Hey guys! Sorry it's been so long, but have been having real probs with this story. I'm just not getting into as much as others and at one point considered scrapping it and starting again. But will keep going and would appreciate any tips or ideas from anyone as to what should happen next. Have an idea for next couple of chapters, but always open to suggestions. Enjoy!

As the sun came up over Colorado Springs, Frank was already at the bank coming up with a cunning plan. If Emma Jane was too proud to accept his money, then he would make sure she got it another way. He opened an account in the name of Miss Brown and deposited five dollars. He wrote it up in the books, just like he was supposed to, and then put the money in the bank safe, until he figured out a way to give it to her. As he closed the bank books, he looked out of the window onto the deserted street and sighed heavily. This was the best way of doing it, the best way of helping her and easing his own conscience. Not that it should be his conscience he should be trying to salve. But he was the only one who would.

Whenever he saw her worried face, he felt guilty. Guilty about all the pain and suffering she was experiencing with her son. She didn't deserve it, and neither did Hank, even if he had thought the other man was going to attack him.The door flew open and Preston stalked in, seemingly caught off guard by the sight of his colleague.

"Frank! You're here early. That's what I like to see." He thumped the table, "Dedication and enthusiasm. That's what I knew you'd bring to this place!" he grinned, "now, do you fancy some breakfast at Grace's? I managed to give Sarah the slip this morning."

'How sad,' Frank thought, but he merely smiled and replied, "Why not?"

SSSS

Emma Jane lay in bed staring at the ceiling, unable to move due to the weight of Hank's body lying across her own. She had been awake for nearly an hour, but hadn't managed to shift her husband, so she had resigned herself to just lying there, listening to the rhythmic sound of his breathing.

She had been so afraid when he had gone after Frank. Afraid that he would hurt himself, or Frank, and afraid that he would see in her eyes some of what she felt for the other man. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to get hurt because of her.

Hank grunted and shifted his position, freeing her from his grip. Sliding out of bed, she walked to the window and looked out, in time to see Frank and Preston leave the bank and make their way towards Grace's. As they passed, Frank glanced up at the window and Emma Jane stepped back quickly, feeling almost naked in her flannel nightdress.

"Hey," Hank said from the bed, causing her to turn around, "now there's a sight."

"A fright you mean," she replied, reaching for her hairbrush and starting to comb out the tangles.

"No, I don't," he replied, crawling to the edge of the bed to where she was sitting and putting his arms around her waist, "I think yer beautiful."

"You're just pleased you've got your…well, you know…back," she replied wriggling out of his grip, "You certainly showed me enough last night."

"I did, didn't I?" he grinned at her in the mirror, "Didn't hear ya complaining neither."

"No," she replied truthfully, "I wasn't complaining."

"Always said it, Emma Jane," he told her, climbing out of bed, his energy seemingly renewed, "Yer just as wild and wicked as the women who charge fer it." With that, he left the bedroom, leaving her alone to stare at her reflection.

As she combed her hair, she imagined herself, not sitting in a room in a hotel in Colorado Springs, but in a huge house in New York, her children running around happily, Frank waiting for her…it would be a completely different life.

"Ma!" Victoria burst into the room, jolting Emma Jane from her reverie.

"What is it?" she asked irritably, returning her attention to her hair.

"It's my play tonight," Victoria told her.

"What play?"

"The one I'm playing the lead in," Victoria replied, a note of hurt in her voice, "It's about the girl who gets lost…"

"Vicky, sweetheart, I really don't have time right now," Emma Jane stood up and moved to her wardrobe.

"But, it's tonight," Victoria insisted, "and yer comin' ain't ya?"

"It's 'aren't you' not 'ain't ya,'" Emma Jane corrected her mechanically, "and yes I'll be there as long as Will's all right."

Victoria's face fell, but she didn't say anything and left the room quietly. Emma Jane pulled on her blue dress and some shoes and twisted her hair up into a bun. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she could see a blush tinting her cheeks.

It was true, she was becoming a scarlet woman, in thought if not in deed.

SSSS

"You want a cigar with that?" Loren looked at Hank, "Hank?"

"What?" Hank looked back at his friend, jolted from his thoughts.

"Said, do you want a cigar with that?" Loren repeated

"Sure."

"What's with you?" the older man asked, lifting one of the Cubans from the pile and putting it on top of the box of supplies, "Bin in a dream since you walked in here."

Hank didn't reply that he had been watching Frank Williams from the window of the shop as he stood in the street talking with Preston. Ever since the revelation of the previous day that he had kissed Emma Jane, Hank had thought about how gratifying it would be to pummel that good looking banker's face into the ground. But despite his usual propensity to seek violence head on, he had deliberately decided to shy away from confrontation with Frank, for Emma Jane's sake if nothing else. Part of him understood why she had kissed him and felt guilt for perhaps playing some part in driving her to it. But another part of him felt white hot anger and he had to fight hard to control the urge to punch the posh upstart.

"You ain't listenin' to a word I'm sayin' are you?" Loren said angrily, "Don't know why I bother."

"Sorry, Loren," he dragged his attention back, "how much do I owe ya?"

"I'll put it on the tab," Loren waved his hand, "Git out 'fore ya start scarin' off my other customers."

Hank lifted the box and made his way out of the shop. Frank looked over as he appeared, but Preston kept on talking and eventually, he turned back to his conversation. Hank walked across to the Gold Nugget and pushed open the door with his back. Inside, there were a few people sitting drinking, but in the whole, the place was quiet.

Emma Jane, who was cleaning glasses behind the bar, stepped forward to take the box from him but he waved her away, "Place is quiet."

"Yes," she replied quietly, looking around, "more people checked out this morning." She sighed heavily, "We've only got around four guests left."

"It'll be ok," he reassured her with mock cheerfulness, walking towards the kitchen.

She followed him, "I wish you would stop saying that."

"Sayin' what?"

"That we're going to be ok. We're not at this rate."

"Will ya stop goin' on about it!" he thumped the box down on the table, "can't ya think about anythin' else?"

"No, I can't!" she snapped, "because someone has to!" She turned her back on him and folded her arms, "this is our livelihood, Hank, and I'm seriously wondering if it wasn't a huge mistake to build this hotel. We should just have stayed with the saloon. It's the hotel that's dragging us down."

"Ya said ya wanted bigger and better things."

"No, I didn't," she rounded on him, "I did not say it like that!"

"A'right, ya didn't. But ya didn't say no when Jake and I was discussin' it."

She didn't reply. It was true, she hadn't objected, eager to create something for her family. The saloon had been her home, the first place he had ever brought her, but there had seemed nothing wrong in expanding. She had often thought about suggesting it, but had known they could never have afforded it without Jake's backing.

"Ya were all for it," Hank continued.

"I did try to say when Preston was planning his hotel that it might not be such a good idea, but neither of you wanted to listen."

"Don't remember ya sayin' that," Hank lit his cigar.

"Of course you don't. You only remember what you want to remember and you only hear what you want to hear." She began unpacking the groceries, "You men are all the same."

Hank decided to change the subject, "It's Victoria's play tonight."

"So she keeps reminding me," Emma Jane sighed.

"Why ya so hard on her?" he meant the question innocently, but Emma Jane immediately grew angry.

"What in God's name are you talking about?" she demanded, putting her hands on her hips, "I'm not hard on her at all. I treat her exactly the same…" she broke off, remembering a similar conversation with her daughter a few weeks earlier. She sat down heavily at the kitchen table, "She thinks I favour Will."

"Do ya?" Hank asked.

"How can you even ask me that?" she turned wounded eyes on him.

"Tell the truth."

"Doing that seems to get a lot of people into trouble," she observed. "Maybe I do favour him, but it's only because I worry about him, because he's ill and…"

"Can't treat him like an invalid the rest of his life. Gotta let him live."

"I do let him live!"

"Ya gotta remember that Victoria's yer daughter even if she ain't sick."

"Are you suggesting that I'm neglecting my daughter?" Emma Jane got to her feet and faced him, her eyes flashing.

"Nope," Hank grinned at her, "but ya wonder where she gits her temper from? I'd say it's from her Ma."

Emma Jane allowed herself a small smile, "I take your point."

"So, ya'll be at the play then," Hank concluded.

"I never said I wouldn't go," she protested, "but yes, I'll be at the play."

SSSS

Preston was sitting in the bank looking through the books when he caught sight of a new account that he hadn't noticed before. It was in the name of Miss Brown and contained twenty-five dollars. He stared at the spidery handwriting which he recognised as Frank's, and thought hard as to who he knew in town with the name Brown.

It came to him like a thunderbolt. Emma Jane Lawson. How on earth had she managed to deposit twenty-five dollars and why hadn't she put it in her married name? All manner of devious schemes came alight in Preston's mind. Clearly, this was an account that Emma Jane didn't want Hank to know about. Now why could that be?

The door of the bank opened and Frank came in. His brow was creased.

"Everything all right?" Preston greeted him heartily.

"What? Oh yes, fine," Frank replied sitting down at his desk.

"I happened to be looking through the account ledgers," Preston started, "and I noticed a new account. In the name of Miss Brown?"

Frank felt a ripple of unease move through him, "Yes, I opened it this morning."

"And deposited twenty-five dollars?"

"Yes."

"May I ask how Mrs Lawson managed to deposit twenty-five dollars?"

Frank looked up, "Mrs Lawson?"

"She's the only Miss Brown in Colorado Springs."

"What Mrs Lawson does is private, Preston, you know that."

"I'm the bank manager!" Preston laughed, "new accounts must go through me."

"I apologise," Frank said, "I assumed you would be grateful for custom."

"Of course, but forgive me if I question where Mrs Lawson acquired twenty-five dollars."

"It's her own money," Frank said, "and she wanted to place it in an account that isn't connected with the Gold Nugget."

"I see," Preston said. He turned back to what he was doing, but the thought that Emma Jane Lawson possessed that amount of money was very interesting indeed.

SSSS

"I'm ready, Ma!" Victoria ran up to Emma Jane, her little face alight with excitement, "I'm ready to go!"

Emma Jane was sweeping the front steps of the hotel and turned to her daughter, "I can see that," she grinned at her daughter, "I'm looking forward to seeing you in the play."

"You're coming then?" Victoria asked.

"Of course I'm coming," Emma Jane continued sweeping, "We'll go in ten minutes, ok?"

"Ok," Victoria ran back into the hotel, just as Preston came up the steps.

"Good afternoon, Emma Jane," he touched his hat.

"Preston," Emma Jane returned the greeting, but continued with her task.

"You'll be heading over to the school soon," he observed casually.

"Yes," she replied, "Victoria's the lead in the play."

"That's wonderful," Preston said, "I wondered if I might speak with you for a moment."

"What about?"

"Frank told me that you deposited twenty-five dollars in a new account this morning."

Emma Jane stopped what she was doing, "I beg your pardon?"

Preston smiled, "You look surprised."

"I…" Emma Jane fought for words, "I…"

"It's a simple enough enquiry and, being the manager, it's important that I know about all my customers."

"Yes, I deposited the money," Emma Jane thought quickly.

"In your maiden name?"

"Yes."

"May I ask why?"

"It's my money, I can do with it what I please," she told him, meeting his gaze.

"I just find it odd that you've decided to open a personal account now when you and Hank have always banked together."

"Preston," Emma Jane stepped forward and lowered her voice, "you may be the bank manager, but I don't have to give you every graphic detail as to how I live my life and handle my affairs. So I would ask you please, to mind your own business."

Preston stepped back, "I see. If that's how you wish to play it…" he walked away without finishing his sentence and Emma Jane felt herself sag with the expulsion of tension from her body.

It had to be Frank. It could only have been Frank. How could he? How could he? She stomped back into the hotel where Hank was standing with Victoria.

"Ready to go?" he asked her.

"What?" she asked distractedly.

"To the play, Emma Jane," he reminded her pointedly.

"Where's Will?" she asked.

"He's fine," he told her, "Got a bit of a cough but…"

"A cough?" she latched onto this, anything to drag her mind away from Frank.

"It's nothin'," Hank told her, "Mandy said she'd keep an eye on him."

"I can't leave him if he's sick," Emma Jane said, heading for the stairs.

"Emma!" Hank grabbed her arm and pulled her back, "Ya said ya would go to the play. Vicky's countin' on you being there." He kept his voice low so his daughter wouldn't hear, "Will's fine."

"If he's sick, I can't leave him," she repeated stubbornly. Preston and Sarah would no doubt be at the play. She didn't want to look at him after the conversation they had just had. He must suspect something.

"Yer comin' and that's all there is to it," Hank told her.

"Don't tell me what to do," she snapped, "since when have you been Father of the Year?"

Hank stepped back, "Fine. Stay here by yerself. I gotta get my daughter to the play 'fore she's late. But we're gonna have words later." He shot her a meaningful look as he steered Victoria out of the hotel. She looked back and shot her mother an angry glare as they left.

Sighing, Emma Jane went upstairs and into Will's room where he was sitting on the floor playing with Mandy. "Mandy, why don't you and the girls go to the play?" she said.

"I don't mind lookin' after Will," Mandy said, "You should go to the play."

"I'm not feeling up to it," Emma Jane said, "On you go, all of you."

"If you're sure…" Mandy said doubtfully.

"Of course, go on." Mandy got up and left the room. Emma Jane listened as she and the girls left the hotel until there was quiet. There were only two guests staying there now and both were two old spinsters who were in bed and asleep very early.

"How are you feeling?" Emma Jane asked her son.

"Fine," he replied solemnly.

"Would you like some supper?" He nodded, "Ok. I'll go and make you something." Emma Jane got up and made her way downstairs to the kitchen to make Will some soup. As she stood at the counter, she saw him out of the window, and was suddenly overtaken by an anger spurred on by guilt. Throwing open the door of the hotel, she stormed outside, "How dare you!"

Frank turned to look at her, "I'm sorry?"

"Don't come the innocent with me," she continued, "I know it was you that gave us that money!"

He hurried towards her, "Let's not do this in the street."

Emma Jane turned and stormed back inside. Frank followed her and closed the door behind them. She turned and faced him, her arms folded across her chest, "What gave you the right…?"

"I'm trying to help you, Emma Jane."

"I told you, I don't want your help. Hank and I are managing fine. We don't need your money and we don't want your money. So I want you to take it back."

Frank shook his head, "I can't do that."

"Yes you can. Take the money out and close the account and we'll forget it ever happened."

"Why are you so averse to taking it?"

"Why are you so keen to give me it?"

"I just want you to be happy," Frank said, his look pleading with her.

"I am happy. With my husband," she told him firmly, "And I don't want the money."

"Emma Jane…" he stepped forward towards her, but she jumped back.

"Don't!" she responded sharply, "don't come near me."

Frank stepped back and swallowed hard, "I'm not taking the money back. It'll stay in the account. If you want it, you can take it. If you don't, it'll stay there."

"I won't take it."

"That's your choice," he moved back to the door, "I care a lot about you, Emma Jane."

"Don't," she repeated, but it was softer this time.

"I know that you know that," he continued, "you know how I feel…"

"You don't know anything!" she shouted at him, "You don't even know me! You haven't been here for everything that has happened in my life! You haven't been here and Hank has. He's my husband and I love him and we've been through so much together! You can't just come in here and think you can change all that!"

"I wouldn't presume that I could."

"Then please…" she begged, "please, please stop this, because I can't handle it!"

"Fine," he said, his voice catching slightly, "if you want me to leave you alone I will. But the money stays." He turned and opened the door, "I'm sorry if I've hurt you."

Emma Jane turned her back on him and when she heard the door close, she burst into tears. She sobbed for what seemed like hours before she finally managed to regain her control and wipe her eyes.

She heard the sound of the door swing open, but she didn't turn around. Why had he come back? "Frank, please…" She broke off as she felt the cold barrel of a gun press against the back of her head.

"Don't move," the voice said, "give me the money."

"I don't have any," she replied quickly.

"Give me the takings," he said, more urgently, "and don't turn around."

With the gun still pressed against her, Emma Jane moved slowly towards the drawer where the cash was kept. He followed her, his body so close to her that she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. With trembling fingers, she opened the cash drawer and pulled out the bag containing the money.

"Ya know," he said, leaning in close to her ear, "Yer even more beautiful than ya were then."

And that was when she recognised the voice. That mocking tone with a trace of hot desire. It came flooding back to her like a bad memory, the way he had smiled at her, tipped his hat, watched her over her glass and then, when she had been least expecting it, grabbed her from behind and forced himself inside her.

"It's you," she breathed, her voice shaking, "You…"

"Ma?" At that moment, Will appeared at the door of the bar, his expression wide-eyed as he saw the strange man holding a gun to his mother's head.

"Go back upstairs," Emma Jane said as calmly as she could, "It's all right, Will, go back upstairs."

"Hello, Will," the man said, drawing out the name.

"Go upstairs!" Emma Jane's tone was sharper now, "Leave him alone," she lowered her voice to address her attacker.

"Don't think so," he said, "come over here, Will."

"No, leave him alone!" Emma Jane made to move towards her son, but the man grabbed her and pulled her back against him, causing her to gasp sharply.

"Ma? Who's the man?" Will looked close to tears.

"I said, come here," he said, his tone growing more menacing. "Come here!"

Instead of obeying, Will bolted back the way he had come. The man moved to go after him, but Emma Jane threw herself in his way, "No! Leave him alone!" She made eye contact with him for the first time since that night, those cold eyes looking into hers, "Please," she begged, "please, he's only a child!"

"An' he can still talk!" he growled. Throwing her to one side, he took off up the stairs in pursuit of Will.

Emma Jane scrambled to her feet and chased after him, her mind focused on one thing only; protecting her son from this monster. When she reached the top of the stairs, she heard the man yelling. She ran into the bedroom, in time to see Will disappear out of the window, and her attacker raise his gun to shoot him.

"No!" she screamed, throwing herself at the man, knocking him off balance, "Will, run!" She felt herself being dragged back by her hair and then tasted blood as the muzzle of the gun hit her squarely in the face. Stunned, she lay on her back on the floor, the ceiling swimming in front of her eyes. Then, he appeared above her, his face inches from her own. His hands suddenly wrapped around her throat and she couldn't breathe. Flailing wildly, she tried to scratch him, clawing at the hands that were cutting off her oxygen. But he was too strong for her and blackness overtook her.