Thanks to those of you continuing to follow this story – I hope you like it!

Thanks also to my newest reviewer Lisa! You've picked up on my little mistakes that I know are there and I need to fix (pubic to public / headlights to lamplights) There's probably loads more too but thanks for the reviews!

Any dialogue in this chapter from the episode Legend that I've woven into this story doesn't belong to me.

April 2nd 1873

Preston and Rebecca didn't speak for the best part of three days beyond the familial niceties of "please pass the salt" or "I'll be home by seven." Rebecca's anger knew no limit and every time she thought on what had happened, she only found herself becoming more and more incensed. Indeed, she was surprised at her own capability for silence, for there were moments when she would have liked nothing more than to scream at him. Preston, on the other hand, appeared to be emitting waves of hurt as opposed to anger and she could only assume that it had been her comment about not liking him that rankled. So be it, she thought to herself, every word I said was true. He made no attempt to initiate conversation either and any time she caught his eye he would simply look away. He took to spending the evenings in his study instead of with her and the greater the distance between them grew, the less inclined she felt to attempt to close it.

On the evening of the third day, as she was climbing the stairs to bed, she felt the old, familiar sensations washing over her. She could feel her heartbeat start to quicken and then slow, could feel the darkness creeping into her senses and the world spinning on its axis. Gripping onto the banister, she prayed to remain standing, her other hand going instinctively to her stomach, as though to protect her child within. She thought about calling for Preston, but he had been in his study, oblivious to what was happening and so she had simply brought herself under control as quickly as she could and stumbled up to bed where a dose of digitalis had seen her slowly return to normal. By the time Preston had come to bed, there was no sign that anything had been amiss and, as was now customary, she simply continued to read her book whilst he undressed, eventually turning off the lamp when he offered her a cursory, "Good night."

The next morning when she opened her eyes, however, she could sense that something lingered from the evening's attack. As she pulled herself into a seated position, she immediately felt dizzy and decided, therefore, that she wouldn't rise along with her husband, but would wait in bed until he had left for work. If Preston thought this to be odd, he made no comment. Once he was dressed she heard him go downstairs and, ten minutes or so later, heard the sound of the door closing and Thunder's hooves cantering away. It was only then that she elected to get up and, taking her time, made her way downstairs to the kitchen to prepare some breakfast. As she descended the last step, and began moving across the floor towards the kitchen, she suddenly felt her heartbeat slow again. It seemed so loud in her ears, muffling out any other sound and, before she could stop herself, she fell as everything went black.

XXXX

Preston wasn't in the best of moods. Three days of silence between himself and Rebecca and she showed no signs of backing down. When he replayed their argument back in his mind, it only confirmed his belief that he had been right. She didn't understand the stresses that came with running a bank and the positions he often found himself in. It was all very well for Rebecca to take the view that threatening the Sully homestead was wrong, but how long had she expected him to wait? Her comment about not liking him still stung when he pictured her face. He was under no illusions that when they first met her opinion of him was low, but to think that it still remained that way after everything that had happened between them...

A soft cough from the young man standing at the front desk of the bank brought him out of his reverie. That morning, he had a new clerk starting work, Thomas Gormley. Gormley by name and somewhat gormless by nature, he couldn't help but think. The man looked as though he wouldn't say boo to a goose and Preston had his reservations about his suitability for the role. But his parents were nice people and customers of the bank, so he was prepared to give the young man a chance.

"You should know Mr Gormley, that this is a reputable institution, managing all the assets of this town. By coming to work here you'll be taking responsibility for the next generation of its citizens. Will you be able to accept that?" Thomas nodded silently. "Now as my father said to me, do not lift the load unless you are prepared to carry it the distance. Now you must ask yourself, am I prepared to carry the load? Well, speak up. Are you?" Before Thomas could reply, the door of the bank swung open and four men appeared. The first thing Preston noticed was that they were all armed, in clear violation of Colorado Springs law. "Gentlemen," he said as brightly as he could. "May I help you?"

The biggest one stepped forwards and pointed the gun at him. "You can start by opening the safe. Move, now."

The welcoming smile faded from Preston's face as he looked down the barrel of the revolver. Instantly, he wished that there was a gun under the desk, but since the law had been passed banning anyone from carrying a firearm in town, he had been forced to relinquish it. As one of the men appeared at his back, he walked slowly over to the safe and began dialling the combination, all the time wondering if there was something he could do to delay matters.

"Hurry up!" one of them said, tossing a sack at him which he obediently began to fill.

"Now, walk nice and easy to the back," the first man said when he was finished and Preston felt his arm being grabbed before he was pushed towards the back room. As he did as he was bidden, he couldn't help but be grateful that Rebecca wasn't there. When he heard the shot, however, he almost wished she was.

XXXX

Rebecca had no idea how long she had been unconscious, but when she woke to find herself lying on the floor, the first thing she felt was a sharp pain in her temple. Reaching up and drawing back her fingers, she saw they were crimson red and, with great effort, she pulled herself to her feet and stumbled to the nearest mirror. Her reflection showed a face completely devoid of colour and a small gash just above her eyebrow where she had obviously struck the sideboard.

"Damn," she swore softly to herself before making her way into the kitchen to retrieve a compress and make herself some tea. As the kettle whistled on the stove she sat at the table, a clean cloth pressed against her head, replaying the events of the last few days over in her mind. Her attacks were increasing again but what she didn't know...couldn't be sure of...was whether or not they were related to her pregnancy or if it was due to the stress of fighting with Preston. She thought about hitching her mare to the surrey and travelling into town to speak with Michaela, but then she was reminded of the embarrassing conversation that had taken place at the clinic earlier in the week and knew she was in no position to face her friend yet. To have tried to defend him and then to be told...she sighed and closed her eyes as the memory only made her head throb more.

Slowly she rose to her feet and moved back across to the mirror. Removing the cloth showed that the bleeding had stopped, leaving only a small cut which, to her untrained eye, wouldn't require any further medical attention. There would be no need for her to ride to Michaela's, no need for anyone to know what had happened.

No, she reassured herself, the best thing to do is to just keep it to yourself.

XXXX

As Preston made his way back to the bank from the telegraph office, he saw a number of the townsfolk had gathered outside Michaela's clinic, no doubt waiting to see if Matthew was going to be all right. In his mind, he replayed the moment that he had heard the gunshot then, seconds later, heard Michaela shout for help. When he and Mr Gormley had made their way out of the back room, the first thing he had seen was Matthew lying on the ground, blood pouring from a bullet wound in his shoulder. Though human nature had obviously caused concern for the other man, he had been more disheartened by the empty safe.

"Anyone get a look at the ones who done it?" he heard Loren ask as he approached.

"I saw them, they're known as the Sterritt gang," he said. "I just made some enquiries. Apparently these outlaws have been robbing banks all along the Santa Fe trail. A one thousand dollar reward has been issued for their capture."

Hank looked up from where he had been studying his boot. "A thousand dollars?"

"Dozens of marshals, sheriffs and bounty hunters have been tracking them for months now."

"Well I hope they catch them soon," Dorothy said.

"They should have been caught today in my bank!" Preston raged. "They would have been if this town had a sheriff."

"This town has a sheriff," Sully replied.

"A real sheriff, Sully. One that's capable of doing the job! What would have happened if there had been more people in the bank? What if someone had tried to take the robbers on? What if Rebecca had been there? My wife! Or indeed, your own. Had Matthew been armed, things might have ended very differently!"

"Exactly," Sully said, "there could have been even more bloodshed. Folks could have been hurt much worse than Matthew. Killed even."

"Well that would hardly have been a misfortune," Preston said, turning away. "If people like that go around robbing banks then they have to expect and deal with the consequences!"

"And what are you going to do?" Hank taunted. "Teach them a lesson?"

Preston paused. "Well it doesn't look as if our own sheriff is going to do it, does it?"

XXXX

Rebecca had just finished clearing up the kitchen when she heard the sound of a fast approaching horse and, to her surprise, saw Preston riding up to the house. He slid down quickly and hurried up the front steps, throwing open the door and causing it to slam back on itself.

"What on earth's going on?" she demanded.

"The bank was robbed!" he declared.

"What?!"

"Four men walked right in and held it up! Took everything out of the safe and just rode away! Needless to say our Sheriff did little to assist the situation, given that he was unarmed and ended up getting himself shot!"

"Matthew!" Rebecca exclaimed, stepping forwards. "Is he all right?"

"Michaela took the bullet out," Preston replied, somewhat petulantly. "I believe he's going to be fine."

"Well, are you all right? Were you hurt?" she moved towards him again but he simply held up his hands and she paused.

"I'm here for a change of clothes and then I'm going after them."

"Going after who?"

"The bank robbers, Rebecca, who else? They're called the Sterritt gang and there's a thousand dollar reward for their capture. Clearly I can't rely on the law in this town to protect my money and I'm not prepared to sit by and let them continue to do this to other bankers, so I'll simply have to..." he paused and frowned. "What happened to your head?"

Rebecca touched the wound self-consciously, cursing herself for not concealing it better. "Nothing, I tripped and struck it off of the door earlier this morning."

"Tripped?" he echoed, disbelievingly. "Did you have an attack?"

"No..."

"You did, didn't you?" he stepped towards her.

"Preston, I'm fine."

"You had an attack!"

"Repeating it over and over won't make it any truer!" she snapped back. "Yes, I had an attack! I had one last night on the way to bed too, if you must know, and I've felt poorly most of today!"

"And you didn't feel the need to tell me any of this?"

"Why should I?" she raised her chin defiantly. "You haven't seen fit to speak to me these last few days. Why should I consider you would be in the least bit concerned?"

"I haven't...?" he stopped. "Fine. Have it your own way." He turned and hurried up the stairs to where she could hear him banging around in the bedroom. Minutes later, he reappeared having changed and carrying a bed roll and full saddlebags. "I don't know how long I'll be gone for. I would caution you to take care of yourself and our child but if neither are my concern..."

"That isn't what I said..."

"Goodbye Rebecca."

"Preston..." Before she could say anything more, he was out of the door and cantering away.

XXXX

God that woman is so infuriating! Preston thought to himself for the hundredth time as he tightened Thunder's girth outside of the livery. The way she stood there and told me it was none of my concern...He paused as his horse whinnied in protest and loosened the leather a notch. He was beginning to wonder if he knew her at all anymore. Clearly, they were back to a situation where she hid her attacks from him. Suddenly, he caught sight of Michaela and Sully heading towards him, pushing Katie in her pram. He felt a churning in his stomach as it wasn't lost on him that he and Rebecca would soon be in a similar situation, if all remained well.

"The town council will want to appoint a temporary sheriff," Michaela was saying.

"I'll keep an eye on things for him," Sully replied. "Just until he gets better."

"You, Sully?" Preston said, unable to help himself. "You don't strike me as the sheriff type."

"Like I said, Preston, it's only temporary.

"But while you're keeping an eye on things, will you be prepared to assume the responsibility that comes with the office? Because that's what this town needs. Someone who is prepared to do whatever is necessary to get the job done."

"Matthew did that," Sully said quietly. "He put himself in harm's way and faced down four armed men."

"And a lot of good it did him too," Preston replied. "Or my bank for that matter."

"Preston?! Here, I got this rifle you were looking for!" Loren hurried over to join them and passed Preston the firearm. "Ain't she a beauty? 52 calibre sharps! Knock a buffalo clean off its feet at a thousand yards!"

Preston held the weapon up. "It'll do nicely."

"You planning on going after those outlaws?" Sully asked.

"That's right."

"By yourself?" Michaela asked.

"I'd ask the sheriff to come along but I doubt he's fit for travel."

"Don't you think you should be staying home?" Sully asked. "What with Rebecca being close to her time?"

Preston pursed his lips, "She still has two months of her confinement left. Besides, Rebecca is more than capable of taking care of herself as she has demonstrated valiantly these last few days." He swung himself into the saddle, clicked his tongue and pushed Thunder past them.

XXXX

Tears did her no good. They simply exhausted her and made her head feel thick and fuzzy. As she lay on the bed, sobbing into the pillow, she wished she could have those earlier moments back. She shouldn't have said what she did when he came home, shouldn't have suggested that her health and that of their baby was none of his concern.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" she shouted at herself. "You should have told him yesterday!" And now he was out there, somewhere, chasing dangerously armed bank robbers. If something were to happen, the last memory she would have would be of his anger.

Eventually, her eyes grew tired and sore. There seemed to be no tears left, the light was fading and her stomach was telling her that she should eat something. With great effort, she climbed off of the bed and, swaying slightly, made her way to the door. Her body felt heavy, every movement of every limb felt like it required a supreme effort and, as she approached the top of the stairs, her vision started to blur. She paused, wondering if it might be a better idea to go back to bed but then she reasoned that she could be on her own for some time and if she couldn't reach the kitchen, she would surely starve. Holding onto the wall, she carefully put one foot in front of the other and began descending down. As she did so, she felt her chest tighten painfully and the familiar sound of her damaged heart roared in her ears. Fast and then slow, then slower and slower until by the time she reached the bottom step, the silence between beats appeared deafening.

There was digitalis in the drawer if she could only get to it. But as she moved away from the step, she felt as though she were going to faint again. Gripping onto what she could, she slid down the wall onto her bottom.

April 3rd 1873

It seemed as though the whole town had turned out to welcome them back, Preston thought as he and Hank trailed behind Matthew, Michaela, Sully and the newly captured Sterritt gang. From being so close to capturing them himself to being accosted by Matthew and Sully and handcuffed to a tree...he closed his eyes and shook his head distastefully at the memory. It didn't seem to matter what situation arose, they always managed to somehow get the better of him. Even when it came to Rebecca. Oh she was his wife and carrying his child... but it wasn't lost on him that, right now, she was on their side over the business with the homestead.

As he heard the accolades and congratulations that the townsfolk were showering the younger man with, Preston couldn't help but feel a slight grudging respect for what Matthew had done. Only slight though. There was no way he wanted anyone to know that his feelings were anything other than contemptuous.

"Preston?" he looked up to see that Michaela had pulled alongside him. "Do you want me to take a look at your arm? You took quite a knock earlier."

"No thank you," he replied, not wanting to be reminded about that moment either. "It's not hurting anymore. Besides, I've fallen off plenty of times before."

"I know, but..."

"I said I'm fine!" he insisted. "I would like to go home and see my wife."

"Of course," Michaela replied. "Give Rebecca my best."

Breaking off from the group, Preston turned Thunder homewards, dreaming about the hot bath he was going to enjoy when he got there. In contrast to what he had told Michaela, his arm was still hurting, striking it as he had done on a tree stump when Thunder had spooked at a squirrel and thrown him. The last thing he knew he could bear, however, was having to ask her to do anything about it. If it still hurt in the morning, he would have Andrew look at it at the hotel.

As he approached the house, he was surprised to see that all the curtains were open so early, yet there was no sign of any light from within. Dismounting, he tied Thunder to the fence and wearily climbed the stairs to the door. Opening it, he stepped inside the semi-darkened room and tossed his coat over a chair. "Rebecca?" There was no reply and, dropping his bed roll on the floor, he moved over to the stove only to find the coffee pot was unwelcomingly cold. "Rebecca?"

At first, he didn't see her, but as he turned towards the table, he suddenly caught sight of her slumped on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. "What are you doing?" When she looked at him, he drew his breath in sharply at the pallor of her complexion and the fact that she appeared to be having difficulty breathing. "Rebecca!" Instantly, he rushed to her side, blanching at how cold she was to the touch.

"Preston..." she gasped fearfully clutching his hands in her own. "I...I can't get up..."