Chapter Seventeen
by Sandi 99

"Myra, ya got a customer."

"Hank, do you know who that is?"

"Yeah, a man with money."

"He's the one that hurt that girl in Manitou."

"Ma'am ... I would never harm a lady. You musta heard talk about somebody else."

"This man ain't gonna hurt nobody ... now git goin'."

"No, Hank. Us girls got together and voted - we ain't gonna take him."

"Voted? You ain't got no vote. Now git them fool ideas outta yer head."

Myra and Hank - The Campaign.
******************
So far, Hank's encounters with Patrick O'Donnell had been anything but pleasant. Today, though, Hank was in a magnanimous mood and he generously tolerated the Irishman's presence. Patrick began drinking, heavily, before noon.

"Just celebratin' this glorious day when justice has finally been served, my boy," he told Hank, along with anyone else within earshot. Then he raised his glass of whiskey and clinked it against the bottle in front of him. "A toast. To settin' the innocent free, just in time to save a man from dying of thirst!"

Hank chuckled, not only amused by the man, but more than a little overwhelmed to stand, at last, behind the crude wooden counter of the saloon rather than staring at the world through the bars of his jail cell. But his appreciation of Patrick's wit didn't last for long. The Irishman continued to drink steadily throughout the afternoon, securing a table near the back of the establishment and, single-handedly, draining the contents of a bottle. Eventually, inebriated and boisterous, he approached the counter again and stared at Hank through red-rimmed eyes.

"Would ya be doin' me a favour, lad?" he asked, the words slurring together.

Hank's response was slow and wary. "And what would that be?"

"Would ya be findin' me your best whore," Patrick requested, with a wink. "I feel in need of some .... lovin' attention, if ya know what I'm sayin'."

Since the request was nothing out of the ordinary, Hank nodded, agreeably. "Sure thing." He raised his hand to signal to one of his girls before Patrick grabbed hold of his wrist, stopping him.

"Just one more thing. Before ya choose the lucky wench, I would be givin' you a word o' caution. I like my women high-spirited. The more fire, the better."

Hank smirked at him. "Like em lively, do ya?"

Patrick leaned in closer, the fumes on his breath saturating the air around them. He whispered to Hank, conspiratorially. "I like to subdue em, lad. Take the spirit out of em, so to speak ... if ya catch my meanin'."

The smirk faded from Hank's face as he studied the man, cautiously.

"What, exactly, have ya got in mind?"

"Nothing to be concerned about, lad," Patrick reassured him, hastily, when he saw Hank's expression of distrust. "Nothing at all. I just like havin' a wee spot o' fun, tis all."

Hank considered his answer for a long moment. Being a good businessman, along with rating Patrick as annoying but harmless, he signalled for Leila Yates, one of his more experienced girls. Leila knew her role well - she could either be passive or aggressive, depending on the circumstances. And Leila interpreted men the way the Reverend Johnson interpreted the Bible - she could see below the surface and read between the lines. Hank had slept with the women enough times to have experienced this talent personally. Leila knew what men wanted - and she delivered it.

"Got ya a customer, Leila," Hank drawled as the woman swayed her way over toward him. Leila halted a couple of feet away, her eyes narrowing as she sized up Patrick O'Donnell. Something about the Irishman, something that only Leila could pinpoint, caused a worried frown to surface. When she turned back to Hank, she seemed reluctant. "I dunno bout this one, Hank. I ...."

Hank fixed her with an expectant stare. "Ya got a problem, Leila? Somethin' ya wanna say ta me?" The softness in his tone didn't disguise the hard glint in his eyes.

Leila surveyed Patrick again and shrugged, forcing a show of indifference. "No problem." She took Patrick by the arm and smiled up into his face. "Come on, darlin'. Let me show ya my room at the back."

Hank watched her lead Patrick away toward the rear of the building, noting the man's unsteady gait. Patrick fell against a table as he passed, disturbing four men concentrating on a heated poker game. Some of the chips slid onto the floor and one of the players, the largest man of the foursome, made a move to rise to his feet. Hank grabbed hold of a whiskey bottle and rounded the counter, bolting toward the man before tempers flared out of control. "Look's like you fellas need more whiskey," he called out, holding up the bottle as he approached. "On the house."

The man eyed the bottle and licked his lips, then slowly settled back down into his chair. With the potential problem averted, Hank proceeded to refill their glasses, ignoring Patrick and Leila as they continued on toward the back rooms. After a second, he forgot about them entirely when the men invited him to join the game. Hank could never resist a challenge - especially a potentially profitable one.

He was engrossed in the match, guarding a full house and a wad of cash, when one of his other girls, Mitzy Gallagher, approached him. "Hank." She leant down to whisper into his ear. "I gotta talk to ya."

"So," Hank growled, "talk." He gestured toward the other men at the table. "There ain't no one here stoppin' ya, Mitzy." The poker players laughed and Hank grinned, pleased with their amused response to his sarcasm.

Mitzy drew a deep breath and forged ahead. "All right, Hank ... it's Leila. I just passed by the door to her room and I heard ... she's cryin', Hank. I dunno what's goin' on in there but ...I think you aughta take a look."

Hank groaned. "For cryin' out loud, Mitzy ... Can't ya see that I'm in the middle of a game here." Mitzy put her hands on her hips and stared him down. Hank shook his head, sighing. "Damn whores," he muttered. "Always makin' a big fuss over nothin'." In spite of his show of resistance, Hank pushed his chair away from the table and nodded to the other players. "When I come back, I'll be more than happy ta take your money but, for now, it seems like I got a little ... employee problem ta take care of first."

He trudged toward the back rooms, grumbling to himself. "What the hell's the matter with ya, Lawson. Givin' up on a poker game cause of some hysterical women ..." As soon as he halted outside Leila's door, he heard sobbing. It continued for a minute before it was suddenly muffled. Hank felt a cold arrow of fear shoot through him and he rammed his shoulder up against the door. It flew back on its hinges, revealing the scene inside. Patrick O'Donnell had Leila pinned against the mattress of her bed as he straddled her body. His shirt was gaping open but, beyond that, he seemed to be fully clothed. The woman beneath him was practically naked, her head partially hidden beneath the pillow that Patrick clutched with one hand.

"What the hell are ya doin'?!" Hank roared.

Patrick turned toward him, calmly tossing the pillow to one side as he answered. "The young ... lady ... was gettin' a mite upset so I was simply tryin' ta quiet her down, my boy. No need to concern yourself. No need at all."

Leila was pulling in huge gulps of air, her whole body shaking. "It's okay, Hank ..." she managed to sputter. "I'm okay."

"What was he doin' to ya, Leila?" Hank asked, frowning fiercely.

"I'm okay, Hank. Really I am. Honest." Leila was trying, desperately, to regain her composure and struggle to a sitting position. Patrick eased away from her, in order to give her some space to move. She tried to smile at Hank, reassuringly, but he could see the naked fear in the depths of her eyes. "Don't be worryin' bout me. I'll do my job, Hank. I always do."

What Hank did next surprised him as much as it surprised the two occupants of the room. He stormed over to the bed and grabbed Patrick by the shirt collar, yanking the man to his feet. "You're hurtin' my girl," he snarled, leaning in until he was nose-to-nose with the man. "Leila wouldn't be cryin' like that unless you was doin' somethin' to her. And now ya gone and got her too scared ta tell me bout it." He shook Patrick roughly. "I don't put up with this, O'Donnell. Nobody hurts my girls, ya hear? Nobody." Still gripping the man's collar, Hank spun him around and practically threw him toward the door. "Get out, O'Donnell!"

Patrick crashed into the wall beside the door frame but managed to stop himself from sprawling to the floor. He leaned against the wall for a moment, nursing a sore shoulder. Then, with as much dignity as he could muster, Patrick straightened and fastened the buttons of his shirt. His coat and hat were hanging on a hook on the back of the door and he slowly retrieved them. He made a production out of putting on the hat, running his finger across the brim before he turned back toward Hank.

"Mr. Lawson," he said, haughtily, "I don't approve of the way yer running this establishment. A man needs more than a belly full of whiskey but it seems that your girls ...." His lip curled up, in disgust, as he glanced at Leila, "got no idea of how to entertain a man properly, none at all. You won't be gettin' any more of my business, I'm sorry ta say."

He strode through the door, the image of an offended patron. "That suits me fine, O'Donnell!" Hank yelled after his retreating back. "Stay away from my girls!"

"Hank," Leila reached out to, tentatively, touch his arm. "Thanks, Hank."

"Don't be thankin' me, Leila," Hank snarled, jerking his arm away from her. "I dunno why I did that. Ya look fine ta me. A few tears and I turn all ta mush. Dunno what's wrong with me lately."

Leila smiled through her tears. "You just care, Hank - that's all. You care bout us."

"And where does it get me?" Hank demanded, hotly. "I'm losin' my payin' customers, Leila!"

Leila Yates continued to smile at him, in spite of his annoyance, and Hank turned away from her quickly, resisting the urge to return the smile. Soft, that's what he was. Soft in the head - worrying about his whores ahead of his profits. He used to be a better businessman - tougher, shrewder. What the Hell happened?! He shook his head, in disgust. "Dunno what's wrong with me," he muttered again. "I'm turnin' inta Sully!"

Preston was only mildly surprised when Sully approached and sat down on the bench beside him. He'd been waiting for the three o'clock train to Denver and, after glancing at the mountain man briefly, Preston returned his attention to the train tracks in front of them. For a while both men sat there quietly, awkwardly, neither one of them able to break the silence between them. Finally Sully cleared his throat.

"Guess ya decided not ta stay."

Preston snorted, softly. "That's pretty obvious, isn't it?"

Sully ignored the sarcasm. "Gonna tell your family - bout Duncan, I mean?"

Preston sighed. "Father already knows. I wired him just after it happened. He sent me a telegram, told me to make sure that Duncan got a decent burial. I don't know what he's told the rest of my brothers." He shrugged. "Doesn't really matter, I suppose."

"Still," Sully said, hesitantly. "It can't be easy on ya. Duncan was your brother and ..." He paused, then added. "I appreciate what ya did, Preston. Just want ya to know that. Michaela does too. We owe ya."

The banker finally looked at the man, his mouth twisted in wry amusement. "I've already spoken to Michaela and she expressed her gratitude. But Sully, I must say you've caught me off guard - I do believe you're actually thanking me, as well? Could that be? You? I must say, I'm impressed."

"As I said," Sully continued, undaunted by his snide tone, "it can't have been easy for ya."

"Why does everyone insist on assuming that?" Preston shot back, annoyed. "I was well aware of Duncan's state of mind before I arrived in Colorado Springs. I knew that the situation might call for drastic measures. I was completely prepared to take whatever steps were necessary to ensure that my brother wasn't given the chance to place yet another blight on the family name."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Preston regretted them. Sully's eyes had narrowed and he was studying the man, suspiciously. "You knew about him? And ya didn't think to warn us?"

"Now Sully," Preston explained, hastily, "you mustn't get the wrong idea. I didn't know what Duncan had planned. All I knew was that he was acting strangely."

"And how did ya know that?" Sully pursued.

It was obvious that Sully had no intention of overlooking Preston's slip of the tongue or letting him off the hook easily. The man could certainly be tenacious, Preston mused. Sighing, he dug into the pocket of his vest and extracted a letter.

"I received this about a month ago. Duncan wrote to me infrequently." He shook his head. "I don't really know why. I never bothered to answer him but I guess he felt some sort of connection with me. We spent a great deal of time together, as children. But I never knew how to handle him, especially when he took one of his spells. I was afraid that ...." Preston's voice quivered ever so slightly and, as he realized his veneer was in danger of dissolving, he lowered his gaze. He didn't speak again until he was back in control. "I realized, by the tone of this letter, that Duncan had grown delusional once again. These spells of his - he'd fallen under their influence countless times over the years. Sometimes he seemed perfectly fine but, at other times ...." He cleared his throat and, resolutely, handed the letter to Sully. "Here, read it for yourself. We have a few minutes before my train arrives."

Sully accepted the letter and opened it, slowly. Preston knew the contents, word for word. Ever since he'd heard about Violet Patterson's death, he'd memorized the letter, reading it over and over again.

Dear Preston;

I hope this message finds you, my brothers, and Father in the best of health. I assume that you would all return the sentiment, if any one of you ever decided to answer my letters. I can understand Father's reluctance - he was quite disappointed when things failed to work out with Melanie and our wedding plans were cancelled. I suppose it was upsetting to him to see the opportunity of a lucrative union between our families slip away from his grasp. I know he's always blamed me for that. However, I can't understand you, Preston - we were so close throughout our childhood. No matter. You always were a stubborn one, Preston, and there has been some bad blood between us in the past. I just want you to know that I have no intention of holding a grudge.

In fact, I'd like to share some wonderful news with you. I've found the woman that I intend to marry some day. At the moment, it is not possible for the two of us to unite, due to some interference, but I trust that this situation will be resolved shortly. I will be extending an invitation to the wedding, as soon as we can make arrangements. In the meantime, I'm afraid we've been forced to live separate lives. I know that Father will be overjoyed when I introduce him to this elegant lady. She's every bit as, if not more, socially acceptable than Melanie. I live for the day when I can see the expression on Father's face.

In the meantime, I have found a rather stimulating diversion, while I await my opportunity to propose. This diversion comes in the form of quite a pretty and eager little tramp - a 'saloon girl'. I believe that's what you call women of her profession although, you and I both know, that this is little more than a polite courtesy. Violet. Such a pretty name for a whore, wouldn't you say? She has provided me with hours of sensual gratification. Unfortunately, the silly woman has fallen hopelessly in love with me. Violet even went so far as to steal a pocket watch from that long-haired ruffian of a bartender and present it to me as a gift. She thought I'd be pleased, even thought the trinket was valuable. Can you imagine? I laughed in her face, I'm afraid. She grows offended so easily so I kept the watch, just to pacify her. No sense in ruining a perfectly good evening now, is there? I suppose it will soon be necessary to tell her that she's nothing more than a distraction. I doubt if she'll take it well when she discovers that I'm in love with someone else but honestly, how could a woman of her station even imagine that I could entertain any serious affection for her? Crude, uncultured - well, I suppose it isn't really her fault. Violet never had the benefit of any formal education. How could I expect her to be anything but dim-witted?

My, I do digress. You will be hearing from me soon, dear brother, when my wedding plans are intact. In the meantime, please give my love to Father and tell him that I forgive him for his somewhat shoddy treatment of me. I can assure you, he'll be so pleased with my choice of brides that nothing else will matter anymore. She comes from a very prominent Boston family and, I believe, that he knew her father personally.

Regards,

Duncan.

Sully folded the letter in half and looked up, meeting Preston's eyes. "I must admit," Preston said, softly, "I did wonder if he could be referring to Michaela, seeing that she is the only cultured woman in Colorado Springs, but I didn't think it possible. I put the matter out of my mind until I heard about Violet Patterson's murder. When I met Matthew and he expressed some interest in Duncan, I suspected that my brother was responsible for the saloon girl's death. I came here, hoping to stop Duncan from doing any further damage. If he was having another one of his spells, he was capable of almost anything."

"Damage?" Sully's voice was harsh as he returned the letter to Preston. "Is that what you call it?"

He was scowling and Preston held up a hand, defensively. "I assure you, Sully, I didn't know he'd abduct Michaela. If I had known, I would have warned you." When Sully failed to answer him or change his disapproving expression, Preston elaborated. "I was prepared for anything, you see. That's why this whole unpleasant business has been somewhat easier on me. I was expecting trouble when I arrived."

"Are ya tryin' ta tell me, Preston," Sully challenged, "that you knew you'd be shootin' your brother? Are ya tryin' to say that it doesn't bother you?"

Preston could tell, from the way Sully was watching him, that the man saw beneath the mask he'd fastened over his emotions. There was no point in lying to him. "I won't even attempt to tell you that," he said, quietly. "You and I both know better."

Sully nodded, his expression softening now that Preston had revealed some honest emotion. Silence settled over them again. There was a train whistle in the distance and both men stared down the tracks where a thin trail of smoke rose into the distant horizon. "That explains why Vi had Hank's pocket watch," Sully said, absently. "Wondered about that."

"Yes," Preston agreed.

"I still can't figure out why he had to kill her. What purpose did it serve?"

Preston frowned at him. "Purpose? Sully, even I, with all my education, can't see inside the mind of a madman. You're wasting your time if you even try. There was no purpose. Duncan was insane. That's all anyone needs to know."

A fragile peace drifted over the men as the train pulled into the station. They both stood up and Sully offered Preston his hand. Grasping it hesitantly, Preston smiled, stiffly.

"Good-bye, Sully."

"Bye Preston. And good luck."

He nodded as he grabbed the handle of his travel bag and stepped down onto the platform, heading toward the train. Just before he boarded, Preston turned and glanced over his shoulder. Sully was walking off toward the centre of town, his wolf trailing after him. Preston half-laughed. He'd never see this town again, he was certain of it. And he'd never again meet a man like Byron Sully. For the first time ever, Preston felt a twinge of regret tug at him as the realization struck him, full force. Shrugging it off, he left the man, Colorado Springs, and his brother's grave, behind him.

"Preston's gone. Train just pulled out."

Michaela glanced up from the medical journal spread open on top of her desk, in time to see Sully step through the door of the clinic. She sighed.

"I feel sorry for the poor man," she whispered. "I can't imagine the turmoil he's feeling."

Sully nodded. "He said ya spoke to him?"

"Mmmm... the other day. With all that's been happening lately, I forgot to mention it" Struck by a sudden thought, she regarded her husband, apologetically. "I didn't tell you about Katie either, did I?"

"No. What's wrong with Katie?" He moved over to her desk, a worried frown on his face.

"Nothing physically ..." Michaela reassured him, quickly. "But she is heart-broken. It seems that Luke isn't paying much attention to her anymore. He appears to prefer the company of Samantha these days."

The frown still lined Sully's brow. "It's not like Luke to hurt Katie's feelings." He sifted through the possibilities, his concern growing. "I wonder ...."

When he failed to complete the sentence, Michaela's eyes narrowed.

"What? What is it?"

"Last time I saw Luke, he was upset with me cause of ... well, his Ma and all." Discussing the subject was awkward, especially with Michaela. He quickly moved on, avoiding any further mention of White Feather. "Could be, if he's still mad at me, that he's takin' it out on Katie."

"Would he do that?" Michaela sounded appalled. "She's just a little girl! What goes on between adults has nothing to do with her."

"I know," Sully agreed, pensively. "I'm sure Luke does too. But sometimes, ya just can't help it. You connect one person in a family with another in the same family and it's hard ta separate them, ta see things clear." He realized, even as he said it, that he was speaking about Duncan and Preston. Michaela realized it too.

"Sully, you were as fair to Preston as anyone could have been, considering the circumstances. I know you blame yourself for some of what happened, for accusing him of not acting responsibly with his brother, but you didn't make Preston fire that gun, Sully. Surely you know that. He had no other choice."

Sully nodded. "I know." He paused for a long moment before shaking off his regret. "But this ain't about me, or Preston, or Duncan, right now. It's about Katie and Luke. I'm gonna ride out there, try ta talk to Luke, see if I can clear the air between us."

A shadow of dread passed over Michaela's features. She tried to cover her reaction by lowering her gaze but Sully caught it before she could hide the emotion. Reaching out, he placed his fingers under her chin and gently urged her to meet his eyes again. "Michaela? What's wrong?"

She seemed slightly embarrassed. "I know it's silly of me but ... it's an old reaction, Sully, and I just can't seem to control it. For a moment, I almost asked you if you'd be home for supper or if you'd be eating with White Feather again. I feel so foolish but...."

Sully smiled, tolerantly. Bending down, he brushed her lips with his mouth. "Course I'll be home for supper. Ya got nothin' ta worry about. 'Sides, I couldn't pass up your cookin', now could I?"

His eyes twinkled as he teased her and she playfully punched him on the arm. "Byron Sully ... I should ..."

Before she could complete the sentence, his mouth claimed her lips once more.

*******************
He let the horse wander freely, following the path to White Feather's cabin by instinct alone. Patrick slumped in the saddle, too drunk to take notice of anything around him. Consumed by his own outrage, he didn't care about much else. That damn bartender ... he would have never expected the man to stick up for one of his whores and throw him out of the saloon ... again! He was a paying customer and, besides, he wasn't harming the wench. Not with all those witnesses outside the door. The girl was weak, crying like that - just because Patrick was being a touch rough with her. He was simply asserting himself as a man, as the more dominant of the species.

He laughed out loud over the thought. Dominant? Perhaps, if his father had been more dominant with his mother, the woman would have never run off like she did. Maybe she would have stayed at home, dutifully looking after her two young boys. Instead, they spotted her a year later, working in a pub in Dublin, shelling out sexual favours for a wee bit of money and a roof over her head. A whore. Just like all the dirty whores in this miserable world! Patrick had only been twelve years old when his father dragged him into the pub to see her, after searching for a year to find her. Once he did, Patrick's father set out to humiliate her. What better way than exposing her filthy secret to her favourite son - to the son who loved her more than dear, old Ireland itself?

His mouth curled in disgust at the memory. Whores - they were all the same. They only cared about themselves. Hank Lawson should know that by now. The man had no reason to defend them. All he was doing was hurting his own business. Patrick's head started to ache and he drew deep, calming breaths until the pressure subsided.

This town seemed to have a soft spot for whores, something that Patrick would have never predicted when he first arrived here. Some of them even treated these women like they were special - like they were equal to everyone else. Just look at how upset the fools were over that Violet Patterson. Who would have ever believed that her death would cause such a bloody uproar?

As the events of that evening unfolded in Patrick's mind, a wicked smile formed on his mouth. It was just a coincidence when he encountered Vi. He was heading toward the saloon to wet his whistle, after the long ride into town. Vi was bolting toward the saloon from the opposite direction, visibly upset. They practically collided with one another. Patrick had taken one look at Vi's clothes, along with the distraught expression on her face, and turned on the charm, as only he could. It was obvious that she worked in the saloon and it was also apparent that she needed a confidante. He was only too happy to supply a shoulder to cry on. By asking the right questions and expressing concern, he won her trust.

"I just had a terrible argument with a man I've been seeing," Vi confessed, tearfully. "I can't go back in that saloon and face everybody - not like this. Besides, Hank'll kill me! I'm not supposed to be out here tonight. I'm supposed to be workin'. Hank's already threatened me and I just know he'll give me a beatin' this time!"

That was all Patrick needed to hear. "Why don't you and I be takin' a little walk?" Patrick suggested, soothingly, "You can tell me all about it. lass. It'll make you feel tremendously better, I'm thinkin'."

"But Hank...?"

"Don't ya be worryin' about this Hank now." Patrick patted her shoulder. "I'll look after him, when the time comes."

He lead her away into the night, found a quiet alleyway beside the general store. It was late. Everyone was asleep. The town lay in darkness. The silly woman blurted out her whole story - how she was in love with a man from town and he'd told her that he didn't love her, that he'd only been using her; how she threatened to expose the whole, sordid affair to the woman he was hoping to marry someday; how she intended to tell this woman's husband as well, reveal that her lover was hoping to steal his wife. She then told Patrick, in a small, uncertain voice, that this businessman quickly changed his story. He'd been upset with Vi over the fact that she'd stolen a pocket watch earlier, he'd claimed. That was all there was to it. He was only trying to get even with her by saying those terrible things. But there was no reason for her to speak to this woman's husband. The woman meant nothing to him. It was Vi he loved, Vi who he was really planning to marry. All was forgiven now, he said. The saloon girl didn't know whether she could trust him or not. She didn't know what to believe anymore. She even showed Patrick the pocket watch. She'd stolen it from the bartender a few days before, in the hope that it would please her lover. "I don't have no money so I couldn't buy him nothin'," she explained, as if this feeble logic would justify the theft.

"He gave it back to me tonight ... told me to return it." she'd said, choking back more tears. "I hope I'll be able to sneak it back into Hank's room, without him catchin' me. He'll kill me if he finds out that I stole his watch."

Patrick took the watch from her, turning it over and over between his fingers as a plan formed in his mind. So far, Vi had revealed that two men were displeased with her - the saloon keeper and this nameless businessman. The saloon keeper sounded unstable, and Patrick was convinced that the businessman was lying to the woman, that he was afraid she'd expose him and reveal his true intentions. Both of them were quite capable of killing her. Both of them had a motive.

Patrick had been drinking, steadily, as he'd followed the dusty trail into town, reaching into his saddlebags frequently to extract the bottle stowed inside. By now, he had enough liquor in him to buoy up his courage and make him throw caution to the wind.

He'd moved quickly after that, taking her completely by surprise when he lunged at her, when he attempted to tear the dress from her body. For a delicate woman, she had a strength that amazed him. Half-way through the struggle, Patrick realized that he'd never be able to subdue her, not without making enough noise to alert the sleeping town. There was only one thing he could do - only one way to cover his tracks and come away with some sense of gratification. Wrapping his hands around her throat, he choked the life out of Vi Patterson.

His smile grew wider now as he remembered the soft flesh beneath his fingers, the feeling of power that flooded through him as he felt her body go completely limp. He'd carried her to the footbridge at the outskirts of town and thrown her beneath it, half in and half out of the water. Then he'd entwined the chain of the pocket watch around her slim, lifeless fingers.

He half-expected it to end at that. He never thought anyone would care about the death of a whore. Even if they suspected the bartender, they would never arrest him, especially if he was only trying to control one of his women. It was business, after all. Patrick was shocked the next day when the man was arrested, when there was talk of a hanging. Feeling slightly guilty for framing the man, Patrick actually went to the jail to see if he could help him. But the bartender was obnoxious and uncooperative and Patrick left with a clear conscience. If Hank Lawson couldn't be civil, then Patrick didn't feel sorry for him. The man deserved his fate.

Up until tonight, he hadn't paid much more attention to Hank Lawson. But tonight, the bartender had crossed Patrick once again, ruined his anticipated evening of pleasure. Damn him! Damn all of them - all the do-gooders in this town. If Duncan Lodge had lived, Patrick didn't doubt for a minute that these bleeding hearts would have proclaimed Duncan's innocence. Once they did, they would have been looking around for another murder suspect. Patrick couldn't let that happen. Duncan had to be silenced, to prevent him from pointing a finger at anyone else - at Patrick. It was a lucky thing that Duncan's brother was on hand to take care of the matter. If Sully hadn't robbed Patrick of his gun, he was quite prepared to kill the man himself.

By God, this town was irritating - no doubt about that. His horse picked up speed as it neared the cabin and Patrick stared ahead of him, bleary-eyed. Young Luke had just ridden off in the other direction. Patrick caught a glimpse of the boy's back, just before he disappeared around a bend in the path. Luke had a bow and arrow slung over one shoulder, a clear sign that he was going hunting again. Patrick reined in his horse and sat quietly for a minute, his gaze roaming across the yard and finally settling on the small home in front of him. He had a powerful hunger - far more powerful than the thirst he'd quenched earlier. There was only one thing that could satisfy it and Hank Lawson had stolen that away from him, leaving Patrick aching inside. Just to protect his whore - a whore? Who would care?!

A slight movement caught his attention as a form moved past the window.

Patrick's eyes narrowed and his lips twitched as he suppressed a grin. Whores and Indians - same thing. As far as he was concerned, no one cared about either one of them. No one.

Myra's horse trotted along the path as she scanned her surroundings. Normally she didn't venture out into the woods, even when she'd lived in Colorado Springs and was more familiar with the landscape. But today was different. Today, she wanted to speak with Luke again.

She'd handled the situation between Luke and Sam badly -she knew that. Instead of giving Luke an opportunity to present his side of the story, she'd attacked him like an overly protective mother bear . Her daughter had finally chosen to confide in Myra and what did she do? She flew off the handle without thinking things through rationally. Perhaps, if she'd confronted him differently, more calmly and quietly, there would have been a chance to salvage what was left of the friendship between Luke and Sam. As it stood now, Luke was afraid to approach her daughter, in case he had to face Myra's wrath once again!

She'd thought about it a lot over the past few days. If she really wanted to help Samantha, she'd try to restore the friendship instead of driving Luke and Sam farther apart. Sam would be happier and that was really all that mattered. Myra needed to speak to Luke, to apologize for her earlier behaviour and see if there wasn't some way to mend the rift.

Straining her eyes, Myra spotted the smoke from the chimney of the cabin up ahead. Smiling with satisfaction, she urged her horse into a canter.

*******************
White Feather was in the process of chopping vegetables at the kitchen table, for the nightly stew, when Patrick stumbled into the cabin. She studied him, closely, as he crossed the floor toward her. There was little doubt that the man was quite drunk. He moved with a noticeable sway to his walk and the exaggerated smile never left his reddened face.

"Top 'o the mornin' to ya, lass!" he called out.

"It is afternoon," White Feather said, coldly.

Patrick tripped over the braided rug on the floor and crashed into the table. Pieces of carrot and potato tumbled to the floor. White Feather sighed in exasperation. "Sit down before you hurt yourself," she ordered.

To her surprise, when Patrick met her eyes, there was fury in his expression. "Don't ya be tellin' me what to do!" he bellowed. "You hear me, woman? I don't take orders from an injun squaw!"

Hatred contorted Patrick's features and White Feather froze, the knife she'd been using still clutched between her fingers. She'd seen that look many times - when the white men came to the Cheyenne village, when the army massacred her people, when her own husband threatened to strike her. Jeremiah had been drunk every time, the same as Patrick was now, and he always apologized to his wife in the morning. But it was too late. She'd already seen it, glinting in his eyes - that same fury, that same hatred.

Patrick glared at her. "What are you lookin' at? Don't be starin' at me like that."

White Feather knew that the wisest thing to do, at that moment, would be to avert her gaze, to slip away meekly until Patrick sobered up. But she couldn't do it - not any longer. For years, she'd retreated from her husband's rages, tolerated his verbal abuse, tried to pacify him to keep the peace and spare Luke any trauma. She'd vowed, when Jeremiah passed away, that she would never back down to any man again - whether he be Cheyenne or white. And now, standing there staring at her brother-in-law, her resolve grew even stronger. She felt the smooth shaft of the knife in her hand and gripped it more tightly, allowing a momentary sense of security to calm her racing pulse.

Patrick's gaze slid away from her face to target the knife. A sneer formed on his lips. "You don't really believe you'll be hurtin' me with a little knife like that, do you now? It would barely put a scratch on my skin before I grabbed hold of you and ripped it out of your hand, lass. You wouldn't want that, now would you? It would be much more pleasurable, for both of us, if we relaxed and enjoyed our time together, don't you think?"

White Feather swallowed back her rising terror. "Our time?"

The anger had drained away from Patrick's eyes, to be replaced with a smouldering passion. "I have a powerful need - a need for a woman. And while, tis true that I never completely approved of my late brother's choice of bed partners, I must say that, for an injun, you are a striking specimen. Quite striking. Knowing my dear departed brother as I did, I would be willing to bet that you know how to satisfy a man's desires, don't ya now? He would have never gotten mixed up with the likes of you unless your performance met his needs. Now isn't that right?"

When White Feather refused to answer, Patrick smiled, smugly. "I hear that there's an old custom among the Cheyenne. When a man dies, it is up to the brother to take care of his wife. Well, my dear, I intend to take care of you - and I guarantee, you're going to love every minute of it."

He lunged toward her and White Feather raised the knife into the air, fully intending to drive it into the man's neck, if necessary.

Patrick's fingers closed around her slim wrist like a vice. Within less than a minute, he'd wrestled the knife away from her. He threw her down on the table top, his chest heaving from exertion, his eyes wild with crazed determination. "Try to kill me, will ya, lass? When I'm done with you, you'll be begging for your own life!"

White Feather tried to slide off the end of the table but Patrick caught her around the waist, yanking her back against him. Spinning her around to face him, he pulled back his arm and, violently, struck her across her face. As the blood filled her mouth, White Feather screamed.

Sully was just climbing down from his horse when the scream reached him. He hesitated for less than a second, before clearing the porch in one stride and bursting through the door. Patrick had pinned White Feather to the table top again, one hand on her throat as he pressed against her. Her buckskin tunic was ripped in half, the jagged tear running from the neck to the waist of the garment.

Patrick never released his grip on the woman as he stared over at Sully. "Stay back, lad, or I'll break her neck - I swear I will." he vowed, his voice deadly calm.

Before Sully had time to chart out his next move, White Feather took advantage of the momentary distraction to drive her knee into Patrick's groin. The man shrieked with pain, doubling over as he lost his grip on White Feather. She bolted across the cabin and took refuge behind Sully. He had time to grab the knife from his belt as Patrick reached for something beneath his coat. When the Irishman straightened, he held a gun in his hand. He pointed it directly at Sully as they squared off against each other.

"Drop it, lad, or I'll shoot you where you stand," Patrick threatened, his voice steady with conviction.

Weighing his options, Sully reluctantly opened his hand, allowing the knife to fall to the floor.

Satisfied, Patrick nodded. "Well, my boy, it seems as if you won't be takin' my gun away from me this time, doesn't it now?" He grimaced with pain before adding. "If you'll be kind enough to step away from that woman, I have a bit of unfinished business with her."

Sully didn't budge and Patrick shook his head.

"Tis a shame, lad. I really have no reason to kill you. I've always liked you - truly I have." He shrugged, helplessly. "But you are giving me no choice - no choice at all. You may not think so but, I can assure you, I do know how to shoot a gun. If you hadn't interfered, I would have been more than happy to kill Duncan Lodge meself. I have no trouble killing people, Mr. Sully. No trouble at all. And I have no doubt that poor Violet would tell you that herself, if the woman could speak to us from the grave."

As his words sunk in, Sully's face paled. "You killed Vi?"

"That I did, lad," Patrick confirmed.

It took a minute before Sully could completely comprehend the confession. Finally he asked, "Why? Why did ya do it?"

"Ah, I'm afraid it couldn't be avoided. Twas the same thing as it is now, with my poor brother's wife - God rest his soul. Violet Patterson refused to be ... well, let us just say, friendly, shall we? While I was attempting to sway her with my considerable charms, things got a wee bit out of hand."

He was relating the whole incident like some comical misadventure, without a trace of remorse. Sully felt sick. Twice in one week, he'd been threatened at gun point by a madman but Patrick, with his total lack of conscience, seemed even more dangerous than Duncan Lodge.

Patrick's tone suddenly changed from amused to menacing. "Surely you realize the truth of the matter, Sully, don't ya now? The sad part of it all is that I wouldn't be admitting that to you if I have any intention of letting you live. Tis a pity. As I stated, I always liked you, lad. I surely did."

He took aim and cocked the gun, just as a gasp distracted him. Both men twisted toward the doorway and spotted Myra Bing silhouetted in the doorframe, her hand clutching her throat. Sully recovered from the surprise faster than Patrick. He charged at the man, driving his head into Patrick's stomach. The gun in Patrick's hand exploded into the air around them. In his drunken condition, Patrick O'Donnell was no match for Sully's strength or his quick, fluid movements. Within a heartbeat, the man was laid out on the floor at Sully's feet, unconscious, disabled by a well-aimed drop kick.

Only then did Sully turn toward the doorway. The sight that greeted him made him groan, softly, as he fought against the panic that seized him. Myra Bing slid to the floor, her back leaning up against the doorframe, blood oozing from a gun shot wound to her chest.

* * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 18
by Jean McQuaid

...Buffalo gal won't ya come out tonight,
come out tonight,
come out tonight.
Buffalo gal won't ya come out tonight
and dance by the light of the moon ......

*******************
The tranquil silence of nature was shattered by the sound of a single gunshot. Even Luke's horse was shaken as the animal came to an abrupt halt, refusing to move. Luke dug his heal into the creature's side and, within moments, was making his way back home.

His heart was pounding as he flew off the horse's back, his feet barely touching the ground. His body convulsed, in shock, as he saw Sully place the limp body of Myra Bing on the kitchen table and he quickly scanned the room for his mother. To his relief, he found her returning to Sully with a clean cloth and a basin of water, apparently unharmed. But her clothing told a whole other story.

"Sully, what's going on?"

Sully, briefly, looked up at the boy's distraught face as he grabbed the rag from White Feather's hand, using it to apply pressure to the bullet hole in Myra's chest. "Get some rope an' tie your uncle up, then go inta town and get Sheriff McKay and Dr. Mike!"

"But...."

"Luke, Now!" He didn't mean to sound so harsh with the boy, but Myra had already lost a lot of blood.

Luke didn't question Sully any further. He managed to find some rope out by the woodshed and proceeded to restrain his uncle as Sully had requested, gagging at the strong aroma of alcohol that emitted from the man's body.

Before leaving, he took a moment to comfort his shaken mother and quietly asked Sully one last question. "Is she gonna die?"

This time Sully didn't look up, but Luke could see the anxiety on the man's face as he answered, "Not if I can help it!"

******************
Michaela knew it was foolish to still have doubts about her husband and White Feather but she needed to clear her mind and decided to take a walk, maybe find some wild flowers for Violet's grave. The poor girl could rest in peace now, knowing the man who snuffed out her young life was about to meet his maker. The good book had always taught that one should forgive sinners but it would be a long time before she'd be able to forgive Duncan Lodge for his abuse and disregard for human life.

Assured that the little bouquet she now held in her hands was quite fitting, she headed back towards the cemetery. Still preoccupied with her own situation, she looked up and realized she was about to run into Hank who'd also decided to pay a visit to Violet's grave. Not wanting to disturb him, she stood back in silence, catching his last few words before he rose to his feet.

"Damn it Vi, if I'd only known, I never woulda let this happen. It ain't just business. I really do care 'bout my girls. I cared about you, Vi, ya gotta know that. I never woulda hurt ya." He pulled the hair back from his face and slowly stood up. "It ain't right for any man ta hurt a woman, no matter what."

Michaela was surprised as she watched Hank remove a handkerchief from his vest pocket and proceed to wipe away the tears from his eyes. She longed to comfort him, tell him she knew Violet would appreciate his visit. But she knew how proud and vain he was and, to have Michaela Quinn see him cry, why that just wouldn't be right. Besides he'd deny it anyway, claiming it was just his allergies acting up again.

But it was Hank who turned to face her and, to her amazement, allowed her to witness his show of weakness. It was as if he wanted her to know he really did have feelings, he really was, after all, only human like everyone else in this town.

"She didn't deserve ta die like that, Michaela. I shoulda seen it comin' "

"But Hank, you didn't know what was going on and, even if you did, you couldn't have stopped Violet. She made her own choice. It just wasn't the right one. But you have to stop blaming yourself. Let it go, Hank. You've made your peace with her and I know she doesn't blame you."

He looked at her, his eyes still red and swollen. "Thanks, Michaela. That means a lot, comin' from you, considerin' you almost died yourself believin' in me. Why'd ya do it, why'd ya go gettin' yourself involved with a man like that? Am I really worth it?"

She couldn't hold back any longer and, gently, took both his hands into her own. "Oh Hank, of course you're worth it. I tried to convince myself I was just paying you back for saving my life but I realized later on, it was far more than that. We haven't always agreed and, goodness knows, no one could call us good friends. But we are friends, Hank, at least I consider you my friend, and friends help each other. That's what friendship is all about. Sully always told me that I look for the good in everyone and Hank, there's a lot of good in you. You're just too proud and stubborn to admit it. But I know it's there and that's good enough for me."

Hank threw caution to the wind and took the lady doctor, whom he'd battled with so many times, into his arms. "Maybe I shouldn't be doin' this but damn it woman, you got a way of makin' me feel good. Ain't nobody ever said things like that ta me and I'm real sorry now I treated you badly all these years." He released her from his embrace and took hold of her hand, lifting it to his lips. "You're a good woman, Michaela. Sully's the luckiest man in the world."

But the peacefulness of the mood was interrupted by the sound of a rapidly approaching rider. Both Michaela and Hank turned to see Luke in full flight, heading straight towards them, obviously in a panic.

"You have to come quick, Dr. Quinn. It's Mrs. Bing, she's been shot!"

"Oh my God, Myra?" Hank gasped. "Get a wagon from Robert E., boy. I'll go tell Horace."

"Yes sir," Luke replied, almost out of breath. "But Sully told me to get the Sheriff too. He made me tie my Uncle Patrick up - I think he might be the one who shot Mrs. Bing."

*****************
Michaela could hear the confusion outside the cabin but she was too busy trying to dig the bullet out of Myra's chest. If only she could find it, she might be able to stop the bleeding.

Sully could see the strain mounting on her face as he wiped the sweat from her brow. How many times had he watched his wife perform miracles? Her sturdy and skilled hands had saved many lives and he prayed, at this moment, that, for the sake of the young girl waiting anxiously outside, she could, indeed, do it again.

Jake Slicker had helped Sheriff McKay take Patrick O'Donnell back to Colorado Springs where he was soon locked up. Sully's explanation along with White Feather's confirmation had been enough for McKay, as he quickly removed the man, allowing Dr. Quinn to concentrate on her patient.

But Sully's concern wasn't just for Samantha. He was also worried about Hank and Horace, who also paced back and forth outside the cabin, waiting for news about Myra. At the best of times, the two men never got along, but with emotions being so unpredictable at times like these, who knew what might happen. But he couldn't leave Michaela right now. She needed his help and he hoped the operation would soon be over as Samantha Bing, certainly, didn't need anything else upsetting her.

"It's the waitin' I hate," sighed Horace.

"Me too," Hank agreed. "What in the hell was Myra doin', way out here on her own anyways?"

Horace tried to keep his voice down as he pointed to Luke. "She was comin' out here to see Luke!"

But Luke didn't miss hearing the sound of his name as his ears perked up.

"What for?" Hank was confused.

"Said somethin' about apologizing to him. But I'll be darned if I know why."

Samantha and Luke looked at one another. Obviously, Myra had kept what happened between the two a secret, for which they were grateful. Without speaking, they instinctively knew what each other was thinking, that they certainly didn't need lecturing from either one of these men, especially not now. But the simple fact that Myra had come out here to speak with Luke, made Samantha see the woman in a whole new light and, for the first time, she realized her mother did love her. She really did care about her daughter, a thought that brought even more tears to the young girl's eyes.

"Well, it ain't important right now. Myra's life, that's all I care about," Hank retorted as he noted the anguish that engulfed Horace's face. In all honesty, they'd never be good friends but, maybe if they gave each other a chance, they'd finally get along. He used to believe the only thing they had in common was Myra, but since she'd made it perfectly clear she didn't want either of them, it seemed senseless to keep bickering over her. If he could learn to accept Horace for who he really was then maybe Horace could accept him, Hank, for who he was. It was worth a try anyway.

It seemed like hours but, when the door to the cabin finally did open revealing a smiling faced Michaela, everyone outside breathed a sigh of relief.

"She's going to be just fine. White Feather and I will keep her here tonight but I'm quite confident we'll be able to move her to the clinic tomorrow." Michaela turned to Samantha. "She's still sleeping but, if you'd like to go in and see her, I know she'd appreciate it?"

Samantha Bing hugged Michaela before going inside. There was so much she wanted to say to her mother but the first thing was, 'I love you'. That was a good place to start.

"Well, think I'll be headin' back to town, " Hank sighed as he looked at Horace. "You comin' with me?"

But Horace was hesitant. "Don't you wanna see Myra?"

"Sure I do, Horace. But I don't think she wants to see me, or you, for that matter."

Horace's face dropped. "Suppose you're right, Hank. No need to be hangin' around here any longer, now that we know she's gonna be okay." He turned to walk away but stopped. "Hank?"

Hank had already mounted his horse. "What is it?"

"Think maybe we could share a drink, when we get back ta town?"

Hank smiled. "Why the hell not."

Although exhausted from the painstaking surgery, Michaela was delightfully surprised at the calm and unusual friendly manner in which the two men left. Hopefully, this was a sign that they'd finally stop fighting over a lost cause and who knows, even become friends.

Sully came up behind his wife and slid his arms around her waist. "Are you sure ya wanna stay here tonight?"

She turned to face him. "Quite sure, Sully. I'll be just fine. Besides, I'd like to give White Feather an examination and I certainly don't need any help from you for that!"

He looked at her, a teasing grin now appearing on his face.

"I think you should take Samantha back to the homestead to be with Katie. They could both use a good friend right about now. You can bring them with you tomorrow, when we take Myra to the clinic."

Sully kissed her, softly, on the lips. "I love you."

She smiled back. "And I love you too. Now stop worrying. White Feather and I will get along just fine."

******************
Michaela and White Feather took turns sitting by Myra's bedside. Michaela was concerned that Myra was still unconscious, not even aroused by the sound of her own daughter's voice as Samantha Bing had whispered 'I love you, Mama', over and over again. But she assured herself that Myra would be well enough to be taken to the clinic in the morning and would, most likely, awake during the night.

Her attention now turned to the Indian woman who'd shown great courage and stamina throughout this whole ordeal. Without hesitation, she'd allowed Michaela to examine her thoroughly, and thanked the lady doctor for her concern, stating that she was not the one in need of her attention, but the other lady who now slept in her bed. As the night wore on, Michaela found it difficult to keep her eyes open and would feel a gentle tap on her shoulder as White Feather would offer to take over the vigil, allowing Michaela a break. Michaela was very touched by the sincere concern White Feather did show and soon found herself feeling comfortable enough to converse with the woman on other matters. Her only close contact with an Indian woman had been with Snow Bird and, although they shared the same Indian beliefs, the two women were totally different. Snow Bird had been very outspoken and would never have taken the abuse that White Feather admitted to.

"I'm so sorry, White Feather. No woman should ever have to endure abuse from any man. I've always believed that men and women are equal, something my father taught me and something I've passed on to my own daughters. I've faced my own kind of discrimination in the past for becoming a doctor but it's one thing to harm a person with words and quite another to hurt them physically. Why did you put up with it for so long?"

"I was his wife. It was not my place to question the way he showed me love. There were many times I wanted to run away but I am not strong like you, Medicine Woman. I had a young son to take care of and no place to go."

"It must have been hard for Luke as well."

"He did not know of his father's abuse. I would not cry out in pain and kept the marks on my body well covered from him." She lowered her head. "I was ashamed of myself. I could not stand my son to be ashamed of his mother, so I suffered in silence."

Michaela was overcome by compassion and took the woman's hands in hers. "I only wish someone could have helped you - family - a friend."

"I had no women friends, only Cloud Dancing and Sully. But I could not talk to them. It would not have been proper."

Suddenly, Michaela tensed up at the mention of her husband's name. A vision came to mind that Sully would have been outraged had he known what was going on here and would have confronted the man with his fists. It became clear to her now why White Feather was so attracted to Sully. There was no doubt he was a strong, attractive man but he had qualities far more noticeable to White Feather and, contrary to what people like Preston might say, Byron Sully was, and would always be, a true gentleman. It was no wonder White Feather had feelings for him. Any woman being abused would welcome the attention of a man who treated them with respect and dignity - a man who treated a woman like a lady.

"Sully is a good man. I envy you, Medicine Woman, for I have never seen such a love as he has for you. It is the kind of love most women can only dream about."

Michaela felt a pang of conscience. All this time she'd been worried about Sully and the time he'd spent here and, now, she felt guilty for being so jealous of something that never could have happened. Her feelings had changed towards White Feather and she realized what Sully must have known all along, the woman was looking for help. Just as Hank and Horace were about to give friendship a chance, she would leave the past behind and make friends with White Feather for, in her heart, she knew it was the right thing to do.

******************
There was quite a crowd waiting at the clinic as Sully drove the wagon down the center of town, further proof that no matter her past, Myra was not only well liked but loved now. She'd finally awoken during the night and was thankful to White Feather for the glass of cool water. She still required time to heal but Myra Bing was going to be just fine and so was her daughter, Samantha. Samantha and Katie giggled most of the way into town as they sat beside Myra, in the back of the wagon. But Samantha needed some time alone with her mother, time which they would get once the patient was made comfortable in one of the recovery rooms at the clinic. Myra 's doctor would make sure it would be her first priority of business.

Andrew and Colleen had prepared a room already and assured Dr. Mike that the patient would be just fine if she would like to join her husband at Grace's for breakfast. Colleen fussed over her mother's apparent lack of sleep but, as usual, Michaela reminded her it was all part of being a doctor. After making sure that Michaela's instructions were carried out and that Samantha and Myra were to be left alone for a while, Michaela finally agreed to join Sully at the cafe.

"Well?" Sully smiled.

"Well, what?"

"Aren't ya gonna tell me about last night?"

"Last night? Oh, you mean you actually want to hear 'woman talk' ?"

"Woman talk? Is that a good thing?"

"It certainly is, Sully. It means that I've made a new friend and she's already agreed to come to Matthew's wedding, escorted by her son, of course."

Sully's smile said it all and he decided to leave it at that. Obviously, Michaela had made peace with White Feather and was happy. However, one look at Brian as he sat down across from his parents, made a whole different statement. He didn't look happy at all.

"Brian, what's wrong?" Sully inquired.

"Aw, nothin' ."

"Well nothin' don't look that sad, son. Wanna talk about it?"

"I'm okay, really. Just feelin' kinda .... left out - lonely. Colleen's got Andrew, Matthew's got Madi, Katie and Samantha...." he looked over at his mother, "they got each other and Luke, and you've got Ma."

"An' what you're sayin' is that you got nobody?"

"Ya, I guess it kinda looks that way."

Michaela smiled at Brian as if she was happy for his sad announcement. "Well Brian, I know something that will cheer you up. Dorothy wants to see you, as soon as possible, at the newspaper office. She has some urgent business she needs to discuss with you."

Brian looked perplexed and still couldn't manage a smile. Things just weren't looking up for him right now but he'd appease Miss Dorothy and go see her anyway.

Once Brian was gone, Michaela turned back to Sully, "I guess you didn't get much of a chance to talk with Luke? Do you have any idea what Myra was doing there?"

"The only person can answer that is Myra, " he sighed. "Kinda ironic she ends up bein' another one of O'Donnell's victims."

Michaela began to shiver. "I still can't believe that Patrick O'Donnell murdered Violet. All this time, we thought it was Duncan Lodge. What do you suppose the connection was between Violet and O'Donnell?"

"The way I see it, Michaela, is that poor girl somehow got herself mixed up with two crazy men, both lookin' for the same thing from her. Only difference is, she gave in to one and not the other."

"The other, of course, being Patrick O'Donnell. But what about Duncan?"

"He was after you, plain and simple."

"After me?"

"Lodge figured you'd be a real feather in his cap, after he brought ya home to his Pa, you bein' a lady doctor from Boston an' all."

"That's absurd! I can't believe he came to Colorado Springs because of me."

"Preston showed me the last letter he got from Duncan. He mentioned Violet by name and said how he was usin' her, but he also said he'd found the woman he was gonna marry - a socialite from Boston."

Michaela looked shocked. "Why didn't Preston warn us?"

"He didn't see the connection at first, least not until he was questioned by Matthew in Denver. That's why he came back, Michaela. You're the only lady from Boston here. He came back cause he knew you were in danger." Sully took his wife's hands. "But it's all over now, Michaela. We got a weddin' comin' up and it's time to move on."

"Wedding? Oh my gosh! Sully, that reminds me, Madison's parents are expected to arrive for a visit on the 24th. Oh Sully, that's today! The house must be a mess, I'm a mess and I have no idea where Matthew or Madison are. What are we going to do?"

"Calm down Michaela, I'm sure they'll understand."

*****************
Dorothy tried to contain her smile as Brian slowly sauntered into the Gazette office.

"Mornin', Miss Dorothy. Ma said you wanted to see me?"

Trying once again to hold back her anxiousness, she lowered her voice and said, "Yes Brian. I have something rather important I need to ask you."

Cloud Dancing stood behind his wife, peering over her shoulder at the down faced boy. He, too, was anxious for Brian but had more control than his wife and was able to act nonchalantly.

"Brian, as you know, business has picked up quite a bit in these last few years and I'm finding it harder and harder to operate the Gazette while tryin' to write a certain book I never got to publish."

"You talkin' about the book you were doin' on Cloud Dancing?"

"Exactly, that's the one. I've done a lot of thinking about this and I've finally decided it's time for me to take some time for myself, do what I wanna do. Now, it don't mean that I'm givin' up the paper, what it means is that I want you to become my new editor. Think you can handle it?"

Brian's mood changed slightly. "I can handle it, but are you sure you wanna do this.?"

"I trust you completely Brian. You've come a long way from that boy I first gave a notepad and pencil to. However, there's just one catch"

Brian's smile disappeared.

"Knowin' how hard it's been for me alone, I figured you could use some help. So I've taken the liberty to hire an assistant for you. This person has just completed a year of journalism and their qualifications look absolutely perfect to me."

It was obvious by the look on Brian's face that he wasn't happy but, if it's what Miss Dorothy wanted, he'd go along with it.

Dorothy couldn't contain her excitement any longer. "Brian, I'd like you to meet your assistant editor."

Brain's mouth dropped open as, suddenly, he found himself face to face with an old friend. "Sarah?"

"Hi Brian."

********************
Michaela felt a little overwhelmed. This visit from Madison's parents couldn't have come at a worse time. But, as the train slowly came to a stop, she conceded, they were here now and everyone would just have to make the best of it. Miraculously, Madison appeared around the corner of the station, followed by the other members of the Sully family. But did the whole town have to show up? For some strange reason, people started lining the platform until there was hardly enough room for the passengers and their luggage. And, when they did start disembarking from the train, there seemed to be some confusion as to which suitcase belonged to whom. But it didn't take long for Michaela to recognize the couple who'd waited to the very last to get off. There was no doubt that this well dressed woman was Madison's Mother. In fact, if Madison was a few years older and her mother a few years younger, they'd pass for sisters, they looked so much alike. Maybe this was a good sign? Maybe her mother would be as easy going and understanding as Madison had become.

"Mother, Father!" shouted Madison, over the confusion. "Over here!" She was frantically waving her arms as they finally noticed their daughter and made their way through the crowd.

"My goodness, Madison dear, we certainly weren't expecting such a crowd. What on earth is going on?"

Madison hugged her mother and kissed her father, gently, on the cheek. "Well .... I guess they've all come to see you. Our wedding is a big event you know, Mother, and I guess they just want to be friendly. Surely you can understand?"

But Mother Montgomery looked rather frazzled as she was lead away by her daughter to the part of the platform occupied by Michaela and her family.

"Mother, Father, I'd like you to meet Colleen, Matthew's sister, and her husband, Dr. Andrew Cook. Colleen is going to be my maid of honor, Mother. Isn't that wonderful?"

"Yes dear."

"And this is Katie and her friend, Samantha Bing. Katie is Matthew's other sister and these two girls are going to be bridesmaids. This is Brian and his girlfriend, Sarah. Brian's going to be Matthew's best man. And let me see, oh yes, this is Mrs. Quinn, I mean Dr. Sully, oh dear I mean Mrs. Sully and her husband, Sully."

Mrs. Montgomery looked totally confused. "Well, which is it dear?"

"Which is what?"

"Which name is it to be, my dear?"

"Oh Mother, I'm so sorry. You can just call her Dr. Mike."

But Michaela had already extended her hand and confused the poor woman even more when she said, "Please, call me Michaela."

Somehow, Madison managed to get her parents through the crowd and waited for the rest of the family to join them.

Madison's excited chatter could be heard above all as she continued, what appeared to be, a well thought out speech to her parents. "I've booked you a room at the Chateau but, before I take you there, we'll stop at the church and you can meet Reverend Johnson. Oh, and I'll introduce you to Miss Grace, she'll be looking after the food. She's a wonderful cook, Mother, I just know you'll love her. That just about settles it. As I told you in my letter, all the plans are set and you don't have to lift a finger."

"But, what about all the things I've brought, dear? I didn't come all this way not to do this wedding up just right."

Sully shot a quick look at Michaela. "Sounds like someone else's Ma."

"Oh dear," replied Michaela.

"And your dress. Why, I had the most wonderful dress made ...." But her sentence was stopped short as she let out a horrendous scream. " Eeee!"

"Mother, what is it?"

"You tell me? It looks like a wolf and I think it's going to bite me!"

Madison giggled. "Oh Mother, that's just Sully's wolf. He won't hurt you. Now, you were about to tell me something about a dress?"

"Yes, uh..."

"Well, actually Mother, I already have a dress. I'm wearing Dr. Mike's." She glanced over at Michaela, a look of question in her eyes. "That is, if she doesn't mind?"

Michaela just smiled. She didn't quite know what to say.

Mrs. Montgomery tried to protest but Madison seemed determined as the tone of her voice suddenly became very harsh. "Mother, this is Matthew's and my wedding and we plan to do it our way. Now get in that carriage and go to the Chateau!"

"But, I thought we were going to the church, dear?"

"We can visit the Reverend and the church later!" Madison barked. "I'm sure you must be tired after your long journey."

Sully leaned in to whisper in his wife's ear. "See, now that's the way you shoulda handled Elizabeth!"

Michaela wasn't amused. She frowned back at him and went over to say good bye to the Montgomerys before the carriage whisked them away.

Madison came up beside Michaela. "I'm sorry, Dr. Mike. I was going to ask you, at a more appropriate time, but there never seems to be an good time around this town. There's always something going on."

Michaela nodded, in agreement. "Never a dull moment in Colorado Springs. Now, about the dress, are you sure you don't want to see the one your mother had made?"

"Quite sure, thank you. Mother and I have extremely different tastes in clothing and I know it will be something she loves and I hate! Besides, Colleen wore your dress and Katie will wear it, so I'd like to wear it too. It must have some kind of romantic spell on it because I truly believe that any woman who wears it will live happily ever after."

Michaela chuckled, "Well I don't know about that but I'm quite touched that you want to wear it. Of course I don't mind."

********************
Aside from Mrs. Montgomery's frightening encounter with Wolf at the train station, Michaela was quite surprised at how well both Madison's parents seemed to adjust to the unhurried pace of the small town. Although there were a few complaints about the lack of adequate facilities, it was nothing the family hadn't experienced before with Elizabeth Quinn. The visit went quite well but, when it came time for them to leave, there seemed to be an abundance of relief all around.

True, they would be returning next month for the wedding, but at least the Montgomerys would know what to expect from the Sullys, and vice versa. It would be less of a shock all around and would set a good mood for the wedding.

Michaela and Sully also agreed, no wilderness adventures or outlandish schemes that would take away from Matthew and Madi's special day. They would do their best to make sure nothing got in the way this time and, the more dull or routine life would be, the better.

******************
"Well tomorrow's the big day Matthew. Are you sure you still want to go through with it?"

"Course I do, what about you?"

"Oh, Matthew Cooper, you silly man. Do you even have to ask?" Madi threw her arms around his shoulders and pulled him, sharply, into her embrace. "I love you with all my heart and soul. I don't think I've ever wanted anything so much in my life than to become your wife. I know I can be rather foolish and pig-headed at times, but that's just the way I am. But I've never met anyone so patient and understanding as you are, Matthew, and I'll do everything in my power to make you the best darn wife anyone's ever had!"

Matthew kissed her, his full passion overflowing for his new love. "I can be every bit as foolish and pig-headed, Madi, and that's just the way I am."

She giggled. "You, pig-headed? Stubborn and outspoken and headstrong and tenacious maybe, but......"

He silenced her with another kiss. "Just wait till tomorrow night, then I'll show ya just how bad I really am."

"Why Matthew Cooper, I do declare, are you bein' fresh with me? Why, what would your Mama say if she knew you were talkin' like this and on the eve of your weddin' an' all?" She fluttered her lashes at him just as he pinched her nose.

Madi let out a little, "ouch," then broke free of his grip. She started to back away, slowly, then turned to run, making sure he was, of course, following her.

*******************
"I now pronounce you man and wife. Matthew, you may kiss your bride."

Sully reached over and wiped away a stray tear from Michaela's cheek. She knew Sully understood what she was feeling. After all, it was expected that a mother cry at her child's wedding. They'd both looked forward to this day with so much joy but, now that it was almost over, a notable sadness had set in. Matthew had never really been a child to Michaela but she always felt like she'd taken care of him all his life and, now, he was all grown up and married. But the feeling was not unexpected as she'd felt the same way when Colleen and Andrew were married. However sad or melancholy she felt right now, it would pass as she was even more grateful that Matthew had found love again. His happiness was far more important than her feelings of sadness so she would dry her eyes and celebrate along with the rest of her loving family. For it truly was a day to celebrate - freedom from the past, hope for the future and two people in love uniting as one.

Throughout the reception, Michaela and Sully stayed close, walking hand in hand as they greeted the many cheerful and elated guests.

"Oh Michaela, she's going to make a wonderful daughter-in-law. I'm so proud of Matthew."

"Thank you, Mother. We think so too."

"And the Montgomerys, such warm and generous people. Matthew has married well."

Michaela frowned at her mother but Sully tugged at her arm, coaxing her to move on before she said something she just might regret.

"Myra's lookin' good," Sully commented. "She decided yet what she's gonna do?"

"Oh Sully, I'm sorry, I meant to tell you .... she sent a telegram to her employer the other day, telling him that she quit. She's going to stay here in Colorado Springs. Apparently Preston recommended her to the new banker and he offered her a job. She's not going back to Horace but wants to make a new home for her and Samantha."

"A girl needs her Ma," Sully smiled.

"And she needs her Pa," Michaela was quick to point out.

He knew, exactly, what she meant and was just about to kiss her when the sound of Dorothy Jennings shouting, "May I have your attention, please," interrupted.

Everyone seemed quite surprised, except for Grace. She was bubbling all over like a pot of stew. She knew, exactly, what was about to happen and had already decided on what food to prepare.

Dorothy cleared her throat and brushed back a stray hair from her face. She took a moment to compose herself then, "This might seem a little inappropriate right now, and I surely don't wanna take anything away from Matthew and Madison, but frankly, it was their idea."

Matthew smiled at his new bride and held her hand up to his lips.

Dorothy continued. "You know, I always believed that the good Lord made man and woman different so's they'd get together - find each other. Havin' someone there for ya is important. I've been alone a long time and I was beginnin' to think I was gonna spend the rest of my life alone until ..... until I met Cloud Dancin'. He makes me feel like I can do anything, like I'm whole. But most of all, he makes me feel loved and that's good. Now, I ain't askin' anyone's permission to marry the man, I'm tellin' ya that he's asked ta marry me, inside my own church, and I've accepted."

Michaela looked at Sully. "That took a lot of courage for her to stand up in front of this town and say what she did. Good for her. As long as they have each other, they'll have the strength to deal with what ever happens from now on."

Sully agreed but he pointed out to his wife another situation that no one would have imagined.

"Look, over there, Michaela. Seems like, once the army takes off their uniform, they become just like the rest of us."

"Who would have thought that, one day, Terrance McKay would be dancing with someone like White Feather. I can't believe it's the same man who, at one time, hunted both you and the Indians and now, well, just look at him. Although, I can't say as I blame him. She does look beautiful today."

"Well, given her that dress was nice of you, Michaela, but I'm a little surprised she took it."

"Sully, she asked me for one, I didn't force it on her. She's come a long way these last few weeks and it hasn't been easy."

"Maybe not, but havin' Michaela Quinn for a friend sure makes it a lot easier." Gently, he lifted her chin with his hand, "Now, where were we?" Then he gave his beautiful wife the kiss he had planned before.

******************
Once all the guests had left and the newlyweds had boarded the train bound for their honeymoon, it was time for Michaela and Sully to head home. It had been a perfect day, as Matthew had expressed to both his parents before leaving.

"Where's Katie?" asked Sully as he helped his wife into the wagon.

"I had a little talk with her and told her that her parents could use some time alone. Although it didn't take much coaxing to get her to spend the night with Samantha. Poor Horace, I do believe those girls plan to stay up all night."

Sully laughed. "And your Ma, where's she spendin' the night?"

"At the Château, with the Montgomerys."

"Then I guess it's just you an' me."

"Uh huh."

Michaela was already in her nightgown when Sully came in from the barn. This was a rare opportunity to be alone with the man she loved and she planned on taking full advantage of it.

But Sully didn't pay much attention to her and simply said, "Night," as he made his way up the stairs.

Michaela felt hurt, but relentless in her task, she bounded up the stairs behind him. As she entered the bedroom, Sully was stripping away the remains of his clothing before getting into bed.

Michaela quickly got in beside him and proceeded to nibble at one of his ears, still panting from her race up the stairs. But, when Sully didn't respond, she pulled back in disappointment.

"Now I know what you meant when you said you understood Horace's feelings about striking out."

Sully looked back over his shoulder at her. She was sitting upright, with her back propped up against the headboard.

"Did you say somethin'?"

"Yes, I did. You know, I remember one time when you told me you appreciated my enthusiasm. I sure could use some 'holdin' right about now."

"I'm kinda tired, Michaela. It's been a long day."

"Well, it's no wonder you're so tired. For a man who doesn't like to dance, or sing, you must have a sore throat and a very sore pair of feet!"

"You know how it is when Loren gets ta playin' Buffalo Gal on his harmonica. Least I was dancin' and singin', that should make ya happy?"

"I can think of something I know would make me even happier," she teased, as she wrapped one of her arms about his waist.

But she became even more disappointed when he replied, "But Michaela, it ain't even dark yet."

Suddenly it came to her and she leapt from the bed. As she pulled the drape across in front of one of the windows, she whispered, "But it's getting darker." And, without batting an eye, she raced over to the other window and, after pulling it's drape across, she said, "and darker."

Sully started to laugh. "Come to bed, Mrs. Quinn."

Michaela swayed her hips back and forth as she slowly made her way across the room to the bed.

"Am I just a feather in your cap, Mr. Sully?"

"What makes ya say that?"

"Oh, I don't know, the fact that a certain Mountain Man took a prominent woman doctor from Boston as a wife. That has to be worth something out here, wouldn't you say?"

"Now you're bein' silly."

"Silly? All right then, if that's what you think, I have another idea I've been thinking about."

Now she'd peaked his interest but still had no idea that he'd been playing her game all along and had no intentions of going to sleep. But she was amusing him for the moment and he had to know what else she had up her sleeve. "Well, let's hear it."

"What would you think if I decided to change my name, after all?"

"Does this have somethin' to do with the mix up at the train station?"

"Sort of but I've been thinking it might be easier if I just became Mrs. Sully, ending all confusion for everyone. There's just one problem and I don't think you're going to like it."

Sully didn't like the sound of this but he had to ask, "What's that?"

"Well, if I change my name then you'll have to wear a ring and people will have to start calling you Byron instead of Sully. After all, how would it sound if we were introduced as Sully and Mrs. Sully?"

"You don't need to change your name and I still ain't wearin' a ring."

"Why not?"

"Cause I don't wanna wear no ring. But I will tell ya what I do want."

"And what might that be?"

"I sure could use some holdin'."

"Oh I see, so now you want some holding, do you? Well, if that's what you want, Mr. Sully, then you'll have to come and get it yourself."

Sully had just about enough of her games. He couldn't hold back his urgent need for his wife one minute longer. He crept over to her with the prowess of a cat, slowly and carefully approaching its prey. But she remained steadfast and rigid, obviously needing a little encouragement which he had all intentions of giving her.

He began very slowly by sliding his hand up her leg until it reached her now quivering thigh. But he paused only briefly, content that she was finally showing signs of giving in to his touch. With full confidence in his ability to excite his wife, he continued his movement upward until he reached the uppermost part of her gown and gently touched the tip of her breast. He could feel her body begin to relax and knew it wouldn't be long before she'd be fully taken in by his sensuous approach. But he was surprised when she suddenly started to talk, in an obviously shaky tone.

"I'm glad Mother agreed to stay at the Chateau. Mrs. Montgomery does tend to prattle on and I'm relieved Mother is quite happy to listen. Why she almost talked my ear off last night, going on about things that I have absolutely no interest in whatsoever. Frankly, I thought she'd never stop. Her poor husband, I don't doubt that he'll look forward to the day when he loses his hearing. It must be awful, living with someone that chatters on the way that woman does. I don't think I've ever met anyone who could find so much to say about nothing, have you Sully?"

"Yep," he replied as his lips came down on hers. Byron Sully had heard enough talk. It was time to silence his wife's chatter and make love to her. This was, after all, what they both really wanted right now.

*******************

...Buffalo gal won't ya come out tonight,
come out tonight,
come out tonight.
Buffalo gal won't ya come out tonight
and dance by the light of the moon....

The End

...On behalf of Sandi and myself, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank our loyal readers for being so supportive and generous with their welcomed comments and e-mails. We only hope that you have enjoyed reading the last of our fan fic stories as much as we've enjoyed writing it. At this time we have no future plans to write any more Dr. Quinn fan fic stories. However, as the expression goes, 'Never Say Never'.

Again, we thank you all from the bottom of our hearts.

...Sandi 99 and Jean McQuaid