Author's Notes

Hello everyone!

I want to thank ALL of you for leaving me some heartwarming and wonderful reviews. Your support has meant more to me than words can say—thanks to the Guests as well as the Members. :)

I am excited to see what you think of this next chapter because things will be heating up now! Whether you just read it or review it as well, I hope you all enjoy it.

I really appreciate these last reviews because as I tried to express in my last Author's Notes, I see the review section as a place for commenting on the story, for agreeing or disagreeing and for sharing your thoughts on the writing, whatever they may be. It isn't a place for offensive or inappropriate reviews that don't relate to the story/writing. Editing out certain inappropriate remarks from an otherwise fine review, is also an option for authors, should it become relevant.

I have the utmost respect for your opinions and I love hearing them! I will continue to work hard at creating a comfortable reviewing environment for you all.

Here we go with the next part of the story.

Warning here—some mild violence and mention of abuse in this chapter.

Thank you all again.

Chapter 20

Tuesday the next week, Adam rode into Virginia City. It was half past two in the afternoon and the harsh sunlight was beating down on his tanned arms where his shirtsleeves were rolled up. Luckily, there was a mild summer breeze in the air and every now and again, it swept across his face like a soothing caress.

He was on his way to meet Madeline at Sally's Restaurant and they would then have the rest of the day alone together since Paul had left to go on his trip that morning. Normally, the thought of being alone with Madeline would give Adam that warm and giddy sensation that seemed to engulf his whole body. But that wasn't the case this time.

He had been swamped with work the previous day, so he hadn't seen her since Sunday where they'd spent the afternoon together after church. She had seemed happy to be with him as always, but as he rode home afterwards, he had the sense that things were different between them. Things had just changed. He was well aware that the reason for that change was twofold. They'd declared their love for each other, that was one part. The part that recurrently gave him the spontaneous urge to cavort around like a young buck, although that was really more his youngest brother's style. But his happiness was tempered by the nagging worry he felt for her. Now he knew her secret, and that was the second part, the thing he continued to struggle with. On Sunday she'd seemed nervous with him, especially the first few minutes—a bit like she'd been those first couple of times they'd met. He guessed that she was concerned about how he would see her and behave around her, now that he knew.

The truth was that he probably was acting differently towards her. It was hard not to. Unavoidably, whenever he thought about her now, his mind would stray to that man—to what that animal had done to her. And the anger that had been simmering within him ever since he'd found out about it all, would threaten to overwhelm him all over again. He didn't even know what the guy looked like, yet Ray Bradshaw was in his head.

It was unfair to Madeline, he knew that, and she'd ended up carrying on a one-sided conversation more than once during their visit two days ago because he was distracted. But blocking those thoughts was beyond his control, as was curbing the sense of foreboding growing in his gut.

Back in the army, he'd endured ribbing from his colleagues who called him paranoid and even his men shared private, little jokes about it, even though they would never have dared say anything to his face. But after his so-called paranoia had gotten them out of what would have been a few hairy situations—the jibes had stopped coming. Admittedly, he wasn't in the army anymore and his edginess may well be unfounded. Still, he'd written and sent that letter to his friend in Georgia, given all the details he had on Ray Bradshaw, and asked for any further information his colleague could dig up on the man. Until a reply came with the mail, he'd probably still be uneasy, and he just hoped that Madeline would bear with him and not question him about it.

Before going to the restaurant, he stopped by the post office. While it was too soon to expect anything from Georgia, he hoped to hear from Jim and Henry this week. He was waiting for a confirmation that Henry had received his letter and accepted the invitation to come to Nevada. And he needed to have some idea about when his friend would be arriving. But there were no letters for the Cartwrights in the mail and Adam walked back outside to Sport, feeling a little disappointed. He could've really done with a message from his friends to take his mind a bit off the situation with Madeline.

As he continued on his way to the restaurant, his mood only got worse. The street was busy; there were horses and buggies passing him every other second, men and women walking along the boardwalks on either side of the road and the sound of jumbled conversation everywhere. A lot of unfamiliar faces were around, which wasn't exactly odd since many drifters and men looking for work had come to town recently. It was quite an ordinary day in Virginia City, but to Adam, everything was just stressful and far from normal. It seemed like he was riding through it all without really being a part of it—trying to take everything in, yet only managing to catch glimpses in an increasing chaos of fragmented impressions.

The level of his alertness gradually crawled up to where it had been almost constantly during the war. Whenever that itchy sensation would tell him to start preparing for the unexpected. His sharp hazel gaze began scanning the surroundings in earnest—people, shadows by the buildings, eyes watching him. At least it felt like they were watching him. The thoughts sped up in his mind to the point where they were like a train at risk of lurching off its tracks and he clutched the reins as he sat rigidly in the saddle, not noticing how Sport's head tossed from side to side, the horse sensing his tension. Pulling on the reins, he brought the mount to a sudden stop in the middle of the street. And he waited.

But there was absolutely nothing.

The typical, everyday scene in the town kept passing him by. A few cowboys nodded at him, saying hello, and children's bare feet patted along the floor of the boardwalk next to him as they chased each other, playing tag.

Sport snorted impatiently and Adam didn't object when the horse started moving again. He reached around to lift his shirt, irritated with how it was suddenly clinging to his back. Again, he tried pushing down that unsettling feeling, but it wouldn't dislodge itself completely. Something was wrong somewhere. But he honestly wasn't sure now whether the issue was with the world around him, or with himself.

The restaurant appeared up ahead, and Sport recognized their destination, so used to going there. Adam dismounted outside the building and absentmindedly tied the reins to the post, getting frustrated with himself. He didn't know what was wrong with him, but he needed to pull himself together—for Madeline's sake. After the way he'd acted on Sunday, he needed to be there for her properly now, especially with Paul being away.

He rolled his shoulders, attempting to relieve some of the tightness in his muscles. With a little pat to Sport's neck, he went towards the boardwalk and his right foot had just made it up onto the wooden floor when something made him stop. Slowly, he turned around and that's when he saw him. Fred Clayton, strolling along the boardwalk on the other side of the street. And the man's icy eyes were trained right on him. Clayton suddenly halted and leaned both hands on the rail of the walkway, bending forwards, facing out towards the street.

Adam stared straight back at him and lifted his foot as he stepped down onto the ground again, his movement casual, almost lazy. He took another step out towards the street, then settled into a stance with his boots firmly planted on the ground, his legs slightly spread, both hands dangling down by his sides.

Clayton eyed him with a growing scowl, clearly recognizing the stance for everything that it was—a warning as well as a challenge. Citizens and horses kept moving down the road in between the two men, unaware of the silent standoff that was going on. Eventually, Clayton pushed away from the rail. After delivering a tiny but dangerous nod at Adam, he continued down the street and Adam watched him until he disappeared from view. The man never looked back.

Adam spun around and strode back towards the boardwalk outside the restaurant, a colorful sequence of curses going off in his head. This was the last thing he needed. His nerves had well and truly flared up again.

Opening the door to the establishment, he went inside and saw Madeline standing behind the counter. Her face lit up in a beautiful smile at the sight of him and he pulled the door closed, then walked over to her.

"Hi," she said, but her joy quickly faded away. "Is everything all right . . .?"

"Yea. Are you ready to go?"

Her head tipped to one side in confusion. "We said four o'clock, Adam . . . I still have an hour of my shift left."

He blew out a breath through his nose. "I forgot, I thought it was at three."

She watched him cautiously as he took off his hat, tossing it down onto the counter.

"Well, would you like to go and visit with Sheriff Coffee? Or perhaps . . . to the saloon while you wait?"

"No." He drew in his lower lip and caught it with his teeth. "Can't we just go now? You stay late so often anyway."

"Adam, I have bread and a cake in the oven . . . I told Sally I would be here until four o'clock."

"Okay, fine."

Surveying the room filled with guests, he saw that it was actually quite busy today.

"Why don't you sit down," she said in a gentle voice, "and I'll bring you some coffee."

"Yea . . . yea, all right."

As Madeline went out into the kitchen, he grabbed his hat and made his way to the table closest to the counter where no one else was sitting. He threw the Stetson on the tabletop and fell down into the chair. The chatter in the room was deafening, that quickly became obvious to him. Those shriek voices and earsplitting exclamations would be enough to give any man a headache. And he realized that he was in fact the only male present—aside from the waiters going back and forth between the kitchen and the tables. He resettled in the chair, trying to make himself more comfortable and he looked over at the grandfather clock by the wall opposite him. Great. Another fifty-five minutes of waiting.

His fingers began tapping the table in a restless staccato—almost in rhythm with the muddled thoughts bouncing around in his mind. He didn't want to tell Madeline about the little encounter with Clayton because it would only upset her. But this sense of misgiving was rapidly building inside him and he couldn't ignore it. What really agitated him, was that he had no idea what to do about the situation. He just knew that he felt threatened and that somehow, Madeline was too. Getting her home was the only thing he wanted to do at that moment. But then on the other hand—what if he was overreacting? The more he considered it, Adam couldn't honestly imagine that Clayton would make any move towards her after the warning he'd given him the last time. Clayton wasn't the brightest of men, but he was smart enough to know that in a duel between the two of them, he would come out the loser. Yet for some reason, Adam's usual logical thinking couldn't quash his anxiety. It was still there, like it was coursing through his veins, making his skin feel prickly all over, and right now, sitting still went against all his instincts.

His legs were vibrating under the table, his attention still fixed on the grandfather clock when he heard that familiar sound of her approach from his left.

"Here you are, fresh coffee and I saved some coffee cake from earlier I thought you might—"

"Madeline, I don't want coffee, I don't want any cake—I just want to get outta here."

He regretted each one of the snappy words as he said them, and when he faced her, she just stood there, the surprise and hurt achingly clear in her eyes. Before he could formulate any type of apology, an old and shrilly voice called from somewhere across the room.

"Madeline, dear? Could we perhaps have some more of that wonderful pound cake over here, please?"

Without looking at him, Madeline carefully put the plates with the coffee and cake down on the table, then turned in the direction of the woman who'd called out to her, smiling warmly.

"Of course, I'll be right there, Mrs. Terry."

She walked off, back towards the kitchen and Adam put his hand to his head, kneading his brow as he closed his eyes. "Idiot," he muttered, "complete idiot." When he briefly glanced at the plate with coffee cake, his chin dropped to his chest. She'd saved him one of the corner pieces that she knew were his favorites.

It wasn't long before he saw her come out of the kitchen again, carrying three plates of the requested pound cake. She stopped at the table where the three ladies sat and addressed them in her naturally warm tone, asking if there was anything else they needed. He didn't want to interrupt her work, so he stayed where he was, hoping that she would go over to him when she was finished serving them. But after they'd thanked her kindly, she just walked straight back to the kitchen and didn't so much as glimpse over at him.

For another couple of minutes he sat there, becoming more miserable by the second. He had just made the decision to go out into the busy kitchen and ask to talk with her when she suddenly appeared in the doorway again, walked around the counter and towards him, carrying some brown paper. She came to his table and he quickly swept his tongue out across his dry lips.

"Madeline, I'm really—" He stopped speaking as she began wrapping his untouched coffee cake in the paper. "Uh . . . what are you doing?"

"I'm taking this cake home with us. You might want it later."

"But . . . I thought—"

"I spoke with Sally. I'll just come in an hour earlier tomorrow."

It was only then that he noticed the little blue purse hanging on her wrist and that she was now wearing her matching felt hat. She finished wrapping the cake and slipped her hand under his arm, giving a little tug to get him to stand up. He weakly rose from the chair and looked up at her from under his brow.

"I'm sorry, Madeline . . ."

"It's all right. You needed this."

She said it as if it was the simplest thing in the world and when she gently took his hand and smiled at him, a burst of warm emotion spread through his chest, threatening to spill out of him.

"Come on, let's go." She picked up the cake. "I'm making pork pie for supper and we need to stop by the store first."

"Yea, okay . . ."

He took his hat and followed her to the door, leaving a full and lonely coffee cup standing there on the table.

xXXx

Ten minutes later, they were walking down the street towards Paul's house with Sport moseying along behind them. Adam was carrying a bag of groceries in one arm and held Sport's reins loosely in the other hand.

"So, how was Paul?" He glanced over at Madeline next to him. "You haven't said anything about it."

Madeline held the wrapped coffee cake against her front and released a little sigh.

"Oh, he was as I expected he would be. He asked me a dozen times if I was sure that I would be all right. Then he checked another ten times or so that I knew the address of the hotel he'll be staying at in case I need to contact him." She turned to Adam, the fondness dancing in her green irises. "I'm afraid the gentleman driving the stagecoach was getting rather stressed about his time schedule and very frustrated with my uncle."

Adam nodded and looked ahead down the street.

"He'll probably be thinking about you the entire time he's away."

"Oh, I hope not, Adam." The note of concern in her words drew his attention back to her. "I want him to have a nice trip. I wish he wouldn't worry so about me."

"Paul only worries because he cares about you, Madeline. Just like I do."

He looked seriously at her, but mischief tugged at the corners of her lips as she lightly brushed his shoulder. "And the two of you make a fine pair of mother hens, I must say."

Recognizing what she was trying to do, he attempted a smile, but his mouth only managed a grimace and they carried on down the street in silence.

"You haven't heard from your friend Henry yet?" she asked after a while and by the tone of her voice, he instantly knew that she was regarding him with one of those soft and understanding Madeline-looks. He kept watching the road.

"No. I went by the post office earlier but there was nothing."

"I'm sure it won't be much longer. Perhaps his reply has been delayed a bit. He is probably just as excited to come out and see you as you are eager to see him."

The smile that broke out across his face then couldn't have been further from the one before. Did she even have any idea how amazing she was? How good she was for him?

Those were the questions he mulled over as he turned his head to study her.

Her left eyebrow lifted and rounded when she noticed. "And just what is that look for, Mr. Cartwright?"

"Just for you." He moved to his right, walking as close to her as he possibly could and leaned down a bit. "Did I tell you yet that you look beautiful today?"

"Hmm, no actually, I don't believe you did, sir."

"Well, you look very beautiful today."

"I appreciate the sentiment," she laughed, sweeping away some breadcrumbs that she just now saw had stuck to her blouse, "but I hardly think that my current appearance is about to make you swoon."

The answer was no. She had absolutely no idea.

"If there was ever a woman who could make me swoon, you'd be the one."

He said it half-jokingly, but she must have caught onto his sincerity, because she sported a thougtful smile of her own then.

"Adam Cartwright swooning . . . that would be quite something," she said softly.

A loud snort sounded close behind them.

Adam twisted around to his horse. "Oh yea? Well, who asked you?"

Madeline giggled heartily and put a hand around his arm as they continued down the road.

xXXx

They ended up having a nice afternoon together and as the evening progressed, Adam's tension gradually eased away. It was her—being with her, seeing her smile, listening to her talk. She gave him that special peace that he couldn't get anywhere else and it amazed him, how he could relax with her and let go of the stress that had flooded him earlier in the day.

After having a Hoss-sized portion of her pork pie, he got out the chess board and each game they played was prolonged by the talking that went on in between moves. It was one of the things he appreciated and loved most about being with her—they seemed to never run out of things to talk about. The conversation didn't turn to her past and the things she'd told him on Friday though. This was the first whole evening they'd spent alone together and he wanted to connect with her properly again and get back to that place they'd been at before all the secrets and revelations. As it turned out, it all came easier than he'd thought it would and while things weren't quite the same as before, that tense awkwardness which had been there on Sunday was now practically gone again.

He stalled his departure for as long as he could, and as a result, it was well-passed-sundown-dark outside when he got ready to leave. She saw him to the door and lingered in the doorway as he stepped out onto the porch. The heat of the day had gone, along with the street bustle. Left now was just that mild night chill and the distant sounds of drunken laughter and dogs barking. Adam glanced up at the velvety darkness above, seeing that he would have an unfettered view of the stars for the ride home.

"It's terribly dark isn't it? I hadn't realized . . ."

Although he had his back to her, he knew exactly what expression was on her face and he was smiling before he even turned around.

"It'll be fine. Sport could find his way home with his eyes closed."

Madeline opened her mouth to say something just as a sudden, high-pitched shout came from somewhere up the street. Adam had already spun around—his fingers grasping the grip of his gun—by the time her hand shot to her chest in shock. The shout was followed by a bout of roaring laughter coming from three swaying contours on the road as they leaned over a forth figure stretched out on the ground. Adam's shoulders fell back down, his own breath mingling with the cool night air as he watched the three men pick up their fallen comrade. They continued down the road as one broad, eight-legged being—grunting, whispering and giggling.

"A lot of drifters have come to town over the last week," he said, facing Madeline again, his hand leaving his gun. "The saloons are more fired up at night than usual, even in the middle of the week. Are you sure you'll be all right on your own? I can stay with you here tonight if you want."

A quiet spell settled between them.

"Uh . . . I'd sleep in the guestroom . . . obviously."

There was a little trace of pink blooming on her cheeks, but the tenderness in her gaze was evident as it locked onto him. "Your father and brothers would be worried if you didn't come home."

"Maybe at first, but they know you're on your own here, they'd figure it out."

"Adam," she said patiently, "you know as well as I, what it would mean if people saw you leave this house early tomorrow morning. Everyone knows that Uncle Paul is away . . ."

"And you know that I don't care about people's opinions or what anyone might say about—"

"It would be the first thing my uncle heard about, the minute he arrived home."

". . . You've got a point." Adam's eyebrows drew together at that notion. "But I can be pretty sneaky, remember? No one would know. The most important thing to me is making sure you're all right."

"I'll be just fine," she said, her appearance intent and reassuring. "I am going straight to bed, I need to be at the restaurant early tomorrow."

He scrutinized her for a moment, then swept a look up and across the front of the house.

"You'll lock the door when I go?"

"Yes, Adam. I will lock this door and the backdoor is already locked. Please, don't worry." She paused and her sight flickered out to the dark street again. "You will be careful riding home?"

"Sure, I will."

He scratched his neck. "Okay . . . I'll see you tomorrow then, I guess . . ."

"Yes, all right."

Leaving her without even a little kiss seemed completely wrong to him now, so he leaned towards her, slowly, giving her time to turn her cheek to him if she wanted to. He was glad when she didn't and instead, he felt her lips curve slightly against his.

"Thanks," he said as he pulled back, "for supper and the cake. It's the one cake I'd probably fight Hoss over."

"You're welcome. And since I make that cake almost every day now, there is luckily no need for any fighting to be done."

The way her dimples flashed as she spoke just made him want to kiss her again. They stood there watching each other and she glanced out at the street and back at him, but when he made no move down the porch stairs, she gave him a curious look.

"You're not seeing me off today." He crossed his arms firmly. "I'm not leaving until I see you close that door and hear you lock it."

"Oh, Adam . . ."

Shaking her head, she stepped back inside the house and held the door ajar. She smiled at him one last time. "Be careful . . ."

"I will be, I promise. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Adam."

The door closed quietly and he waited until he heard the sound of the lock clicking. He uncrossed his arms and let his eyes glide across the front of the house again. Then he turned and went down the stairs to where Sport was waiting. He'd ridden home in the dark more times than he could count and he really wasn't worried. A ride under the stars might actually be just what he needed.

Peering out of the window, Madeline watched him ride off and said a silent little prayer to keep him safe. After checking the lock on the front door once more, she walked down the hall, stopping by the sitting room to turn out the oil lamps. It was odd, not having her uncle in the house and as she passed the burgundy wing back chair, her fingers gently stroked the smooth armrest. Hopefully, he would have a good trip and enjoy spending some time with his colleagues.

Carrying one lamp, she headed out into the hall and towards the kitchen, the click-clacking sound of her steps resonating through the quiet house. She set down the lamp on the kitchen table and walked over to check the lock on the backdoor at the far end of the room. A frown formed on her face. She was sure that she'd locked it earlier after supper. Her fingers went to the iron bolt by the latch and she slid it sideways, locking the door. She faced the kitchen again, her lips pursing as she eyed the tray with the empty coffee pot and cups. While she hated leaving any kitchen in a mess, it was just too late now, so she ended up putting the dishes on the work bench by the sink, deciding to wait until morning with cleaning it up. She walked back to the table and reached out to take the low-burning lamp when her hand suddenly froze. There was a different scent hanging in the air—so faint she'd almost missed it. It was new to this room but terrifyingly familiar to her, and her heartbeat spiked in her chest, beginning a wild racing. Her eyes darted to the dark doorway leading out into the hall, then they moved back across the room towards the backdoor. Her gaze never made it that far though. Because as it passed over the wall opposite her, she realized that what she'd vaguely thought was one of her uncle's jackets hanging on a hook by the pantry, was in fact the figure of a man. She stared at him for an eternal, nightmarish moment, her eyes so wide that the whites showed all around and her mouth falling open, but she didn't have air enough to scream.

"Hello, Madeline."

He came out of the shadows and all the muscles in her body seemed to turn liquid. Involuntarily, she spent the last tiny breath in her lungs on his name.

"Ray!"

"My, my . . ." He tut-tutted and moved closer to her. "How far from home the little lamb has strayed."

He looked almost exactly the same as last she saw him, except now he had a thin mustache—the ends curling upward like a beard-smile. He had the appearance of a gentleman; his mahogany hair neatly-combed back, the groomed grey-touched sideburns going down past his earlobes. He was dressed as a gentleman, wearing an evening suit of black—a stark contrast to his pale face. It was a sickly white, a fish-belly white. And he had the hands of a gentleman, clean and smooth, used to handling pencils and papers and shaking other gentlemen's hands. People would be shocked to know of the violence those hands could inflict. But Madeline knew.

She took a slow step backwards, her eyes dashing left, over to the doorway.

"Go ahead. Try it."

He smiled at her, wolfishly and hungrily.

Her feet were like blocks of ice attached to her legs and he started to come around the table on her right side, gliding like a snake, ready to strike. She waited a second longer, then sprang left, trembling fingers gathering up her skirts to prevent them from hindering her escape. The loud clattering on the floorboards was thunderous as she ran across the floor, to the doorway, out into the dark hall, and she could just make out the outline of the front door. Four feet—two feet from the door—and that little spark of hope was brutally throttled by an iron-grip on her arm. She was swung around with dizzying speed, slammed up against the wall with such force that her cry of pain was muffled by the mirror falling to the floor and shattering. His voice—grated with menace—hissed against her face.

"Did you really think that I wouldn't find you?! Miss Delaney . . ."

"Let go of me!"

Moonlight, pouring through the window by the door, silvered the hall as she struggled against him. She clawed at his arms, at his front—at anything—and she cried out again when he tightened his hold, feeling as if the bone in her arm could snap at any second. When she sucked in a breath to scream for help, his hand flew to her mouth, covering the entire lower half of her face.

"Make another sound and I'll have that man you were with shot!"

She immediately stopped thrashing, her eyes huge and shimmering with terror.

"Oh yes, I know about him. His life is worth nothing more than a snap of my fingers, Madeline. I open that door and give the order and he is as good as dead."

His steel-blue eyes bore straight through her into the wall behind her and he lowered his hand, leaving a salty dampness on her lips.

"Please," she gasped, "don't hurt him!"

"Just look at you." He wiped his palm on his pants, his lips curling in disgust. "You desert your husband, you come out here to this savage land and fall into bed with a common cowboy."

"No! It isn't like that—"

"You humiliated me!"

A whimper escaped her as he squashed her against the wall, her head jerking to the side as his alcohol-drenched breath burned her cheek and neck.

"Ray Bradshaw . . ." he mumbled, staring down her neck, "deserted by his adulterous wife as his estate lay in ruins."

"Ray, please let go, you are h-hurting me . . ."

"DIDN'T I PROVIDE FOR YOU?!" She flinched and grimaced as droplets of spittle hit her face. "You were given the best of everything! You wore the finest dresses, you had servants catering to your every need. And what did you give me in return? Not even a son to carry on my legacy!" He gripped her chin, twisting her violently to face him. "A now ruined legacy, Madeline."

A sheen of water covered her eyes and her lower lip suddenly pushed up as she tipped her head back.

"You know why I left you, Ray," she breathed, contempt finding its way into her shaking voice. "I begged you to stop the abuse, but you wouldn't listen. Three years and you never listened."

The wildness in his expression seemed to diminish, replaced by something else which made a shiver course through her. He smiled at her then, a smile like a knife; thin and sharp-edged, the silver beam from the window causing his teeth to glint.

"Madeline, Madeline . . ." He moved his hand to softly stroke her cheek and a tear trailed down, striking his thumb. "So beautiful and fair . . . and still that feisty spirit."

She let out a choked breath when his body pressed fully against her, a wave of acid rising from her stomach up to her throat when his beard touched her mouth. She squirmed as he kissed her—her face contorting in repulsion, but he was far too strong for her to push him away. His lips were where Adam's had been moments ago, tarnishing the memory of that sweet and gentle kiss he'd given her on the porch.

When Ray drew back, the pressure against her front eased and she breathed deeply as tears flowed down her face. His countenance was lit with satisfaction as he looked her over.

"Now . . . you are going to tell me about the man you were with."

His voice was Southern-smooth and like melted honey, but she didn't respond.

"I'll find out who he is Madeline, you know that. There's no need to test the patience I'm trying to show you."

" . . . He is just a friend."

Suddenly Ray flung himself against her again, and she squeaked in pain as he tugged her head upwards by her hair.

"Why do you insist on making this so difficult for me? You were with him since this afternoon—you spent the entire evening with him." He loosened his hold on her twisted locks a little. "Now, try again. Without the lies this time and give me a name."

"Cartwright," she panted, her eyelids closing. "Adam Cartwright . . ."

"And have you lain with him?"

"No! I haven't, not with anyone . . ."

His calculating gaze drifted over her.

"I suppose I'll have to take your word for it for now. Whatever it's worth."

He released her hair and it fell down across her face, a tangled, messy veil muffling her quiet sobs.

"When are you to meet him again?"

She carefully brushed her hair away as her body continued to shake, but she didn't reply, just turned herself into the wall, away from him.

"It is of no matter." He casually began straightening his slightly ruffled suit. "Get a pen and paper. You'll be writing a letter. You'll tell him that you don't want to see him anymore and that he is to stay away from you."

Leaning her sticky cheek against the wall, she looked heavenward as spasms of anguish raked through her.

"It won't work. He will never believe it, we—" Her voice faltered, and she pressed a hand against her chest. "He will know that something is wrong. He'll come here the moment he reads it."

"Then I suggest that you try very hard to convince him, Madeline." Ray leaned close to the side of her face. "Very hard indeed."

He continued in a laid-back manner.

"I have come here with a few new associates I met while looking for you. We have some business to conduct here in Virginia City. Once it's finished, you and I will be leaving."

"I am not leaving with you, Ray," she said and faced him. "I'm going to contact a lawyer tomorrow and I will bring forth a request for divorce. I want to be free of this marriage."

"My dear wife, you don't seem to understand . . ." His tone was measured and calm but the twitching vein by his left eye revealed just how close he was to losing control again. "You will do exactly as I tell you. Unless you want people to get hurt. Like your cowboy for instance . . . or perhaps your uncle?"

An icy chill crept up on her, numbing every limb.

"You never even told me you had an uncle," he sneered, reveling in her reaction. "Of course, at the moment, he is away, but if you insist on staying here, I would be inclined to stick around and meet him."

"Ray!" she exclaimed, her fingers splaying out in a fan against her breastbone, "you can't do this! They have done nothing to you, please, all I want is to start a new life here and—"

"You are my wife Madeline, I am your life. Don't you dare think that I won't make good of my threat."

He stared her down until she hung her head and he reached up to adjust his now crooked black tie.

"From now on, you will be watched. Every move you make will be seen by eyes employed by me, as if I were watching you myself, only you won't know who or where they are." Her face remained down-turned as he spoke, pain stabbing at her body from the inside and out. "You will follow your daily routines as usual. I understand you have acquired a job at a local restaurant? Well, you'll act as you normally would and avoid rousing suspicion. If you tell anyone about any of this, that person will be silenced. And if you go within five feet of the sheriff's office, my men will have orders to take action immediately."

He paused, rubbing the cleft in his chin with a finger.

"Does anyone know about me? That you are in fact Mrs. Bradshaw?"

She shook her head, managing to strike the perfect balance between not being too forceful or too hesitant.

" . . . Not even your uncle?"

Feeling his narrowed gaze on her, she raised her chin and looked him straight in the eye, displaying a calmness that belied the whirling turmoil inside her.

"No. I told him that I left Georgia because of the war and destruction. He never knew I was married. "

She even achieved a hint of regret in her tone, and he watched her for another few intense seconds before giving a nod. His head was slightly bowed, his face enveloped in shadow and she wasn't sure what was worse—seeing his deathly white pallor in the moonlight or seeing nothing at all—just knowing that he was there.

"When this . . . Cartwright . . . comes to see you tomorrow, as you believe he will after reading your letter . . . you better make sure that he is in no doubt about your rejection. You see, it's for his own good really. Since there will be a gun trained on him as soon as he nears this house."

He looked up, angling his head in a way so that she could only see half of his face and one piercing eye.

"If he gets too close to entering the house, I'll take it as a sign that you are planning to tell him about everything and he will be killed. If I have any reason to believe that you're saying something else to him or giving him some kind of hidden message, he'll be killed. Frankly, the odds of him meeting his demise tomorrow are rather high. And you hold the key to his survival. Do you understand these rules?"

She summoned one last pleading look for him, but it was no use. Her head dropped down again.

"Good. Now, get writing that letter. I'll make sure that it is delivered to this Adam Cartwright."

xXXx

Half an hour later, Madeline was alone in her uncle's house. Her back was aching, and her arms were red and sore from where Ray had gripped her. She pressed her palm against her mouth, her eyes squeezing shut as she stifled the screams of horror that wanted out. Drowning, she was drowning in an ocean of despair and she had no idea how to save herself. The thought of leaving Adam, of leaving her uncle was like a lead weight tied to her, pulling her down into the dark abyss. And the paralyzing ache of what she had done, what she would be forced to do tomorrow, prevented her arms from flailing and her feet from kicking.

They were the hardest words she'd ever written. They were lies. Already she was feeling her heart ripped open because she had hurt the man she loved deeply—he just didn't know it yet.

She supported herself against the wall because the hall was swimming. Or perhaps it was her eyes. Her blurry gaze fell to the mirror shards littering the floor in the foyer and suddenly her legs would no longer hold her up. She sank to her knees, still holding a palm against her mouth, the fragile dam it was.

Her face was on the floor, in tiny pieces, broken and mangled.