerous and wild.
But the past is history, the boy is gone, he has fallen off the track.
And now he must pay for mistakes he has made, as in life there's no turning back.

by Jean McQuaid
******************
Michaela quietly opened the bedroom window to drink in the fresh morning air, peeking once over her shoulder to make sure Sully was still asleep. These past few days had been rough on them all and she was glad their ordeal had finally come to an end. With the dawning of a new day, it was time to move on, time to leave the past behind and look to the future.

Last evening's fireside conversation focused mainly on wedding plans. It was as if her family knew there was a right time and place for everything. However, the horrors of Washita had taught them all a valuable lesson, that talk was a necessary element in the healing process. But not at this moment. For now, the solitude of peace engulfed her as she watched nature perform its innocent morning rituals from her bedroom window, from the sanctuary of her home.

Lifting his wings to fly, the bird took flight, soaring higher and higher into the air, leaving his safe perch behind. Today was just another day and it was time to search for food, a necessary part of the cycle of survival. Michaela wondered if that was the same bird she'd spotted when her eyes first fluttered open. Laying on the damp, cold ground, her head throbbing, it was a moment of relief to watch the bird hovering overhead as she tried to block out the angry voices that filled the air. Thinking to herself that it was quite amusing, her first recollection of that moment would be of a bird and not of the intensely serious situation that surrounded her.

"Mornin'," came the whisper of her husband's voice. So deep in thought, she hadn't even noticed that he'd come up behind her. He wrapped his arms about her waist. "Whatcha thinkin' about?" His voice was soft and gentle, and the feel of his warm breath in her ear sent shivers of delight throughout her body.

"Nothing really. I was just enjoying the scenery." She leaned back and relaxed, covering his arms with her own. "Why must it always take a harrowing experience to make us realize what we take for granted?" She lifted her hand, pointing to the bird who'd almost disappeared from view. "Do you ever wonder what it would be like to be as free as that bird, your only concern each day to look for food?"

Sully remained silent, then softly returned, "Lotsa times."

"Think about it, Sully. If I'dhave had his wings, it would have been so easy to just fly home to you."

Sully's simple laugh was filled with compassion as he turned his wife around to look into her eyes. "But I didn't marry a bird. I married a woman."

Michaela lowered her head to rest on his shoulder. "I don't suppose you'd even consider building a nest for me in one of those big trees, would you?"

Instantly he swooped down and lifted her into his arms, carrying her back to their bed. But, before taking his rightful place beside her, he allowed his eyes to scrutinize the luxurious creature that lay in waiting. Provoked beyond belief, he began to nibble her delicate ear lobes, first one and then the other. However the urgency of desire gave way to experience, as he restrained his hunger and relaxed into his usual unhurried manner of love making. This was the way he liked it, slow and easy, one step at a time, watching her become more and more excited with each sensual touch.

Sully's lovemaking had always been the best medicine for Michaela, the perfect distraction from the outside world as she frivolously thought to herself, ' if it could be bottled, we'd make a fortune.' But she was unaware her tiny giggle had been overheard by her husband and she was extremely disappointed when his nibbling came to an abrupt halt.

"Please don't stop," she begged.

"It's hard ta keep the mood when you're laughin'," he growled.

"I wasn't laughing at you."

"Well, I don't see anyone else in the room, so I say ya were."

"Sully. I was not. Well ..... not directly anyway."

"What does that mean?"

"I was just thinking that, if I could bottle your...." Oh dear, she couldn't tell him what she was really thinking, that would be embarrassing for both of them. "I was just thinking that you're the best medicine for whatever ails me and, if I could put it in a bottle, we'd be rich" She knew right away that sounded silly.

Sully looked down at her, a confused grin appearing on his face. "Bottle what?"

That did it! She'd been thoroughly enjoying his full, seductive attention and wanted more. This conversation was going nowhere. "Can we please just forget I said anything, Sully." Feeling her face become hot, she knew it was no doubt red as well. "This might sound selfish and forward but I need you right now more than ever and I'm sorry if I interrupted your ...... uh, spoiled the mood." She looked up at him with need and desire in her eyes. "Please come back to me. I promise, you'll have my full attention from this moment on."

She had absolutely no idea what was going on in that head of his, but it was obvious that he wanted to continue. To her delight, his face broke out in the most magnificent smile, exactly like the one he'd given her the first night they'd become man and wife. And, what followed became more intense and intoxicating than she could have ever dreamed. It wasn't long before she heard new sounds emitting from her throat but these were moans of pleasure not giggles. And, as if nothing had happened, he resumed nibbling at her ear lobe as she slid her arms around his back and pulled him closer, holding on so tight that he'd never be able to escape again. She'd make sure he wouldn't want to either.

Sully was a master at putting his hands and lips right where they were needed the most. He didn't have to be told, he knew which spot needed attention next and he was an expert at manoeuvring from one area to another, without losing a beat. Slowly, he removed her nightgown, taking care that his lips didn't lose contact from her for any great length of time. And it always made her quake inside when he'd softly moan at the sight of her naked body. Michaela saw it as a sign of approval, pride in himself for the choice he'd made in a wife and lover. It also made her feel proud that she could please him, both by appearance and response. Sully was extremely patient and had been an excellent teacher. Yet, each time they made love, it was like a whole new experience, always stimulating, both physically and emotionally. This is what kept them forever young. This is what kept the excitement, the romance of their relationship alive. Other things in life might have been taken for granted but never their lovemaking, for it was their time to renew the vows they'd pledged to one another. Never performed in haste or rushed, it was always gratifying and fulfilling. If Sully was the expert woodsman and knew all there was to know about survival, he was even more the master in his own bedroom, Michaela could attest to that. She couldn't believe she'd found someone so special as Byron Sully. The heart of this man who showed deep compassion for others, had more strength and stamina than a mountain and overflowed with love for his family. He was hers and hers alone. Truly blessed is the woman who finds a love like this for she has found heaven on earth.

Nothing was left untouched, no inch of her body neglected. Her cold feet were soon warmed, her shaking hands steadied and the yearning inside fulfilled. Two bodies as one with only enough room for sweat between them. Nothing else mattered or existed as he slowly brought her to full excitement. Miraculously, she thought of that bird as she cried out in sheer pleasure, soaring higher and higher until almost disappearing into ecstasy. Sully had built her that nest in the tree, after all.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" This time it was Michaela who discreetly came up behind her husband, as he attempted to put on his shirt. With her arms clasped tightly about his waist, he was now in her captivity. Sully didn't speak. He turned around slowly and returned her hug. They remained in each other's embrace for what seemed like an eternity, both lost in their own thoughts of the past few days.

For Michaela, it was a long, painful process regaining her composure and being able to focus on the events leading up to Duncan's death. As if the world was suddenly tossed into slow motion , like something out of a nightmare, unreal, an illusion. She could hear the sound of muffled voices as she slowly began to open her eyes but had lost the memory of where she was. Trying to move her body only made the pain in the back of her head worsen and yet there was that sudden urgency within, that if she didn't move something terrible was going to happen. But she was helpless and, when her sight did return, she could do nothing but lie still and watch the drama unfold before her. Instinctively, she knew Sully had found her but what happened before that will always remain a mystery. At that moment, all she could tell was that Sully was down, alive but injured, and Preston stood in judgment before his brother with a gun pointed directly at his chest. Was this a dream or was she actually watching brother against brother, blood against blood? And it wasn't until the shot rang out that she realized, Preston had indeed shot Duncan Lodge. Like a slap to the face, the loud explosive sound of the gun awakened her senses to what was happening now.

Preston seemed to be in shock as the smoke from the recently fired gun clouded his expressionless face. It was as if he was waiting for Duncan to get up, waiting for something, but for what? Finally, Sully slipped over carefully to the motionless body of Duncan Lodge and looked up at the younger brother with genuine sympathy in his eyes.

"He's dead." Sully's words were direct and to the point and dug into Preston Lodge like a knife. He began to shake uncontrollably until he finally dropped the gun, as the sound of approaching riders brought him out of his trance. More voices and more confusion, thought Michaela, as she suddenly found herself being comforted and held by Sully, her husband. Stability seeped throughout her body as she rested against his chest, answering him as best she could, confirming that she was indeed all right now. But her eyes drifted back to Preston who, in his usual calm manner, tried to mask any signs of regret or remorse. How sad, she thought that it had come to this, for to take the life of one's own brother must be devastating and, as she looked over at Sully, she could see in his eyes the same compassion and sympathy she was feeling. For this moment in time, their past differences were set aside.

Hank was the first one on the scene, stopping dead in his tracks as he spotted the blood oozing from Duncan's chest. One look at Preston, and the still smoking gun laying at his feet, told the whole story. He shook his head and then turned his attention to Michaela and Sully, still huddled nearby on the riverbank.

He was instantly down on his knees, reaching out to her. "Michaela, you okay?"

"My head's a little sore, Hank, but I'll be fine. Thank you."

"Michaela....." Hank wanted to say and do more but Sully put his hand up.

"Now's not the time, Hank."

Silently, Michaela blessed her husband, not only for shifting the attention off her and her lack of clothing but for his jacket that he was carefully placing around her. Although she'd become quite used to the unconventional ways of the west, she was still a lady and was embarrassed by her lack or proper clothing. Sully was always so attentive to her needs. She never had to ask. He just seemed to know what was necessary.

Sheriff McKay had finally caught up to Hank and was soon down on his knees, checking on the status of Duncan Lodge. Before standing, he turned his head to look back over his shoulder. "Someone better tell me what's going on? You do this, Lawson?"

"Now wait a minute," barked Hank.

But Preston took a brave step forward and announced, "No, I did."

McKay stood up slowly, shaking his head in confusion. "Isn't he your brother?"

In his usual obstinate manner, Preston answered McKay. "It was a matter of self defense, Sheriff. If I hadn't stopped him he would have killed Sully and Michaela." He then turned sharply to look Sully straight in the eye. "We've been here before, haven't we Mr. Sully? Once again, I, Preston A. Lodge the third, have saved your life." He stepped back, wiping his hands together. Feeling confident, he then turned to direct his next remark at Michaela. "So, what do you think of your hero now? I really don't know what you see in this man but....."

"That's enough, Preston!" Hank shouted. "You got a big mouth! Now why don'tcha just shut it or I'll have ta shut it for ya!"

McKay stepped in. "Cool down, Lawson. If anyone's gonna shut up, it's gonna be you! And don't think this let's you off the hook because, until further notice, you're still a suspect in Violet Patterson's murder!"

"Hold on a minute, Sheriff. I'm certainly not a fan of Mr. Lawson's but isn't it obvious, by my brother's actions, that he's the one who murdered that saloon girl? I assume that Dr. Quinn found out the truth and Duncan, in his usual desperate, delinquent manner, tried to get rid of her so she wouldn't talk."

McKay thought for a moment. "This doesn't change anything. The evidence clearly points to Mr. Lawson here and until...."

"It was planted."

"By whom?" McKay responded.

"Why, by my brother, of course. Are you all so blind that you can't see how crazy the man was? Duncan planted evidence to incriminate someone else. Plain and simple. But then, maybe you're not as astute as I thought you were, McKay."

"That'll be up to a judge to decide, Mr. Lodge. Right now, I'd say we make Dr. Quinn our first priority. She'll be needin' medical attention and Mr. Lawson, well he's going back to jail." With that, McKay turned his attention to Michaela. "Will you be all right to travel, Dr. Quinn? Your son-in-law isn't too far behind and I know he's got some medical supplies in his saddle bag. Can you hold on till he gets here?"

Michaela made a move to get up but Sully gently held her back.

"I'm all right, Sully, really." Michaela was persistent

"I know ya are but I'll feel better once Andrew's had a chance to look ya over."

McKay turned back to Hank. "Better help me get the body back to town."

Reluctantly, Hank helped the sheriff with the cold body of Duncan Lodge as Michaela and Sully watched. She began to shake but not from the cold. Another more repulsive and atrocious fear gripped her now and she decided it best if Andrew gave her a complete examination once they were safely back at the clinic. Something didn't feel right and no matter how dire, she had to know the truth. Who knew what a man like Duncan was capable of and she cuddled closer to Sully, needing the strength and security of his body to get her through this.

**********************
Whispers about the town spread fast of Dr. Quinn's return and Duncan Lodge's death. But most, like Loren Bray, kept to themselves, allowing the Sully family breathing space. They knew their doctor would be back and there'd be plenty of time for well wishing once the dust had settled.

Jake Slicker again transformed himself from the town's Mayor to the town's undertaker. But he was taken aback by the cold reaction from Preston Lodge.

"Just bury him," Preston demanded.

"Don't ya wanna take him back to Boston or something? I mean, he is your brother?"

Preston looked annoyed as he slapped a stack of bills into Jake's hand. "That should cover it. Nothing fancy, just your normal burial." He turned to leave but Teresa Slicker blocked his way.

"May God forgive him for what he has done. I shall pray for you, as well."

Preston tipped his hat, "Thank you, Ma'am." And then he was gone.

True to his word, Sheriff McKay put Hank back in jail as Sully, Matthew and Brian anxiously waited outside the clinic.

"Well, Michaela," Andrew smiled as he dried his hands. "The good news is, I see no signs of a concussion. However, that's a nasty gash and, speaking as your doctor, I recommend you take it easy for a while. Colleen and I will be more than happy to take care of things here."

"Thank you, Andrew," she smiled back at her son-in-law. But he didn't tell her anything she didn't already know. It was more what he didn't say that worried her and Andrew, being the modest person he was, didn't offer any more information. But she had to know. "Andrew?"

He turned back, seemingly unaware of her inner distress. "Yes, you may go home. In fact I insist on it. I'll get Sully."

"No, wait." She stopped him. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

He looked puzzled.

"I have to know, Andrew. Did, or could, something have happened while I was unconscious?" Michaela was shaking.

He was silent for a moment, then a slight grin appeared on his face.

"There's no indication of...."

Michaela sighed. "Thank you. You must find it hard to believe that I wouldn't know myself, being a woman and a doctor, but I had to know for sure. Duncan Lodge openly admitted he'd raped his fiancée and I had to be sure he didn't..." She blushed and looked away. "Thank you."

Andrew nodded as Michaela pulled the blanket around herself and headed for the door to her anxious family waiting outside. Feeling melancholy, she sat silent on the wagon ride home. Once again, Sully sensed something deep within her and knew when she was ready, she'd talk to him. He'd be there for her, no matter what.

It felt so good to be back and she didn't mind one bit all the fuss her children had made over her, especially Colleen and Madison who'd helped her clean up and get prepared for Andrew's examination. But there was another member of her family she knew would be even more anxious and that was Katie.

The young girl had dashed down the stairs of the homestead, nearly knocking her father down as he lifted Michaela from the wagon. Michaela expected Katie to be upset but she, instinctively, felt there was something more to Katie's despondency. She promised herself that, before going to bed tonight, she would talk to Katie.

How proud and thankful she was for her children as they worked together preparing dinner and getting a bath ready for their mother. The nice warm bath was soothing relief for her aches and pains but the exuberant conversation around the dinner table was even more comforting than any bath could ever be.

"You gettin' tired?" Sully whispered in her ear.

"A little."

"Maybe we should think about turnin' in."

Michaela sighed and looked around the room. Matthew and Brian were already deep into a game of checkers, a game which usually left Matthew frustrated and Brian grinning triumphantly. Colleen and Madison had finished the dishes and decided to take a walk outside in the crisp night air. Michaela was happy to see them growing close. She knew how much it meant to Matthew to have his sister's approval of Madison and there was no doubt the two girls were enjoying each other's company. But Michaela noticed the absence of her youngest child, Katie. Surely she wasn't that upset over her mother's abduction. There had to be more to Katie's obvious distress.

"Sully, where's Katie?"

"She went up to bed right after dinner. Asked to be excused cause she was tired. Why?"

"I don't know but I have this feeling that she needs me. I really should go to her."

"Hold on, Michaela. You've had a busy day. Can't this wait till tomorrow?"

"Sully she's my daughter. I know something's wrong, I can feel it. As much as my body aches to crawl into bed and have you tuck me in, I have to do this first. Please?"

Sully didn't say a word. Smiling, he stood and held out his arms to his wife, helping her to her feet.

*****************
The lamp on the far side of the bed was still burning although it had been turned down low. But there was just enough light for her to spot the outline of her daughter, sitting upright on the bed, her back propped up against the headboard.

"Katie?"

At first, the girl didn't answer.

"Katie, are you all right?"

"I'm okay, Mama."

Michaela moved closer and, even with the lack of light, she could still see the sparkles of the tear drops on the girls face. "Oh my sweetheart, please tell me, what's wrong?"

Katie seemed reluctant to open up. "Nothing, Mama. I was just worried about you, that's all."

"Well, I'm just fine, as you can see but I don't really think you are. Are you, Katie?"

Suddenly the girl threw herself into her mother's arms. "Oh Mama. Luke doesn't love me anymore. He loves Sam now. "

Michaela was flabbergasted and selfishly relieved. She hadn't realized how deep Katie's feelings for the young Indian boy had become. But her daughter was in pain and now wasn't the time to lecture her about Luke. Now was the time to be that mother she'd promised herself she'd be. Now was the time for her to listen to Katie, to help Katie get through this.

Michaela listened intently to every word the young girl spoke and, when it seemed like Katie had nothing more to say, she just sat there, holding her little girl in her arms as she wept.

"So that's why you didn't say good bye to Samantha and Mrs. Bing when they left. Oh Katie, I'm so sorry. I should have been here for you." She wiped the tears from Katie's cheeks with her hand and lifted her face so mother and daughter could come eye to eye. "Love is so complicated, no matter how old you are. Nothing is more wonderful than being in love yet nothing hurts more. I can't explain it, Katie. Being in love isn't all that easy. It's more than just a feeling, it becomes your whole life. I went through the same confusion and pain you're going through right now with your father."

"You did? But folks say you and Papa were meant to be together and that you got a kinda love like nobody else has."

Michaela started to laugh. "Oh, we do now, Katie. But it wasn't always like that. In fact, when we first met, I didn't know quite know what to make of your father and I was quite sure he thought I was nothing more than a silly, overbearing, stubborn female."

"Really?"

"Really! In fact, there were many times I thought I loved him and I thought he loved me. Then something would happen and we'd be right back where we started from. It didn't come all that easy to us Katie. Love never does. Making a commitment to another person is a big responsibility, it's not like making new friend. It's very easy to confuse the feelings you have for a good friend with someone you think you love. Oh my sweetheart, there's still so many wonderful and exciting things for you to see and do. Finding the love of your life is only one of them. And, when it finally does happen, you'll know."

"But how will I know?"

Michaela was perplexed. "I can't explain the feeling, Katie, but, believe me, you'll know."

"Do you think Luke will ever love me like Papa loves you?"

"I don't know, Katie. Given time, anything's possible. But I do know one thing. Luke does love you in his own way and I know he didn't mean to hurt you. You know how I've felt in the past about you spending so much time with him so this isn't easy for me, Katie. But my heart is breaking for you. I only hope that, one day, you can forgive both Luke and Samantha and be friends again. I know that's what you want and it's what I want now too, Katie."

"Oh, thank you Mama. I'm so glad you're home. I love you and missed you so much."

"I love you too, my darling. Now, why don't you get into your nightgown and I'll read you one quick story. Would you like that?"

"Yes Mama. I think I would."

But it wasn't Katie that fell asleep first, it was Michaela. Katie slipped the book from her mother's hands, just as Sully opened the door. "She's gone to sleep, Papa. It think you better take her to bed. She's really tired, you know."

"Sully smiled and kissed his daughter good night as he pulled the covers up to tuck her in. "Night Kates."

"Night Papa. Oh, and Papa?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks for finding Mama and bringing her home. I love you."

"You're welcome and I love you too."

Sully turned so Katie couldn't see the tear in his eye. He was so proud of both his wife and daughter and of his whole family. He lifted his wife into his arms and carried her to their room. It was so good to have her home again. It would be a long time before he'd ever let her out of his sight again though, even if it meant spending time at that darn clinic. He'd never allow another man to lay a hand on her, vowing that he'd have to be dead before that would ever happen.

*********************
"You didn't answer me, Sully!"

"Sorry, what was the question again?"

"Ohhh," Michaela growled. "You know what the question was, you're just too smug and pleased with yourself to answer it, aren't you Byron Sully! Oh, you drive me crazy! But I love you so much!"

"Don't have to answer it now, you just did!"

Michaela growled again before releasing her husband. She was feeling so happy and so thankful to be home and the exciting playful morning they'd just shared was proof that her life was back where it was supposed to be. She and Sully were about to accept a new member into their family and life was great. But there was one matter which needed to be addressed before any plans of the wedding could be finalized. Hank. He was still in jail, facing a possible conviction for the murder of Violet Patterson.

"Sully?'

"Hmmm.."

"I know Hank is innocent and, since I've had plenty of time to rest .... If you don't mind, I'd like to make one last attempt to convince Sheriff McKay to let Hank go free. I hate to say this but I agree with Preston, I truly believe that Duncan murdered Violet, just as he was about to murder me."

"Well, you know how I feel 'bout Preston. Never did trust the man but Hank, somethins' different. Hank says a lot but deep down, I don't think he'd ever use his anger to kill one of his girls. But I ain't lettin' you outta my sight so I'm takin' ya into town and makin' darn sure you come right back home an' get some rest."

Michaela gently caressed Sully's face. "You take such good care of me, don't you."

Sully grabbed his wife and kissed her tenderly on the lips.

******************
Sully helped Michaela down from the wagon and was about to follow her into the jail. "No, I need to speak to McKay on my own."

"Michae...." Sully tried to protest but Michaela placed one hand on his chest and the other over his lips.

"I have a favor to ask you, Sully. I didn't want to say anything at home because I knew you'd object. But there's another matter that just can't wait, a matter of friendship."

Sully was obviously annoyed but knew better than to argue with Michaela Quinn.

"Could you ask Dorothy and Grace to meet me at the Cafe? I don't want another minute to go by without telling both of them what's in my heart. Please Sully, for me?"

He nodded and reluctantly set out across the street to see if Dorothy was at the Gazette, looking back to make sure his wife had, indeed, entered the Sheriff's Office.

McKay jumped to his feet as Michaela entered. "Dr. Quinn! I didn't expect to see you here today."

But Michaela wasted no time with formal greetings. "I need to speak with you Sheriff. It's important that you know the truth and the truth is, Hank Lawson didn't kill Violet Patterson."

"But the evidence..."

"I'm your evidence, Sheriff, living proof that Duncan Lodge not only had a motive but was more than capable of murder."

"Are you tellin' me that Lodge confessed to you?"

"Not exactly but then murderers don't usually confess, do they, Sheriff? He did, however, confess to rape. Duncan Lodge was a very sick and troubled man."

"But where does Violet Patterson fit inta all this?"

"Duncan Lodge was seeing her ... no, he was using her to get to me."

"He told you this?"

"Yes! And I wouldn't be surprised if he'd planned her death all along to create some kind of diversion away from him."

McKay still appeared confused.

"Don't you see, both Hank and Violet were being used. Duncan took full advantage of the open display of anger Hank showed towards Violet and prayed upon her weakness. I expect that Duncan convinced her to take Hank's watch, who better to have as an ally than one of his girls. Unfortunately poor Violet was blinded by his charm and loving attention to her, so much so that she fell in love with the man and would do anything for him. But I believe that Violet found out what kind of man he was and what he was really up to and confronted him. He was desperate and had no other choice but to kill her, making it look like Hank had carried out his threat in a drunken rage."

McKay was still pessimistic however and took a few minutes to think about what Michaela said.

But Michaela was determined. There was no way she was going to leave this office without Hank Lawson right behind her. "Hank may not be the most congenial person in this town and I, myself, have been at odds with him many times, but he saved my life and has come to the rescue of many others. I know he didn't kill Violet Patterson and I'm not leaving until I make you see that too!"

McKay rubbed the stubble on his jaw, momentarily, and then slowly stood up from his desk. Without a word, he removed a key from the drawer and walked over to unlock the jail cell Hank was in.

Hank seemed surprised. "What's this?"

"You're free to go, Lawson. But remember this, I'll be watchin' you and, if you don't settle down and keep that drinkin' under control, I'll have you back in here so fast you won't know what hit ya! Now, get outta here before I change my mind!"

Michaela took a deep breath of relief and headed out the door.

"Wait, Michaela!" Hank caught up to her in the street and reached for one of her hands.

She hesitated but then returned his show of affection. His touch was gentle and, as she looked up into his eyes, she was amazed to see tears. "Hank?"

"Don't go makin' somethin' outta nothin'. It's just my allergies actin' up again."

But she knew better. Sully was right, there was something different about Hank. She could feel it in his touch and sense it in his eyes as she smiled back at him, knowing she'd done the right thing.

"You don't have to say anything, Hank, I understand." And, with that, he slowly dropped her hand and turned to head over to his saloon.

She stood, watching him for a moment. "One down, two to go," Michaela sighed as she headed for Grace's Cafe.

Grace was just about to pour coffee for Dorothy and Sully when she spotted Michaela and stopped. Her actions prompted the other two to turn around. With all eyes on her now, Michaela slowly made her way over to the table and took a seat. "May I join you?" She smiled as her eyes darted back and forth between Grace and Dorothy?

Sully knew this was his cue to leave and he excused himself, stating that he had some business with Robert E.

Well, I managed to convince Sheriff McKay to let Hank go but, for some reason, this task seems far more difficult, she thought to herself as Grace took the seat beside Dorothy. The air was thick but not with smoke. Thick with unspoken words.

"Grace, Dorothy, I owe both of you an apology and I'd thoroughly understand if either of you never spoke to me again. All I can say is that I'm so sorry for lying to you. Whether you believe it or not, it isn't easy keeping quiet, especially for me. I do have this reputation for being very outspoken at times."

Grace and Dorothy nodded, in a very agreeable manner.

"I'm not saying that it was right but both Sully and I felt it was necessary to create the illusion that we were breaking up and, by having you all believe it, this would further enhance the facade and allow us to trap Duncan Lodge. I know you don't understand why we felt obligated to help Hank. Call it returning a favor, or just helping someone in need, but it was our choice and I will not apologize for that. Your friendship means more to me than you'll ever know and I love you both dearly and would be lost without you. I only hope one day that you'll be able to find it in your hearts to forgive me."

Grace looked at Dorothy with tears in her eyes and, suddenly, the three friends were embracing each other.

They sat for what seemed an eternity, talking and laughing and crying, sharing inner feelings like good friends do. Both Grace and Dorothy gasped as Michaela told them about her terrifying ordeal with Duncan Lodge. But it wasn't until they appeared all talked out that Dorothy decided it was time for her confession to Grace. It was time to reveal her secret marriage to Cloud Dancing and she was amazed how well Grace took it. In fact, Grace didn't appear all that surprised as she giggled with joy and expressed her happiness for Dorothy. Holding hands, they now vowed that they'd be friends forever but agreed that, with life's many unexpected twists and turns, it was safer not to promise to keep at least one secret or two when necessary. But, for now, the bonds of friendship were tighter than ever as they allowed their hearts to forgive and be at peace with one another.

It sounded like old times to Sully as he came up behind his wife. "Time to Go, Michaela."

She sighed. "Sorry ladies, but my husband wants to take me home."

They laughed and Dorothy added, "Is there any place you'd rather be?"

Michaela answered joyfully, "No!"

The trip back home was much more relaxed.

On their way into town, Michaela had opened up to Sully and relayed what took place while she was in Duncan's captivity. She'd seen the muscles on his face tighten and knew it had been just as hard for him to hear as it had been for her to tell. But it had to be done, she'd never again keep such atrocities inside and allow them to fester into full blown depression. Sully had stopped the wagon just on the outskirts of town and held her in his arms. He was never afraid to show emotion or tears with her and this time was no different. "Oh God, Michaela, never again, I promise you, never again!"

But now they were going home, back to the homestead Sully built. Hank had his freedom, she had the love and trust of her dearest friends back and Michaela and Sully had each other and their family. It was time to go home, put the past behind then and make plans for the upcoming wedding, plans for the future!

Michaela sighed, "Thank goodness it's all over Sully. It is over isn't it?"

Chapter 17 ...