Author's Notes

Hiya guys! Thank you all for your reviews and kind words of reassurance on the previous chapter, I am just happy that you have all enjoyed the story so far. So, this chapter is one I have worked on for quite some time and things are about to get tense. I did have a moment of sudden doubt with this one, but thanks to a good friend who gave it an enthusiastic thumbs up, it is now here for you all to read. I hope you like it.

Chapter 15

On Monday the following week, Adam was having a bad day. He had been out looking for strays in some rough country and it seemed that all the most cantankerous steers of the Ponderosa had conspired against him, making the job of rounding them up as hard as possible. It had taken him four hours to do what should have taken two and the scorching heat had done nothing to soothe his taut nerves. When Hoss had gently pointed out to him that he'd miscounted a group of strays which had been brought in by some of the men, he'd jumped down his brother's throat for no reason. The cowhands and Joe had been keeping their distance ever since that episode and even Hoss, whose patience was unrivaled, had become quiet.

Adam knew that he was acting bad-tempered, but he was tired, hot and preoccupied. Even though his hunting trip with Hoss had been a great success the previous day, he'd had another one of his bad nights and slept no more than an hour. It had really gotten to him today and for some reason it was harder than usual for him to deal with everything. Adam didn't do helpless very well, and that was exactly what he felt when he was caught in one of his nightmares and when he was forced to keep himself awake all night to avoid returning to those dark dreams. His pondering about the army and his future was also adding to the painful throbbing building behind his temples.

Around one o'clock, he received word that his father wanted to see him. He didn't know how, but he was pretty sure that either Hoss or Joe had managed to slip away and stop by their pa back at the house. Obviously, someone had told him about his oldest son's deteriorating mood. So, Adam rode on home, prepared to face the reprimand he knew he deserved. But to his surprise, there wasn't a hint of disapproval to detect on his pa's face and instead, he was told to take the rest of the day off. Naturally, that order made him feel guilty, but his pa saw the look straight away and pointed out that he'd already done his fair share with the accounts he'd sorted out the evening before. When his father cautiously suggested that he could go to Virginia City earlier than planned, Adam couldn't help but smile a little. He thanked his pa and went to get cleaned up, deciding to stop by the general store before he returned home later. He would buy some lemon drops which happened to be Hoss' favorite.

"Here you are Mrs. Hansen, one loaf of cornbread and half a dozen applesauce cookies."

Madeline set down the brown paper bag on the counter as the elderly lady rummaged through her purse to find the money for the items.

"Thank you, dear. Your version of those cookies is still my absolute favorite." Mrs. Hansen held out a few coins, her eyes almost disappearing in all her wrinkles. "And thank you again for lending me your coffee cake recipe, Madeline. I will return it to you sometime this week."

"Oh, don't worry about that Mrs. Hansen, you can keep it." Madeline took the money, smiling warmly. "I know that recipe by heart anyway."

The old lady thanked her again and took the bag, then exited the restaurant through the door behind her. After placing the money in the cash-box, Madeline did a quick survey of the room to see if all the customers were taken care of.

Sally's Restaurant was a bit of a mix between a bakery and a restaurant, specializing mostly in making cakes, pies and breads. These foods could either be bought and taken home or enjoyed at one of the tables in the establishment. They also served a variety of breakfast dishes such as ham and eggs, omelets and pancakes—and all the items on the menu were sold at very affordable prices.

The restaurant's dining area consisted of a long rectangular-shaped room and at one end, just across from the front door, was a large counter forming a half circle. On the counter-top was a display of various cakes and pastries, many of which were Madeline's own recipes. Tables and chairs filled out the space all the way to the far end of the room and the décor was tasteful with a feminine touch, which fitted well since it was typically ladies who came in to have tea in the afternoons. Quite a few miners and cowboys frequented the establishment too, mostly to have breakfast, and the restaurant's informal and homey ambiance appealed to many men. Madeline usually spent most of her time working in the kitchen, but they had been shorthanded this particular day, so since noon she had been standing behind the counter to help the waiters in any way she could, taking orders and wrapping pastries and breads to be sold.

Seeing that all the guests at the tables had been served for now, she put the cash-box back under the tabletop just as Sally came through the doorway behind the counter which led to the kitchen.

"Madeline, I think you should start making two pound cakes on the days you are here from now on. We've run out again already."

"Certainly Sally, would you like me to make a quick one now?"

Sally shook her head, her double chins bouncing with the movement.

"No, that's all right. We still have the pies and the other cakes, that will have to do for today."

The older woman limped over to the other side of the counter opposite Madeline, supporting herself with the wooden cane in her hand. She leaned the walking stick against the tabletop and grabbed a pen and paper from the space beneath the counter-surface to start a new list of items that needed restocking in the kitchen.

"Say, what's happening with your Mr. Dark and Handsome?" she asked, scribbling away. "He hasn't been in here to see you since last Thursday."

Madeline faced the woman she had come to consider a good friend. Sally Piper was in her mid-forties, but everything about her—from her forever-sparkling eyes and permanently red cheeks to her lively attitude—radiated a youthfulness akin to that of a child's. She was a big lady with a big heart and Madeline was extremely grateful for the warm welcome the older woman had given her since she'd started working in the restaurant.

The words "Mr. Dark and Handsome" made her smile. It was a name Sally had started using for him, even in front of Adam himself, and Madeline knew that he was quite entertained by it. She rather liked it too. After all, it was true.

"Actually, I saw him on the weekend," Madeline said leaning back against the counter-top. "He is coming over for supper later."

"Really? Hmm, it's a wonder he stays so lean, isn't it? I mean, with all the good food you cook for him at your house and all the cake he demolishes in here."

"Well, with the hard work he has to do every day, I suppose it balances itself out."

A delicious warmth spread through her at the thought of just how fit and lean he was, and then for some reason, Madeline found herself thinking back on that day in July when she'd first laid eyes on him. She would never forget how pale and ill he'd looked—and thin. Of course, she hadn't known him then, but remembering it now, she had no doubt that his weight at that time had been considerably lower than what was normal for him. The way he was now seemed much healthier and it always gave her a special kind of satisfaction to feed him a good meal in the evenings when he stopped by after a hard day's work. She vaguely registered the front door of the restaurant open behind her, but it was the frustrated sound Sally made which forced her all the way back to the present.

"Here comes Clayton again." Sally put her pen down and limped across the little space to the opposite side of the half-circle counter. "I'll serve him, Madeline."

Madeline gave the older woman a grateful look and stepped over to the pen and paper without looking behind her. As she scanned the list to see if there was something else she could think of that needed to be added, she was very aware of the two eyes boring into her back. She heard him grunt out his order to Sally who responded in a polite but cool tone and Madeline began to wish that she'd just gone into the kitchen because feeling his icy gaze on her—whether she was facing him or not—was most uncomfortable.

"Howdy, Madeline."

At the sound of his hoarse voice, she put on one of the last kind smiles she had left for him and turned around.

"Hello, Mr. Clayton."

"You're lookin' mighty fine today, Ma'am." He bumped up his hat to reveal his greasy, dark curls as he eyed her hungrily. "Yes, real fine . . ."

"I thank you for the compliment, Mr. Clayton," she said calmly, then turned away.

Sally moved slightly to the side, blocking most of Madeline from the man's view.

"Your coffee will be brought to you in a minute. There's a table at the back."

He scrunched his bearded face up into a grimace, regarding the woman as if he were a child whose favorite toy had just been taken away and she was to blame for it. Making another grunting noise, he pushed away from the counter and walked down the room to a free table.

Madeline sighed and looked at the list again, finding it impossible to concentrate.

"We are going to have to do something about this," Sally mumbled as she came over. "It can't continue."

"Mr. Clayton is a customer and this is your business, Sally."

"Madeline, he only ever orders a cup of coffee when he comes in. That man isn't the least bit interested in anything we serve here, you know that."

The women were interrupted when the front door opened, and two ladies came in. Madeline quickly went to welcome them, doing the best she could to keep her mind on her work. Twenty minutes went by, during which she felt his gaze like a constant weight on her whenever she was in his sights. She walked back and forth between the kitchen and the front of the restaurant, carrying out new cakes and rearranging the display of pies lined up on the counter-top. Clayton had snatched a seat at a table in the middle of the room, but he'd turned the chair around to point in her direction. He was leaning back so the two front chair-legs lifted off the ground as he observed her like a predator would its prey. The waiters who kept passing him to serve the tables at the back of the room were also finding his presence awkward and they discussed it in the kitchen, several of them noticing the distinctive stench of alcohol clinging to the man's clothes. No one said anything to him though—Clayton was a big man and a frequent participant in brawls around the town's saloons. Besides, he wasn't really doing anything that could warrant throwing him out of the restaurant.

Madeline's hope that he would leave soon was rapidly diminishing, and the situation was starting to affect her usually attentive way of dealing with the customers because she was distracted. He normally didn't stay this long and had only ever stopped by for coffee in the mornings, but she now realized that he could very well sit there for the next half an hour. A sudden queasy spell overcame her, and she put a steadying palm on the counter, turning away from the room.

"That's it," Sally said, coming out of the kitchen. "He's been finished with his coffee for ten minutes. He is literally just sitting there ogling at you. I'm going to ask him to leave."

"No Sally, he is just trying to provoke a reaction, we shouldn't give in to him. He will grow tired of it soon, I'm sure."

Sally's forehead wrinkled as she studied Madeline closer. "You look pale . . . are you all right?"

"Yes, I am fine, don't worry about me." Madeline looked out across the room and all the customers sitting at their tables, chatting happily. "I just don't want to cause an unpleasant scene and disrupt people's afternoon because of that man."

Just as Sally was about to protest, some of her most loyal patrons called out to her from a table nearby. The older woman wavered, looking to Madeline.

"It's all right, I am fine, really," Madeline said with a genuine smile. "Go to them."

Clearly not pleased with the situation, Sally spoke seriously, "I will be right back and then we'll see what we can do about this."

She took her cane and went around the counter, over to the table of customers. Madeline pulled her shoulders back and with a determined upward tilt of her chin, she headed out into the kitchen to get rid of some empty cake platters. When she came back out with a cloth in hand, Sally was still standing by the table talking to the group and Madeline set about wiping the tabletop free of cake crumbs. In an attempt to divert herself from the intense scrutiny she was still under, she considered her plans for the evening. Just thinking about Adam helped her relax.

She was placing Sally's list of kitchen items under the counter-top when she sensed a customer approaching and raised her head. The very unexpected sight of Clayton's leering face made her body freeze and a prickly sensation trailed down her spine as if a spider had crawled down her back.

"Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Clayton?" she asked politely, yet she was unable to conceal her discomfort completely. It seemed like he noticed it and he flashed his yellow teeth in a sardonic grin, giving her the impression that he enjoyed it.

"I wanna have a talk with you, Ma'am."

"I am afraid that I'm rather busy at the moment."

She continued cleaning the counter, refusing to let him see just how uncomfortable he was making her. A rough chuckle rolled off his whiskey-laced breath and he leaned a big arm on part of the tabletop, preventing her from moving the cloth further.

"Madeline, that don't seem like a polite answer for a fine-lookin' woman to give a hard-workin' man like me. I reckon you can do better."

"Mr. Clayton," she said, finding the strength to turn a cool stare on him. "I don't believe that we are well enough acquainted to be on first name terms."

With one swift movement, his hand—rough and brutal—suddenly covered her wrist and his looming form stretched across the tabletop.

"And whose fault is that? I'd like to get a whole lot better acquainted with you." His glassy eyes ran down her white blouse and up again. "Yes Ma'am, a whole lot . . ."

It wasn't a bruising grip, but he applied enough pressure that she couldn't pull back her hand and despite the panic that was welling up inside her, she kept her voice low and tried to prevent it from shaking.

"Remove your hand, Mr. Clayton."

She saw something shift in his expression and got the feeling that he was about to draw back, but she would never know for sure. Because at that moment, a familiar black-clad arm appeared out of nowhere, grabbing at Clayton's shirtfront and Madeline was utterly shocked to see the big man suddenly take to the air as he was flung backwards and somehow ended up smacked against the wall beside the open door. The thunderous crash elicited gasps, exclamations and the screeching of chairs throughout the restaurant and Madeline was mortified by the sight of Adam pressing the stunned and breathless Clayton against the wall, the man's feet barely touching the ground.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

The dark Cartwright's voice came out as a vicious hiss and Madeline brought a hand up to cover her open mouth, startled by this unfamiliar and deadly tone. Clayton's eyes were so wide they were watering, and he wheezed desperately, trying to take in some of the air that had been slammed out of his back. Madeline's hand fell down to her chest and she finally managed a distressed gasp of her own.

"Adam!"

She could tell that he immediately responded to her voice; he went from an aggressive, ready-to-fight stance, to one of tense intimidation, but it still took him a few moments before he actually lowered Clayton fully to the ground.

"Next time I see you in here, Fred . . . I'll put you clean through this wall."

Adam released the other man's shirtfront with a rough push and Clayton shot him a look of pure, scathing hatred before he turned and stumbled out of the door, his back heaving. The restaurant, which was filled with probably close to fifty people, had been enveloped in complete silence. Madeline's cheeks inflamed when she saw the large dent and matching downward crack which now decorated the cream-colored wall and for the life of her, she couldn't bring herself to look at the customers or Sally. Adam bent down to retrieve his hat from the floor and he dusted it off, turning around to face the room. He calmly walked towards the counter, his boots thumping across the wooden floor like it was the only sound in the world and along the way, he picked up a couple of chairs that had been knocked over by Clayton's flailing legs. Ignoring everyone else, he stopped in front of Madeline, his face neutral and showing not a hint of emotion.

"May I talk with you?"

She was too speechless to provide him with an answer, so instead, she quickly came around the counter to take a firm hold of his arm and then headed for the kitchen, leaving the aghast crowd behind. The cooks and waiters were all pretending to be busy at work as the couple passed them and Madeline pulled Adam into a backroom which functioned as a pantry. Letting go of his arm, she shut the door behind them and drew in a huge breath in a useless attempt to calm the uproar of mixed emotions going on inside her. She stared him down with her hands clasped to her hips, her heart hammering and her wrist burning.

"Explain to me . . . what just happened."

His eyebrows inched upwards at her clipped tone and he crossed his arms defensively.

"Well, you were there, Madeline. You saw what happened."

"Adam, I cannot believe that you . . . that you . . . did that!"

"What do you mean? He was completely out of line"—Adam flung his arm up, as if waving his hat in the direction of the man's current position, wherever that was—"The guy clearly needed setting straight!"

"And I was doing just that, setting him straight!"

"I'm sure you were trying to, but I know Fred Clayton and he's real bad trouble." Adam's tone softened a bit. "Trust me. Once he gets an idea into his head, there's no stopping the guy."

Madeline looked down at her hands, and his eyes narrowed as he took a step closer to her.

"Madeline . . ." He drew out her name. "Has he been bothering you before?"

Her silence was apparently enough of an answer and she flinched slightly when his voice flew up several notes. "Why in God's name didn't you tell me?!"

"This is a restaurant and he is a paying customer. I just didn't want to cause any unnecessary trouble."

"Unnecessary troub—" Adam stopped, his nostrils flaring. "He was making you uncomfortable! He GRABBED your arm!"

"He . . . hasn't done that before . . ." she said quietly.

"We had a deal, remember? You were supposed to tell me if anyone treated you wrongly, and now you're saying that this drunkard—" He cut himself off again and faced away from her, running a hand through his hair. When he turned around again, his features were calmer but resolute.

"I want to know what he said to you."

The pantry went dead quiet for a few lengthy seconds. "I will not tell you that, Adam. Not with the mood you are in right now."

"Madeline!"

"Adam!" she exclaimed, the nauseating humiliation and scare she'd just experienced at the front of her mind. "You can't just come barging into my workplace, in front of the people I work with and the customers that I face almost every day and . . . and behave like . . . like some wild animal!"

"Oh? And just what would you have expected me to do, huh?"

"I would have expected you to show at least some measure of restraint!"

She was close enough to feel his hot breath on her face when he suddenly released a mirthless chuckle, his eyes burning like amber fire.

"Well, let me tell you something, honey – that WAS me being restrained!"

"Adam, you put a dent in the wall!"

"Well, technically," he hesitated, and Madeline stared at him, daring him to finish that sentence. His stubbornness won out. "He . . . put the dent in the wall . . ."

She made a distressed sigh and sincerely hoped that he was cringing inwardly at his own childishness.

"I cannot talk with you when you are like this!"

"Okay, look Madeline, I—"

"No, I really can't do this right now. Please . . . just go."

He opened his mouth to say something else but caught himself just in time. Then his gaze fell to the hat in his hands and her resolve wavered, but she clamped her mouth shut, knowing that either sobs or more angry words would come out at that moment. When she said nothing else, he gave a curt nod then spun around, opened the door and strode out of the room without looking back.

Madeline blinked her eyes rapidly and gasped in air past her trembling lips, but the tears started falling anyway. She turned her back to the door, resting her hands on a sack of flour to support herself. How had everything gone so wrong in such a short amount of time?

The front of her blouse was getting wetter as tears escaped her cheeks and she unconsciously kept rubbing the area where Clayton had grasped her wrist. Not because his grip had been too painful, but because some invisible line that was very sensitive to her had been crossed. His behavior had triggered a bout of terrible memories to resurface within her. She couldn't let them overcome her now though, not out here, in public and she was only able to keep them at bay by focusing on her unhappiness over the argument with Adam.

They had never spoken such words to each other—he'd never raised his voice to her before. And the way he had lifted Clayton off the ground and smashed him with such force against the wall . . . Clayton was a large man, but he'd seemed light as a child as he hung dangling from Adam's powerful grip. Seeing the gentle man she'd gotten to know turn so wild—so devoid of that cool control . . . it unnerved Madeline in a way she'd never thought his actions ever could. It wasn't that she'd been afraid of him. No part of her doubted that he had acted out of his instincts to protect her. Her fear was for him rather than for herself because there had been a few moments there, where she had no idea what he might do and what might be done to him in return.

On top of it all, was the despairing feeling that the life she had been fighting to establish for herself, was crumbling around her. She had tried so hard over the last few weeks to make a good impression on not only her colleagues and Sally, but also on the restaurant's patrons. After spending months in Virginia City making just a few acquaintances and even fewer friends, it had felt like she was finally finding her place in the town and her new job was gaining her that acceptance among the citizens she had longed for. Her cakes and breads, which were traditional southern recipes, were always some of the first to be sold out and although she still received the odd hostile comment, the skeptics generally seemed to be warming up to her, especially the women. Now though, after the embarrassing scene that had just unfolded because of her, she was concerned about how that might affect people's opinions, and in her tribulation, she even went as far as to worry about whether or not she still had a job.

She pressed the back of her hand against her burning brow and that drumming headache that always came with crying was making it difficult for her to calm herself.

"Are you all right, sweetheart?"

Madeline quickly straightened up and wiped her eyes, but when she felt Sally place a comforting hand on her shoulder it spurred a new trickling of tears.

"Oh, Sally, I am so very sorry about all this . . . I just don't know what to say."

"Don't worry about it." Sally gently turned the younger woman around to face her. "We should have done something about that man before it came to this. Mrs. Hicksberg said she saw him grab your arm . . . is that what happened?"

"Yes. I truly hadn't imagined he would do that . . . and then Adam—"

"I daresay Mr. Clayton won't be stopping by any time soon after your Mr. Dark and Handsome gave him that clear warning."

Sally's plump cheeks rounded as she tried to cheer her friend up, but her effort was unsuccessful.

"I'm sorry about the wall Sally, I don't know how—"

"Madeline, stop worrying. Adam spoke to me before he left, told me to send him the bill for the damage and he'd take care of it."

Biting her lip, Madeline fell quiet, suddenly feeling tired more than anything else.

"Perhaps you should finish early, you only have an hour of your shift left. You've stayed here late enough times."

"I'd like to finish my shift, Sally, I think it would be best." Madeline wiped the wetness from her face with her fingers and smoothed down her blouse and skirt. "I have to face everyone out there sooner or later."

"All right, if you're sure. I'll give you a moment to yourself then. Just let me know if you need anything."

"Thank you."

Sally headed out of the room, but she halted in the doorway and turned back to say the words that would be burning in her throat if she didn't.

"Madeline? Don't be too hard on him . . ."

The young woman didn't reply and Sally closed the door. She limped out into the quiet kitchen, not knowing who she felt sorrier for—Madeline or Adam.

It was six o'clock that afternoon when Paul walked into the kitchen with an empty coffee pot. He peeked over at Madeline where she was peeling potatoes by the workbench, but he knew that she hadn't noticed him. Ever since she'd come home an hour earlier, his mind had been far too occupied to concentrate on his work, and he had spent the last half an hour sitting in his office, swallowing down one cup of coffee after the other, staring at his papers. His niece had been upset from the moment she came in the door, and it hadn't taken much prodding from him before she shared what had happened at the restaurant. In spite of his dry humor and occasional sarcasm, Paul Martin thought himself a good-natured person, but hearing Madeline relay the afternoon's events brought a rare anger out in him. He very much considered her as his responsibility now and knowing about the treatment she had received from the brute of a man Fred Clayton was, made him want to go against his doctoring instincts and turn to inflicting pain instead of easing it.

Madeline had been so troubled, she'd asked for some time alone and disappeared off to the kitchen—leaving him on his own in his office with a prickling need to talk things out with her. She'd had a good half an hour to herself now, and as Paul stepped closer to put the coffee pot down on the workbench, he just hoped it was enough.

"Is there anything I can help you with, dear?"

"No, thank you, Uncle Paul," she said and continued scraping the skin off the potato in her hand, "I have just about prepared everything, then it will all go into one big pot. Supper will be a little late this evening, I'm afraid."

"That doesn't matter much to me."

He gathered a few carrot peels and added them to the bucket where the potato skins were dropping into.

"I think we should discuss what happened today, little Belle . . ."

Madeline set the skinless potato down next to the others and reached for a new one. Paul considered her, feeling a little optimistic that she hadn't dismissed the conversation yet.

"I realize that what happened today shocked you, Madeline. You've been brought up in an upper-class society where people value civilized behavior above everything else. At least in public." He continued in a bitter voice. "They seem less concerned about what happens behind closed doors . . ."

Her hands went completely still, and he threw an inward curse at himself for saying that, but quickly went on, not wanting to cause her more upset.

"But out here there are many rough characters and not all of them can be reasoned with. Now, I'm not saying that Adam couldn't have handled the situation better—he certainly should have. But I can understand why he acted as he did, and I'll even go as far as to say that I'm glad he arrived when he did. I am quite familiar with Fred Clayton, and sadly he's been responsible for much of my business for a few years."

"Uncle Paul, I understand those things." She laid down the spud and knife, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. "It's just that this job is so very important to me. It matters to me what people think. As you say, I have been brought up to care about what people's opinions of me are."

"I know what that job means to you, and so does Adam."

She closed her eyes, puffy and slightly red as they were.

"I have known him a very long time, Madeline. He has more pride and stubbornness than what is probably good for him and, yes, he can be hot-tempered like a wild bronco. But he is passionate about protecting those he cares about and he would never deliberately do anything to hurt your feelings."

"I know that . . ."

Dipping his head, Paul tried to get a clear view of her face. "Is that really what is bothering you the most . . .? The embarrassment?"

She stayed silent but a tiny movement captured his attention and he noted how her left hand was carefully tracing her right wrist. His narrowed eyes cleared with comprehension.

"It frightened you, didn't it?"

"When he—" Her words broke off as the earlier incident flashed through her mind again and Paul waited, fervently hoping that she wouldn't shut him out now.

"When he grabbed my arm . . . I-I just froze, Uncle Paul. I don't know why, but it reminded me so much of him . . ."

"I understand, dear."

He quickly put and arm around her back, trying to prevent the memories from tormenting her with his nearness and love.

"Madeline . . . you were honest with me about your wrist being unharmed? Can I see it properly?"

"Oh, yes, I promise you, uncle." She held out her wrist, showing him that she was fine. Then she suddenly shook her head and pulled away from him, like she felt undeserving of his comfort. "It's just silly. He didn't even really hurt me."

"There is nothing silly about your reaction. You may not have a bruise this time, but I'll bet the memories are just as fresh in your mind."

Paul's thoughts went back to five months ago when he'd travelled to Utah to meet his niece for the first time in eighteen years. It was a day he had always wished would come, yet one he would forever remember as utterly heartbreaking. He would never forget how life had seemed to stop when he saw the bruises that had littered her body—the ones she was unable to hide from him.

He realized she had gone quiet now and that her eyes had that vacant sheen which appeared whenever she thought about her past.

"Perhaps if you were to tell Adam about it," he said carefully.

"Uncle, after seeing him react like he did today over a man grasping my arm, I daren't think about what he'd do if he knew." She released a sigh and Paul almost couldn't stand seeing the worry lines etched deep on her beautiful face. They simply didn't belong there.

"But I do hate keeping it from him," she said. "It feels like I am deceiving him and still . . . I just can't tell him now . . . not yet, I need a little more time . . ."

"All right, but you will have to, eventually. He should know. And I think it will help you too."

He left it at that, having no intention of pushing her on the matter after the day she'd had.

"Now, stop looking so down and gloomy. As I said, Adam is a stubborn man and not very easily discouraged. I wouldn't be surprised if he's out on the front porch tomorrow morning wanting to see you and eager to make up again."

She didn't look at him, but he was very relieved if quite surprised to see a sudden, quirking lip-twitch.

"And what is suddenly so amusing, young lady?"

"Oh, nothing . . . it's just that as hard as you are on him sometimes, you certainly sprang to his defense during this little talk."

Paul straightened his grey vest, adopting an air of indifference.

"Well, I have some work to do. I'll be in my office, call me if you need any help."

Madeline's smile grew and as she reached for the next potato, he glanced back at her from the doorway, giving another silent prayer of thanks for having her in his life.

He went back to his office, thinking he might actually be able to get some work done now. The next fifteen minutes spent at his desk were indeed very productive, right up until a knock on the door interrupted him. Being a doctor, it was not uncommon for him to receive late evening visits since medical emergencies often occurred at this time when cowboys and miners got liquored up at the saloons. Although he couldn't logically rule out that possibility, this evening was different, and Paul shot up from his chair, already knowing that it would be Adam outside. Coming out of the office and into the foyer, he was having trouble keeping the corners of his mouth steady as he prepared to roast the young man for a little while before revealing that Madeline wasn't really that angry with him. When Paul opened the door however, his plan was instantly forgotten—as was the smile he had been fighting away.

"Good evening, Paul . . . I, uh . . . is Madeline here?"

The doctor was about to ask him if he was unwell but thought better of it. Without a word, he stood to the side to allow the Cartwright entrance. Adam stepped inside the house, quickly scanning the foyer and just as Paul had feared, the young man looked even worse up-close. His paleness was enhanced by the dark stubble along his jaw and cheeks and his brows were pinched together in that telltale sign of a headache. What really got to Paul though, was the openly mournful expression on his usually guarded face.

"Well . . . she's in the kitchen," Paul said in a casual tone, but continued scrutinizing Adam who was looking at anywhere else than him.

"She . . . told you what happened?"

"Mm-hmm."

He nodded, but Adam made no move down the hall and an unfamiliar silence stretched out between the two friends. In the end, Paul gave the young man a little pat on the shoulder, hiding his own surprise at just how badly affected Adam seemed to be by the current situation between him and Madeline.

"It's all right, lad. Sally and I have paved the way for you. Go on in, you won't be sent away."

Adam met his eyes, searching for some visible proof that the doctor's words were true while Paul was more concerned with the exhaustion he saw staring back at him.

He didn't say anything, Adam just gathered himself in one heaving breath and then walked slowly past the doctor. He went down the hall without an ounce of the usual determination and self-assurance in his gait.

xXXx

Madeline was cleaning the workbench when she sensed someone in the doorway at the edge of her sight. First, she thought it was her uncle who'd come back for something but when nothing happened, she turned fully around and saw Adam standing there. She was relieved to see him, yet startled by his appearance and she immediately worried that he was ill. He looked straight at her but then bowed his head and she wished that her face didn't bear the obvious traces of her crying. It ended up being her who spoke first.

"Hi . . ."

"Hi . . . I couldn't leave things like this between us . . ."

He moved just past the kitchen doorway then stopped, as if he didn't dare go any closer to her.

"Madeline, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for making you unhappy . . . for raising my voice at you that way. But I can't apologize for how I behaved towards Fred Clayton. I can't lie to you and tell you that I would act differently if something like that happened again."

"It's all right . . ."

"No, it's not." He rubbed a palm across his brow in a weary motion. "I shouldn't have yelled, you were upset and I should have been understanding."

"Adam, it's all right."

She walked towards him and the despair she had felt since that afternoon was gone—replaced by her deep concern for him. It was odd really, that very day she'd thought about the first time she met him at the county fair and now his tormented countenance and the dejected set of his shoulders reminded her again of that time. The realization hit her hard, that the reason why he wasn't approaching her, was because he thought she might send him away again. She instinctively knew that it had been the worst possible thing she could have done to him earlier when she'd asked him to leave. Her steps quickened until she stopped right in front of him, her eyes flickering over his down-turned face.

"I understand why you did what you did, even if I don't quite agree with your methods. I was very upset at the time, but I'm not anymore. It seems that you came to my rescue once again . . ."

The last part was said in a lighter tone, but he didn't react to it and she wanted so badly for him to lift his head and let her see what he was thinking. Carefully, she laid her hands on his where they were clutching his black hat.

"I am glad you came back. I want you to be here . . ."

His eyelids fluttered uncertainly before he finally looked at her and his expression sent a bolt of anguish striking her, straight in the heart. But then he hid it from her view when he suddenly leaned forward, slowly, tentatively wrapping his arms around her in an embrace. She returned it without hesitation and as his cheek settled against the top of her head, she gently stroked her hands up and down his broad back, doing everything she could to welcome and soothe his sudden show of vulnerability. It was a new and very intimate way of touching him, but it didn't make her uncomfortable. It simply felt right. His back lifted and sank down again, and it became clear to her that the incident at the restaurant couldn't be the sole reason for his fatigue and melancholy mood. By now she knew him well enough not to ask about the things he wasn't ready to share and when they pulled apart, she tried to act as normally as possible, showing him in her way that things were fine between them and that she understood. And that she didn't expect anything from him.

"You look tired . . . why don't you go into the sitting room? I'm sure Uncle Paul is almost finished with his work. I will just finish cleaning up out here and I'll be in too." She paused, eyeing him hopefully. "You are staying for supper?"

"Yea, I'd like that . . ."

He managed a ghost of his usual half smile, but she would settle for that for now. Releasing his hands, she smiled tenderly at him. "Go in and sit down, I will be there in a moment."

She could practically see the tension drain out of him, making him look even more tired but at least he seemed to relax a bit. As he left the kitchen, she continued cleaning the workbench, feeling more at peace with herself than she had for the last couple of hours. After such an emotional day, all she wanted now was to be with him, make him smile again and soak up the comfort his presence gave her.